the idea that every summer will be as hot if not hotter than this for the rest of my life is unbearable i need to (remembers suicide jokes are bad for my mental health) murder an oil executive
we're not kids anymore.
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
cherry valley forever
dirt enthusiast
AnasAbdin

Origami Around

#extradirty
🪼
noise dept.
KIROKAZE
tumblr dot com
Cosmic Funnies

oozey mess
DEAR READER

if i look back, i am lost
Keni

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
trying on a metaphor
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

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@fictionalwhorehouse
the idea that every summer will be as hot if not hotter than this for the rest of my life is unbearable i need to (remembers suicide jokes are bad for my mental health) murder an oil executive

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The Dangers Of Unknown Plants (Leonard McCoy x Reader)
“Leonard, why is the sky yellow? What are all those dancing lights in front of me……ohhh, they’re turning into spirals and flowers!! Weeeee….”
You burst into uncontrollable giggling, pointing at said “flowers” happily. Everything was very amusing to you in your current state of spore induced bliss. You’d been gathering samples of the planet’s native flora when one brightly colored tulip like flower had puffed pollen in your face. You’d sneezed a lot and started feeling very strange. Dr. McCoy was watching you closely and Spock was investigating the plant.
Etamluos wc: 1k, fluff, crack fic, sfw, oneshot
Jason Todd x soulmate!gf!fem! Reader
a/n: I tried a different pov with this one lmk if u like it. Also please read the warnings if u get mad abt accuracy. Yay love the big JT I hope you guys like this product of my daydreams while I’m supposed to be doing calculus.
Synop: The problem with curiosity is that it rarely stops where it should. Especially for Dick Grayson.
Warnings: I tried to make this as accurate as possible but imma be honest I’m genuinely not sure when all of these people would ever be in the watchtower together❤️ Therefore this is a crack fic. Yes characters are ooc ion cur. Female reader, mention of reader having hair pulled up, mention of glasses,
The Watchtower was unusually crowded. A joint debriefing between the Justice League and miscellaneous members of other teams had just concluded, leaving a lingering tension that Dick Grayson, ever the instigator, decided to break with his favorite pastime: poking at Jason Todd.
"I’m just saying, Jay," Dick leaned back against a console, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Since you’ve been back, your social life has been a literal graveyard. I think even Bruce gets out more than you do, and his idea of a 'hot date' is chasing Selina across a rainy rooftop."
Jason rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his leather jacket. "Maybe I just have high standards, Dick. Or maybe I don't feel the need to broadcast my business to a bunch of capes in spandex."
"Or maybe he doesn't have a soulmate," Tim chimed in, not looking up from his tablet. "Statistically, someone with Todd’s temperament is likely to remain solitary."
"Oh, everyone has one," Zatanna piped up, floating nearby with a playful smile.
"See!" Dick pointed at her. "Zee, as a joke, totally a joke, could you like, show us a vision of Jason’s soulmate? Give us a hint of who the poor woman might be? "
Jason stood up straight, his face suddenly pale. "No. Absolutely not. Do not do that. Is that even possible..?"
"What’s the matter? Afraid the crystal ball will be empty?" Jason’s panic only fueled Dick’s curiosity.
"Zee, do it. Just a quick peek."
"Hey, don't encourage her,”
Bruce started, but it was too late.
Zatanna winked at Jason, thinking it was all in good fun. She whispered a few backwards words,"Etamluos sih em wohs," and waved her hand. A shimmering mist gathered in the center of the room, growing larger and clearer until it formed a high definition window into another location.
The room went dead silent.
