#with possibly more to follow

[thegarbagechute]

Some of my fave photos that I’ve taken of amazing cosplayers at Star Wars Celebration London ‘23 (1/3)

[makenna-made-this]

Okkkkkk so where is Chicken Miku?

Anon the way i dropped everything when i saw this

HATSUNE BEAK-U

(based on the Onagadori chicken breed)

[ringosmistress]

[stars-obsession-pit]

A cult has been causing trouble for the Infinite Realms in their search for power and eternal life. And to make things worse, the Observants suspect that they have at least one actual ghost—or possibly even a traitorous Observant—working with them and interfering with their view. This could become a major problem…

However, as Observants, they’ve sworn not to intervene directly, so they have to pick someone else to look deeper into the situation for them. And, if necessary, to deal with it.

They choose Phantom for this role, since his half-human nature means he’ll have an easier time operating in the living world. Danny’s not entirely happy with the assignment, but the situation does seem like a genuine issue so he’s willing to look into it (if in his own way).

Since he doesn’t know how prepared the cult is for ghosts, he decides that infiltration would be the best way to gather info. Thus, he takes on a new identity in his human form and approaches the cult, expressing interest in the publicly known part of their group. Then, a bit later, he manages to successfully gain admittance into some of the more private meetings. Everything is progressing as planned!

…Though he didn’t expect to like one of his fellow initiates so much. He hopes he can change their mind on things and bring them out of the cult with him when he’s done.

Meanwhile, a hero from the Justice League has also been sent to infiltrate the cult and investigate the rumors about it. It’s gone off without a hitch so far, but they’ve gained a potential entanglement in the form of one of the other new members whom they’re developing a crush on…

[pemprika]

a lifetime of happiness

**hnk ch 108 spoilers**

Can't believe it's already been a month since Houseki no Kuni ended... It's been a ride leading up to the finale but I finished the series with tears welling up in my eyes, and a sense of peace. 😭

The ending was hopeful and meaningful— an unexpectedly lovely conclusion for Phos! 🤧 I love the visual metaphor of Phos and the gems being reborn into "The Pure Land", or known as, The Land of the Lustrous, a purified paradise free of materialism and earthly temptations. These delicate gem flowers holding tiny, unique universes, will be eternally brightened by Phos' radiant existence. With the possibility of other universes, I hope that Phos and the others will meet again and lead more fulfilling lives together!! 🛌💭

The way my jaw dropped realizing Ichikawa ended the last chapter on number 108, the Buddhist symbol of overcoming worldly desires and embracing new beginnings to attain nirvana. SO good...😦 The parallel between big brother and Phos, both on self-destructive, morally ambiguous paths for their loved ones/ideals, was a compelling twist. I love them both... 😢 As Aechmea and Adamant hoped, big brother passed on knowing he helped Phos find happiness. 😭 Wailing...

This series has profoundly impacted me more than I imagined, shaping my perspectives on my own values and the world. Despite it coming to an end, we will always stay connected across time and space, just like Phos!!! 🥺🤍

Thank you, Haruko Ichikawa, for creating such a memorable piece of work, and to everyone who has liked my hnk art and commentaries throughout the years! I'll continue loving and drawing the series for as long as I can. 🙇

[sharkenedfangs]

— ☆ “SWEET LIKE NECTAR.”

— #. synopsis. because to whitney, there’s nothing prettier, downright satisfying to gaze upon the rosy cheeks you adopt in response to the invasive questioning, that pride of yours so amusing to patiently chip away at, piece by piece. in fact, if you could, you’d evade it altogether though that would mean defeat, wouldn’t it? and there’s nothing you detest more in this shitty world than to fucking lose.

— #. content warning! step-cest, dub-con, anal fucking, nipple sucking, some light degradation here and there as in the use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ , referring to whitney’s chest as ‘tits’ , big brother whitney being a bitch, loser male reader being an even bigger one in that respect and fuck, did I forget anything else?

— #. word count? 5.2k, if I remember correctly. this is a repost.

— #. something more to say, asher? : “I couldn’t help myself. had to bring back the classic onto here, y’know. ruining whitney’s slutty hole never gets old, specially big brother.”

Moreover, you should’ve probably have expected this one measly question to slip past your older brother’s lips, leering gaze openly taking your conflicted expression in as if taunting you to properly answer. You wouldn’t lie to me, would you? ‘Course not, like you could anyway. He’d see right past it like he usually does, testing the waters — he’d call it, laying out the fresh bait for your conscious little self to latch onto immediately.

Because to Whitney, there’s nothing prettier, downright satisfying to gaze upon the rosy cheeks you adopt in response to the invasive questioning, that pride of yours so amusing to patiently chip away at, piece by piece. In fact, if you could, you’d evade it altogether though that would mean defeat, wouldn’t it?

And there’s nothing you detest more in this shitty world than to fucking lose.

Especially to this one bastard. Too damn nosy to discreetly mind his own business, y’know? Always the one to hover too close for comfort, bated breath feathering delicately against the soft skin of your flushed ear, to keep you tightly on edge. Long past that, it’s starting to get on your nerves how self-assured he is in his flawed reasoning, simply since he had you sloppily suck him off once on the worn couch and now, it’s what? Only natural to drag you around like some sort of thoughtless puppy? Shamelessly refer to you as his trained, little bitch who’ll get on his knees for the right price?

Gotta be fucking kidding then.

It was the alcohol. Nothing, but the intoxicating substance drumming along your veins that had you act in such a debauched manner, had your painfully hard cock straining against the front of your pants. Yeah. Right? That’s all there was to it. Nothing more.

