#this is trash i apologize

[aceroxluz]

closed - @greektragcdy

"Hold the elevator please!" Luz called out. With bright blue sunny skies ahead of her for the day and summer heat making an early appearance, she was fully set on spending the next few hours up on the rooftop with a bottle of wine and some suntan oil. As it was, she was clad in nothing but a bikini and a robe loosely tied around her middle (essentially not really covering up much at all). She ran in a second later, grinning at the man inside. "Thanks, you're a life savor."

[ajsmins]

there was nothing alycia loved more than spending time outdoors. she wasn't much of a snow type of person, but any chance she was given to be outside under the stars she took it. even if it meant she had to freeze to death in the process. it didn't hurt that she had some of the best company to join her on these adventures either. pedro had always been part of her friends group. she had seen him at various functions through mutual friends, but this trip was the first time the two actually had a proper chance to sit down and have a conversation. he was very easy to talk to, and it amazed her at how much the two actually had in common. it wasn't often a person found someone who shared so many ideals and ways about them that were so similar. it was a nice change of pace for once.

alycia was bundled in her comfiest, but warmest attire. she wasn't at all worried about looking her best. pedro didn't exactly seem like the type to care if she had a full face of makeup on or not. she was waiting by the entrance of the hotel with her phone in hand. she had shot him a quick text to let him know she was ready and where to meet her, and as she waited for him she was casually playing a mobile game on her phone. there was minimal activity going on in the lobby, so as soon as she heard approaching footsteps, she lifted her gaze to meet the older male who was coming towards her. "hey you," she said, greeting him with a quick hug hello. "are you ready to freeze your ass off in the name of star gazing?" / @pascalhq

[fallenneziah]

Not sure if you're requesting for Poolverine but if you are...

"What's the wingspan on those blow job handles??"

Oh hell am I ever, babygirl.

CW: Blowjobs, old men bickering, there is the Wolverine Cowl, admittedly softer Wade and Logan, pls tell me how I did, and send me stuff to write for ya so I can get better with these dudes.

2K words.

Cowl on, Hood off.

“Put the cowl on.”

It was the first thing Wade said before Logan could fully make it to his knees. The older man sank, his heels pressed into the floor and ankles supporting his butt.

“I’m not wearing the hood.”

Wade would have whined, but kept his composure this time around, long enough to bicker while his suit was uncomfortably tight.

“Come on, put it on.”

Logan’s brows pinched together, his lips pursing, “Just pull my hair like a man, Wade.”

Wade crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at Logan before mumbling, “Vanessa would have done it…”

Silence befell them for a few seconds before Logan growled and rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck.

“I hate you so much…” He reached over for the bedside table and grabbed the cowl. He slid it over his head, hearing the excited gasp from Wade.

Logan rolled his tongue inside his mouth, a poisonous tang of possessiveness there.

“Oh fuck yes, we’re in business now, babygirl.” He reached for his belt, Logan having to slap his hands away. “Stay.”

Wade stopped, pouting his lip, his breath caught in his throat as Logan proceeded to unclip his belt and toss it aside. His hands were rough but they got the job done, tugging the suit down, forcing Wade to shimmy a little.

“God, this sweaty body condom is going to be the death of me-“ Wade’s breath left his lungs when Logan’s claws extended, and wordlessly tore down the sides of the suit.

The fabric peeled away from Wade’s body, his underwear going with it, leaving his welted, scarred body in full view.

Logan huffed in amusement. “This is it??” He smirked,

“Wah- No, this is not it.” He huffed and turned his head away. “You better shut your mouth before I shove-“

Logan’s smirk didn’t fade as his massive hand wrapped around the base of Wade’s cock, making another breathless, excited gasp fall from the Merc’s lips.

“Shove what where Wade?” He leaned in, warm air wafting over Wade’s cock, and he gave it an experimental lick. His hand squeezed the base and gently stroked back up, his rough callouses and harsh palms were like little pricks to Wade’s otherwise numb exterior.

Wade’s eyes were glued to the scene, rough knuckles clasped around his decent shaft, the lack of hair making the glide smooth and silky. The small sounds of Logan’s hand on the taut skin of his cock drove Wade just a little bit madder each time.

