#this mess is ours.

[kingkrillin]

just need to share how much I dislike this post lol

people will fully expect trans men to put ourselves on the line for everyone else and meanwhile the only time they acknowledge our existence is to talk about how "low risk" we are (obviously untrue) or to volunteer us out as a community for potentially dangerous activist endeavors that they wouldn't risk doing themselves

"we need to get uncomfortable!" and what's actually being discussed is convincing a subset of the community to be uncomfortable on your behalf while you do nothing to show solidarity with us

[aalghul]

once again thinking about jason as duke’s robin. he’s ~4 years younger than jason, and that puts him at 8-12 during Jason’s time as robin. that’s prime time to get attached to your local kid vigilante before your own life goes downhill.

and if we try to keep duke’s meeting with bruce in zero year + duke’s age (so he can remember the meeting and hold that conversation with bruce), he has to be around 8. if he starts following batman through the news at that time because of the mess that just happened, the robin he sees is probably jason. I’ve literally connected the dots

[forgettable-au]

END OF CHAPTER ONE

FORGETTABLE-AU (Page 65-72)

* Time to put this puzzle together.

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

[miraculoususername]

People surprised that the FNaF movie didn't get the lore right but....... Have you seen the games? Have you read the books? The lore is never right but we just go with it anyway

[jamiethebeeart]

Lineart by @ovytia-art which was such a blast to color - I love the entire vibe of all of them hanging out together so much @green-with-envy-phandom-event

[demaparbat-hp]

The Crew is boisterous and loud, full of traitors, inside jokes, and secrets. The scum of the Fire Nation. The forgotten tiles on the Empire's Pai Sho board. The ones who change the game.

But most importantly—they're a family. And no matter how much they complain about their boss (teenage menace that he is), they'll do anything for their Prince.

Anything.

.

The Crew is the heart and soul of my fic For the Spirits. No one really knows just how important they will be to the story...how important they already are.

[jnece-maharlika]

Pt2Danny Accidentally becomes the Ghost king, the president and the biggest threat to Bruce's social status.

Pt 1 link:

Part 2 Danny becomes the president.

Amity Parkers are the most adaptable people in the world. They're barely fazed by anything.

If you throw them into a situation that they are very unfamiliar with, it'll only take them five minutes to adjust before they start planning on how to live with this situation.

The Amity Parker mindset is: "Oh, I guess this is happening now."

So when the ghosts start attacking? The Amity Parkers immediately look for ways to avoid and protect themselves from the ghosts, not even questioning why ghosts are real. The only thing they think about is, "Damn, there's a ghost. I hope it doesn't attack the theater; I really want to see that movie."

When Phantom had his debut as a hero? The Amity Parkers started looking for ways to help, ways to keep out of his way (some to try and keep him away). The thought running through their minds was, "So this one is trying to protect us? Guess we have a hero now."

Amity Parkers don't spend their time getting mad at the sudden change of routine, the sudden loss of normalcy, or the broken buildings. Amity Parkers don't ask why and how ghosts are real, don't question if all ghosts are evil or if there are some good ghosts, and don't even think of how to get rid of them completely (they're part of the community now). They only look for ways to keep themselves from getting overshadowed. They definitely don't spend time thinking if the ghosts could bring more danger in the future or looking for more information for possible contingency plans. They aren't Batman; they believe that if the present is good, then the future will be better.

Point is, Amity Parkers are resilient and adaptable. They will take everything in stride and focus on the present. So what if some ghosts attack and block the street? They need to get to work, so they'll just drive around it.

After the whole Pariah Dark thing, they become liminal, gaining some form of super strength and glowing eyes (symptoms vary based on how strong the radiation on a person is). A normal human would think, "OH MY GOD, I'M DYING!" The Amity Parkers went, "Oh, cool, this is cool, but now I'm having a problem with opening doors without breaking the knob. Maybe the Fentons could do something about it, make stronger knobs or something."

When some babies started gaining some inhuman features? Some start floating? (Sharper ears, fangs. Babies adapt to things faster, so they get more ecto radiation.) The Amity parents went, "Is there a way to keep my child on the ground without leashing them like a dog?" Then proceeded to make a help blog for other Amity parents dealing with the same things.

