#this is great anon

[lablass-2882]

Cody has Stressed Disney Dad Energy — his fashion style is socks, sandals, fanny pack, jorts, outrageously patterned shirt, and a plastic sun visor replacing the one that was on his helmet. Thank you for coming to my TEDTalk.

Pppffftttthahahahahahahaaaaa.

The mental image, omg.

Ngl, I've always pegged this kind of fashion disaster more or less as Rex's thing. But I also like the idea of Cody doing it first and then Rex following right along like a little duckling.

Rex: Welp if big bro is doing it; then it must be okay.

The rest of the 501st: ...... why..... why are you like this?!?!?

[mr-paul-phoenix-downer]

"Snake, that's DIE BALDMAN. Former Marine, part of the MArine Neurologic Link Enhancement Trials, or MANLET, for short. Be careful Snake, it's never been more over for him and billions must die. If you let him start talking about Gundam he WILL paralyze you. Snake you must make sure to keep antivenoms stocked up and stay out of range from him."

holy fuck im losing it

[familyvideostevie]

i imagine steve feels very lost. he used to be the shit in high school but the king has since been toppled from his throne. he works a dead end job at family video and his parents seem to be absent and/or neglectful. his peers have surpassed him, headed off to college, destined for great things. and he’s…..still in Hawkins. he has no idea what he wants. he’s restless. and yet whenever he feels the need to run away, to pack up his car and drive and drive and drive, he gets a call from Dustin asking to pick him up from d&d practice. Robin flicks his head and tells him there’s a new horror movie playing at the movie theater and they should catch the midnight showing. Max asks him to watch her practice a new skateboard trick, to be the supportive older brother she never had. and that’s when Steve realizes that he’s needed. and loved. that’s why he’s still in Hawkins

ok i cant even add anything bc i cant see through my tears. ur right and i want to hug him so bad

[egophiliac]

What do you like about the Diasomnia boys if I may ask?

I always love hearing about the different reasons people enjoy characters.

I mean, c'mon. he has split custody over Sebek okay

also, Lilia in particular has maybe the best timeskip character development of all time

[stealingpotatoes]

If BBBO had met would Bail be able to improve Owen's opinion of Obi-Wan?

he can try...

(commission info // tip jar!)

[technically-human]

Can you draw something with Doom Patrol!Edwin and Netflix!Edwin?

Maybe something about Dp!Edwin talking about his feelings for Charles with N!Edwin?

It's just something I've been thinking of, make it a little angsty?<3

Glad you asked

ko-fi

[ozzgin]

Can I have yandere Aka Manto x Reader? I see you write Japanese myths, cuz why not?

Yandere! Urban Legend x Reader [Aka Manto]

You never know when you're going to meet your soulmate. It could be on a beach at sunset, on the last bus home, in the elevator of an office building...Or in a public bathroom after you just finished your business. Nevertheless, this urban legend monster has its eyes on you now.

Content: gender neutral reader, urban legend, part horror part comedy, gore!, monster romance

"Are you deaf? It's occupied!" you shout one final time, giving the door a swift kick to emphasize your presence. That's what you get for using a public restroom. Your coworkers had convinced you to try out another bar after the company dinner, and you might've had one too many cocktails. Thankfully most of the drinks were watered down, although it is exactly because of this detail that you're now hovering above a toilet seat with a full bladder. On a Friday night, in the partying neighborhood of the city, so it could explain the persistent stranger - possibly even drunker than you - who keeps rattling the lock of your stall.

To your horror, the handle begins to turn, and you hear a click. You scramble to get up and secure the door, but it's too late. With your pants halfway down, you gawk at the bizarre individual squeezing his way in: a tall figure wearing a red cloak and a mask. "What the Hell?" is all you can mumble to yourself, awkwardly gathering your garments in order to preserve your remaining ounce of dignity. Out of all the things to happen tonight...Alright, calm down. It's most likely a crackhead. You cast your eyes down and focus on the floor tiles, with patterns strategically chosen to hide as much grime as possible.