“Oh, Honey Badger…” Wade leaned his head back, the excitement getting him off more than Logan was at this point. But neither man was complaining – for once.

Logan’s hand stroked the length of Wade’s cock, twisting occasionally. He leaned up on his heels and collected some spit in his mouth, dripping it down onto Wade’s shaft, working it in with his hand.

“Wade. You made me wear this damn thing, so take goddamn advantage.” Logan growled. It was an exasperated need for Wade to grab him by the horns and wrangle him.

“Right- right- impatient little peanut.“ Wade’s hands reached down to grasp the ears of the cowl, gripping them tightly and tugging Logan’s head forward, lips kissing Wade’s cockhead. Logan let out a low growl when he was tugged.

A bead of pre-cum rolled down the slit of his tip, Logan’s tongue flicking out to drink it up and swirl around the tip.

Logan groaned softly and pushed his cock to the side, kissing up the shaft. His warm air brushed over the hardening, twitching length, curving up and drooling more.

“God, Wade.” Logan’s hand was slick with spit and pre-cum, watching how fast it leaked down the length of Wade’s excited cock. Logan’s fingers were coated with it, thumb rubbing It into the tip and kissing along the salty, pre-cum covered length.

His nostrils flared against Wade’s body, smelling the sweat that began, it was faint, the musky smell of worn suit prevailing. His free hand came up, nudging Wade back and opening his legs a bit more, squeezing the man’s balls.

Wade’s breathing became ragged as Logan’s mouth moved over his cock, and his hands shook slightly while gripping the cowl. He thrust his hips forward, but Logan’s strong arms held him in place, a possessive grin on his face.

“You better not bite,” Wade warned, his voice shaking with lust and trepidation.

Logan chuckled low in his throat, his eyes never leaving Wade’s hardened length. “If you think I’m going to let that precious little cock go to waste,” he said, his voice husky with desire.

“You’ve got another thing coming, bub.”

Wade swallowed hard, his body trembling as Logan’s mouth enveloped his cock, sucking and licking with an expertise that left Wade breathless. His hands clutched the cowl tighter, his knuckles turning white as he fought to maintain control.

Logan was starting to pant, his breath warm on the other’s cock. His own was aching, leaking. The fabric of his suit was tight and constricting, the pressure building as he worked the other.

The heat radiating off Wade’s skin made breathing feel harder, desperate to get Logan’s mouth fully around his cock. His hands tightened on the cowl, giving Logan another tug.

Wade’s moans grew more intense as Logan teased him, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. His fingers tightened around the cowl’s ears, grasping them with an almost desperate need.

Wade was the only person Logan was willing to choke himself on, his hands moving down to the Merc’s hips. He squeezed the skin in a bruising grip and kissed the tip before sinking over it. His rough lips took Wade’s length in one inch at a time, taking his time to flick and suck on it, saliva building in his throat.

Wade tugged on the cowl, the mask holding up and shaping Logan’s face, the angle of his nose showing the drool pooling from Logan’s mouth and down into his messy stubble.

It wasn't so much a romantic thing as it was the visceral need to have the man’s body anywhere near his. Logan didn’t care if he was on the bottom or the top, he needed to smell Wade’s sweat, to taste his tears, to feel him squirm.

His tongue pressed up under the other’s cock, tracing along the shaft as he slowly, finally sank to the hilt. He took his time, his hand releasing Wade’s hip and returning to squeeze his balls.

Wade’s grip never lessened on the cowl, holding Logan’s head in place.

Logan’s hands slipped down Wade’s thighs and behind his knees, grabbing the backs and yanking the Merc down.

“Fuck!” Wade gasped and grabbed the back of Logan’s head, the sudden movement causing the head of his cock to push past the tight warmth of Logan’s throat, feeling his throat constrict and convulse around his dick.

Logan pulled Wade’s thighs up and let them rest on his shoulders. His head pulled back slowly, sucking the entire length from his mouth, and licked along the bottom of the shaft.

“Shut up, bub…” He panted softly, spitting the drool and pre-cum in his mouth into Wade’s twitching cock.