So when the ghosts start becoming more of the community rather than enemies, the Amity Parkers just shrugged and asked for a book of ghost customs so they don't accidentally offend them.

When the Fentons started making ghost and human-safe items, no one even questioned why Danny had so much money and was funding his parents' research.

When Danny's name was almost (if not) in everything and he seemed to own most of the town, no one questioned it.

But everything changed when the GIW came again. Even the Amity Parkers weren't expecting this change.

The GIW waltzed in, claiming the liminal town was theirs to play with and started attacking everyone, including the Amity Parkers. The Amity Parkers went full defense mode, protecting the ghosts that were now their friends/neighbors/lovers, making sure that nothing would harm them.

They learned that it was Vlad who called on the GIW. He was pissed and petty that the crown was taken from him and decided to report his liminal town, pretending to be a "concerned mayor" who "wants his people to be healed."

The Amity Parkers were mad... they were furious.

And in the moment they saw Phantom fall to the ground, unconscious, and watched him de-transform from the hero King Phantom to the kid that owns and funds the most helpful companies in town, something changed. Something in the Amity Parkers changed.

Keep in mind that Amity Parkers don't change; they remain the same as they adapt to whatever change the world throws at them.

NEVER ONCE HAD THE AMITY PARKERS DECIDED TO MAKE A CHANGE THEMSELVES.

The first thing they changed? Their mentality. NEVER AGAIN WERE THEY GOING TO LET OUTSIDE FACTORS CHANGE THEIR LIVES. THIS IS THEIR TOWN AND IT WILL STAY THAT WAY.

God help the GIW for being their first victims.

An angry town of liminals, ghosts, and borderline gods, who have access to the Fentons' very destructive and effective technology.

Vs.

The regular GIW humans with anti-ghost tech they stole from the Fentons and nothing against liminals.

The battle was a swift victory, destroying not only the GIW in town but also all of its branches (and Vlad) with almost no traces of them even existing in the first place.

The change didn't stop there, however.

The Amity Parkers banded together with Team Phantom and the Fentons (minus Danny, as he is healing and shouldn't know about their plans; the hero should rest) and took out some of that ghost king money that Danny's trying to get rid of. They crashed the UN meeting while kidnapping the president of America.

The Amity Parkers have decided that Amity Park is theirs; it belongs to the people and its heroes. But how is it supposed to be truly theirs if they have to follow the rules of the country that funded the GIW?

A couple of death threats, bribing, more death threats and more money bribing to make sure the anti ecto acts are gone and the League of Bitches (Phantom called the JL that, and the Amity Parkers decided it was true) doesn't know about it, and a couple of hours in the nightmare realm (courtesy of Fright Knight, who happily participated when he found out what happened), and Amity Park was now its own independent country.

They decided that Tucker was to be a main part of security, letting him put up another firewall like the GIW did to make sure no one knows about their country. They don't want the League of Bitches or any outsider in the King's Haunt. It's theirs now; it belongs to the Ghost King of Amity Park, outsiders be gone.

And when it came to deciding who would be leader? There was no hesitation as they wrote down:

Daniel "Danny Phantom" Fenton, King of the Infinite Realms, King and President of Amity Park.

___________________

A couple of years later, Batman, finding hints of a "Lazarus pit" in Illinois, send Flash to look around for anything suspicious. Flash, hyper focused on following his gps, hits a wall, literally faceplants into it.He double checks his map, the wall wasn't supposed to be there. He goes around it, there no way in, no way out. He goes back to batman and reports.

Pt3 soon.

Tags as requested

@nana-mizu-shiki

@talia-scar123

[emmyrosee]

Okay hear me out…

Trying to surprise Sukuna with breakfast in bed but it goes wrong and Sukuna wakes up smelling smoke and us making a mess in the kitchen. He scolds us a little ofc but it’s all soft and fluffy still. You can make up the ending I just think this is a sweet concept lol.

