#trash challenge

[singingrainbows]

"Each summer, Dolphin Project hosts a worldwide event where people all over the world join in and cleanup their local beach or community – this year’s event is July 15-16, 2023!"

[girliism]

trailer park trash!patrick x trailer park princess!reader

-

patrick’s lived in trailer parks his whole life. his father in and out of his life before he decided to just be out months before patrick’s tenth birthday. raised by a single mom who did the best she could.

he smells like he bathed in cigarette smoke and car oil. was just as bad as the guys he grew up with despite swearing he was different.

one thing he never did was fuck girls from his own lot. doesn’t want to deal with the drama that comes with. but he couldn’t resist your pretty pout begging him to come fix your mom’s boyfriends truck.

“please, he’ll kill me if he finds out.”

he could see you weren’t gonna take no for an answer, and it was a simple fix that he got done in under thirty minutes. the plan was to go inside to get his money but he ended up fucking you on the kitchen floor. your thighs covered in faint oil marks from his stained hands, and his back aching from your scratches.

that was months ago, and now patrick can’t seem to get rid of you. not that he wanted to.

-

“are you gonna be working late today?” you laid out wrapped up in patrick’s sheets watching him walk around the small room getting ready.

“mmm, not too late. you gonna be here when i get back?” he grumbled around the unlit cigarette in his mouth. “maybe.” you shrugged. patrick finished getting dressed before walking over to you. “well, make sure you lock up if you don’t end up staying.” before he could leave you pulled him down, taking the cigarette from his lips to place a small kiss that quickly turned in to something deeper. patrick liked to kiss with his whole mouth, all tongue and teeth. if he didn’t stop now he’d be late.

“ok, alright.” patrick was trying to pull your arms from around his neck but you fought against his grip. “stay.” you sighed against his lips. “no.” your hold on him was surprisingly strong. “why?” patrick stared down at you. “cause i said so, and i’m older so you have to do what i say. let got.” you did so reluctantly.

patrick stood to his full height.

you looked up at him with your arms stretched out beside you. the sheets had slipped down exposing your bare torso that was covered in marks from the night before. the look you were giving him almost worked if it were for his phone going off.

“maybe next, babe.”

then he was gone, leaving you to satisfy your needs alone.

-

patrick’s couldn’t have gotten off of work earlier. it was 7pm the sun was beginning to set, and he was tired. and horny, with a slight knot starting to form in his neck.

he knew you were still there when he pulled up to his trailer house. the light coming from the lamp in his bedroom told him that much.

you were laid out on your stomach flipping through a magazine. you were so caught up with listening to your friend rant on the phone that you didn’t hear the key turning in the lock, or patrick’s heavy footsteps creeping towards you. you didn’t notice him until you felt the familiar roughness of his hands sliding up your bare thighs.

“was talking on that.” you said in response to patrick taking your phone out of your hands, hanging it up.

“so.”

he placed slow open mouth kisses on the back of you neck.

“m-made dinner for you. it’s in the microwave.” patrick smiled against your jaw. “well aren’t you the perfect little housewife, hm. did you mope around here waiting all day for me to get home?” he was teasing. you shook your head. “no, went home to make sure my mom didn’t pass out with oven on again.” you huffed a laugh that patrick copied.

your felt his hands take hold of your waist turning you onto your back. patrick took a minute taking in your figure. your were only wearing polka dots panties, his oversized band-tee that you seemed to live in, your plump lips that he slide a thumb over before pushing it into your mouth and pressing down on your tongue.

“been thinking about you all fucking day.”

he freed his thumb from your mouth and moved to pull your his shirt over your head. “fuck.” patrick’s thumbs brushed over your taunt nipples, before he brought his head down taking on in between his teeth. “ah, p-pat.” he took your whole nipple into his mouth, sucking softly.

patrick is nothing of not fair, taking his time on both your tits switching back and forth. soft pants fell from you as your hip grinded up into him desperate for attention there.

“touched myself after you left today.” you confessed breathlessly. “did you?” patrick’s words were muffled against your skin. “mhm, needed you and you left. couldn’t help it.” thick fingers traced along the waist line of your underwear. “how many fingers?” he asked, ghosting his own over your clothed cunt.

