#imagine making original content

[clariongradiation]

shows up to the meme 2 weeks late with a bunch of blorbos

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thank you all for an incredible 500 days of love and support. I offer you: answers to questions that no one has asked.

(As always, more can be found in the tags <3)

[starry-bi-sky]

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

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What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  

He has no mouth, but he must scream. 

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 

Scrappy is just not enough. 

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 

Being dead is agony. 

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 

Being dead hurts. 

[rafedaddy01]

Reader giving rafe head for the first time while he’s driving!! Xx

You and rafe were driving home after a party.

You were a little tipsy, or in Rafes words plastered, maybe you had too much to drink. Which involved rafe pulling you off a table were you were dancing in just your underwear and bra. That’s when he plopped you down in the passenger seat and slammed the door before hoping in the drivers seat and driving both of you back to his house.

“Quit your pouting, you’re lucky I didn’t leave hand prints all over your ass in front of everyone.” He gripped the steering wheel tighter, the image of everyone seeing you exposed like that, you, his property, still playing over in his mind.

You were too far gone to hold your tongue, “stop being dramatic, I was just having fun” you slurred your words a little.

“Y/n” Rafes tone was a warning. He knew you were a little drunk to know any better so he was trying to be nice.

“Fine, I’m sorry.” You grumbled. “Let me make it up to you” you smiled to yourself as the idea popped into your head. Your hand went over to his lap, making its way up to his zipper, pulling it down and rubbbing him through his boxers. “What are you doing” Rafes throated bobbed as he came to a stop at a red light.

“Apologizing for being a bad girl” you unbuckled yourself and got on your knees, leaning over the center console and pulling out his now hard cock.

“Y/n..” his sentence turned into a groan as your mouth closed around the tip of his cock.

You closed your eyes and sinked further down on him.

“Fucking hell” Rafe whispered under his breath as he tried to focus on the road.

“Mmm” you moaned around his cock.

“Shit. Your in for a treat when he get home, fuck” Rafes free hand came up to your hair, making a makeshift ponytail and tugging.

“Well see” you mumbled before sinking back down on his cock.

“Fuck fuck fuck” Rafe groaned as his throat bobbed and he tried hard not to pull the car over and fuck you right here right now.

“Do you forgive me” you pulled off his cock and pouted up at him.

Rafe rolled his eyes, resistant to give in. You started pulling back, getting ready to buckled yourself back into your seat when Rafe gripped your throat, “fine, I forgive you” he kissed your lips before pushing your head back down.

“Good” you smile widened before you swallowed rafe whole.

“Fuck, that’s good” Rafe hissed as his foot pressed harder on the gas, eager to get home and finish what you started.

“You have no idea how bad I wanna pull this car over and fuck you in the back seat” Rafes words made your pussy clench and drip.

You couldn’t help but reach down and rub yourself through your soaked panties, “tsk, you naughty girl”

Rafes hand reach over and flipped your skirt up, groaning when he saw what you were doing, “does my slut what to be touched?”

You took more of him down your throat to signal yes.

“God damn, that’s a pretty view” Rafe groaned as he looked between what your fingers were doing and the road.

You moaned around him as you felt yourself getting closer and closer.

You knew rafe was close too by the way he moaned the his tip contracted, leaking pre cum.

You gagged around him to the point of spit and tears poring down your face.

You bobbed your head faster, hallowing your cheeks and letting him reach the back of your throat.

Rafe cursed under his breath before he came down your throat.

“Shit” he huffed out a breath as you licked up the side of his softening cock.

Your fingers still worked on your clit as you neared your edge.

You let out a needy whine as you came undone, “rafey” you moaned as you soaked your panties more than they already were.

Taglist

@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @dilvcv @starkeysheart @wearemadeofstardust0

[plant-ago]

An original work written for The Wizard, the Witch, and the Wild One (@worldsbeyondpod).

Refrain:

Oh, my roots, grow gentle Oh, my words, go free Go where the world is simple Cross o’er the farthest sea

Sail away, my little darling To a place that will be kind; May the waves and currents guide you May you bloom in your own time

There will come times of sorrow, But my darling, do not fear Though you’ll learn to make your own way When you call, I will be here

May your spirit ne’er be broken And your judgement always wise; And your heart and garden growing All as free as wind and sky

[bekkathyst]

One of my old giveaways popped up in my notes and I saw it had 40k notes. And that was just normal back then.