I’m a sucker for bfs who fix our messes 🤭

of course he could smell fire. but sukuna's mind merely brushed it off.

in his dream, the smell of smoke appeared as a campfire himself and megumi, of all people, had started. it smells strong, like he can physically taste the smoke.

then, in his dream, there's an incessant beeping, one that comes out of Megumi's mouth in place of words.

But finally, he hears you scream in the real world. And his eyes fly open to wake up, his head spinning from the sudden shift from sleep to cognizance. Without a moment to spare, he barrels from the bed into the kitchen, dark clouds of smoke dancing in the air. There’s a baking sheet of burned cinnamon rolls crashed onto the floor- you, cradling your hand not far from it- a pan with a burnt egg sizzling on the stove, and the toaster smoking from whatever contents have now been roasted inside of it.

"What the fuck!" He snarls, grabbing a dish towel and waving it around to break up the dark clouds of smoke near the fire alarm. He leans over to shut off the stove and pop the toaster up, heat coating his arm You wince at the pain on your palm, and he furrows his brows, "fuck sake, go run it under water! What’re you doing grabbing things out of the oven with no mitt, you freak!"

"I couldn't find it!" you whimper, making your way to the sink to, in fact, run your hand under the cold water, hissing at the sting before letting yourself cry softly, be it from the pain or the stimulation of everything at once, Sukuna doesn’t know yet.

Just as soon as the chaos started, it ended, the smoke alarm silencing and the only noise being your whimpers and the running sink. He pants softly and cards a hand through his messy bed head, tossing away the rag and coming up to wrap his big arms around you. You bury your face in the fabric of his nightshirt, crying quietly.

“I just wanted to do something nice for you,” you whimper, and he sighs and rests his head on yours. “I know you’ve been working a lot… I thought I would surprise you.”

“You surprised me alright,” he grumbles, gently cradling the back of your head. “I told you, the oven in my apartment is fucking weird, don’t mess with it. And you did. Now you’re hurt.”

“Breakfast is ruined,” you sniffle, and he pulls back with a scrunched face.

“Breakfast is- babe, you literally have blisters on your hand!” He snips. “Who cares about breakfast, I’m worried about your damn hand!”

You wince slightly at his words, and he groans again, “I just want to make sure you’re okay. We can always remake breakfast. Your third degree burns are my concern right now. Since your goofy ass grabbed a damned cookie sheet square out of the oven.”

You wipe your nose with the back of your hand, “‘m not goofy,” you pout. He tucks in his lips to try and fight back the smirk that wants to spread on his face, not wanting to make you feel worse.

“How’s your hand?” He asks after a few beats of silence, pulling back to gently grab your hand and inspect the blistering burn, which you whine at clench your palm at. “I know, I know,” he soothes. Then, he presses a kiss to each of your fingers, playfully biting your pinky to make you giggle and giving you back your hand. “How about we load into the truck and get you some bandaids and a breakfast sandwich, huh? Save what bit of breakfast we can?”

“Okay, kuna.”

“Good,” he says, pulling away. “Go get on shoes. I’ll take care of ya.” When you leave to go get some shoes on, he’s quick to call after you, “I do appreciate you trying to do something nice for me. I knew you always had a soft spot for me.”

You titter and shake your head as you smile at him. “More than you could know, sukuna.”

[sharkenedfangs]

— ☆ “PRETTY BOY.”

— expect the worst when whitney has a stupidly, dumb puppy love crush on his upperclassman that happens to be you and even more so, when you predictably take notice of it. but, remember— he asked for it first, didn’t he? 3.5k w.

— warnings? yeah, mildly dub-con, handjob in broad fucking daylight, somewhat exhibitionism although no one gets to see the stupid, pretty boy squirm and upperclassman male reader who’s sort of.. a bitch. y’know the drill by now, plus a younger whitney (still an adult, no worries. I’m not into that sorta shit.)