Pretty. Almost too pretty to kill. He might just take his time with you and savor the moment. Of course, you'll have to answer his question first. With bureaucratic efficiency, he pulls out two rolls of toilet paper and extends them to you. "The red one, or the blue one?" he asks with theatric gravity. What in the Avon samples Hell is this, you think, fidgeting nervously and avoiding any eye contact still. If you ignore him, he should lose interest.

A minute passes in heavy silence. His ghastly arms begin to tire, so he lowers them with a disappointed creak of the joints. "Y-you have to pick one", he insists. Damn it! Perhaps you've been told what to do if approached by mischievous spirits like him? Ignorance means you keep your head, though he was hoping for a gory night of entertainment. You can almost feel the intense stare coming from behind the eerie mask. The tension becomes unbearable, so you finally decide to push your luck. You will not spend the night stuck with a deranged pervert looming over you in a public bathroom.

Without further delay, you shove him aside and open the door. He lets out a surprised hum, observing your daring gesture and almost expecting you to run for your life. To his even greater shock, however, you stop to wash your hands with a relaxed whistle, completely unbothered by his presence. What happened to the fear, the terror, the dread? You peek at his reflection in the mirror, and your lips curl in a mocking grin. Maybe it's the alcohol finally hitting your nervous system, but all you see right now is a pathetic charlatan who tried to intimidate you with literal toilet paper. A good-for-nothing scoundrel interrupting the innocent from their much-needed bathroom break.

In fact, the more you consider your situation, the more your chest puffs with outrage and bravery. You pay your taxes, you help the needy, and this is how your civic deeds are rewarded? By having your stream cut midway? Unbelievable. Unacceptable. No other soul shall suffer your fate tonight. "Wretch!" you cry out, turning towards the aggressor and continuing your demands: "Evacuate the premises at once!"

You might not understand it yet, but your act of defiance has sealed your fate. The hooded monster smiles, relishing the words that have closed the gap between your fragile body and his blasphemous claws. You have spoken to him; thus, he can do with you as he desires. And yet, his murderous fingers hesitate. Your entrails should be splattered across the rarely polished porcelain by now. What's holding him back? He tilts his head in contemplation, but any intention to ponder his feelings is quickly discarded once a loud shriek pierces his ears.

As it turns out, someone else had been using the neighboring stall and was alerted by your little argument. Their finger is pointed at the cloaked creature, features twisted in disgust and fear. "Can't you tell we're busy?" The mysterious man inquires sarcastically. On second thought, this should be enough to satisfy his cravings.

With a snap of the fingers, the frightened bystander is torn apart by invisible hands right before your very eyes. Their limbs detach with surreal ease, and blood splatters everywhere in hot, sticky bursts. In your petrified daze, you are reminded of nature documentaries: blurry snippets of sharks trashing their victim around, fleshy chunks coming undone from the violent handling. Within seconds, the bathroom is quiet again. The walls and ceiling are drenched in fresh blood, and occasionally, fat droplets collapse into a puddle with resounding echo.

It all falls into place. The hooded creature claps its hands, startling you back into awareness. "That's what it was!", he says with enthusiasm. He approaches you with quiet steps, cushioned by the meaty remains coating the floor. He places one hand over the mask, removes it, and gives it a shake as if to clean off the crimson fluid. You involuntarily gaze at his face, taken aback by the handsome traits. Is this the appearance of a ruthless ghoul who butchers mortals for amusement? You wouldn't believe it if it wasn't for the hot trickle of foreign blood trailing your skin.

"I think I've fallen in love with you", he confesses with a wide, saw-toothed smile. You feel a clawed finger tracing your cheek affectionately. "Well? What're you so silent for? You were quite cheeky a moment ago!" he continues tauntingly, gripping your chin and forcing you to look up. "Or have you seen what happens when you misbehave? No, no, darling, I'd never! There are other ways in which I can ruin you."

You're suddenly very cold. With dry lips, you eventually open your mouth to speak: "I'm not leaving here, am I?"

"You could, but that would make me very upset."

[amelia-yap]

Your little tiny sketches bring me infinite joy. Thank you for making them!

aaaaa thank you for enjoying them!!

