#timber sticks

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

Instead of going for Tim, Jason goes for the easiest way to utterly destroy his Replacement and kidnaps his civilian boyfriend to demonstrate just how easy it is to lose something (or someone) you love in this line of work.

And while the whole “make the Replacement beg” part of the plan is going amazing…. Jason really didn’t plan the whole “keeping a conspiracy theorist teenager hostage” through to the end.

Bernard just wants to know what the new crime lord’s deal with Robin is. And why— and how— exactly he’s supposed to be a bargaining chip when he can count the times he met Robin on one hand. oh! and could someone maybe tell his boyfriend, Tim, that he’ll be late for their coffee date on Tuesday?

[thenonbinarydetective]

Did Tim ever like stephanie very much? I know they were in a relationship but stephanie was more into tim than tim was into her. He's more romantic with Bernard than he was with stephanie despite them being together for a long time. I know not every person is romantic but it feels like he saw her as a good friend than romance.

Honestly, mildly controversial, I don’t think he’s more romantic with Bernard. I think it’s bland sap. Written primarily by a writer who didn’t really wanna do drama because they’re a queer ship. You know that shit. I don’t hate timber, I just hate Fitzmartin’s writing.

But, I’m sorry he never saw her as a just good friend until they painfully forced that shit with Bernard. Their meeting was so cringe 😬

Tim loves and love Stephanie so damn much. She is so important to him and ideally always should be. Even if they aren’t together.

He was an absolute loser for her. He fell all over into mush when he saw her. He was aboslutely so in love with her. Tim helped her through and entire pregnancy and birth with a kid that wasn’t even his because of how much he cared. In rebirth he specifically opened a line of communication to tell her that he loved her before he was going to die

They had imperfect writing, but they were written by a lot of white dudes who couldn’t put their misogyny aside for seven seconds. On the other hand with timber we have an attempt to create a hallmark movie that’s somehow worse than actual hallmark movies

[aliteralchicken]

I do still find it funny that Tim was like oh shit do I like guys? How do I know if I do?…wait a minute, I already knows bernard likes me I’m just gonna snog him about it, and they’ve been together ever since, king of fuck around and find out (literal)

[kennimu]

Doodles before i have to go back to school

[notquitehuman-creations]

[ // artistic nudity ]

them!! made anthro models for Timber and Whisper ^^ gonna put them in little outfits

[ratatatastic]

"There are certain guys walking through the hallway—[Niko] Mikkola, Nikita Zadorov, certainly fits this catergory, from the Boston Bruin (from the game we called on Saturday)—they walk through the hallway pregame and then you start to realise, when they're on skates they must be 7 feet tall!"

"Oh my god, Mikkola's huge. Monster."

"He is a tower!"

"He did like it when I called him 'Long Stick.' He thought that was pretty funny. He's got a long stick."

"He's got a long reach, there is no doubt. It is a factor."

[bonefall]

Since Jayfeather can fight Starclan cats, and DF trainees can permakill DF members, could Jayfeather kill a Starclan cat or even force them to fade?

Absolutely.

The mechanics of spirit death goes like this: A spirit is protected by their home. Spirits can't kill spirits in their territory.

So as long as Tigerstar is in the Dark Forest, no spirit can kill him, neither angel nor demon. This is how they demonstrate killing moves; Dark Forest demons just pop back up the next day.

Remove him from the Dark Forest and he is vulnerable. This applies in reverse to angels. Silverpelt protects them but they can die outside of it.

Living cats can kill spirits, at any time. They're protected by the fact they're incorporeal most of the time, but by bringing the living into the Dark Forest and attacking on the day of the eclipse, the demons put themselves in danger.

So... Jayfeather could kill any spirit if he wanted to. I don't think he can mind control them though, or Thanos-snap them or anything. But he can physically affect them, with his own two paws.

[fosterscribbles]

next in my never ending series of oc icons: a bunch of my sonas again. Had to redo two fursona icons bc i didnt like them anymore (and also Tim's design changed). Now including my robot sona, ponysona, and my mascot/persona!

[sleepingtimber]

Any other nonhumans struggle with 'types that 'contradict' each other? My brain is fighting itself on a recent discovery because it supposedly contradicts the other parts of my nonhumanity, even though it's a diverse experience that has no rules because, yknow, it's my identity.

[screampied]

☆ cw. fem! reader, college au, first lesson, dumbification, praise, he's so nerdy, squırting, unprotected, mdni.

nerd! nanami who ends up teaching you a few ‘fundamentals’ of squirting after you end up gushing out by accident.