Like a clueless moth instinctually drawn towards a burning flame, he’s no goddamn different than the clingy idiots who can’t seem to automatically take a hint when given so in their direction— y’know, the ones he’d audibly snicker and scoff at due to the sheer embarrassment, disgustingly obvious puppy love streaked along their flushed faces as they mindlessly follow the other’s every move. Innocently peer up in search of their crush’s approval like some sort of brain dead dog whose sole purpose is to joyfully please their master. Hell, it’s gross, and the blonde doesn’t make it any more difficult to showcase his wrongly placed dislike for it— yeah, by the repeated gagging noises spilling forth from his open maw.

“It’s nauseating to watch, stinks up the whole room with those big, puppy, doe eyes”— he’d openly say with an absent shrug of his broad shoulders, glinting, barely visible glimpse of the metallic barbell freshly pierced upon his curved tongue proving his judgemental statements to be otherwise.. fuckin’ hypocritical, no? ‘Cuz, isn’t that same piercing found in his mouth done due to one, single, stray comment you aimlessly made by chance?

Not like your liking of things plays a grand role in whatever he does, trouble he’s immediately roped into, fuck— no, definitely not! It’s a stupid, damn coincidence is what it is, nothing more and nothing less either. No need to uselessly pry any further in the meaning of his baseless actions. Just.. happened to have it done on the same consequential day you confidently expressed your idea that he’d get one because— y’a said it’d look good on him, didn’t you? And, look here, he fuckin’ did it like some cheap mutt. Obediently parted his rosy lips for your viewing pleasure to willingly prove to your pretty eyes that he truly went along with your absently made suggestion, for real. Gleefully hung upon your every important word like his life depended on it— god, it isn’t like that, okay?

An upperclassman he’s briefly looked up to is all you are, all you’ve ever been for that matter, and he’ll punch the shitty, fuckin’ lights out of any big mouthed idiot who dares to say so otherwise. Right in the guts for spouting out complete, nonsensical bullshit, alright?

Or is it time to reluctantly admit it with a bashful blush apparent upon his contorted features— accompanied by gritting teeth stubbornly grinding together in a futile refusal of his shoddy, unwanted sentiments burrowed deep within his stuttering heart? As if he’d ever would in your presence, which he possibly can’t help himself, to childishly imitate your gestures in the withering hopes that’d you scarcely notice his thinly veiled efforts, acts filled with meaning.

Well, well.. Whitney, the supposedly cold and untouchable bully here isn’t so unique nor different from those idiotic dumbasses he’d routinely poke fun at, huh? Time to face the embarrassingly evident reality set before him, whether his gaze dares to instinctively stray away or not from the unsettling truth— ah, good thing you’re here to seamlessly guide him on the right path, ain’t that right?

As for the so-called, morally ethical path he’s hopelessly talking about.. Perhaps, that’s a plain, ol’ lie he’ll repeatedly tell himself of so considering your shared reputations at hand. More likely than not, often referred to — as much as the nickname itself has the tip of his ears prickling scarlet, noisily yelling at the fuckers who cheekily name him that — your little, dumb puppy. Fuck, he’s not! The day he, himself, Whitney of all people, wordlessly bows down to the height of someone’s heel frustratingly grinding atop of his head, is the day one can loudly claim with unbridled conviction, that he’s officially lost his goddammit mind, that’s what.

Listen, you’re the one who faithfully promised and guaranteed your unwavering protection if he stuck to your sides like some fuzzy pet, so he did the obvious choice. Specially when met with the shitty conditions this rundown town, definitely shady for that matter, is. Rather be silently stamped as the ‘sly follower’ who went along with the smartest choice presented to ‘em— your offer, by the way — than some nobody seamlessly forgotten on the dirtied streets. Least, that’s what likely replays on and on in his mind like some cheap, broken record to dumbly convince his unmoving mind of what this annoyingly persistent feeling is deep within the pit of his quivering tummy. Annoying, ain’t it?

Speakin’ of tummy, you sure are touchy-feeling with him, aren’t ya? Not that he necessarily minds nor will outwardly admit the slightest shivers that comes to grace the entirety of his figure when met with the briefest grazes of your fingertips flush against his bare skin. Likes the physical contact intimately shared between you two? Fuck no— just keeping himself on your good side in case you were to suddenly discard him like you habitually do with your other.. nameless toys, which he doesn’t possess enough fucks to bother learning their names. As long as your flickering gaze doesn’t happen to stray too far from his, he’s actually, pretty content.

