#i'll destroy you

[sadwizardjessi]

YOU COME TO MY BLOG ON THIS DAY OF JEST AND ATTACK ME WITH SUCH FEROCITY AND VIOLENCE. THIS IS WAR @cozmo-the-mighty-chinchilla

[mrblargmaster]

This is my donkey Odie, he's scared of windmills

[lizbethborden]

My dad is already planning what better-quality record player to buy me on the next gift-giving occasion. Joke's on him I picked out his Father's Day gift from the whole family and it's an Ooni. Top that you thoughtful motherfucker

[hanase]

I am obsessed with Atem right now. It's been going on for a few months. There's a story here but I can't write for shit. I'll upload a lot more soon!

[autumnalmess]

Hey man sorry I've not posted in a while, it's a funny story actually. I actually got arrested for stealing bread for my sister and her seven starving children. yeah, it was pretty bad. I tried to escape 3 times so yeah I got 19 years, yeah and then I broke my parole and now there's this slutty little man after me, yeah I think he has a crush on me or smt idk

[yesmissnyx]

An Unsexy Post About Censorship

Sooo...gumroad is shutting down NSFW content sales because of Stripe and Paypal. This is also why Wishtender has been down as well, if you weren't aware. And why Patreon is also cracking down on anything remotely kinky.

(If you're wondering why your favorite FICTIONAL sexual content isn't allowed on most platforms, it's payment processors.)

Please be extra kind to anyone who works with NSFW content right now, whether it be art, writing, audio, photos or video. Whether it be tasteful erotica, or the kinkiest BDSM porn you can think of, we're all in the crosshairs right now.

And, judging by trends from these past few years, this is only going to get worse.

Support NSFW creators where you can, whether by tipping or buying our content (where you still can) or just helping boost content on sites where algorithms want to drown us out.

Call representatives where you can and complain about payment processors acting as arbiters of what YOU are and aren't allowed to pay for and enjoy.

This may be about porn right now, but censorship of this caliber doesn't just stop with porn. Any transgressive (read: non-conservative) media is fair game.

Fight against it where you can. Support creators where you can.

Art is important. Reflections of our sexuality are important. We don't want a world where people aren't free to make or see the things they love and enjoy.

[boojangs]

Enid, drunk on the floor: Why're you so tall?

Wednesday: You are on the floor.

Enid, gasping: Is it cuz I fell for you??

Wednesday, flustered: ...just stand up, please, querida.

[zambomarti]

POSEIDON IMMEDIATELY GIVES UP THE WAR TO SAVE HIS SON!

Polybotes was right: Percy really is Poseidon's weak point. SEDATE ME!!!

[biblically-accurate-dca]

first meetings (bonus panel under the cut!!)

i didnt wanna add it to the main post bc it's a different size and it would mess up the format lmaooo

i think about these two a lot i think they could be really fun together in several ways. monty golf is right next to the daycare after all!!

[starry-bi-sky]

i need to get this out of my head before i continue clone^2 but danny being the first batkid. Like, standard procedure stuff: his parents and sister die, danny ends up with Vlad Masters. He drags him along to stereotypical galas and stuff; Danny is not having a good time.

He ends up going to one of the Wayne Galas being hosted ever since elusive Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham. Vlad is crowing about having this opportunity as he's been wanting to sink his claws into the company for a long while now. Danny is too busy grieving to care what he wants.

And like most Galas, once Vlad is done showing him off to the other socialites and the like, he disappears. Off to a dark corner, or to one of the many balconies; doesn't matter. There he runs into said star of the show, Bruce who is still young, has been Batman for at least a year at this point, but still getting used to all these damn people and socializing. He's stepped off to hide for a few minutes before stepping back into the shark tank.

And he runs into a kid with circles under his eyes and a dull gleam in them. Familiar, like looking into a mirror.

Danny tries to excuse himself, he hasn't stopped crying since his parents died and it's been months. He rubs his eyes and stands up, and stumbles over a half-hearted apology to Mister Wayne. Some of Vlad's etiquette lessons kicking in.

Bruce is awkward, but he softens. "That's alright, lad," he says, pulling up some of that Brucie Wayne confidence, "I was just coming out here to get some fresh air."

There's a little pressing; Bruce asks who he's here with, Danny says, voice quiet and grief-stricken, that he's with his godfather Vlad Masters. Bruce asks him if he knows where he is, and Danny tells him he does. Bruce offers to leave, Danny tells him to do whatever he wants.

It ends with Bruce staying, standing off to the side with Danny in silence. Neither of them say a word, and Danny eventually leaves first in that same silence.

Bruce looks into Vlad Masters after everything is over, his interest piqued. He finds news about him taking in Danny Fenton: he looks into Danny Fenton. He finds news articles about his parents' deaths, their occupations, everything he can get his hands on.

At the next gala, he sees Danny again. And he looks the same as ever: quiet like a ghost, just as pale, and full of grief. Bruce sits in silence with him again for nearly ten minutes before he strikes a conversation.

"Do you like to do anything?"

Nothing. Just silence.