At least, that’s what you keep insistently reminding yourself of despite the growing, churning heat in your stomach, the not-so-subtle twitching of your hardening cock stirring beneath your ripped jeans or the individual droplets of sweat gently trickling down the navel of your slouched back. Alright, keep fucking lying to yourself then. Surely that’ll help you with your current predicament that you’ve stuck yourself into, muddied foot deep within the shallow trenches and a solid grasp firmly placed around your ankle, threatening to snap your dignity in half.

“Well?” Visibly irritated by your lack of answer, it’s Whitney’s increasingly impatient, snappy voice that unfortunately draws you back from your spiralling calculations — whether to respond with the humiliating truth or not. Can’t let it go, can he? Hence why he so nonchalantly has you sat on his used bed, the rusted springs hidden beneath the dusty mattress alerting your every subtle movement with a distinct creak reverberating through the thin walls.

“Well, what?” Idiot, you know very damn well what he’s getting at, it’s not like you suffer from some sort of amnesiac disease to utilise cluelessness and have him fooled with such blatant tactics.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” Should be wiping that snide, awful smirk that instantly appears on his face as he carelessly articulates the question once more. Shameless in his pursuit, hungrily eyeing you up and down like an untouched piece of meat to greedily feast upon, sink his pearly, white fangs into.

Oh, thank the heavens that you weren’t consuming any sort of liquid right this moment because it would’ve been shot straight out of your throat, maybe your nose even considering the absurd sentence from your very own brother — step-brother, to be exact. Still in denial that you two could potentially call each other family, far too homely of a term than the puzzling relationship you both share. Speaking of, you haven’t replied to his question yet and by the looks of it, he isn’t looking too pleased with you if you were to stretch this on any further than it should be.

“N-No, I’ve actually fucked my fair share of girls.” Oh yeah, he’s definitely believing you with that stuttering, the uncertainty all too evident in your tone that only a complete, utter moron would’ve fallen for it. Fucking liar. It wasn’t as though you were entirely lying though, having indeed fucked a girl before, but does it really count if that same person were to be your younger sister, Kylar? At most, you’ve had your decent amount of experiences with others, dated a few girls here and there which is to be acceptable for the average boy of your age. However, beyond the intimate acts of holding hands and bashful kissing, you remained oblivious to the process of well, sex — save for the over the top, raunchy porn you’d occasionally watch and that sole encounter with Kylar that taught you far more than any cheap film ever could.

So, it’s still reasonable, is it not? Though this is Whitney you’re directly dealing with and you know better than to assume he’d take plain ‘no’ for an answer, often brash in his selfish desires. No, more like every time whenever he does act, it leads up to the very same, repetitive situation you’ve familiarized yourself to. You, beneath him. You, helpless in the face of his cruel actions.

Not this time though — fuck, that nasty, little scheme of yours slowly, but ever so surely lurking within the depths of your working mind, grateful for the blonde’s clear ignorance of the shit you were ready to commit to regain that minuscule shred of dignity back. None the wiser, preferring it’d remain that way.

And he can only sharply scoff back to your half-assed attempt at muttering obvious falsehoods. Too cunning of a bastard and god, does it mess with you. “Bullshit. You think I’d believe that? Fuckin’ cmon, admit it. You’ve never really fucked a girl before, huh?” That sickening, creeping nausea steadily filling the depths of your guts from the way he so arrogantly taunts you through his ‘light-hearted’ insults, inadvertently painting you as some sort of virgin loser that never so much as had the slightest chance of growing affectionate with another woman. Fucked your goddamn sister so that’s a one-up on you, huh? Hell, you know better than to let such an obscene admission escape you — since she’s your sister now too, that innocence you so greedily stripped away that one faithful evening within the four corners of her room.

Rather not indulge in such sinful thoughts at the moment, not when your prolonged silence is only confirming his self-righteous suspicions to which he so stubbornly convinced himself of. Knowing better than to reason with your older brother, it’s merely when you do finally relent with a reluctant nod of your head — still maintaining a thin layer of deceit, mind you — that his smug grin widens considerably in return. “So you’re an unused slut, basically.” Choice of words never was the delinquent’s forte, but his crude, frank vocabulary certainly is as he so eloquently puts it. “Hah — I fuckin’ knew it. Wouldn’t be cumming so quickly if you weren’t.” He huffs back in amusement at the sight of your apparent fluster, always so damn squirmy whenever he playfully pokes fun at one of your concealed insecurities. Oh, you really don’t know the dizzying effect you have on him, do you?

The numerous nights spent lazily fisting the base of his cock underneath the woollen covers placed over his bare, sweating body to at the very least obscure his depraved actions — not that he cared much whether he was scandalously caught or not. Much so, he’d prefer if it were you to coincidentally’ walk in on him mid-jerk off session, land a helping hand to big brother and let him use you however he saw fit. Fuck, yeah. That’d aid him in his ever growing lust for you, borderline animalistic in how he addictively sought you out as expected, like a sweet, sweet drug longing to be taken. A sweet nectar freshly ripe for the taking, plucked free from the gracious buds of the tree to gratefully sink his fangs into and savour the refreshing taste lingering on his tongue.

Feels so right to defile your prudish self, doesn’t it? So, don’t blame him then. Don’t blame him when he suggests— no, coldly orders you to strip off your damn pants which prompts another gaping stare of yours to the sudden command. Handsome, but so, so clueless, aren’t you? Needs to tell you to do everything for your sluggish brain to eventually catch up to his ever approaching rhythm, cocky grin plastered onto his lips signalling that your step-brother is indeed not kidding around as per usual.