‘Course, it did progressively start off with the sorta things you’d absentmindedly do with your numerous friends. Brush of his golden strands glimmering against the gleaming sunlight— shit, even acted out like some cheesy rom-com at the way his face instantly heated up, glimpse of vulnerability you seem to so easily catch on with him and fuck, does he detests it— truly does like no other. Still, lets y’a carelessly stroke your fingers throughout the mess of a hairstyle the delinquent wears, even fucking.. tenderly pushed a single, stray strand of hair behind his burning ear. Shoulders instinctively drawn up in sheer defence at the tension residing within him because, really, how do y’a expect him to relax and ease up when it’s with you?

“What? What is it? Do I have shit in my hair or somethin’?” Oh yeah, nice goin’ on that fuckin’ stupid question of his, huh? Flush adorning the length of his face— god, even down towards his neck too— immediately deepening at the crude choice of words. Might casually speak so with anyone, but when it comes to you, he’s got this instinctual urge to not come off as some try-hard desperately trying to butter you up in hopes of your returned approval of him.

“Hm? It’s nothing, I just think you’d look cute if you grew out your hair a little bit. Don’t you think?” Ah, and there you go— with your surprising compliments spoken out of the blue like that.

“Cute?? Are you seriously tryna fuck with me right now?” Defensive mechanism or whatever to draw up that blank conclusion since this is just about the first time any sort of adjective resembling that of ‘adorable’ by the way, could’ve been made to plainly describe a rowdy, unrelenting boy such as Whitney.

“What? You don’t think so? I think you’re cute as shit, Ney-ney.” That fuckin’ nickname again, god. Quit it, will ya? And, don’t try to tentatively lean closer in his personal space when calmly making that stupid remark too! Your goddamn— ah, hot breath effortlessly heating up the shell of his ear, curled lips almost, insistently pressed against his cheek. “Real fucking cute, actually. Definitely cuter than the average boy that’s for sure— prettier too, but you’ve got too much of a stick up your ass to admit that, don’t you?”

At this point, you’re practically taunting him, and he would’ve unabashedly swung his fist if it weren’t for that said person being you. Grin cracking upon your lips at the doe, wide-eyed look he’s greeting you with, seemingly unable to utter so much as a word to that uncharacteristically depraved statement, or is that your idea of a damn compliment to another guy? Shit, that’s right! Both guys is what you two are— so, his cock hidden underneath the fabric of his ripped jeans, languish legs lazily stretched out along the creaking, wooden bench, shouldn’t be stirring up with peeked interest at the mind numbing prospect of endlessly being called ‘pretty’ by you. Nor profusely encouraging the alarming amount of translucent pre-cum dizzyingly forming at the swollen tip of his cock head, crudely staining the material sheer. Give the blonde a supportive head pat while you’re at it, too. Ah.. should be saying somethin’ right about now lest he wants to appear as some bashful fool.

“I don’t—“

“Yeah, yeah. You don’t swing that way, I know. I’m not hitting on you, I’m just telling the truth as it is. Got any idea how many guys would line up just to fuck your dirty mouth? Maybe your tits too, if they’re into that sorta stuff— shit, I think they’d go for the ass too, definitely. I could make a goddamn fortune just whoring out your pretty, slutty body to the old fucks at the pub, y’know that, Whit?” Endless chattering on and on, explicit details of how some grubby old men could be here, disgustingly groping his flesh instead. Yet, that lingering glimmer within your gaze, noticeably darkening in return at the mere idea of it as your thumb comes forth to idly tap at his blazing cheek.

“But, you know.. I don’t. I won’t. Not cuz’ I’m a nice guy or anything— hah, truthfully, I’m no better than them for wanting to ruin a pretty face like yours.” You’re.. god, he can’t keep up with whatever shit you’re nonchalantly spouting, gracing solely his ears to be the one to silently listen to this.. crap, can’t really say it— fluttering in his tensed stomach from your bold admission, depraved wants just as much as he does late at nights— wanting to fuck him too.