[hungharrington]

So I um I found an amazing video and now I’m plagued by thoughts of sitting on Steve’s bed, him between your legs with his back to your chest, and giving him the sweetest loveliest softest handjob ever, scratching his tummy hairs and peppering kisses all over his neck

nonnie did i or did i not tell u i was coming back for this ask? and i came back with a hunger -- sort of sub!steve, 1.5k, everything the ask describes, as always MDNI this entire blog is 18+! enjoy <3

Steve doesn’t think anyone has ever asked to take care of him before.

He’s had plenty of partners in bed, sure. He’s rife with enough experience that honestly he thinks it would take a really strange request to throw him off his game. But you had— when you asked, “Can I just take care of you tonight?” 

He hadn’t even been entirely sure what you had meant, pulling back from the steamy make-out with you on his lap— the usual late night rendezvous. 

But still, he gave a slow and earnest nod, a soft ‘sure, honey’ and let you rearrange the two of you til you were leaning back on the headboard and he was leaning back against you. Your thighs on either side of him, your arms looped around his middle. Like a little spoon. Steve secretly adores it. 

“Y’know I can’t exactly do much in this position,” Steve chuckles, pretending to have his reservations, even if he’s already eager to see what you mean by taking care of him. Your arms are around his waist, warm, your fingers tucking up his shirt to begin to work it upwards.

“Mm,” you hum, hoisting it higher and Steve moves forward, letting it get tugged off and over his head. Cool air flushes down his chest. “Dunno if you’re grasping the idea of letting me take care of you if you’re worrying bout that.” 

The shirt flutters to the ground, forgotten, as your hands explore to freshly exposed skin. Steve sighs sweetly as you trace softly across his tummy, nails dragging lightly as your near his thighs. His cock is already perking up. It’s been interested since earlier, you in his lap and your tongue in his mouth, and it doesn’t take many more lingering touches for it to reach proper attention. 

“No one ever taken care of you before, baby?” You ask, lips scraping his ear. Your breath is warm and your voice is low— but the kiss you give beneath his ear is hot and wet. You suckle at the skin, not even a nip of teeth. Desire pools low in Steve’s gut, a simmering heat. 

One of your hands moves over his boxers and gives his bulge a gentle rub, making Steve rumble out a soft moan. Your other hand rubs soothing down his thigh. 

Steve shakes his head to answer no to your question. His eyes fight to stay open, torn between wanting to watching your wandering hands or turning to kiss you but your persistent kisses on his neck give him little choice. He shifts his hips. 

“Not- not like this,” Steve admits, breath a little short already. His tummy tenses when your hand drags back up over it, just a soft scratch of nails. His cock aches harder. He wishes you would touch it, wishes you would reach your hand in, all hot, soft and wet and tug it in that perfectly teasing way he knows you can. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, hips shifting upward again. You smile at his impatience. 

“Can we take these off?” You ask, pinching the ruffled elastic of his boxers. Steve nods fervently, hips shifting up to let you slide them down so he can kick them off. His chest feels warm, flushed beneath the hair and another groan tumbles out when you finally curl your fingers around his cock. “Fuck,” he pants as you pump tantalizing slow. “Fuck, feels so good, honey,” 

A hunger for the feeling grows in his stomach, gnawing for more bliss. Steve lets his head tips back, resting against your shoulder and you take advantage of it in an instant; kisses upon kisses up his neck. It’s messy, lips wet with spit as you scrape your teeth down, right as your rub over the slit of his cock— Steve twitches, a jagged whine pushing past his lips. He pants a little heavier. 

Pausing for a moment, you pull your hand back to your mouth and let yourself drool over it— sticky saliva covering your fingers. This time, when you grip his cock, Steve gasps loudly. Slick, hot, sounds reverberate in the room as you jerk him, hand twisting perfectly. Still slow, still gentle. 

Your mouth find his earlobe, teeth nibbling a little mean, your hand not stopping— and Steve moans a little louder, like he can’t help it. His cock gives a little dribble of precum, tummy all tensed up again. 

“See? S’nice to be taken care of,” You murmur softly. You thumb his slit again, delighting in the spurt his cock gives, then dive down to cup his balls. Your other hand strokes along his thigh lovingly, nails drawing lines as you rake them back up to his v-line. 