“oh, my,” he’d huskily croon, taking a short glance at your body that’s laid flat on his timber desk. mousy eyes zero up ‘n down your entire frame before he groans, feeling your legs snake around his slim torso. after another hourly long session of cramming your brain with pounds of boring information, you’d probably forget by the next day, you told nanami that you wanted to try out ‘penetration.’ and now, that came with you gushing straight out with his meaty shaft buried snugly deep inside of you. he grows quiet, smacking his lips as he feels your slobbering cunt dripping wetly like a running never-ending faucet. it’s almost adorable with the way your face scrunches up and you’re clawing at the buckle of his drooping belt with shaky hands. “we haven’t gone over that area yet, sweetheart,” and you’re moaning, feeling your back tickle against the scattered piles of marked papers that laid directly underneath you. “ah, ah. don’t close ‘em,” he purrs, staring as your stick-glossed quavery legs try to snap themselves shut. “let me examine the wet problem a bit closer.”

“w- was that supposed to happen?” you breathe through rushed pants, frantically chewing on your bottom lip as you watch him pull out. he’s slow, feeling your slight muscles tense and spasm as you drenched the entirety of his stilled dick with molasses of your webby slick. “f- fuck,” you whimper, and nanami’s pressing a pointed thumb down against the pearly top part of your tender clit. gradually, he’s swirling a plethora of exaggerated shapes alllll around your tender entrance, lowering his head once his turgid cock’s fully out of you.

with a placid hum, nanami nods. “don’t fret, sweet thing. it’s normal,” and you prepare a deep, heavy breath as you try to peek down, watching nanami re-adjust his clear-framed glasses. “but, do you think you can do that again? i’m . . having a bit of trouble with my vision,” and he softly presses a chaste kiss against your cunt. shortly after, a slimy dewy web of stringy juices merrily glues against his lips. “i believe if my hypothesis is correct . . if ‘m closer like thiiiis,” and you moan, feeling the cold lenses of his glasses press right up against your puffed folds. “you’ll help me solve just how much of a wet girl you can get for me this time.”

openly, nanami eyes at your sopping pussy that’s just pouring from all areas with so many dewdrops of slick. a shimmery stream of your syrupy arousal cascades down the slot of your entrance and oh- it’s so pretty. at least to him.

if you squinted enough, you could see the obscene mirroring reflection of the shiny glossed view that rests between your legs from the clear lenses of his glasses. “clitoral glands,” he starts to ramble, rubbing a thumb near the top bulb-shaped part of your twitching heat. “clitoral body,” and you moan, feeling him swerve his digit down lower. “but let’s skip to . . . her,” nanami coos huskily, and you gasp once his round thumb plugs itself inside you after just a few loose inches. you swallowed that single digit right up oh-so blissfully.

like a hidden trick of a magician—his finger disappears inside of your cunt, and it presses against a particular small texture right above your lower opening. “. . that pretty urethra of yours.”

there - that’s where you felt the exact pressure of yourself gushing out, creaming down his cock with such a vivid risqué spray.

you’re still getting over it as your jaw dangles open—mouth cutely wholly ajar and all. as nanami continues to toy with your slobbering clit, he silently grumbles whatever extra clitoris facts underneath his breath. a single finger that was tucked inside of your gummy orifice gradually transitions into two, and you let off the sweetest moan that rang against his ears.

“such a pretty pussy from an even prettier girl,” and his words smokily deepen as he loudly ‘pops!’ both fingers out of your drenched slit. it’s all puffy now, drooling from each slippery flap. nanami sits up before re-aligning his milky-covered tip against your sobbing cunt.. “mini pop quiz,” he grumbles, letting off a deep sigh once his flushed crownhead languidly slides its way between the split of your folds. you’re laid back against the desk with a pout twisting across both sides of your lips.

pop… quiz?

nanami adjusts his crooked glasses by shoving them slightly back with a middle finger before humming. “riddle me this,” and a sweet moan drags its way past your throat once he’s smearing his bulbous tip across your sticky entrance.

left-to-right and it’s hypnotic. “what is the majorly important gland of the clit that helps lubricate the vagina properly?” and nanami presses a large hand on your tummy, simpering at the cute silence for an answer. with a snicker, he tilts his head at your quirked brow. “oh- c’mon. this is easy, we talked about this two days ago.”

“t . . the um-” you stammer, the throbbing of your clit increasing with each delicious second that passed. with your mind joggling its empty memory, you inhale a moan that was desperately trying to escape from your spit-stained lips. “the clitoral glands?”