“Honestly, do you know why I don’t use your sorry fuckin’ ass, Whitney?”

If he’s meant to attentively keep up with your words by now, then his brain has happily shut off due to the dizzying amount of semi-insults, degration and somewhat praise shot in his way. Like he’d fucking know, shit!

“See, it’s cuz’ it’s real funny to watch you trotting ‘round my side like some dumb, fucking puppy begging for its owner’s attention. I give you just a bit of praise, and your doggy tail would start wagging if you even had one. You look so goddamn stupid that it’d hurt my conscience to sell you out like this. And, I don’t like it when other fucks touch what’s mine either. I’m not running some gracious charity, am I?” To be truthful, if you tirelessly keep up with that incessant spouting, he’s bound to boil over like some screeching, burning kettle considering.. the obscene amount of scorching heat riddled across his features currently, adorning his cheeks so stupidly — and prettily too, huh— crimson red for your unwavering gaze solely. Seems like you’re liking the rare show in front of you quite a bit, aren’t you?

Stunned would’ve been one of the few lacking words remaining in the thick, daunting dictionary to scarcely describe the absolutely idiotic expression he’s nicely sporting right about now.

“Shut up.. I’m not—“ Fuck, fuck, fuck!! And, how the simple concept of verbal speech dutifully fails the bully at a time like this. Great going there, fuckin’ dumbass! Visibly seething would’ve been the most reasonable reaction in face of this, but— but— fuck! Entirety of this crap is all too quick for his sluggish mind to steadily keep up with your unpredictable actions, pathetically keening with a drawled out curse— no, more like a high-pitched whine is what it truly sounds like, once your calloused palm gingerly strips him free from his relatively loose jeans in one fell swoop.

“What the fuck’re you doin’—?? Mmph, fuck.. don’t—“ Dumb question to be asking when the self-evident answer is plainly in front of him.

Weeping cock, flushed in the cooling, outside air, naturally springing forth out of its constricting confines to audibly slap against his bare rigid tummy. Aw, now ain’t that real pretty to witness? Timid, twitching cock profusely leaking out sticky pre to messily smear along the curve of the blonde’s stomach, which you promptly do the honours for him, unabashedly too.

Always been pretty confident in your audacity to joyfully serve people, haven’t you? By god, he’s half-hated ya for meddling with others private businesses to begin with, although his throbbing cock being so smoothly tended to can say otherwise, idly disagree with his withering logic. Shakily sighing, puffing out heated huffs of air as your so— fuck.. annoyingly warm and soft hand loosely tucks ‘round his fat cock, teasingly squeezes him down at the base. Meanly drawing out more pearly globs of his dribbling pre-cum with a resounding, wet squelch!, undeniable proof of his shared arousal at the newfound situation he’s unfortunately finding himself in.

‘Unfortunately’— one says, funny that you see right through that by the mocking nature of your barking laughter, sharply ringing within his ears.

“My, who’s the exact fucking pervert here, Whit? Y’seem pretty hard to me. Actually, you’re dripping wet down there, y’know that?” No fucking shit. Ready to single-handily cum from a single, measly stroke of your fist snugly wrapped around the veiny girth of his quivering length— fucking hell. Head instinctively thrown back to which you soon wistfully take advantage of, ‘course you would, wouldn’t you? Lazily pressing hot, heated kisses along the sharp edges of his jawline that soon has the same bully, known to be so very resistant, stifling wanton moans, firmly clasping a palm over his gaping mouth in a heedless effort to remain discreet as possible. Slithering, pink tongue laving and tracing over the heated shell of his ear, ushered snickering coupled by bouts of utter filth being so brazenly whispered towards him. And your canines— ah, are not helping at all either. Grazing the bobbing curve of his throat, delicately sucking a bruising mark upon the tanned skin to pridefully admire over later. “Nnh— no, fu— ah, uuckk! N-Not there, you bastard!!”