“two.”

patrick smirked, pulling your panties to the side exposing your soaked core. “you can take more than that.” you responded with a moan when he eased three fingers in. he worked his fingers in and out of you getting you stretched for what comes next.

you were already a mess and now even needier than before. “patrick.” he undressed quickly, his cock hard and ready to be buried inside you. the man in front of you kneels between your legs, hiking your them up and wider. you signed a moan when patrick slide his dick through your slick folds, your panties pushed to the side.

“tell me how bad you want it.” the tip of his dick nudged against your clit, and pressed just barely into your opening.

“need it so bad patrick, please, please.” you put on a deep pout and the puppiest puppy eyes you could muster. patrick cooed, thumbing the underside of your jaw.

“anything for you.”

finally what you’ve both been waiting for all day. the stretch of your pussy conforming to patrick’s size. patrick backed out until just the tip was left in before he thrusted forward hard and deep.

“god, you’re so tight for me baby.”

patrick’s hips fell into a steady rough rhythm that had the headboard banging against the wall, and your whiny moans echoing in his ears.

“been w-wanting this all day.” your arms hooked around patrick’s shoulder. he hummed into neck where he was leaving harsh sucks. “this what you thought about while fucking yourself?” he raised his head up to look down at you. his hand coming up to wrap around your neck. “fell apart on your fingers thinking about my cock?”

“u-uh huh.”

the hand resting on your neck tighten, and patrick’s pace picked up. his strained moans mixing with your clearer ones.

your eyes shot open when you felt his cock slipping out of you. “what are-” your confusion was cut short when patrick flipped onto your stomach, and lifted your hips up leaving your upper body pressed against the sheets.

pulling your underwear all the way down taking in the view of your wet pussy clenching around nothing. “i swear you were made for me.” patrick says mostly to himself. you flinched at the feeling of spit hitting your tight ring of muscle. patrick just teased his finger over your hole, moving to feed his cock back into your cunt.

a too loud moan ripped out you. the walls of these trailers were paper thin, and sweet older couple that lived next door didn’t deserve to hear this.

“why so quite?” patrick caught on to the way you muffled your moans in the his pillows. his hands took hold of your hair, yanking you up. “get loud. let them hear. let the whole lot hear who’s fucking you so good.” the sounds of his hips beating against your ass echoed. “who is fucking so good, hm?

“you.” a moan got caught in your throat. “you’re fucking me so good o-only you.”

you could feel patrick’s smile in the way he started fucking into you faster,harder. tugging at your hair with more force.

the squelching sounds of patrick’s dick ramming in and out of your wet heat was almost as loud as the groans and wails coming from the both of you.

“oh god, oh fuck, right there pat!”

the head of his cock knocked right into that soft spot inside of you. “gonna fucking cum.” your fingers flew to your clit rubbing fast circles until your body tighten up and your orgasm came crashing down on you. strings of curses mixed with patrick followed after a silent scream.

patrick fucked you through your orgasm, setting off his own. his hips stilling and his cum filling you up. “shit.” he collapsed on top of you catching his breath for a moment before sliding out of you. he laid out next to you and began rifling through his drawer for his “after sex cigarettes.”

“did you want your dinner now?” you asked, watching his light the white and orange stick. “in a minute, wanna just lay with you.” he pulled you closer to his chest. the of you pass the stick back and forth.

-

[hinamie]

playing around w slightly different hair renders

[e-vay]

3 - “Forehead kiss” from this prompt.

And yes, I did pair it with that audio on my Tiktok haha

I like to imagine that everyone from the group likes getting forehead kisses from Sonic, in a familial way.

I’m no longer accepting any more prompts at this time, sorry!

[littlefankingdom]

It's kind of annoying (and weird) how DC keeps trying to rewrite how Jason and Bruce met to paint Bruce in a worst light.

Originally, Batman finds Jason stealing the Batmobile's tires, the kid runs away, and Batman finds him. Discovering the kid is homeless, he gives him to the authority and Jason finishes at Ma Gunn's school. Ma Gunn is actually teaching the kids to be gang members, so Jason tells Batman. Together, they win again Ma Gunn, and Bruce takes Jason in because he sees himself in him.