Wade’s mouth fell open, his hands reached down again to quickly grab hold of the cowl’s ear fins. He moaned, bucking his hips up into Logan’s mouth, saliva leaking from Logan’s mouth down over Wade’s balls.

The cowl was hot, sweaty, and damp against Logan’s face. He was sure his hair was stuck to his forehead, but that didn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around the Merc’s thighs and pulling him in closer.

His face pressed flush to Wade’s baby-smooth groin and his throat tensed and pulsed around Wade’s cock, causing him to choke and drip saliva down his chin and neck.

Wade’s legs spread wide, his head rolling back and his eyes squeezed shut.

“F-fuck, Honey Badger- Logan.”

Logan couldn’t help but attempt to chuckle (which came out more as a wet gag) at Wade’s pleading, the sound vibrating on his tongue as he licked along the length of the Merc's cock. The strain in the other’s voice, the way his body trembled with need, only fueled Logan’s desire to bring him to the edge.

He wrapped his lips tightly around Wade’s cock, pulling him in deeper, his tongue dancing along the sensitive underside.

Wade’s toes curled, his breath hitched in his throat as Logan’s mouth enveloped him, the sensation overwhelming him. He thrust his hips forward, pushing deeper down Logan’s throat. The world seemed to spin as a wave of pleasure crashed over him, his vision dimming at the edges.

Logan’s nose was buried in the soft skin of Wade’s groin, his tongue pushing and rolling over the underside of the other’s dick, feeling the way it throbbed and pulsed.

Logan drew back, gasping for air, Wade’s cock still between his teeth. The taste of salty sweat mixed with the bitter tang of precum filled his senses as his free hand rubbed at his throbbing erection through the tight confines of his costume.

As Logan stared into Wade’s blissful eyes, his desire seemed to match the other’s. The need to taste, to touch, to possess drove him forward.

Wade whimpered softly as Logan took his cock into his mouth again, this time swallowing the head deep into his throat, his throat muscles flexing in rhythm with the pumping of his tongue.

Wade arched his back, his hands grabbing at the cowl’s ear fins again, tugging at them in time with the thrusts of his hips as Logan continued to suckle at him.

Fuck, Logan was going to tear him apart for this later…

His blunt fingers dragged over the head of the cowl, scraping at the fabric and tugging the corners, arching up his hips and squeezing the cowls ears.

Logan’s eyes locked with Wade’s, holding onto each other through the haze of bliss and desire. The cowl was now a twisted mess of fabric and sweat, sticking to their faces as they struggled for air.

Wade’s breaths grew ragged, his grip on the cowl tightening until his knuckles turned white, but there was no denying the lusty expression etched across his features.

As the room spiraled into a whirlwind of passions and flavors, Logan’s throat convulsed around the Merc’s cock, his lips wrapped around the base, sucking and swallowing with a feral hunger.

Wade’s hips bucked, his body trembling as Logan’s warm, slick tongue danced around the veins on the shaft and swirled around the sensitive head, eliciting a choked-off moan from the Merc.

“Hnnn- god, I’m gonna cum-“

“Mmff- Nh- nhh-“ Logan’s nails dug into Wade’s thighs, his body jerking as the Merc came, thighs flexing.

The white-hot rush of pleasure drowned out everything else, leaving only pure, raw ecstasy. Wade’s eyes rolled back, his hands releasing the cowl’s ear fins for a moment as he gripped Logan’s shoulders instead, desperately seeking contact with the man.

Logan felt the jolt of Wade’s release, the hot spurts coating his throat and filling his mouth. He swallowed convulsively, the salty taste of the other man’s climax flooding his senses. It was a mix of relief and exhilaration, the culmination of the sensual build-up and the raw power between them.

Wade’s breathing gradually slowed, his fingers releasing Logan’s shoulders and his eyes slowly opening. He stroked the tips of the cowl, smiling like a lovesick idiot, having gotten to hang on like he was riding a bull. His gaze met Logan’s, filled with both relief and vulnerability as he tried to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” Wade panted softly.