“Not here? What’s the matter, Ney-Ney? Can’t fucking speak properly when your pretty, pink cock is being stroked off like this?” Would’ve scornfully refuted you, barked out the meanest curses that would’ve had an elderly woman shockingly clutch her pearls if given the chance, but stealing a discreet glance down to humiliatingly witness how sticky and wet his tip has gotten, messily stained your palm in a string of creamy, white pre is not.. Possessing way too much pride to do so. “Y’see, you like this— hah, fuck— you like it when I actually take what I fucking want from you and ruin you down to this cute, little, slutty mess, yeah?”

“I-It’s not like that—“ Uncharacteristically meek protest on his part. Cat got his tongue, ‘s that it?

“No? Pretty boy. Use your words, will you?” Oh, fuuuuckkin’ god. Seeing sheer darkness as his eyes reflexively roll backwards to his skull from casually being called ‘pretty’ by your lulling voice.

Have any idea the way your hushed words dizzyingly affects his fuzzy brain? Renders him alarmingly stiff like a stoned statue, wobbling knees surely bound to buckle beneath the weight of your relentless taunting, all the while being boldly jerked off in broad, fucking daylight — hidden amongst the rustling bushes of the park, mind you — still, very much in an open space where one can be so easily seen by oncoming passerbys. And even then, the absolute control you possess over him, sneakily snaking your arm ‘round his middle, relishing in the little, heated gasps hurriedly rushed out of this dirty, fucking perverted bitch of a blonde’s mouth is too way goddamn much for him to precariously withstand another tortuously long second of this shit.

Yeah, one more minute? He’s fucking busting by then.

“What’s the matter? Can’t keep up? Gon’ shoot your filthy load soon, ‘s that it?” Mild disinterest lacing your very tone with a slight hint of, what’s that..? Actual anticipation? Hah, as if he can barely discern between the mind buzzing layer of reality set upon him when coupled by your soft— so fucking warm, shit.. hand relentlessly fisting him dry, milking every thick droplet steadily trickling forth. Uncaring for the accumulated mess below you both as his hips instinctually roll forward against the rewarding palm of your curled fist, sickeningly jolts at a noticeably harsh press of your padded thumb atop his oozing tip. “Well, then.. Go ahead, I’m not stopping you, am I?”

“Cmon, pretty. Paint my hand all sticky and nice for me, yeah?”

Predictably so, as the uttered rumours had notably confirmed— how downright desperate Whitney’s always apparently been for you to the damn point that he’s automatically cumming on command like a dog patiently withholding for its owner’s words and oh, was it fucking worth the extensive wait. Stifled whimper weakly slipping out, fingers immediately latching onto the comforting feel of your forearm lazily slung around his quivering figure for proper support. No use in making a fool out of himself by clumsily buckling down to his slacked knees— not that he hasn’t already, though too late to be thinking about it twice, huh? Thick, sticky strings of his hot seed directly shot out of his pulsing cock and into the air to, as expected, pervertedly dirty your open hand in a mess of his load which is kinda.. hot, no? Fuckin’ get ahold of yourself, shit! Minus the rest having uncontrollably splattered downwards onto the ground, pitifully traced in a puddled mess of droplets.

And somehow, the barely discernible hint of a relieved breath tumbling from between his parted lips. The natural conclusion that this is it, oncoming closure bound to take its place yet still— still, damn it; Always managed to keep the dirtied blonde on the edge of his toes, haven’t you?

So, truly, it shouldn’t have came off as an unexpected shock then, how you so brazenly mumble a stuttered curse beneath your puffed sighs at the melting sight. “Ah, fuck.” Swiftly freeing your fat— well, admittedly hefty cock for his following eyes to shamelessly gawk at in turn because, y’know.. fuck, he won’t outright voice it, but the sinful glimmer in his wide gaze says it all. Innate itch, unadulterated need— god, to merely sling down to his knees, sloppily drool all over your tasty-looking cock and coat it all shiny and wet with his spit. Although, too busy admiring the rare glimpse of your contorted features strained with pure, unrestrained concentration to bother paying much attention to the repeated, distinct fapping! noises of your cock being so hurriedly stroked raw, as if in a hurry, almost.