The vision showed a candle-lit, slightly cluttered apartment in the Narrows. In the center of the frame was a woman. Your hair was pulled up, and your glasses were sliding slightly down your nose.
But it was what you were wearing that made the occupants of the room freeze.
You were dressed in nothing but a tattered, oversized black t-shirt with a very recognizable "Red Hood" logo on the chest, one of Jason’s personal shirts. You were humming to the tune of the song playing over the tv, dancing slightly as you walked through the apartment, gathering laundry into the basket set on your hip. As you pass through the kitchen, various printed pictures can be seen posted to the refrigerator such as a selfie of you and Jason sharing a laugh at the beach with his hands around your waist - this could be found under a magnet that said “Reading is Sexy.”
"Is that.. is she wearing Jason’s laundry?" Steph whispered, her jaw dropping.
"Look," Tim pointed.
On the screen, you bent down and picked up the iconic Red Hood helmet, which had been sitting haphazardly on the dining table. You huffed, and tapped the visor.
"Jason, I swear to God," you muttered, your voice crystal clear through the magic. "I told you three times this morning, if you don't start putting your 'work gear' in the closet, you’ll be on the couch,"
A fat orange cat suddenly jumped onto the table, sniffing the helmet. You scratched behind its ears. "Tell him, baby. Tell your dad he’s a slob."
The vision shimmered and faded.
The silence in the Watchtower was absolute. Diana looked impressed, Clark looked confused, and the family was looking at Jason like he was a ghost.
"Dad?" Dick choked out, turning slowly toward Jason. "She called him Dad to the cat? Jason, you have a domestic life? You have a girlfriend and a cat?"
"And he’s been holding out on us for the shirts!" Steph yelled. "I knew that 'laundry' excuse was fake!"
Jason was currently trying to merge with the floorboards. His face was a shade of red that rivaled his uniform.
"Todd," Damian said, his voice unusually high. "Why is that woman touching your tactical equipment without a permit?"
"She’s my girlfriend," Jason finally grumbled, covering his face with one hand. "She’s a librarian. We met at her work three years ago. And for the record, the cat was her idea."
"Three years?" Bruce’s voice was unreadable, somewhere between shock and a weird sense of paternal pride. "Jason, you’ve been hiding a serious relationship for three years?"
"Yeah, well, can you blame me?" Jason snapped, finally dropping his hand. "Look at you guys! Within five minutes of finding out she exists, you’re already analyzing my cat and the thread count of my shirts! I wanted one thing in my life that didn't involve a Bat-computer or a secret identity."
Zatanna looked genuinely apologetic. "Sorry, Jason. I didn't think it would actually be.. that established."
"She seems lovely, Jason," Clark said, trying to be the peacemaker. "She has a very strong presence. And she clearly isn't intimidated by the Hood."
"She’s not intimidated by anything," Jason muttered, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through his embarrassment. "She’s the only person who tells me to go back out and wipe my feet after I’ve spent all night fighting Black Mask."
He turned toward the teleporters. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go home and move my helmet before I actually have to sleep on the couch. And if I see any of you near my apartment, I'm changing the locks and the city."
As he disappeared in a flash of light, Dick leaned over to Tim. "We’re totally stopping by on patrol, right?"
"Already added to the route," Tim replied.
sooo annoying that my parents didn't provide emotional support growing up now it's a whole fucking thing
Bruce: go out with my son.
You: which one?
Bruce: my second born son *points to Jason who was standing in the corner of the room*
Jason: did you just asked (name) out for me on my behalf?
You: yeah are you trying to persuade me into dating Jason?
Bruce: you’d be surprised with how much he talks about you, and it’s about time I have an in-law don’t you think.
Jason: BRUCE!
You: oh my.