“close, but no, dumb girl,” and with a smack, nanami whacks his swollen tip against the front of your weeping pussy. you finally release that moan you were holding onto with heave after heave puffing out your chest. “try again. this time, actually use that brain for me, yeah?”

you pout, and after about four seconds you left off a whiny grump. “is it . . the skene’s glands?”

“good girl,” and you let off a needy mewl once he rubs a palm against your pussy. his personal way of praising you without words, even after calling you a ‘good girl.’

it’s a soft, enticing rub that smears the entirety of your slick around his entire palm, coating it right away.

you’re so wet - pathetically drenched that you stick your candied juices all over the prints of his hand.

“it’s very important that you know about the skene’s glands. just like how important it is for me to teach you how soaked you are,” and you don’t even realize it, but the second he spanks against your cunt once more with his palm, you’re squirting . . again.

it’s a thick shiny geyser that ends up spurting out of you with a loud pssssh! and your toes curled in ecstatic rapture. you’re whining at how sudden and abrupt it was, and nanami just shakes his head with a wry smile. a hand maneuvers in a circular rotation against your pussy as you finish your three-second monumental high. “f- fuuuck, fuck!” you whimper out the same colorful syllables through your lips as your eyelids droop.

as you’re panting, still feeling the scattered bundles of paper rub and prick against the back of your skin, you eye nanami through murky peripherals. pretty ‘n glossed-eyed, you let off a shaky puff before moaning. “did . . did i pass?”

“not quite,” nanami takes his glasses off. they were still a bit soaked from earlier, a bit of your own droplets of literal juices fogging the lenses before he gave it a sweet lick. filthy. nanami squints at your twitching body before slithering a fat thumb down your tender, convulsing pussy for the nth and last time. “think we still have more basics to go over,” and he positions his head right back down between the eagle-spread valley of your legs, whistling riiiight between your driveling, puffy slit.

“besides,” and you whine once he gives your cunt its final, sloppy spank. “my only criticism— is that, we could work on that squirt velocity a little bit more,” and he pats your cunt before staring straight at your pulsating entrance, hungrily licking his lips.

“i wouldn’t mind training her, heh.”

[minnaci]

in a very rare good girl mood, but in the way that a boy can be a good girl

[kustombeams]

Which Wooden Roof Should You Choose?

Are you thinking about building a new home or renovating your current one and not sure which roof type to choose? Take a look at our blog post called "Truss Beams vs Stick-Built Roofs: Which is Better?" It breaks down important factors like durability, design options, and more to help you decide wisely.

[dilf-hunter-fantasies]

[900 words of fluff and cock worship]

daydreaming about…

Older boyfriend Joel who is so patient and tender with you. He slips out of the bedroom without turning on a light in the mornings, not wanting to disturb your sleep. But he never forgets to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, murmuring something sweet, before he leaves.

And on the weekends it’s the same. Except he comes back in an hour or two, just to leave a coffee on the nightstand for you. Doting without smothering, or risking your morning attitude.

Some days you don’t wake up until you smell the earthy coffee, steam still swirling from the mug. But most of the time he barely makes it to the doorway before you croak out a quiet, “Wait.”

“Come here,” you lilt in your rich timbered morning voice, stretching your arms toward him. It never gets old to him, no, he thinks it’s one of the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard. One of the most heavenly sights.

You can only grin lazily at him. Your gaze drags down, over his handsome smile, over the rippling muscles of his chest and arms under his worn tee, and skimming over the bulge in his loose sweats.

You scoot toward the middle of the bed, hold up the cover, inviting him into the warmth you’ve been nestled in. He climbs in and scoops you onto the broad plane of his chest.

“Morning, pretty girl,” he rumbles beneath you, voice deep as the ocean. It’s so serene to be in his strong arms. Nobody has ever grounded you like this, anchored you, physically and emotionally.

It’s not that being older makes him smarter or wiser than you, rather, he’s the first to brag about your accomplishments or support your goals. It’s the way that time has taught him gratitude.

Joel is present with you. So alive. Flesh and blood, warm and firm. He’s not in a rush, not sacrificing his energy chasing benchmarks or brushing you off to prove something.

He’s there with you.

Sometimes he just holds you in a peaceful quiet. You listen to his breathing and his heartbeat. Until the sun gets higher in the sky and the world comes to life.

But most of the time you can’t resist wiggling your hips against him and biting your lip. Fucking with him, just until you feel his dick start to stir.