Well, in Nightwing: Year One, they change it for "Batman kidnapped Jason when he found him stealing his tires and forces him to become Robin", with Jason ATTACHED AND GAGGED in the batcave. (I like this comic except for that because wtf)

In Red Hood and The Outlaws (2011), they changed it for "Jason stole drugs from Leslie and Batman was ready to beat and throw a young teen in jail, but Leslie begged him to give him a chance", which again, wtf. Batman beating up a child. Okay.

In Red Hood and The Outlaws (2016), they changed it for "Bruce put Jason in Ma Gunn's school because he couldn't handle him after taking him in". The only good addition they made is "when Batman caught Jason stealing his tires, he bought him food".

I do not understand why they need to make him awful to this 12 years old so bad. What do they want to make it as if Bruce forced that life on Jason but also didn't want to deal with him. Why they cannot let it as it is, with Bruce having fun dealing with this lil shit that stole his tires and being there for him when he needs him later on, until he finally craves and takes Jason home.

And that's why I am so critical on how Batman and Bruce is written in Nightwing and Red Hood stories, because the writers are incapable to make their main character have conflict with Bruce, without changing his character and their story to make him abusive. They need him to be the bad guy of Jason's, and sometimes Dick's, story because they don't know how to make you side and care for their character without making the other side a monster.

[we-are-dogclan]

Moon 63 - Week 1, Part 2

New Company

You’re small for your age, kid…

[crossdresserabbie]

Breathplay Challenge 🎲

[duusheen]

The Job

[murasaki-cha]

Tcf part 2 chapter 361

Choi Han: Oh, oh no I'm actually holding this for a buddy of mine, sir, dude sir I am not a chosen one, I'm not a messiah sir- Cale: *barely conscious* fi-first t-time...?

[coffeeco001]

Andrew: Breaks into Neil's room, searches his things, threatens Neil, tries to drug him to interrogate him, shows violent tendencies

Andrew: Just because I hate you doesn't mean I wouldn't blow you

Neil: Him. I want him.

[baronessvonglitter]

Star-Crossed

Dieter Bravo x gn!reader | WC: 2K

Summary: On a shoot in Italy, Dieter has one of the worst weeks of his life. Perhaps one unselfish act can turn all that around..

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Language. Alcohol drinking. Mentions of drugs. Allusions to smut/possible mmf threesome. Accidental flashing. Duo the Owl is its own warning. Dieter goes commando because I say so. Burglary. Dumpster-diving. More stealing. Dieter's having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Mention of a fire. Salmonella is yet another warning on its own. Sickness (obviously). Reader is gender neutral and not described apart from having an accent. No use of y/n. Not beta'd so don't come for me. A very special thanks to V in the notes ❤️

A/n: this is my submission for the Italian music challenge hosted by my dear friend @itwasntimethatdidit40. Big thanks to her for assisting with some Italian phrasing 🙌🏼 This was such a lovely and interesting challenge and thank you so much for being patient with me.

I chose to write for Dieter because I've never written him before, and I was given the song "Giudizi Universali" by Samuele Bersani:

dividers by @strangergraphics 👑

FULL MASTERLIST

The paparazzi now has photos of Dieter's cock, and it's all the song's fault.

The last thing he remembers are the purple lights, neon and sharp overhead as sweat runs down his neck. They blink in a crazy rhythm, every other second bathing the room in a dim violet glow before going out quickly to black, and back again.

He's dancing at full speed, doing everything at full speed the way Dieter Bravo just does. The beautiful young woman dancing with him swivels her body so lusciously that it almost tempts him away from the beautiful young man she's with. She shouts something over the music, leaning in closer when he can't hear her the first time. Her lips graze the shell of his ear.

"Balli come una scimmia!" she says laughingly.

Dieter forces his own laugh, his gaze flicking to her partner. "Uh, what did she say?"

"She says you dance like a monkey!" The young man shouts back, still dancing, his neck and chest giving off a sheen of sweat.

"Well that's not very nice, is it?" He starts to doubt himself and his dancing ability. No one has ever said anything about his ungainly dancing. The innocuous comment starts to sour his night, so he orders another round of drinks.

The vodka flows freely that night, and Dieter remembers being grateful that some words, especially alcohol-related ones, are universal.