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i dont care what you’re doing take 1 minute out of your day to watch this you wont regret it YOU NEED SOUND
lie to me
I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF
This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.
I need good news. So tired
I think one of the funniest abortion stances I've heard was from my parents neighbor. He's a like, hard-core libertarian viking larper guy who is very tall and very fat and very bald.
He believes a fetus is human with a soul, but also its "basically attacking the woman's body" so if she wants to get rid of it, that's "basically self-defense". He compared it to shooting a home invader. So he supports abortion not as healthcare, but as killing a baby in self-defense
Y'know I'm so glad someone reminded me of this. Because this was also discussed.
My stepmother did NOT like the way her Libertarian Viking Neighbor framed pregnancy as the fetus "attacking the woman". She incredulously told him this was extremely disrespectful to expectant mothers to portray pregnancy as so violent and negative.
Libertarian Viking Neighbor's response was that people consensually hurt each other all the time, and "there's like a whole community about that, with the acronym the one that starts with a B" And his reasoning was that if the mother was consenting to bring attacked by the baby, it in fact wasn't violent and negative because there was consent.
He brought up people consensually hurting each other, didn't go for one of the obvious answers like boxing or body mods or something, no he went STRAIGHT TO BDSM and he DIDN'T EVEN REMEMBER THE ACRONYM
reblog this to pet the user you reblogged from please