Furrowed brows deepening, lashes fluttering in their wake as your rosy lips that he’s known time and time again to be nonchalantly formed into a grin— now, so prettily stained crimson by the harsh press of your teeth against your puffy, bottom lip. “Don’t— ugh, fucking look at me like that.” You audibly groan out in the mix of a huffed chuckle. Slightest flush delicately dusting your cheeks a pink hue, so damn pretty too. “Hah, it makes things kinda awkward, y’know?” Ah, takes less than a stretched minute for his brain to acutely process what’s hit him before given the proper chance.

Something hot— and sticky too, actually it’s pretty evident what it should’ve been if he wasn’t so goddamn brain dead within this bleary moment. Splattering amongst the already present mess you’ve both collectively made of yourself, thick ropes of sweet cum landing right upon his rumpled uniform you’ve taken a gleeful joy of permanently ruining. Judging by the cackling laughter soon drawing forth outta ya thanks to the sheer, dizzying sight of the cum-stained mess he’s forced to pitifully endure for the time being.

Look what you’ve done, god— even if you manage to be one step ahead of him, as always, in such a predicament as the delinquent merely receives a thrown jacket straight in the face. “Sorry for ruining your nice shirt of yours, I couldn’t really help myself when you looked so dumb like that. Take it as an apology, alright?” Exhaling out shakily in the chilling air suddenly alarmingly cold without your warm weight shifted against his own, too deliriously fucked out of his mind to muster up a rightful remark to your cheaply made one. Dumb, little ol’ puppy is what he is to you, no?

And perhaps then, it’s the idiotic absurdity of your actions, swiftly turning away like the encounter itself hadn’t even taken place right at this very spot. Footsteps progressively fading amongst the rhythmic crunches of fallen leaves fluttering down from the withering trees, gaze tentatively flicking downwards to where your stupidly soft, discarded jacket rests within his arms. Meaningless gesture is what it should’ve been notably perceived as, though that doesn’t really help the gradual thump! of his swaying heart noisily beating against his chest nonetheless.

That’s not— oh.

Oh.

“..Fuck.”

Yeah, being wholly swallowed by the ground beneath his feet doesn’t sound so bad now, does it?

[starry-crossed]

i really need to give minthara more credit she joins up in camp for all of 5 minutes and wastes no time apparently interrogating and psychoanalyzing all the companions to avernus and back with devastatingly accurate reads and clear (insightful yet surprisingly compassionate) judgement of all of them

except gale.

[bagginshieldfamily]

Something I need the fix it AU writers who use Frodo as Bagginsgields child to focus more on:

Gimli meeting a hobbit that looks strangely like Thorin Oakenshield but has the last name Baggins before connecting the dots:

[bethanydelleman]

I had tears pouring down my cheeks while I was driving home this morning because I listened to a podcast about the Radium Girls and how hard they fought to hold their employer to account for poisoning them, even though they knew they would die regardless, because they wanted to protect the workers who came after them. Even though their community called them liars and they were in horrible pain, they fought. And then the host started talking about how the Manhattan Project used knowledge gained from the Radium Girls to protect their workers and how the ghosts of those girls and women protected people going forward...

And it made me think of all the ghosts, unnamed and unknown, who in their death protect us: the ghosts of the Titanic, the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, the Quebec Bridge, and so many others. Disasters that made us change laws and protect people, not just because they were horrific but because survivors and survivors families demanded that we change; kept screaming and fighting and pushing until someone listened and something was fixed.

What a debt we owe.

[dallonismysavior]

This is Ed and Stede

And this is Taika and Rhys

[stripedstarsblueflags]

lots of tension after the sprint today so in case you missed it here's lando gently brushing the back of his hand on oscar's chest and also both of them having taken off the glove of the hand specifically to hold (lando took the right off on his way over)

[sofiaruelle]

Elliot and his emotional support crab burning the midnight oil.

[icantdothistodaybruh]

Day 2, Brighton Hotel