Steve shivers, shuddering sweet whines escaping him. He’s so unbearably hard for you- especially as you rub his balls so perfectly, your hand dragging back up his cock and then back down, a mind-melting cycle. It’s so much, it’s not even close to enough, it’s, it’s— 

“Oh god,” Steve whimpers loudly. His eyes have finally crushed closed, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly beside you. His gut is burning with heat, pleasure filling every limb. It feels good. He wants to writhe against you, wants to fuck your fist, wants you to keep teasing him just like you’re doing. 

“Oh god, oh fuck- f-fuck,” His words are getting more pathetic by the minute, barely fully formed, drenched in a whimpering tone. “Please, don’t… don’t tease, no- ah,” 

It’s not even teasing, you just aren’t rubbing him hot and fast like usual. Your movements are slow, doused in adoration — your core feels sticky, burning hot from watching Steve get all worked up in your arms. 

“M’not teasing you,” you say, fondling his balls and rubbing your palm against them in a circular motion, building his lust. Steve’s tense body and punched out breathes contradict your words. He’s so whiny. It’s a pity no one’s ever taken care of him before — though your stomach pinches hotly to know only you get to see him this way. 

“Just taking care of you,” you sigh, grip tightening as you pull it back up his cock, giving the smallest jerk. Steve warbles out a throaty whimper, egged on by your roaming touch along his thighs. He feels molten hot, tummy already all clenched up, his cock just leaking all over your hand. Pleasure buzzes wildly in his body, back starting to arch up. 

“Hone- aw, fuckfuckfuck, yes, just there, please, honey,” he pleads, voice starting to sound wrecked and feeble. God, he sounds pathetic; he only sounds like this when he's been fucking you for a good while. But a few minutes of the right touch? Reduces to a whiny mess in your hands. 

“So pretty,” you whisper and Steve can’t tell if you mean him or his dribbling cock, all pink and twitching in your hand. He can’t even feel the fabric gripped between his own fingers— can’t feel anything except your palm right around the head of his cock, teasing it lightly. It’s torture, it’s perfect, it’s not enough, it’s— 

“Please!” The word bursts out of Steve, desperate, swallowed immediately by a moan. He fights to get his next words out as your hand returns to his heavy balls, caressing them soft and slow again. It’s not fucking enough. His pleas fall out all whimpery, “Take— take care of me, please, wanna cum, I wanna- I wanna—“ 

It’s the magic words. You grip his cock properly, your whole hand curling around him for the first time that night and you set a fast pace- lewd, squelching sounds echo in the bedroom. Steve keens forward, a soft cry coming from him as his pleasure turns into a blaze in his stomach. “Oh my god, oh god- yes, fuck—“ 

Your free hand moves to his tummy, scratching down to thatch of hair at the base of his cock and Steve can’t help it, he cums, hard. He turns his head, hides it in your neck and releases a whimpery sort of wail. His chest heaves as his pretty cock spurts out his hot pearly cum — coating your hand enough to ride him through it, your hand never stopping. 

“That’s it, so good,” You coo at him. Your sweet words carry him through it, your pace slowing as his body starts to twitch back against yours. His cock gives a few final dribbles of cum and you rub your thumb over his slit, spreading it. Steve whimpers loudly. “Mm, there we go.” 

It feels like it takes forever for him to settle back down. Steve feels wrung out, feels spent, feels like he had his brain melted out his ears — like he could just nap against you now and be happy forever. Your soft kiss against his cheek has him opening his eyes, pulling back enough to look at your face. 

“Good?” You ask, though he knows you can tell just how fucking good it was. “Good to be taken care of?” 

Steve nods with a loving hum, a hefty exhale rushing out his lungs and he lets his face huddle back into your neck, eyes slipping shut. He’ll move in a minute- maybe when he can feel his thighs again. 

[dressfortheslide-nottheride]

essential rosquez quotes from @moonshynecybin's post here (ty!!)

the "accidental contact" can be found here, please tell me ur opinion!