“What’re you waitin’ for? I said, strip.” It’s not a gentle reminder nor a well-intentioned push in the right direction, it’s a repeated warning of his thinly veiled frustrations peeking its way through, past the useless restraints he placed onto himself when he could easily be given what he’s wanted. Not without force, though that is in Whitney’s nature to be as rough as possible, having grown accustomed to things going his way whenever he inevitably turned to bloodied brutality. After all, the bully doubts so himself that you don’t furtively desire this all the same too, conflicted movements headed towards the leathered loop of your belt as you willingly comply as tasked to. Good boy, knew you had it in y’a.

“Do I really gotta do this?” If it weren’t for the pretty, pink flush adorning the entirety of your face right now, your older brother would’ve definitely snapped back with a snarky remark of his own, however the sight itself is enough to let him have your dumb self uselessly hope a little further. What does it look like, little brother? Has Whitney ever backtracked on his truthful words?

“Yeah, you gotta cuz’ I told you to. Now just fuckin’ do it already, slut. I don’t got all day.”

“..Fine.” Having fully predicted such a response, heavy shoulders slouching lazily in defeat from the refusal, you shyly carry on with the clumsy strip tease of yours. Can never get your way with him, can y’a?

Goddamn it, shamefully reprimanding yourself for even following suit to his harsh retort though, can you really blame yourself? He’s got you — fucking, trained you like a dog. That’s what it is, a stupid, dumb mutt that can’t help but intrinsically cave in to its depraved instincts as his rightful owner happily taught him to, mindlessly huffing and wagging its fluffy tail to the sugary sweet praise whispered to him. Conditioning you to his every whim as a promising, rewarding treat awaits in exchange for your dutiful obedience, not bothering to keep your remaining underwear either. Big brother knows best, huh? Look at that pitiful expression etched along your features, averting gaze straying away from his piercing own that’s settled precisely on the drooling tip of your fat, twitching cock dribbling out an alarming amount of pre-cum. How you resist the underlying temptation to automatically press your legs together, denying Whitney of that upfront, perverted view of your spread thighs. So damn easy to get you riled up in a matter of seconds when a tight, warm hole is involved in the filthy equation.

As ensured, you’ll receive as you wish, pup. Only natural to fulfill what you so gravely desire when you’ve been so good so far, right? Offer you the bearing fruits of your well-earned efforts in return while you thoughtlessly salivate over the mere idea, yeah?

“Whitney, this is kinda embarrassing..” Kinda? Practically humiliating to display yourself so lewdly like this, however not as if you hadn’t experienced this rarely either in the past few weeks that steadily transpired. Should’ve grown used to it by now, actually. Still, the lingering shyness of brazenly exposing yourself like this was too much to bear at times, especially with the other’s daunting ogling. Really has to unabashedly eye-fuck you every single time or something. It’s.. somewhat flattering to be throughly appreciated like this despite instinctively knowing it’s out of pure, utter objectification.

Aimlessly losing yourself in the middle of your straying thoughts, it’s the recurring shuffling of fabric carelessly being thrown onto the wooden, creaking floor that draws you back to the hazy reality before you. Fuck, a wet dream is a far more suitable term with how this is stereotypically playing out, the confident, sure movements of your older brother’s calloused hands busying themselves with the hem of his waistband and — oh, he’s surely tugging his sweats down, okay. His.. fucking dick, god — how didn’t you conveniently notice how rock hard his cock was beneath that cotton thin material? Leaving you to breathlessly gawk at the free view of Whitney’s drooling tip roughly smacking against the tensed muscles of his stomach, briefly connecting strings of pre-cum to meld with his cooling sweat. Retaking that relaxed, slouched position along the single bed as if he isn’t currently stark naked in front of your unmoving eyes. That distracting to you, huh? Horny mutt.

“Like what you see, slut?” That fucking conceited tone of his makes you want to respond with anything but an affirmative yes, though through the thick lump you swallow down your throat, it’s the muted nod of your head that further serves him to grin widely in satisfaction. Wanna prove him wrong so badly, so damn so. Yet, how can you when he’s shown you all the reasons not to?

Should’ve been paying closer attention then, baby brother. How your brain immediately shuts off in a haze of confusion, numbing static prickling at your empty mind once the blonde instead settles himself comfortably onto your awaiting lap. “Fuckin’ nice seat.” Would’ve been a more comedic remark if it weren’t for the provoking press of his bare ass flush against your pulsing cock, questionably twitching in approval from the brief physical contact. Christ, get a grip on yourself, you moron but, oh — Fuck. You could just.. fucking slip it in and it wouldn’t hurt to let Whitney take the lead as predicted, greedily relish in the slippery warmth fervently welcoming you? Since at the end of the day, you’re just a man, no? A simple man with stupidly horny urges and needs to gratefully sink his cock into the nearest wet hole that merely happens to be his big brother’s whorish one.

Still, that portion of your mind beckons you to reason along with the weirdly alluring pull of plainly muttering out fuck it, shove it in and— and, do the nastiest shit possible, y’know? Yeah, you should do it. Actually, no. No way in fucking hell should you proceed with it. Uselessly humping your hips upwards with a sickening jolt that draws a relieving sigh from the both of you. Stop it, you pervert. You’ve become no better than him, have you?

“W-What’re you doing..?” Is all you can pathetically muster to his blatantly obvious actions, knowing full well what he’s truly doing. Riling you up. Teasing along the edges of your withering limits till it collapses fully onto the ground. It’s what he does best, driving you insane on the daily from school, to outside, to home and his room you frequently pay visits to at night.