He remembers nothing more, waking up just past noon, in between the young woman and her boyfriend, wearing nothing below the waist. His mouth is dry and he wants a cigarette. Even better, some ketamine. Like he always does, he procured a dealer just as quickly as he was on the ground at Leonardo da Vinci International Airport.

With a grunt he pushes himself out of bed, nearly toppling over the young man, his weight falling on his supine body. Unfortunately Dieter's cock is more awake than his brain, and responds eagerly to the stimuli of being between the young man's legs.

"Give me a break, we don't have time for that now," he mutters, getting off the bed and taking a moment to stretch. He goes to the window and, shielding his eyes, tries to get an idea of where exactly he is in this city.

He can see his hotel sign on the other side of town, and he groans. The thought of having to hoof it is not one he wants to entertain. His host and hostess were the ones to kindly walk him to their place tonight, chattering away in the musical Italian tongue he'd bothered to learn just a little of while here on the shoot.

A historical soap opera set in the 1880s, Dieter plays an evil count, hellbent on taking over his estranged brother's wealth. The role is basically a softball for him. His agent wants him to acclimatize himself to foreign fans. And so far he's done just that. If you consider fucking them to be acclimatization.

He's here for the next few months and he plans to take advantage of all that. But first he needs to get hold of some Special K.

He grabs his phone from the back pocket of his pants, hung haphazardly over the vanity mirror, and he thinks about taking a selfie. Not to post, of course. But his Face ID isn't working, and his passcode seems to be incorrect.

Too late he hears a crowd gathering below, and still in his sluggish state, he frowns, peering down out the window to see a group of people, some holding cameras, most holding smartphones. And they're all taking pictures of him. He smiles good-naturedly and waves, knowing his hair is a mess, his beard is scruffy. He can still taste the Grey Goose at the back of his throat.

And he realizes why they're photographing him. Not just because he's Dieter fucking Bravo.

He's not wearing any pants. Or underwear for that matter.

"Shit! Shit!" He closes the window and hides, still hearing the chatter below. Fuck! He promised his agent he'd be on his best behavior while in Rome. All he did was dance and drink at a club, go home with a hot couple, and accidentally show his dick to a bunch of innocent bystanders.

But he should know better. Likely the paprazzi have been following him, waiting to get a juicy photo op like the one he just gave them. He can see the evening edition already: Academy Award Winner Caught with Cock Out After Night of Debauchery.

Eyes squeezed shut as he feels a migraine coming on, he holds his head in his hands as he tries to figure out What the Hell to Do.

Taking a look at the phone in his hand he realizes it's not even his. It has a glittery purple cover with hearts. Though it'll fit his own phone. He removes the cover and puts it in his pants pocket where he thought his own phone was. He can't even use this phone to call it.

Suddenly it chirps to life, playing an upbeat pop song, the lyrics melodic and expressive and going completely over his head because as usual he hasn't bothered to do his Duolingo lessons. That owl is going to be pissed at him.

He answers the phone, pressing the green Answer button, but the voice on the other side is unknown to him. It sounds like an angry boss or even an angry lover. One of his party pals from last night is in trouble. He hangs up on the caller and shoves himself in his pants, the phone going into his pocket. He doesn't even bother looking for his underwear; he doubts he was even wearing any last night.

But the crowd outside hasn't dispersed. He hides in the bathroom until he can think straight.

Splashing some cold water on his face, he tries to calm his breathing, mentally cursing himself for getting in this situation. Why does he never learn?

He stares at the phone, pressing instructions on the screen until he gets to the number keypad. Of course he doesn't know any phone numbers by heart. Who does in this day and age?

When he finally gains the courage to leave, the couple are gone. And so is his wallet, which he'd left on the nightstand. He curses his shitty luck. He doesn't even remember their names, so there's not even a chance of tracking them down.

A migraine starts, making him wince. He needs something for the pain and his nerves now. With no other viable options, he takes a deep breath and leaves, finding a back exit leading to an alley filled with dumpsters. Upon hearing chatter and the clicking of cameras, Dieter heaves himself into one of the dumpsters, right into a pile of day-old organic waste.

Great.

He eventually makes it back to his hotel, stealing a pair of sunglasses and a hat from a nearby street vendor to disguise himself, running at the fullest speed possible for him (he's been told he needs to trim down but the food here is too delicious to have just one serving at each meal), shouting out promises to return when he has some cash.