Boy, has tumblr dramatically changed in the last few years lol

[callonpeevesie]

Kid Howl and Megan because I love whatever they have going on and I've been thinking about them reading LOTR together

[numberoneanika]

Honestly the roleplay blogs are stronger than I am because if I saw a post where people were saying my blog was annoying and calling me corny I would jump in a large pit and rot away

[eternal-reverie]

got the posting anxiety bad tonight

[mendely]

Put that priest in a situation

[bigtiddygothhusband]

a guy i made up recently who i keep thinking about is like. she keeps getting forcefemmed and she goes along with it but then the person forcefemming her will drift out of her life for unrelated reasons and he'll just kinda gradually reverts back into being a man. and then it happens again.

[feroluce]

Obsessing over the new ingirida / nobokai possibilities in pokemas after the pla update because oh my goddddddddd

Just. Irida hanging out with the twins for a few days in Pasio, getting to spend time with them and even become friends, and realizing that this really is Ingo, but it's not her Ingo, at least not yet. But she doesn't really have any way of knowing what to do about this, and she can't stick around long enough to figure it out. She has to go back.

Irida very seriously taking Ingo's hands in hers and looking up at him and telling him that if he ever finds himself at a loss somewhere and with nowhere to go, come to the pearl clan. Come find her. She'll help him, she swears it.

Ingo finds it a little odd, but she says it so sadly (plus there's a cute girl holding his hands dbkxjske) and so sincerely that he can't really bring himself to ask about it. Ingo nods and tells her yes, ok, he promises he'll come find her someday, they'll see each other again.

And Irida looking as though she might cry as she stands in front of the rift, telling Emmet to please, please, take good care of Ingo, spend lots of time with him... Treasure all of it, don't take it for granted, ok?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Teehee! (Spritesheets your Wangxian)

[noogit9000]

It's finished

Wisdom, Courage, Power

[rafedaddy01]

Oh my god Daughters best friend was soo good!

Could you do a part 2 in which they sneak off into her room during her fathers birthday party

Her telling him that she just wants to show him something real quick upstairs

Which ends with her on her stomach and him pounding into her

Whining that they should not do this because His kids and wife are downstairs

And her father

Daughters Best Friend

Summary: you lured rafe up to your room during one of your fathers business dinners

His fingers move down your body at a teasing pace, he feels the way your body trembles with desire, his fingers skimming past your pussy. You’re so wet.

You whine and feel your cunt pulse under his touch, his fingers are already drenched from a simple touch.

Your voice is hoarse and dry as you try to speak “my pussy is yours, it belongs to nobody else” Rafe could cum just from those words alone. He knows it’s wrong, but he can’t help his dick twitching in his dress pants at your dirty words.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you inside me, need it so bad daddy”

Rafe hisses a breath in as he unbuckles his pants and draws his belt from the loops, tossing it on the ground and continuing to strip of his clothes.

He flips you around, putting you on your hands and knees and with one swell thrust he rams inside you, “like this?” He pants as he picks up the pace, your nails digging into the bed below you.

“Oh my god, yes!”

Rafe hand come over your lips, threatening you to be quiet.

“Shut the fuck up, my wife and kids are right down stairs”

You mumble a sorry against his hand before biting it playful and moaning against it as he ruts harder into you.

“Fuck, can’t believe you got me pussy whipped”

Taglist

@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @dilvcv @starkeysheart @wearemadeofstardust0

[softguarnere]

I Can Read You Like a Magazine

Lewis Nixon x reader

A/N: I heard that @latibvles needed a pick me up, and I was hoping to be of service. I hope you're feeling better, and I hope you like this one 💕🕊️

Warnings: smoking, requited un-requited love

If people's expressions can be read, then Lewis Nixon is an open book written in plain language -- there is never any guess work as to how he feels because every emotion crosses his face for the world to see. It's endearing, honestly. The way his eyebrows furrow and the edges of his lips pull down when he's confronted with something that upsets him; the way his smile is a little sideways whenever he's happy about something but trying to hold it back; even the way his bright eyes become hooded when he slow-blinks through exhaustion -- you know the language of his emotions and how to translate them so well that you consider yourself to be bilingual.