“What does it look like I’m doin’? I’m about to fuck your cute cock, pretty boy.” Pretty. Ah, that shouldn’t be your main focus with how he announces it so casually, essentially admitting he’s planning to ride you. Struggling to grasp onto the foreign concept of him, well— being on the receiving end of sex. Doesn’t he like, usually prefer to be the one in the dominant position? In fact, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he had selfishly decided to fuck your ass next, fill it to the brim with his seed. Yet, here he is, contently rubbing himself on your flushed, oozing tip, swearing gently as it barely grazes his puckered hole, thoughtlessly clenching around practically nothing. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m only doing this to stake my claim on you, alright? Not fuckin’ fair if some bitch gets to fuck your virgin dick first so, hah— I’m making you into a proper slut. My slut.”

Very convincing, Whitney. Not so much so when he’s shuddering eagerly above you like a man about to be given the slightest taste of heaven itself, namely your cock it seems. Hot. Shit, it is a pretty hot sight, you’ve gotta admit.

So, is this purely a flimsy excuse of his to fuck himself stupid on your dick? Need that much to blindly persuade you he isn’t some sort of drooling cockwhore deep down? Nice try, big brother. Well, you can effortlessly see through his nonchalant act, the barely discernible, rosy flush dusting along his cheeks confirming his secretive, depraved and filthy desires simmering deeply within his core.

“Fuckin’ — ah, help me put it in already.” The resounding gasp escaping him is so breathy, so unlike the dominant, assertive Whitney you’ve familiarized yourself with that your lethargic brain hardly registers his direct order, sounding more like a frantic plea than anything else. Put it in? The little, stuck-up bastard is having difficulty sliding it in, resorting to your aid to lend a helping hand to his futile struggles? That’s cute. The indiscernable trace of a smirk beginning to form onto your lips from his uncharacteristically submissive demeanour, still withholding a decent amount of control in this situation here. Ah, what’re you even saying? He’s given you full leverage to wreck his tight, little hole as you happily please, fuck yourself deeper in that wet warmth you’ve been subconsciously seeking out. You’re the one cupping him within the palm of your hand, oddly contented with this newfound revelation, this switch of power dynamics.

“Can’t you put it in yourself then. It’s not that hard, is it? You’re the one always wanting to everything so I think it’s only fair you do it.” Indulging in the scowl that appears shortly on his straining features only to dissolve under another one of his tough exteriors. “Fuck, you want me to? Can’t put it in yourself, huh?” He counters snidely, grasping for the bottle of lube conveniently placed on the night dresser nearby, accompanied by barking out a sharp huff of laughter as you cuss out loud a fuck! from the cooling, sticky mixture squirted plainly onto your cock.

“Shit! That’s cold! Why’d you pour it on me? Aren’t you supposed to put it in your— y’know? Your—“ Pausing bashfully in your tracks, immaturity running so deeply you couldn’t even properly stammer out the term if you wished to.

“My what? My ass? I’m not putting that in there, I can fuck myself on your cock just fine without that crap.” Lewd. That’s so lewd how he outwardly states it, blazing face hidden behind your cupped palms as though such a gesture would make this alright, make whatever he’s doing — smoothly grinding on the tip of your lubed, quivering length, how his hole teasingly snatches onto your flushed, leaking cock head only to disappointingly let go again. Fuck, fuck — Fuck. Doing this on purpose, isn’t he? Intent on driving you mad before he even manages to shove it in.

But, as previously stated before, there’s nothing you hate more than to lose, don’t you?

Really, he should be the one blaming himself for your rash and impulsive movements, shouldn’t be letting out that surprised yelp, silenced by a high-pitched gasp as you finally have had enough of his provoking mockery to mutter out a sharp fuck it and drive your increasingly impatient cock right in. Head stupidly thrown back in sheer shock from the unfamiliar yet admittedly pleasurable sensation of having his tight, virgin hole stuffed full of your cock right about now. Clear outline of your entire length pulsing deep within him by the noticeable quivering of his toned tummy, which you don’t hesitate to firmly plant your palm against to draw another satisfying, strangled whimper past his lips. Whore.

“Ah, fucking shit— You’re so fucking tight. Relax a bit for me or I can’t move.” Might as well be snapping your dick in half from the unbearable clenching of his unused insides, warm insides that you’re pervertedly staining white with every glide of your forceful thrusts, every harsh slam of your hips against his ass. Can’t stop yourself though — God, no. Not when the addictive heat of his hole envelops you so damn fucking well, rendering you both to mindlessly cling onto each other, entangled bodies slick with hot sweat trickling steadily down the navel of your arched backs. Namely his. And oh, he really does feel so good. Never mind all the shit he’s done, the stingy tugs of his fists deep within your messied hair, urging you to fuck yourself deeper into his trembling frame. This is the sweet taste of revenge you’ll so dearly savour, hungrily imprinting every choked moan to memory for later reminiscing.

Isn’t he so cute too? Tightening fingertips digging harshly into your shoulders for proper stability, an immediate roll of his eyes to the back of his skull whenever you angle your hips to hit that overly sensitive spot that sends a sickening jolt up his spine. Bound to be leaving marks, though that’s the least of your concerns with how goddamn pretty he looks when fucked stupid, fucked utterly brainless to match the feverish haze of his glazed over eyes. “See? I think you secretly enjoy it, Whitney. I think you— hah, fuck — enjoy that I’m taking the lead for once. ‘S that it? You like havin’ my cock inside you, huh? Like it when your little brother fucks you?” No matter how many times he may blatantly refuse and deny it, through the clawing of his nails, etching bloodied scars into your back that are sure to reside in your skin later on— You fucking know by the squeeze of his slutty hole, ring of cream having settled nicely around the base of your cock.