Bruce isn't quite sure what to do: comfort is not his forte, and Danny doesn't know him. He's smart enough to know that. So he starts talking about other things; anything he can think of that Brucie Wayne might say, that also wasn't inappropriate for a kid to hear.

Danny says nothing the entire time, and is again the first to leave.

Bruce watches from a distance as he intercts with Vlad Masters; how Vlad Masters interacts with him. He doesn't like what he sees: Vlad Masters keeps a hand on Danny's shoulder like one would hold onto the collar of a dog. He parades him around like a trophy he won.

And there are moments, when someone gets too close or when someone tries to shake Danny's hand, of deep possessiveness that flints over Vlad Masters' eyes. Like a dragon guarding a horde.

He plays the act of doting godfather well: but Bruce knows a liar when he sees one. Like recognizes like.

Danny is dull-eyed and blank faced the entire time; he looks miserable.

So Bruce tries to host more parties; if only so that he can talk to Danny alone. Vlad seems all too happy to attend, toting Danny along like a ribbon, and on the dot every hour, Danny slips away to somewhere to hide. Bruce appears twenty minutes later.

"I was looking into your godfather's company," he says one night, trying to think of more things to say. Some nights all they do is sit in silence. "Some of my shareholders were thinking of partnering up--"

"Don't."

He stops. Danny hardly says a word to him, he doesn't even look at him -- he's sitting on the ground, his head in his knees. Like he's trying to hide from the world. But he's looking, blue eyes piercing up at Bruce.

Bruce tilts his head, practiced puppy-like. "Pardon?"

"Don't." Danny says, strongly. "Don't make any deals with Vlad."

It's the most words Danny's spoken to him, and there's a look in his eyes like a candle finding its spark. Something hard. Bruce presses further, "And why is that?"

The spark flutters, and flushes out. Danny blinks like he's coming out of a trance, and slumps back into himself. "Just don't."

Bruce stares at him, thoughtful, before looking away. "Alright. I won't."

And they fall back into silence.

Danny, when he leaves, turns to look at Bruce, "I mean it." He says; soft like he's telling a secret, "Don't make any deals with him. Don't be alone with him. Don't work with him."

He's scampered away before Bruce can question him further.

(He never planned on working with Vlad Masters and his company; he's done his research. He's seen the misfortune. But nothing ever leads back to him. There's no evidence of anything. But Danny knows something.)

At their next meeting, Danny starts the conversation. It's new, and it's welcomed. He says, cutting through their five minute quiet, that he likes stars. And he doesn't like that he can't see them in Gotham.

Bruce hums in interest, and Danny continues talking. It's as if floodgates had been opened, and as Bruce takes a sip of his wine, it tastes like victory.

("Tucker told me once--") ("Tucker?") ("Oh-- uh, one of my best friends. He's a tech geek. We haven't talked in a while.")

(Danny shut down in his grief -- his friends are worried, but can't reach him. When he goes back to the manor with Vlad, he fishes out his phone and sends them a message.)

(They are ecstatic to hear from him.)

It all culminates until one day, when Danny is leaving to go back inside, that Bruce speaks up. "You know," He says, leaning against the railing. "The manor has many rooms; plenty of space for a guest."

The implication there, hidden between the lines. And Danny is smart, he looks at Bruce with a sharp glean in his eyes, and he nods. "Good to know."

The next time they see each other, Danny has something in his hands. "Can you hold onto something for me?" He asks.

When Bruce agrees, Danny places a pearl into his palm. or, at least, it's something that looks like a pearl. Because it's cold to the touch; sinking into Bruce's white silk gloves with ease and shimmering like an opal. It moves a little as it settles into his hand, and the moves like its full of liquid.

Bruce has never seen anything like it before, but he does know this; it's not human. "What is it?" He asks, and Danny looks uncomfortable.

"I can't tell you that." He says, shifting on his foot like he's scared of someone seeing it. "But please be careful with it. Treat it like it's extremely fragile."

When Bruce gets home, he puts it in an empty ring box and hides the box in the cave. He tries researching into what it is. he can't find anything concrete.

Everything comes to a head one day when Danny appears at the manor's doorstep one evening, soaking wet in the rain, and bleeding from the side.

[ghouljams]

Happy Halloween!! Die attempts to confront Ghost about his issues, Ghost doesn't respond well.

Tags: Ghost x f!oc/reader, angst, vague references to Ghost's canon backstory, hurt no comfort, Ghost is an asshole who can't communicate

Ghost doesn't even glare at you when he opens the door. Glaring you could handle, at least it would be a show of his feelings. No, the gaze he levels you with is cold indifference. You sit on his bed, all but begging for him to look at you with something other than disgust.

"Figures you'd be here," he grunts looking away to pull off his gloves.

"You're room?" You ask, eager for any bone he'll throw you.

"My bed," his tone is so even and cruel you wince.

"I thought we could talk," you try. Ghost stays silent, his focus on his nightly routine. He sets his gloves on his dresser, strips his shirt over his head, careful to keep his balaclava in place. You try to keep out of the rolling tide of his emotions. Disgust rears its ugly head too often for your comfort. Although you can't tell who it's directed at. If you weren't here you wonder if it would still point its wretched finger at Ghost. "Maybe I should start with an apology." You mumble. Ghost snaps the top drawer closed, presses his fists to the top and leans against it.