@pgaslys makes an endless list of motogp things found here (its great)

other motogp primers found here, here, and here (kind of). they rly helped when i was getting into motogp so ty sm to their creators.

and in general to anyone trying to get into motogp- everyone on motogpblr is super nice and helpful! i've sent so many anons and i've always gotten lovely answers!

im always happy to chat so feel free to shoot me an ask w any q's or corrections x

[mrghostrat]

knew i was gonna have fun with all the funky shapes in this one so i made sure to get a recording going!!

plus flowers for ur mutuals 🌸

[unamusedyams]

if you still take requests can I have Ryuunosuke and Kazuma following behind Phoenix as ghosts trying to mess with him even though he can't see or hear them

This request has been in my inbox for so long that I forgot the part about messing with him as ghosts...whoops!

So let's just say they did plan for shenanigans, but caught Phoenix at a bad time and couldn't look away from The Horrors.

Part Two

[uhohdad]

any thoughts on slasher!konig?

(if not or if that’s too dark you can ignore this!! :))

he’s suuuuch a cliche slasher <3

SLASHER!KÖNIG X READER

It’s your fault, really. For thinking you could enjoy a relaxing weekend away from everything. All you wanted to do was hide away in an isolated, peaceful cabin in the woods. Enjoy nature, read smutty stories, and not be bothered by another soul for 72 hours.

Apparently, that’s too much to ask.

The dingy little cabin was hardly well-maintained, smelling of mildew and decorated with furniture that looks like the eighties puked all over it - but it was cozy, and it got the job done.

You’re still breathing life into the cabin long after the sun set, long after you should have been tucked under the covers and snoring away. Your phone blares songs you wouldn’t dare play in front of anyone else, humming along to your guilty pleasures with a wiggle in your hips. The inviting aroma of a sneaky late night snack wafts in the air, warm light pouring from the lamps and out of the windows, illuminating the surrounding woods.

The piercing ringing makes you jump, wide eyes darting to the phone. An old rotary nicknack you hardly noticed, and certainly wouldn’t have thought of as functional if you had. The ring slices right through you, high-pitched and grating. As your tensed shoulders relax, your lips twist in unease. Hesitantly you pause the music, making uneasy steps to answer the call.

“Hello?” You ask softly, not bothering to stifle your confusion.

No one speaks, but there’s someone on the other line. You can practically feel the deep, heavy breaths tickling your ear.

“Hello?” You repeat, brows furrowed and an index finger nervously twirling around the phone cord.

“Do you always vacation all alone?”

The voice on the other end is harsh, dangerous. Intense and deep with a purred condescension stitched in, it sends a shudder straight down your spine.

Your body stills, mouth turned cotton.

“Who is this?” You ask, an unfortunate break in your voice.

“Such a dangerous thing for a little lamb to do.”

You scoff, a smile creeping on your face, “Very funny.”

You laugh, pinching the phone between your ear and your shoulder, “Who is this?”

You rattle off a list of the usual suspects, your cheekiest friends and family members in hopes to get them to break character.

“It’s like you’re inviting trouble in.”

You give a nervous laugh, eyes flicking around the cabin, “Uh-”

Prank call or no, your heart is pounding in your chest. You swallow, parting your lips to speak but you can’t seem to find the words.

“Your dancing was endearing, though, little one.”

Your face drops, a chill wrapping its fingers around your spine and frosting you from the inside out. Feet made of lead, body still except for the rise and fall of shallow breaths.

The line goes dead before you can find a response, an even dialtone in your ear as you try to steady the heart pounding against your ribcage. When your thoughts catch up, fumbling fingers scramble for the rotary wheel, but the even tone cuts off as the lights go out, the life suddenly sucked from the cabin.

You pull in a sharp breath, slamming the phone on the receiver and backing away from it as if it’s a feral, bloodthirsty animal. Your head swivels around, eyes adjusting to the dark and eerie cabin. The adrenaline is coursing now, pulse pounding against your temple and knuckles knocking together.

A loud thud on the outside of the cabin makes you jump, snapping your head in the direction of the noise. A squeak leaves you as a blurred, shadowy figure passes quickly by the window. Your panicked mind is blank, frozen in your place, just barely able to fend off hyperventilation, but not at all the violent trembling.