Logan slowly pulled back, shuddering a little, the pungent smell of sweat and cum becoming a more powerful presence than before. His brows stayed pinched together, canines aching with a lustful hunger. "Now who’s the slut?”

I apologize if this was lacking in any way, it's my first smut piece for them so I'm dipping into uncertain waters again haha.

[imlostinmy20s]

An art piece from a year ago, that I haven't posted anywhere yet might be quite out of character but eehhh whatever 😎👌🔥

[andy-clutterbuck]

[lord-squiggletits]

I think the key component to my personal reading of post-Delphi Pharma is that he's trying to be a horrible person on purpose. Not "on purpose" in the way that people have free will to exercise their own choices, but in that Pharma's "mad doctor" persona is a performance he puts on to deliberately embrace how much everyone else hates him. Basically, if people already think you're a "bad Autobot" and a horrible doctor who just kills his patients for fun, why try to prove otherwise to people who have already made up their minds about you? Just fully embrace the fact that people see you as an asshole. Don't try to change their minds. Don't plead for their forgiveness or understanding. Just stop caring. If you're going to be remembered as a monster, you might as well be a memorable monster, and eke as much pleasure and hedonism as you can out of it before karma catches up to you and you inevitably crash and burn.

I mean, I guess you could just go the route of "Oh, Pharma was always a fucked up creepy guy and Delphi was just him taking the mask off," but I really don't like that interpretation because, for one, it feels really wrong to take a character like Pharma becoming evil under duress and going, "Oh well clearly he did the things he did because he was evil all along," as if somehow Pharma breaking under blackmail/torture/threat of horrible death was a sign of him having poor moral character. As opposed to, you know, suffering under the very real threat of horrible death for himself and everyone he cares about while being manipulated by a guy who specializes in psychological torture.

The second reason is that it just doesn't make sense to write Pharma as having been evil all along. I mean...

Occam's Razor says that the best argument is the one with the simplest explanation. Doesn't it make way more sense to take Pharma's appearances in flashbacks, his friendship with Ratchet, his stunning medical accomplishments, and the few we see of him speaking kindly/sympathetically (or in the least charitable interpretation, at least professionally) towards his patients and conclude "This guy was just a normal person, if exceptionally talented." Taking all of these flashback appearances at face value and assuming Pharma was being genuine/honest is a way simpler and more logical explanation than trying to argue that Pharma for the past 4 million years was just faking being a good doctor/person. I mean, it's possible within the realm of headcanon, but the fact is Pharma's appearances in the story are so brief that there simply wasn't room in the story for there to be some sort of secret conspiracy/hidden manipulation behind why Pharma acted the way he did in the past.

I just can't help but look at things like Pharma's friendship with Ratchet (himself a good person and usually a fine judge of character) and the fact that even post-Delphi, pretty much every single mention of Pharma comes with some mention of "He was a good doctor for most of his life" or "He was making major headways in research [before he started killing patients]" which implies that even the Autobots themselves see Pharma's villainy as a recent turn in his life compared to how for "most of his life" he "used to be" a good doctor.

And although Pharma doesn't know this, we as the readers (and even other characters like Rung) know about Aequitas technology and the fact that it actually works, so... if Pharma really was an unrepentant murderer, why couldn't he get through the forcefield too? The Aequitas forcefield doesn't require that a person be completely morally pure and free of wrongdoing or else how could Tyrest get through, just that they feel a sense of inner peace and lack feelings of guilt. Pharma has murdered and tortured people by this point, and put on quite a campy and theatrical show of how much he sees it as a fun game, so why then can he not get through?

It circles back to my headcanon at the start of this post that the "mad doctor" persona is just that-- a persona. Delphi/post-Delphi Pharma's laughing madman personality is just so far removed from every flashback we saw of him and everything we can infer based on how other people see/saw him before that, to me, the mad doctor act is (at least in large part, if not fully) a persona that Pharma puts on to put his villainy in the forefront.