He probably won't.

His agent catches wind of the photos, and promises to do something, even if he has to sue the bastards for invasion of privacy. He assures Dieter that he'll put a stop to those scandalous photos being reprinted or distributed in any way. Dieter puts every ounce of trust in his agent to do just that, even though he sees his costars and even some of the crew giggling behind his back.

Go ahead and let them laugh. He's grower, not a show-er. He'll show anyone just to prove it.

At least he has a working phone now, courtesy of the studio.

He hears the song again when he's in the makeup chair, tissues tucked into the high collar of his historical costume as a gorgeous man whose name he's forgotten touches up Dieter's makeup, adding a touch of bronzer at his hairline. The makeup artist is listening to a playlist of Italian 90s songs, and this one begins. The MUA sees Dieter's frown and says something in his melodic accent, pointing to his phone where the music is emanating from, smiling and giving a hopeful thumbs up. Dieter nods, giving a thumbs up as well. But it's too early for a smile, so he attempts a half-assed smirk.

"Turn it off." he says loudly, hoping he'll be understood. "Silenzio.. per favore?" {Silence... please?} But there's some malfunction with the phone or the app or whatever because the song doesn't stop. In fact it skips, the song sounding more threatening until the MUA forces it to turn off. The silence thereafter is a relief to Dieter, though his frustration is mounting.

Perhaps his mood has set the tone for the day, because Murphy's Law attaches itself to the set like a leech. The lead actress keeps forgetting her lines and has to have them fed to her, taking up more of his time than he'd like. Then there's an electrical fire during one of his most important scenes. The entire cast has to be evacuated off the set, but luckily it's close to break time and craft services is ready to feed everyone while they're displaced for the time being.

Unfortunately there's an outbreak of salmonella in the seafood bisque everyone's been eating. Fortunately he only had a couple spoonfuls of it, but production on the show has halted for the time being, and the remaining cast and crew are sent home. Unfortunately, he's still confined to the restroom for the remainder of the night, swearing off craft services for the rest of his life.

He should have recognized that as the second sign.

Most of the cast and crew are still being treated by the time he's feeling better days later. Even so, he dares a little night walk even though it's only been a week since he flashed the photographers. There hasn't been anything in the press lately, but he knows there are probably some greedy little cunts who refused to turn over the film, probably keeping it for a blackmail-kind-of-day.

Living in the spotlight, there's always a chance for someone to spring out of the shadows with an unexpected reprisal. A scorned lover, a repudiated friend, even a teacher from his past who would sell an embarrassing story about how he failed ninth grade world history before dropping out completely.

What the hell, let them come for him. He's older now, and tired despite the fast lifestyle he'd adopted decades ago. He's slowing down by the minute, the drugs and alcohol wearing him down, smoothing him out like a used tire.

And so what if the paps come for him? So what if his dick shows up on TMZ, pixelated beyond recognition? He's been Hollywood fodder for much worse. He can just stay here in Rome, an ancient has-been in an ancient city. Maybe he'll be considered a landmark himself, given enough time.

He wanders in the gold and magenta evening light, his stolen purchases on him: black baseball cap and dark sunglasses. He has the cash to pay for them in his pocket.

At the vendor stand he finds you, and for a brief moment he feels his luck has turned around. Your smile is beatific as you look up at him, and he doesn't know if it's because you recognize him or because you're just an angel on earth. You ask him in accented English if he sees anything he likes, and while you're talking about the keychains and magnets, he sees you and boy does he like you.

And later, when you're walking in the Piazza Navona, licking at the cold sweet gelato you're carrying, you laugh as he explains what he's gone through, the trials and tribulations that he's endured just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Just as he's finished his story, that song starts blasting from a nearby bar. Dieter winces as if expecting a blow: some mischance to befall him. Maybe he'll trip on his own two feet and fall headfirst into the fountain.