Joel’s heart flutters at your breathy giggles, but when your laughter is cut off with a gasp, the heat rushes lower. He likes the game you play, always teasing him and acting surprised at how fiercely he wants you. How badly he needs you. It never takes long before he’s rock hard, straining against his sweats, precum leaving a little dark patch against the soft material between you.

Sometimes everything stays slow and syrupy, just grinding and rubbing against each other until Joel can’t take it anymore. Until he has to roll you over so he can sink into your soft, warm cunt. Sometimes you take turns spoiling each other with greedy hands and mouths until you’re both sweating and sticking to each other.

But sometimes you do this thing that sends him right over the edge. You sit up and perch your ass on the meat of his thighs, far enough down that you can pull at his waistband freeing his throbbing cock. The way you grin just playing with it makes him dizzy.

You’re so fucking hot without even trying.

You’re always fascinated by his dick, hard or soft.

Always amused with the bounce it makes when you let go of his shaft and the weight makes it slap against his lower belly. You like the mess of it, the precum that beads, and rolls from his slit, the string of it connecting to the dark hair on his stomach. You’re easily infatuated by the heat of his length in your palm, the silky smooth skin, the veins and the angry red tip. The lust on your face is unmistakable.

Joel could cum just seeing the ardor in your eyes and the greedy way you wet your lips. But then, matching his gaze and lowering your body, you lick a hot, wet stripe from base to tip. His entire body shudders, overwhelmed with the heavenly bliss.

When you finally envelop him in the wet furnace of your mouth, he’s on another planet, groaning and praising you, encouraging you with a massive palm wrapped around the back of your head. Completely at your mercy, he’ll do anything you want. You get him so blissed out he’s nearly incoherent.

He rarely lasts long enough to fuck you properly on those mornings. But when you finally let him get his hands between your legs he could nearly cum a second time just feeling how wet you are.

Drenched.

So absurdly turned on, he barely gets to sink his thick digits inside of you before you’re gasping and crying out his name. But you love it. Nobody has ever made you burn with such intensity and ache with such desire.

And he’s generous. Joel never stops until you’re tugging at his wrist, pulling his arm away as you tremble and spasm.

And some days when you come back to yourself and find yourself staring into his deep brown eyes you think you’d like to spend your mornings like this for the rest of your life.

🍒 🌸

click here for more of my writing

[burning-stars98]

Some art I've made in the past week or so

[alnilaem]

so the neighborhood with butcher!simon is dangerous 🤔🤔

how would he react to reader’s apartment getting broken into while they’re both at home?

i think he would make good use of the meat grinder at the butcher shop if you uhhhh catch my drift

anon your mind!!

it would start as three soft rasps next door, which already stirs Simon’s intrigue. he hears a man’s voice sifting through the corridor, in front of your flat, and poises himself like a dog that’s about to attack.

it’s something about coming to fix leak, and fleetingly, a stint of envy lays hold of Simon. why didn’t you ask him? hasn’t he already made it clear it’s his duty to help you? you’re a woman alone in neglected Manchester. he doesn’t want you asking others for help.

your voice cuts a way through the wall. “I didn’t call for a plumber?” and if Simon’s hackles weren’t raised, if he wasn’t acutely aware, he would have cooed at the confusion distorting your voice.

the plumber presses, insisting you open the door. I’ve already driven all the way here, you called me a week ago—you just don’t remember.

a whisper of fear seizes you. and on the other side of the wall, Simon bares his teeth. he’s had his fair-share of shady shit. worked in dodgy places for dodgy people, so it clicks in his brain like violet light when the aforementioned plumber quietens, presentiment hanging in the air.

then, a crack. resounding, but not unbecoming for this area of town. the plumber is hurling his body against the fickle wood of your door, making a depression within the timber.

bang, bang, bang, and the splitting of wood is all you hear. your brain is too high-strung to recognise Simon’s door opening, or the sound of battering on your door ripening into the hollow sound of flesh against flesh. knuckles splitting against bone, a soft, snuffed-out holler that seems to get smothered under the bubbling of blood and fists.

your mind is reeling. your brain is delayed. belatedly, you catch up. you set your cheek to your door, your tears sticking to the wood. sniffling. “hello?”

“’m here, love, it’s me,” Simon replies. his voice is heavier than usual, caught on the angry chatter of his teeth. “don’t come out, okay? stay there.”

Simon stands in the middle of the corridor, huffing like a bull. there’s blood and salt crusted in the margins of his hands—more than he’s ever had at the butcher shop.