“F-Fuckin’—“ Big brother having trouble speaking? “Bastard, shut— ah! up!” The pitiful whine echoing deeply from his throat almost makes you want to cease your endless blabbering, but y’know what? Fuck that. May as well endure the severe consequences of his actions, from the second you had arrived here, it was bound to end solely in one conclusion. You, balls deep in his ass. You, stupidly drunk off the mere act of ruthlessly fucking your older brother cuz’ shit, does it feel so amazingly good. “If you keep looking at me like that, it only— hah, makes things harder for me here. God, Whitney.. Don’t fucking stop squeezing me, ‘kay?” Not really doing any better than him either, any semblance of control within you possibly thrown out the window with every pleasurable stroke of your cock being sucked so sloppily by his stretched out hole. One thing the delinquent was right about — You being the equivalent of a dumb mutt. A dumb, drooling mutt huffing over his bare chest, depraved instincts kicking in to suck on whatever happens to be nearest and that consequently leads to your dazed gaze zeroing in on his swollen nipples.

Pretty, so fucking pretty. It’s not fair.

Deserving of every torturous inch his tight hole greedily swallows up, the sight of his neglected, puffy nipples almost too much to bear for your watering mouth.

A little taste wouldn’t hurt, would it?

How careless of you to overlook such an area that so desperately needs your loving attention too. Bad little brother you are for that, huh? “Promise to make you feel so good.” Sighing out a guttural groan as the softened pad of your thumbs find home to idly flick at the erect glands, eliciting another strangled curse from the delinquent once again. Sensitive here, isn’t he? “Shit.. Every time I touch your tits here, you tighten up like crazy, hah. Want me to suck on ‘em too?” It’s more of a fervent heads up for your upcoming actions than a polite request, pink tongue curiously poking out to glide along the sheen of sweat settled thickly on the rosy buds. “M-Motherfucker.. Don’t you fuckin’ dare— hmph!” Hastily cut off by the palm of his own hand clasped upon his mouth, he can’t help but to cave in at your perverted antics, specifically that weird obsession of yours with his chest or tits as you so obscenely call ‘em. Shivering lightly at the rhythmic lapping at his nipples which is soon followed by the roll of your tongue against the sensitive flesh, fully latching onto on of them to appreciatively suckle on. The things you do to him, a full on body shock simply from having his pretty tits toyed with, his nipples coyly sucked on by the moist engulf of your warm mouth. “W—What?? Stop, ah, that!” How the fuck do you get to him like this every damn time?

And why the hell does it have to feel so fuckin’ good too?

Screw you, really.

Having managed to get past his carefully placed barriers he put upon himself, a means of protection for his fragile pride that you so selfishly tear away. Because it’s fun to, an absolute power rush to intently observe your slutty older brother fall apart on your fat cock, split his ass open while you’re at it. Teary eyes threatening to spill free more droplets down the length of his scarlet cheeks, bitten lips oozing fresh blood from your nipping teeth and tongue to gently suckle at as a well-deserved reward. Golden locks becoming increasingly more disheveled from every bounce on your cock, the guidance of your hands locked firmly onto his hips to witness the disappearance and reemergence of your leaking tip to reach that one single spot deep inside him.

And it’s real adorable when you draw your hips further only to be halted by the weight of his legs wrapped securely around your waist to prevent you from pulling all the way out, so stubbornly too. “Oh, want me to cum inside?” The derisive pitch of your laughter has the blonde simmering in his humiliating position, too caught up in the intoxicating pleasure of being fucked so mercilessly like this to bother uttering out a curse of denial. Fangs bared, seething glare shot solely towards you, its you. Of course, it’s you who has the final say, the upper hand regardless. As always. “I-I swear to fuckin’ god, if you pull out now— I’m going to fucking kill you, asshole.” He threatens as per usual, but the shaky incoherence of his speech riddled with whiny moans discredits his shitty attempt at intimidation, coaxing you to readily follow suit to his orders.

Ah, look at him. Fucking bitch in heat.

Can’t say no to that face, can you?

“Wasn’t planning on it anyway, Whitney.” You mutter out soothingly in the shell of his ear, slightly unsettled by the softening tone you’ve taken on to address him. Is it due to the pathetic appearance he’s took on from your relentless bullying? ‘S not fair he gets to look all cute and pouty while you’re struggling to keep up here, stuttering hips clumsily humping forward to make up for the messy pace because ah— fuck, you’re nearing your fill and so is Whitney, by the looks of it. “You can’t—“ Cutting himself off in a soundless gasp as your balls heavily smack against his ass, mind gone completely blank from the sheer euphoria of having his hole filled to the brim. Can’t? Sure, he can handle just a little more, can’t he? Cmon, he can do better than that. Drool dripping freely from his parted lips for yours to plant sloppy kisses against, stifling his open moans. Drawing your hips one last time to relish in the tight warmth of his wet insides— really, you’ll miss it, fuck— you barely get to process the thick ropes of cum spurting out of his bobbing cock, accompanied by your own climax shortly after. “S-Sorry, oh my god— I’m so sorry, you feel too good. I can’t—“ You sputter out uselessly, a hollow excuse when you continue on with your sloppy thrusts, burying yourself to the hilt to shoot your thick load into. Staining his walls white with your seed since your hips can’t stop themselves from fucking your cum deeper till the both of you tirelessly settle down in a heap of bodies on the creaking mattress.

Alright, so maybe you did end up going a tad bit too far this time, but it’s not like he didn’t ask for it. Or so you mumble to yourself to soothe your ever growing worries of where this may lead after the shortly lived, euphoric high you’ve just experienced. Nervously lifting your gaze to seek his as you’re greeted with.. ah, it seems you did fuck up. If anything, you’ve dug yourself a hole so steep you couldn’t possibly climb out of it now. Okay, he looks pissed. Doesn’t mean you don’t have time to mend things, right between the two of you, right? It’s as you finally muster up a foolish smile to meet his sour expression, that his frown significantly deepens in return.

“..So, uh. Did you like it?”

You’ve got a death wish, don’t you?