To avoid an overly simplistic/ableist take, I don't think Tarn tortured Pharma into turning crazy. To me, it's more like the constant pressure of death by horrific torture, the feeling of martyrdom as Pharma kept secret that he was the only one standing between Delphi and annihilation, the physical isolation of Messatine as well as the emotional separation from Ratchet, being forced to violate his medical oaths (pretty much the only thing Pharma's entire life has been about), etc. All of that combined traumatized Pharma to the point that the only way he could avoid cracking was to just stop caring about all of it. Because at least then, even if he's still murdering patients to save Delphi from a group of sadistic freaks, Pharma doesn't have to feel guilty and sick about doing it. As opposed to the alternatives, which were probably either going off the deep end and killing himself to escape, or confessing to what he did and getting jailed for it.

In that light, Pharma becoming a mad doctor makes sense. It avoids the bad writing tropes of "oh this character who was good his entire life was actually just evil and really good at hiding it" as well as "oh he got tortured and went crazy that's why he's so random and silly and killing people, he's crazy" and instead frames Pharma's evil as something he was forced into, to the point where in order to avoid a full psychological breakdown and keep defending Delphi, he just had to stop caring about the sanctity of life or about what other people might think of him.

Then, of course, the actual Delphi episode happens, and Pharma's own lifelong best friend Ratchet basically spits in his face and sees him as nothing more than a crazy murderer who went rogue from being a good Autobot. Then Pharma gets his hands cut off and left to die on Messatine. At that point, Pharma has not only been mentally/emotionally broken into losing his feelings of compassion, he's received the message loud and clear: He is alone. Everyone hates him. Not even his own best friend likes him any more. No one even cared enough about him to check if he actually died or not. He will only ever be remembered as a doctor who went insane and killed his patients.

So in the light of 1. Having all of your redeeming qualities be squeezed out of you one by one for the sake of survival and 2. Having your reputation and all of your positive relationships be destroyed and 3. People only know/care about you as "that doctor who became evil and killed his patients" rather than the millions of years of good service that came before.

What else is there to do but internalize the fact that you'll forever be seen as a monster and a freak, and embrace it? People already see you as a murderer for that blackmail deal you did, so why not become an actual murderer and just start killing people on a whim? People already see you as an irredeemable monster who puts a stain on the Autobot name, so why beg for their forgiveness when you could just shun them back? You've already become a murderer, a traitor, and a horrible doctor, so what's a few more evil acts added to the pile? It's not like anyone will ever forgive you or love you ever again.

Why care? Why try to hold on to your principles of compassion, kindness, medical ethics, when an entire lifetime of being a good person did nothing to save you from blackmail and then abandonment? Why put yourself through the emotional agony of feeling lonely, guilty, miserable, when you could just... stop caring, and not hurt any more?

[emily-mooon]

Scott Pilgrim Characters as Text Posts but they’re mostly of Stacey and Neil cause I’m obsessed with them :]

[disinherited-dornishman]

In honour of @helaenasbestfriend 's insane tags on my post, which inspired this two part trash from my end.

Part 2

Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, fantasies of regicide. TW: offscreen marital SA in part 2, because that's what doing one's duty as Alicent Hightower pertains.

Part 1/2

"I'm going to bed, Aemma," said the king.

The name rang through the courtyard like a tolling bell. Eyes turn, the beginnings of whispers follow, but some part of Criston cannot believe it truly happened.

He turns his eyes to his Queen.

When he sees what had been concern for her husband frozen still upon her beautiful visage, like a doe's last moments as it was struck in the heart by a hunter's arrow, he knows. And he cannot stop the quickening of his heartbeat, the clench of his jaw, that burning in his mind - not wild and rapid with panic and fear as the fire that had killed the Knight of Kisses. No, this burn was cold, pure rage.

"Shall I see after Queen Alicent, Your Grace?" Ser Harrold asks, pointedly.

The King stops in his tired shuffling, as though he finally noticed his mistake. Criston prays for a mere apology. Even that admission of wrong is better than pretending he had said nothing at all, and perhaps that would be enough to banish these thoughts of bloody dishonour from Criston's mind.

"No, Ser Harrold..." He shuffles along.

Criston watches his Queen's face fall.

"You have the night's watch, Ser Criston," Ser Harrold says. A look of warning as he walks away.