So now, sitting across from each other in a room full of officers, listening on while Sobel gives a progress report on Easy Company's training, it's not hard to see that he feels just as stunned as you do. It's no secret that the entire company hates Sobel, but the fact that he can go on and on about them as if he has single-handedly turned them into one of the best companies -- not to mention the way he's continuously slamming Dick's efforts to run the company.

When he's finished waxing poetic, there's a brief silence where you wait to see if anyone will contradict him. No one moves to speak.

Well, someone has to do it.

You draw in a breath and are about to begin when Nixon catches your eye. His dark eyes go wide and he turns his head slightly -- don't do it, (Y/N). Something in his warning is so adamant that you stop yourself before you begin. But most of the room heard your sharp intake of breath as has turned to you expectantly, interest piqued. You cover it up with a fake cough and a half-hearted "excuse me."

Meeting adjourned, you dig your nails into your palms as you head outside. Nix is waiting for you; he always is. Propped against the building's exterior, he lights a cigarette and glances up at you, offering you his lighter in greeting.

Plucking his cigarette from his fingertips, you take a long drag. It doesn't help. If anything, it makes you feel even more wound up. Amused, he shakes his head when you hand it back to him.

"I would have spotted you a light, you know."

"I know."

He takes another deep inhale, blows a smoke ring while watching you out of the corner of his eye. "You're upset."

"Of course I am. How can you not be?" Dick is his friend, too. Maybe his best friend. It was hard for you not to break your silence, but Nixon hadn't seemed to struggle as much.

Smoke pours out as he laughs, making him cough a little. "Oh trust me -- I am."

"But you didn't speak out against him, or speak up for Dick. He's our friend. We should have said something."

Nixon's dark eyes turn curious. "Did Dick look upset to you?"

"What?"

"In the meeting," Nixon clarifies. "Did he look angry?"

No, he hadn't. In fact, he had sat there and taken the whole thing in stride. Anyone else would have been furious, but not Winters. You shake your head.

"Exactly. Because it's all part of the game."

"What game? Being an officer?"

Nixon nods. "It's all a game of strategy, and Dick plays it well. He knows how to keep his cool. Besides, he didn't have to contradict Sobel in front of the upper echelon, because he knows that all the evidence speaks for itself -- which means that he doesn't have to."

"I hadn't thought about that."

"Dick will be okay," Nixon says. "Sink and the others will see through the bullshit, you can count on that." He offers you his cigarette, and this time you accept it. "That's not what's bothering you, though."

You don't mean to laugh, and it comes out wrong -- a hard, empty staccato. You wave your hand dismissively, like that will clear it away, along with your problems. "Just one more issue to add to the stack, I'm afraid." When he reaches out for the cigarette, you try to soften your tone. After all, it's not Nix's fault. "Bad letter from home."

"Oh. I'm sorry about that."

You shrug, feeling some of your tightly held tension dissipate. Funny, how even a little kindness from someone who truly means well can sometimes make a burden easier to carry.

"You know you're one of my closest friends, right (Y/N)?" Nixon's tone is so much more gentle than the casual, light-hearted one that he uses around everyone else in the camp. It makes your heart feel funny, thinking that probably only you and Dick have only ever heard him speak like this, his emotions easier than ever to read. "You've listened to me wax poetic about my own life, but I can shut up when I put my mind to it. If you wanted to talk about it . . ."

It's an open offer. Not just for here, in this moment, but any time. You've never been one to trust many with your secrets and your problems, but something about Nixon's sincerity makes you think that he would carry them carefully.

Nixon is a good friend. But lately, you feel like you can't look directly at him, and you feel excitement flood your stomach whenever he walks into a room. That's a secret that you can't ask him to help carry -- not yet anyway.

You nudge your shoulder against his. "Thanks, Nix."

He smiles, and it reaches his eyes. "Of course." Ashes float from the end of his cigarette as he drops what's left of it and grinds it out with his boot. His tone is somewhere between that soft, sincere voice he uses with you and Dick, and his public, comical tone, "But if Sobel comes after you in a meeting, I won't hesitate to knock him upside the head. I'll forfeit the game if I have to."

You can't contain your smile, and you hope that he can't hear the way your heart trips over itself at his words. A joke or not, it's good to have a friend -- or someone with the potential to be more than that -- like Nixon in your corner.