Should’ve probably expected this one. The shockingly loud slam of the wooden door closed shut on your face, promptly interrupting your frantic pleas and apologies. Heaps of dirty clothes thrown right into your arms for you to awkwardly pick up from the floor soon after. “Whitney, don’t be like that. Whitney, c’mon. I’m sorry—“ You’re not actually all that sorry, it’s just he looks too cute when angry, really.

“Fuck off!!”

Stubborn as ever, huh? At least, you’ve got to imprint those slutty sounds to memory for later use, having gotten your answer to leave him be for the time being. And oh, glancing down to be met with the sight of your still-hard, neglected cock tented pitifully against the front of your jeans. Seriously? Didn’t you just cum too?

..Well, you’ve always got the bathroom to take care of that.

[birrdify]

"YOU IDIOT WE ALREADY MISSED PRIDE MONTH!!!" "THATS CAUSE YOU KEPT PUSHING ME IN THE PHOTOSHOOT YOU ASS!!!!"

[thresholdbb]

what's the threshold theory

There was a post about how Tom is the only crew member who isn't really affected by the Borg, and there's a theory that he has so much luck because he saw the past and the future when he crossed the transwarp threshold. He saw the past and the future, all of time and space. There's some subconscious part of him that remembers that experience. In fact, Tom refused to play a part in Chakotay indulging Annorax's temporal incursions, probably because a part of him knew nothing good could come of it.

If we extend that same theory to Janeway, some of her wild luck with time travel and other crack plans starts to make sense. She doesn't verbally hate time travel until after the events of Threshold, since it happens in Time and Again without complaint. Janeway has an uncanny knack for time travel, as evidenced every time she deals with it. She hates time travel, but it might be because part of her knows exactly how to manipulate the timeline. She manages to avoid the "inevitable" temporal explosion in Future's End, saving both Voyager and Braxton. She resets the entire timeline in Year of Hell, and no one else followed her reasoning. She pulled it off flawlessly. In Relativity, she senses the incidents are all related, despite it being just one reading that connects them. By the time she's involved, she has a temporal incursion factor of .0036 and a time travel protocol named after her, even if that may just be Braxton's personal grudge. Then there's Endgame, where she intentionally changes the timeline. Up until this point, she has been dragged into time travel, but for the first time, she jumps in on purpose. How does Admiral Janeway know how to get them home sooner in a way that completely avoids the Temporal Integrity Commission? It's because she has seen all of time, and part of her knows exactly what needs to happen so she can get Voyager home and do it in a way that becomes baked into the prime timeline. Maybe she doesn't consciously remember what happened during her transformation, but the experience lives in her mind somewhere, guiding her decisions.

[minalots]

Silly crossover drawings >>>

[starry-bi-sky]

tales of the passerine - danny fenton being bruce wayne's first kid

okay okay. so this is like a continuation/elaboration of my oneshot/prompt i wrote about the idea that Danny was the first batkid. We have a lot of aus where he joins the family after the rest of the bats do, right? So hey! Lets shake things up a bit. Danny is the first to be adopted by Bruce Wayne.

Danny's parents and unfortunately Jazz die shortly after the events of TUE -- how so? I was gonna say an ecto-filter explosion, that would call back to the TUE explosion and trauma behind that. But lets do something new! Carbon-monoxide poisoning.

It's not too unexpected for something to break in the Fenton house, especially with the Fenton parents' questionable understanding of proper weapon handling and lab safety. The water heater broke from a stray shot by one of the weapons, and was promptly MacGyver'd incorrectly. Danny went to stay with Tucker for a guys' night, and came back to a dead silent house.

(Danny's neighbors got a very unfortunate shock when he ran to the next house over in hysterics.)

There was a lot of shuffling around with CPS, the police. People had to be called in to handle the equipment in the lab, and the GIW was rumoring to show up in aid to clearing the scene. When Danny heard of that, he immediately went and dismantled the ghost portal to the best of his abilities. He burned the physical blueprints of all his parents' inventions, their blueprints on the ghost portal, and their most dangerous weapons were destroyed beyond recognition. Anything to prevent the GIW from getting their hands on his parents' tech.

It opened up another investigation, but he was not under the list of suspects. He was placed in the care of Vlad Masters, where they then went back to the rebuilt castle mansion in Wisconsin. Danny, terrified of the future that has once passed and may do so again, shuts down in his grief. Inadvertently, he ends up somewhat repressing his ghost half. Something Vlad, who is grieving Madeline but relishing in Jack's demise and his custody of Daniel, is not very happy with.

Vlad's... gone into a bit of a mental health spiral. He's becoming increasingly possessive over Daniel, the final remnants of his friends and a liminal being like him. He doesn't like that Danny's repressing his ghost half -- both out of genuine concern as a ghost, but also because of his desire to control Danny and groom him into the perfect son. If you ever had a phase where you read Dark SBI found family fics, first off; me too bro, and second off; those are the vibes I'm thinking of.

Danny's mentally shut down from grief! And fear. He's dropped into a bad depressive state -- paralyzed with grief and the terror of the inevitable. Clockwork saved his parents because he believes in second chances, but what's the point of that when his family ended up dead anyways? Danny doesn't wanna believe that he's destined to become evil, and he's holding out onto that hope, but it's a thin line, and he feels utterly hopeless and trapped. He hasn't used his powers or ghost form since he trashed the lab, and Vlad has alarms set up to prevent him from trying to escape.

He's also unintentionally cut off Sam and Tucker -- both of whom are so scared and concerned for Danny too, and are trying their damndest to reach out to him. He keeps ignoring their texts. Danny basically haunts Vlad's manor. He goes out to eat if he has to, attends parties Vlad drags him to, and stays in his room all day if he can.