You’re muttering objections under your breath, pleading desperately with your unwanted visitor to leave you alone, for them to reveal this was all just some big joke.

The furious jingling of metal echoes throughout the cabin, the doorknob rattling threateningly as your visitor tests the lock.

Your fingers come to your lips, wide eyes darting around before you scramble for a hiding spot. The best you can manage is a coat closet, pressing yourself flush to the wall to keep yourself steady. Weak legs ultimately slide to a sit on the stained carpet, arms tightly embracing your knees, pleading with your heavy breaths to quiet.

The first thud makes you crawl out of your skin, a deep, heavy crash against wood. Your hand comes up to your mouth, muffling your squeaks behind sweaty palms.

Another thud has you pinching your eyes shut, every muscle tensed and trembling.

The third busts the front door wide open, shards of splintered wood crashing to the ground as the doorknob slams into the cabin walls.

The whines creep up the back of your throat without your permission when you hear the sound of heavy, confident boot steps, rubble crunching under the soles as they enter.

You shake your head, lips pulled back and tears springing down your face as the slow, commanding bootsteps near. He knows exactly where you are, and he’s dragging out your torture by making you anticipate his painstaking arrival. Toying with his prey, cornering you and making you cry from pure terror. Teasing you, making you feel dumb for thinking you could even hide from him in the first place, reveling in each flinch he knows you’re making behind that door by simply walking.

How powerful he must feel.

An involuntary hiccup escapes you as the closet’s doorknob turns. You’re deafened by your own heartbeat, the door creaking open agonizingly slow, unable to stifle your sobs as he reveals himself in all his glory. Domineering frame towering over you, a hood draped over his face, a butcher knife at his side.

He tilts his head as he looks down at you - what a pathetic thing you are, teeth chattering and sobs stuttering on each breath.

He lowers himself into a squat, apathetic, half-lidded icy blue eyes studying you.

“That was too easy, little one.”

He sticks the flat of his blade just under your chin, tilting your head up to get a better look at you.

His eyes crinkle as his soaks in your sprung, glossy eyes, your tear-stained cheeks, your shivering bottom lip.

“What do you say I give you a minute head start, ja?”

He pulls a squeak from you when he meets your stare again, applying more pressure to your delicate skin with his blade. He creeps forward, closing the gap between your faces to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead through the soft fabric of his mask.

He keeps his face inches from yours when he pulls away, his deep, gritty voice lowered to a whisper when he speaks.

“Run, little one. I’ll meet you in the woods.”

✧₊⁺ abusive!könig ✧₊⁺ stalker!könig

[kxowledge]

kitchen equipment: a guide

[kedreeva]

Might be a silly question, but if someone needed to handraise a male peafowl, could they wear some sort of face covering and use a hand puppet like wildlife rehabbers and zookeepers do to prevent imprinting?

The ONLY reason anyone would "need" to handraise a peacock is if the bird is in need of major medical attention that requires more handling than usual. Rehabbers use hand puppets for feeding chicks, but peafowl are precocious- they aren't directly fed by their mothers or fathers, they are just shown foods and they eat by themselves. They're also pretty perceptive little shits with excellent eyesight right from hatch, and do NOT like things that look like peafowl but Aren't (they seem to have an uncanny valley, I have video of chicks freaking out when shown not-real peafowl), so I would think a puppet wouldn't work anyway.

The good news is pretty much no one should "need" to hand raise a peacock; most major medical issues should be culled, not raised, and ones that ARE raised should be handled by experienced keepers that can deal with the problems that occur. This is a part of responsible breeding.

And any chick that isn't a medical issue should never be a "need." Peafowl breeding season is during the summer, when people all over the place are hatching a bazillion chickens, turkeys, guinea, and quail every day- including large box stores like TSC, FFH, and other farm stores, and local feed mills often have local bred chicks. You should have no problem finding companions for solo peachicks (or groups), and you should be able to leave any groups of chicks alone enough to not imprint them.

[staud]

those three words / are said too much / they're not enough chasing cars x baberoe – requested by anon