Criston is glaring. He knows it, but he cannot bring himself to care - cannot stop his grip tightening about his sword's leather hilt. The faint creak is defeaning in his ears.

Aemma. After all these years, all the humiliations, the unerring performance of his Queen in her... duties. The suffering.

Aemma.

One stroke, the voice whispers, swift and clean. That is all that's needed. More than he deserves. A fall down the stairs with no one around to hear and help him. They might whisper afterwards, but so be it. Let them. At least she would not need suffer-

"Come, Ser Criston." Her voice brings him back to reality. The horror is only brief.

They leave the courtyard together, sent off by whispers and looks she's grown accustomed to suffering. She holds her head high but she cannot fool Criston, for he had seen the distance in her eyes.

"Something disturbs your peace of mind, Ser," she says later the Red Keep's sept. Her voice is distant, but her attention is upon him, even as she kneels before the Mother's altar.

"It is nothing, my queen."

"Then nothingness has you terribly occupied." She looks at him over her shoulder. "Your silence concerns me, I must confess."

"I do not wish to not disturb the hallowed peace, my queen, that is all."

She gives him a look that almost feels like a plea. She dislikes his avoidance. He averts his eyes to the ground.

"That was unworthy of his grace," he says, impotently.

"He is unwell, his mind muddled," she says, more graceful in the face of injustice than Criston. "Do not hold it against him."

An act.

He hates it. He hates that he cannot punish the king (what a thought for a Kingsguard to harbour.) He hates what she must endure, and that he must endure watching her endure it, as useful in his vigilance as a gargoyle on Dragonstone.

"May I be honest?"

"Always, Good Ser."

"My thoughts disturb me. They too are... unwell."

There is a silence. His confession makes the hairs on his body stand. His heart races at the thought that he might have overstepped. It is one thing to say too much of the Queen's enemies, but her husband the King?

"Will you pray with me then?" she says, unreadable. "That your anger might be abolished?"

Her generosity, her trust, stuns him. Suddenly he cannot help but admire how beautiful she is in her furtive sorrow, and wish that he could see her smile. Banish all her ills and worries away. How long has he watched her suffer them?

"You honour me, your grace..."

She shuffles aside and pats the pillowed floor with a warm smile.

He swallows his heart back down his throat, removes the scabbard from his waist, kneels at her side, and clasps his hands together.

They pray in the comforting silence and stillness of the sept, under the warmth of the sunlight that is coloured rainbow by stained glass. Beside him, her warmth is radiant, crossing the distance between their flesh. It cools the fire in his mind until he is afloat.

He finds himself wishing he could shuffle closer and truly feel her flesh against his, just an arm, that it might comfort her...

But it is unseemly. Inappropriate. Unworthy.

So instead, he prays harder. Not for his own peace of mind, but for the gods to free his queen of her burden as swiftly as possible.

[westeallen]

Grant Gustin photographed by Ted Ely

[gourmet-trash]

neither david harbour nor santa claus have ever been more fuckable than in violent night

[salemontrial]

Why the FUCK didn't Sasha apologize to Quinni.

[mllkymash]

mllkymash likes other ships??????????

[bugisbonkerz]

added duck to this……. (ignore how misshapen they are idk how to draw full body) if this posts reaches 100+ notes like the last one i might add yellow guy into the mix.

[mdzs-is-rotting-my-brain]

Battle on a Hill.

Being in fandom is so hard and frustrating sometimes. People can post the the simplest of posts sharing their opinion about a character only to get bullied by blogs and users with "I took out the trash in X-characters tag so you didn't have to" into apologizing.

People aren't allowed to have different likes and dislikes anymore? We all have to like the characters in the way you say we do? Why do you feel you have the right to control the conversation? Why do you feel entitled to control the entire narrative.

Some days it makes me wanna stop engaging in the fandom and just keep my own corner of the internet.

Some days I wanna be a bitch in the tags and reclaim some of the space we're allowed to have.

We're all allowed to have different views and opinions about characters. You are not the author. You have no right to control the conversation about anything.

Accept the fact that people look, think, feel, and believe differently than you and learn to be okay with that.

[kyo-mei]

Cale in traditional Korean clothes and setting ft. Raon