At parties, Vlad doesn't allow Danny to leave his side, or really talk to anyone -- not that Danny wants to. A product of Vlad's increasing possessiveness. Well, he almost doesn't let Danny leave his side. Danny has a habit of slipping off to hide somewhere for the parties whenever he can, and Vlad reluctantly allows it so long as he stays alone.

This becomes an advantage when eventually, Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham after missing for years, and holds a bright charity ball to celebrate the return. Vlad has been chomping at the bits to get his hands on Wayne Industries, and with the return of its owner there is no better opportunity to wipe out his rival. He goes, and he as normal, brings Daniel with him.

Vlad thinks Wayne will bleed his little heart out for Daniel's poor orphan sob story -- he's a fellow orphan himself, after all. He's not wrong; Wayne's little heart will bleed, just not in the way that benefits him.

Bruce sees Vlad and Danny approaching before they're even close enough to introduce themselves - and like with many of the children he will soon come to care for, it's like someone set a mirror into the past right in front of him.

Danny Fenton's suit is tailor-made for him, and despite the fact that it's his perfect size, the sag in his shoulders, the ducked down head, and the way he hunches into himself all pictures the image of a child in shoes too big for him. There's a far away, glazed over look in his eyes and grief marble-cut into the lines of his face. There's not enough makeup in the world that will hide the dark circles under his eyes.

("My nephew, Daniel Fenton." Vlad's hands are possessive on Danny's shoulders. Bruce immediately notices the way the boy tenses under his touch. "His parents passed recently, and as his godfather I was designated his guardian.") ("I'm so sorry, the loss must've been terrible.") ("Yes, carbon-monoxide poisoning caused it. Daniel was out with friends, when he came home... they had already passed.") (Bruce immediately dislikes that Vlad shared the details of their death unprompted -- he likes it even less when Danny flinches at the reminder and hunches into himself.)

Danny runs off at some point earlier into the charity. At this point, parties are still being held at Wayne Manor (because iirc google search mentioned that was a thing at first before it was changed), so he disappears and hides in one of the empty rooms nearby. It just so happens to be the same room Bruce Wayne hides in when he needs a break from all of the socialization.

Thus begins a long, long process of trust. Bruce can't reveal his hand as being smarter than he looks, but he can be compassionate. Kindness needs no measure of intelligence. He keeps Danny company for as long as he can before he runs the risk of being found.

Rinse and repeat. Vlad insistently wants Wayne Industries, and he'll go to as many Wayne parties as he can to get his hooks into the man. The problem is that Bruce Wayne is never alone, and getting him alone is impossible. Finding him too. It's like the man never stops moving. Always talking to someone, always circling somewhere. He orbits around the room as if he isn't the sun of the Gotham Elite's solar system.

Danny's had such repetitive behavior that Vlad never thinks to believe that Bruce Wayne is disappearing to go talk to him. That "Vlad's" son is even interacting with him at all. Danny never gives him a reason to think so, and neither does Bruce.

Danny doesn't actually acknowledge Bruce until a handful of parties in, where he hands Bruce a small slip of paper he smuggled in that says; "don't trust Vlad". Danny's face stays carefully blank, but he's so tense that his hands are trembling, and he's purposely looking away from him. Bruce plasters a smile onto his face, slips the paper into his pocket, and tells him "okay".

(he's been busy with his own goals with the mafia, but he sets aside time to investigate Vlad Masters. He was holding off. Until now.)

Danny does eventually start speaking to Bruce, he's starting to really like the guy. He's starting to see a little hope, even as Vlad is starting to get more and more agitated with him the more he refuses to use his powers.

He reaches out to Sam and Tucker again, and starts trying to reconnect with them. Vlad has spyware on his phone, and he limits the amount of times he can talk to them. A weird parental control lock of some sort that leaves a time limit on how long he can talk to them for. 30 minutes. Danny doesn't tell them anything about Mr. Wayne.

Danny, slowly, wants out of here, and he's slowly gathering the motivation to do it. Vlad is genuinely scaring him -- and Danny wonders just how truthful the past-future Vlad was when he told him that Danny wanted his ghost half separate. He starts trying to come up with an escape plan.

Vlad has anti-ghost wards everywhere around the mansion, and while they're always on, they boost to full power at sunset. The doors and windows are always locked, all main exits have alarms set on them. The only reason it's not super extensive is because Danny hasn't tried leaving at all yet, so Vlad hasn't had to tighten anything.

At night, Vlad locks the door to his room and puts up an anti-ghost ward around the room. The mansion is on the outside westward side of Madison, more entrenched in rural Wisconsin. The closest town is a four-way stop sign with one house on three corners, and an open bar on the fourth. Not much to go.

He refuses to go to Sam and Tucker; Vlad would look there first. It's too dangerous. Vlad would sound alarm bells and have a manhunt looking for him, Danny can't risk going just anywhere. Too much risk of being found, sold out, or caught. There's really nowhere for him to hide.

Until there is. Bruce is telling Danny about the history of Wayne Manor, and says, as casually as saying the weather; "The manor has dozens of empty rooms, I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind filling another one if he could." And quietly, hesitantly, Bruce places a careful hand on Danny's shoulder, unrestrictive and gentle; "He wouldn't mind getting one ready for you if you need one."

And there it is. There's his out.

Danny, just as quietly, replies; "I'll keep that in mind."

The ball starts rolling.

Now I've been trying to summarize this au as much as possible for length convenience, but Vlad has been steadily growing more and more controlling. More emotionally manipulative. More agitated at Danny for not using his powers.