But all that happens is that you squeeze his hand and press your lips to his cheek. They're delightfully cool on his heated skin.

tagging those interested in my wip: @thedilfdiaries @everybodylovedcontractors @inept-the-magnificent @sawymredfox

[d00dleybear]

Waffles is having a little snooze 🥰

[girliism]

I’m thinking about trailer park Patrick working his way up well enough to get a bit of land, he has a double wide on it but still is very much proudly trailer trash. He drinks his beer shirtless while driving his lawn mower. He’s got a few outside dogs in large kennels, he rigged a fan in it for the warmer months, two large buckets of water for them to stay hydrated, he’s known to be the family member/friend who entertains, so he has a few wooden picnic tables and a wooden awning he and a cousin build themselves (nothing fancy but it resembles those you see in a park), he has an above ground pool that’s a bitch to fill up but he knows you and his little cousins love it so he does it for ya’ll.

omg i love this.

-

it’s something he’s always wanted, and meeting you gave him the drive to achieve it. picking up longer shifts and putting money aside until he was able to find a plot that was perfect. it was big but not huge. he wait until your anniversary to bring you here. you of course nagged him about how he got the money to pay not only a whole plot of land but also a double wide. he told you not to worry about that. his friends and family liked to joked about how bougie he’s become, but patrick was still proudly “white trash” marble counter tops or not. because of the big yard he now had patrick become the person who hosted everything. barbecues, birthday parties, annual family get togethers. this forced him to become quite the builder. his off days were spent making picnic tables, benches that he anchored into the ground, and a swinging bench seat that sat in the shade under the trees. his proudest project was the play set he made for both your guys nieces, nephews and little cousins. patrick didn’t trust anyone with his lawn so he mowed it himself. it was a sight to watch him shirtless in boxers, flip flops, and sunglasses, seated on top of his lawn mower. one hand on the wheel the other gripping a cold beer. it was definitely a safety hazard. the three dogs you adopted from the shelter were originally supposed to be outside dogs, patrick even built them kennels but you hated leaving them out there so they quickly became indoors pets. the first day of summer was everyone’s favorite, because the whole family came over and watched the guys put up the ridiculously large pool patrick brought. by the time the pool was up and filled it was dark, but no one cared. a bonfire was going and patrick had this torches lit up around his property. everyone splash and played even if only for an hour. that’s what made this all worth it to him, the big smile on your wet face and the screaming laughter coming from his cousins.

[matchalovertrait]

While Dulce was on the hunt for the notebook, Antonio got acquainted with Cosi! He's more of a cat person, but he loves all kinds of animals. He would help Dulce, but that would be an invasion of privacy, no? You know what's definitely okay, though? Taking out the trash from the trash bin that is not even halfway full yet.

Start from the beginning (Gen 2)

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[e-vay]

Werehog Kisses 2 💖💙🐺

Happy Hoooooooowlloween month!

Werehog!ShadowXAurora version

Here’s the blank template if you want to use it yourself!

[wallbeatjournal]

Are true riverdale fans of the opinion it is a very good and nearly flawless show or does being a true riverdale fan mean being able to mock writing choices

it's long-running serial television plotted a season/half at a time so definitely not even "nearly" flawless.

BUT. i'm not doing combat with the writing team. i'm not actively reading against the text the way i have to in order to enjoy something like supernatural or the 90s robin comics or the fucking sopranos, which are patriarchal christiancore copworld rapeworld white supremacist horrorshows that hate their minority audiences, with like 2 good creatives involved and martyring themselves to fight the good fight on sparse rare installments if you try to approach them sincerely.

riverdale writing staff are like a favorite smart problematic tumblr mutual to me. I don't always like what's on their blog or who they're referencing. but we're in the same community and i'm interested and inspired and i trust their agenda overall, even when i see shit i wouldn't have fucking posted. but bc i'm not being condescended to or actively spited i'm not gonna condescend to or spite them, you know?

i expect rvd to age like twin peaks (another very uneven, highly referential serial juggling a couple of intensely cool metanarratives on top of its core story). and twin peaks fandom mocks twin peaks all the time. twin peaks includes some CLUNKY shit. it's kitsch. it's camp. it has a second season that is largely ASS. james is there. and on top of that it also includes some genuinely offputting-to-me stuff that just bothers me to sit through, even though i feel like i understand and respect what they're going for with it. i just don't want to watch someone sweep the fucking bar for minutes and minutes as entertainment. OK!!?

...so yeah. mock riverdale but in the right spirit. is that an answer? do i sound like i'm chugging the flavoraid koolaid fresh-aid? probably.