"You don’t even know what you’re apologizin’ for," he spits, you flinch. You don't know how to respond to that, what to say or how to say it. You don't have the words for the ache in your chest that his words conjure. He swallows, you feel his mind settle on something like pulling the brakes on a speeding train. Everything screeches to a halt, and piles in on itself. You'd be crushed under that weight, you don't know how Ghost can stand it. "Why couldn't we stay strangers," it's a question, but it isn't really. He isn't looking for an answer.

"I don't-" you don't understand. Ghost turns to look over his shoulder at you and you catch the spark of his glare, the cool heat that shoots through you.

“Least you can admit it,” He grumbles.

“If you would just talk to me,” You plead. Ghost slams his hands on the top of the dresser and you flinch. He clenches his fists tighter, another roll of disgust hitting him. Hitting him. It’s not you that he’s disgusted with, it’s himself. His anger, his hurt, his want to hurt you.

"Because everything has to be done your way.” He pushes his shoulders down, trying to keep the tension in his figure from showing. He’s wound so tight you’re worried he might break. “You couldn't just leave well enough- God, you can't leave me alone." You almost wish he were yelling at you, that it wasn't the cool even tone he always carries tearing you down. He yelled for Soap. Why won't he yell at you?

"I can't, I'm- the contract doesn't have a dismissal clause, there's no precedent-"

"So every fucker that gets one of you is satisfied with it? Don't believe that," he ticks his head to the side, clicks his tongue, "Give a man a brag rag that says 'e's a monster, and you lot think 'e's happy with it?"

"It's not-"

"How'd you tally it up? Hm?" Ghost turns towards you, "How’d you decide I couldn’t-” He looks away again. Couldn’t what? There’s nothing in your arsenal Ghost couldn’t use, no part of you that isn’t made to complement him. 

"I'm a reward," you press. He looks at you again, eyes narrowing. You squeeze your hands into fists, dig your nails into your palms. You can smell blood, feel the sharp break of your skin. 

"A reward. You think just because you give a dog a pretty bone it doesn't know it's gettin' kicked?"

You look away, you can't hold his gaze when he looks at you like that. A dog with a bone. His gaze is hot, his disgust pointed inward. He doesn't want to want you Iike he does. He wants you though. There’s a softness to it, an unease, a resentment. Another voice in his head that barks at him, reminds him of what he is. It feels older, darker. You don’t like it.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you try, you feel small, a bad sort of small. You don’t like this part of you, the human part, the cursed blood your mother gave you.

“No, you want me to hurt you,” He snarks, his sarcasm more biting than his teeth ever could be. Your ribs tighten around your lungs, squeezing them closer together until you can't feel them expand anymore.

“I don’t,” you mumble. Your throat hurts, scratches uncomfortably, and your eyes itch in a strange way. 

“Wha’s that? Can’t hear you, love.” Ghost’s tone is mocking, he leans comfortably against his dresser. Smug, but not pleased with himself. You can feel it. He’s making a show of it, but it still hurts. Hurts in a way you’re not used to, but perhaps starting to be.

“I don’t!” You yell at him, sob at him. You press your hands against your face, unsure if it’s wetness from the blood or the new tears rolling down your cheeks. “Why don’t you like me?” You cry, pulling your knees up to your chest, “Why? I’m good, I can be good! I can be good, I promise." You feel your fingers trembling, your voice getting softer, more watery, “I can be quiet, you won’t even notice me, please.-" you draw in a breath, "-Please don’t hurt me.”

Simon’s horror slices through you like a knife. But it’s fine. You can't hold form anymore, you don’t have to feel it when you melt into the shadows. You don’t really have to feel much of anything, not like this. This is good.

“Die?” Simon calls, his fingers pressing against his blankets where you'd been, his eyes darting around the dim room. It’s ok, you can be good. Your weight leaves his chest, and a new one settles in its place, as familiar and dangerous as coming home.

[pseudowho]

just listen a sec

The Mummy (1999) with Brendan Fraser, but it's Nanami Kento instead

[pharawee]

—Until we meet again, Master Pun.

—Thank you for saying that to me in every life. That's why we'll always meet again.

—And I will find you again.

—I will wait. I will wait for you forever. And I will find you as well. No matter who you will born to be... no matter what you will look like. I will always find you. And I will always love you. Hurry up and be reborn. Good night, Master Yoh. Wave goodbye. Until we meet again.

[royalarchivist]

Tubbo: So, Scott. I heard you like to have sex with men. Let’s talk about that.

The infamous conversation from everyone’s Origins stream the other day. (Includes Phil’s POV, and the full conversation)

[homoqueerjewhobbit]

Actually, the best part of being a "chosen one" is you don't have to send in a resume and write a coverletter. A magical scroll or mysterious stranger or flock of ravens just show up and give it to you.

[somewhatidealname]

shapeshifting archangel gabriel is real. in my brain