He wants Wayne Industries under his thumb but he's been steadily growing more and more concerned with Danny. He's started grabbing him, yanking him around, shaking him; trying to goad him into using his powers. He gets angry when Danny doesn't react, or tells him he doesn't want to use his powers. He hasn't outright attacked him, but he's getting there. This has been happening over the time it takes for Bruce to indirectly offer Danny sanctuary at his home.

It all comes to a head when Vlad stops going to parties at all -- something Danny has to pretend he isn't upset about -- because Vlad doesn't want him around other people anymore. Vlad rarely goes now without him, and only leaves to go to a Wayne function or to handle something at VladCo.

Danny can't wait for Vlad to leave long enough to escape. So he leaves during the night of a big storm. Vlad's locked him in his room, but Danny doesn't bother trying to go for it; he goes to the alarmed window instead. Danny's been repressing his ghost half so long that he can't access his powers immediately anymore -- he can feel it, he knows its there, but he can't quite reach it.

He breaks the lock by hand.

Immediately the alarm goes off through the entire castle, filling the room with red, and he scrambles for the rope the Wisconsin Ghost left for him a few months back. Danny's already out and climbing down the side of the castle before Vlad even reaches his door -- the only good thing about the entire room being ghost-proof is that Vlad can't get in that way.

The rope ends before it reaches the bottom, and he's still twenty feet in the air. It won't kill him if he lands it right. Danny takes his chances, and drops. He breaks his ankle, but he survives.

And he fucking books it to the back garden. He hears Vlad shrieking over the thunder and rain.

I'll save the full experience for a future oneshot, but Danny makes it out into the nearby woods and forcibly experiences what it's like to be in a horror game, trying to hide from the thing that's hunting you. There's only one thing going through his mind; "i'm going to die"

I have this mental image for this scene. Very stereotypical horror imo. Where Danny is hiding behind a tree, with a hand over his mouth, and Vlad is a few feet away from him, glowing ominously red through the trees, trying to search for him.

Danny doesn't get away from this unscathed, but he does get away alive. That's all he could ask for. He gets away by getting his ghost half awakened long enough to transform into Phantom and fly to Gotham.

But he gets to Wayne Manor, he gets to Bruce. Or, at least, Alfred answers the door from his insistent pounding. Danny's just in tears and Alfred gets him in the living room, wrapped in a towel, with ice on his swollen leg before he has to step out and alert Bruce.

Bruce already breaks multiple traffic laws on a nightly basis. And that's just with the sheer existence of the batmobile itself, not including the speeding and military artillery attached. He breaks double the amount trying to speed back to the cave and get out of the suit.

Right off the bat: Bruce will know, at least before Dick enters the picture, about danny's powers. He'll figure out something considering the fact that Danny traveled from Wisconsin to New York in a single night. That'll be a bit of complicated affair, but I've already got something in mind.

Actually it'll probably be very soon after Danny joins the family, because Bruce tries to offer to fight for custody for Danny - the state Danny was in at arrival is clear enough evidence for a trial. But Danny immediately shuts it down, says it's not going to work and then Vlad will know Danny's with him and he won't be safe. He tells him that Vlad cannot know Danny was with Bruce.

Danny's biggest regret was not telling his parents he was a halfa, and while he doesn't want to tell mister wayne (yet), he does tell him about Vlad being one. He needs to know why Danny can't be seen with Bruce. So he tells him, and Danny's current plan is to just hide out from Vlad until he turns 18. That way, he has no more legal jurisdiction over him. After that? He's not sure.

And to wrap this up, since this has already gotten very long and I can make more posts about this au later; I've thought about it, and I'm going to say that Danny does become a vigilante before Dick enters the scene. He goes by, as you probably guessed; Nightingale. "Gale" for short.

[mossy-paws]

Mangograft! (PHIGHTING!)

Would one care for a mango? (It’s a bomb /j)

ANYWAYS I forgot to post this so here it is! Live laugh Mangograft this was a suggestion from a friend since I was bored :3

Also here’s this gem too no im not giving context

[bacchuschucklefuck]

and! barbarian!fig! its her

[gncrezan]

thoroughly enjoying @infamous-if so here's sketchdump of my post-read doodles before i run through it once again!!!!!!!!!

[thatadhdfeel]

so um

my psych said there’s a strong possibility i’m also autistic

[anistarrose]

You have to stop fighting over which of the perfectly reasonable candidates should take in the sweet parentless child at the end of the story. I'm very sorry, but it's killing me personally. Physically. I have a very rare condition.

When you point at two-plus characters who'd absolutely be willing co-parent, yet you act as though they're incompatible a priori because they're not romantically involved or anything, it shaves another day off the end of my life, and yes the pain is agonizing. You don't wanna do that to me, right? I'm just a little guy! Who happens to think nuclear family is overrated — but you don't wanna put me in an early grave, right?

You don't want me to crumble into dust, right? And blow away in the hot air from arguments about why THIS monogamous couple are [Character's] true parents, unlike that couple's friends who would totally co-parent with them, no questions asked? You don't want me to perish from second-hand stress, after hearing people say that single parent doesn't get to have a community of anyone who's equally important in their child's life!

Oh, just thinking about it makes me feel old and weary. I require an immediate transfusion — of friends co-parenting, of siblings co-parenting! Or polyamorous partners co-parenting, or queerplatonic partners co-parenting, I'm not picky! A found family themselves co-parenting, or even a community co-parenting, gosh that's a novel one! Just stick it right in my arm, doc. Thanks for all that you do. I will leave this mortal coil if that child has any less than four parents bare minimum.

[bortmcjorts]

[ID: a drawing of pye from outer wilds, standing with her writing staff. she's wearing an orange nomai space suit without the helmet, and she has a light brown face with curly darker brown fur. end ID]

figuring out how i want to draw the nomai, so here's a pye since i am obsessed with her !!!