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starting a foundation that gives disadvantaged children one wild ass night at the club
Why the fuck are you suggesting putting CHILDREN in a club?
So they can sip grey goose, maybe have a cig, and feel the rhythm? Are you the fun police?
[looking at people younger than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at people older than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at myself] its over
me fr telling my little cousin she shouldn't worry ab finding a bf bc she will and then crying myself to sleep thinking i'll die alone lmao
you don't comment, you don't reblog, you don't compliment or express positivity to x reader works and their authors and at most leave a "pt 2!!!!!" demand as a poor excuse of a comment. you got so used to reading amazing works for free that you've harbored this odd sense of entitlement thinking you are OWED content rather than the internet and fandom in general requiring a balanced give and take relation of works, discussion and appreciation to exist. And you wonder why no one wants to write anymore
This is Tie, she is going to eat all of the notes
reblog to feed her notes
How is she doing this
trouble pt. 2 - daily planet intern!reader x clark
words: 1396
cw: smut!, mean!Clark, slight dubcon, breeding kink, housewife kink, size kink, older man x younger woman, DD/LG
Being in a relationship with a sex crazed nympho like yourself wasn’t all fun and games. You had been teasing Clark at work all day everyday at work for weeks. It was a miracle Clark could get anything done at all, with you living full time with him at his apartment and interning at the Daily Planet the second half of every work day. He was almost always hard, the blood from his brain being pulled to his cock every time you bent down in front of his desk to “pick something up” or your new favorite - calling him “Sir” when it was necessary for you to speak to him about an assignment. The only reprieve he’d get is when you were at your college classes across the city, but even then you found the time to send him naughty texts about how badly you wanted him and nudes from the bathroom stalls. Even having total access to your mouth and pussy every morning and all night, Clark still found himself excusing himself to the restroom and rubbing one out more often then he’d like to admit.
This particular day, you were ovulating - Clark could smell it on you and it drove him absolutely wild. It pained him to send you out the door to your early morning classes, he wanted you locked up in his room waiting for him to get home to breed you again and again. But he did the responsible thing and sent you to school and walked himself to work, trying his best to focus on his responsibilities for the day.
But the texts from you were constant.
“My pussy is so wet for you right now, Daddy…”
“You felt so good inside me this morning,”
“Please use me asap.”
If Clark didn’t feel a practical obligation to be available for you to reach in case of an emergency, he would have muted your god damn number.
When Clark saw you walk through the door of the Daily Planet and immediately locked eyes and smiled at him, he was already cooked. He watched as you greeted everyone you passed, smiling politely at his coworkers as you were already being given tasks to do by the higher ups.
Clark tried to focus on his computer - purposely ignoring you, typing his newest article he had been so excited to get out there into the world. But of course, you found a reason to walk past him.
“Good afternoon, Mister Kent” you flirted discreetly, smiling at him in that knowing way again.
Mister Kent. That was the last fucking straw.
Clark swiftly got up from his chair and stalked you like prey when he saw you turn into a hallway. None of the usual staff use that hallway and it’s typically empty except for special meetings. Someone must have sent you to fetch something from an empty office. Perfect. Clark watched as you stopped in front of a door and used the keys you had been trusted with to unlock it.
You turned your head to look at him when you heard his heavy footsteps and your heartbeat accelerated and your belly felt warm when you saw the expression on his face. He looked feral and angry and all it did was turn you on even more.
Clark briefly looked behind his shoulder to make sure there were no witnesses before opening the door for you and shoving you inside with his hand on your back. He turned the lock on the doorknob and was on you in seconds. In one swift motion - he shoved you down face first on the wooden desk, pulled your skirt up over your ass and yanked your panties down.
“Clark, I -” you started protesting. You didn’t want to do anything to further risk jeopardizing his job or your internship, but Clark had already decided what he was going to do. He needed to teach you what happens when you poke at him all damn day.
“Shut up, slut,” he snapped, cutting you off. He reached down with one hand, keeping you effortlessly pinned to the desk with the other, and slid two fingers into your cunt - already dripping.
You gasped as he fucked you with his fingers, already nearly drooling at the intense attention you were suddenly receiving.
“Fucking teasing me all day,” he took himself out of his trousers and replaced his fingers with his thick, achinglly hard cock. He guided himself into you with little mercy, not allowing your pussy much time to stretch to accommodate his inhuman girth before starting to rock his hips back and forth.
Your pussy provided even more slick for him as he used you, he could smell your fertile juices from where he stood and he groaned, eyes rolling to the back of his head and suddenly grabbing a handful of your hair to keep you in place - not that you wanted to go anywhere. Though you loved your normally sweet and caring Daddy, the mean side of Clark was making your insides burn.
“Maybe I should put a baby in you right now just for teasing Daddy so much at work, huh? You won’t be able to show your pretty face around here for nine months, and then you’ll be at home taking care of my baby - finally I’ll get some fucking peace around here and be able to focus on my work, yeah?”
Clark felt you tense and squirm a bit, which would normally be a red flag to pause and ask the girl he was fucking if she was alright, but he also felt your cunt tighten and gush around his cock at his words - you had corrupted Clark’s morals so much already, he just fucked you through the squirming and held you tighter. You were his free use little girl to do what he pleased after all.
The thought of getting pregnant scared you, but your mind was hazy and all you could do was drool on the table and try not to moan too loud as Clark fucked you mercilessly and threatened to breed you. You wanted to give him evidence of your devotion to him, and the thought of being his kept housewife made your pussy and heart flutter.
“You need attention that bad, little girl?” Clark kept rambling, “You’ll get plenty of attention walking around your campus with my baby in your belly, making you huge.”
He instinctively gripped your hair tighter and pressed you harder into the table when the words left his mouth, almost like he thought you’d start fighting him - but miraculously you stayed put and accepted his cock gratefully.
“Yeah, you like the sound of that, sweetheart? You want to be my breeding bitch? You want me to keep you? You want to carry all my babies for me?” Clark’s mind was hazy as he neared his orgasm, hitting your cervix with every thrust.
“Yes!” you stumbled over yourself to respond, “Yes, please!”
“What do you say to Daddy for giving you his seed, huh?” Clark demanded.
“Thank you! Thank you, Daddy! I want it, please, Daddy,” you begged, the ovulation hormones making you drunk on his cock.
Clark suddenly groaned and spilled, shooting ropes of his seed straight into your wanting womb. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he cursed, rocking in and out of your through his orgasm.
The two of you panted and stilled in the aftermath. Post orgasm clarity settled over Clark and he suddenly felt a little guilty for his rough treatment towards you. He pulled out of you and fixed your skirt and panties before pulling you into a hug. You melted in his embrace as his cum dripped down your thighs.
“I meant every word of that, princess,” he whispered into your ear, holding you tight, “I want to keep you forever, I’ll always take care of you and our babies, you understand?”
You nodded and felt tears brim your eyes at the emotional intensity of it all. You’d never felt so cherished and cared for by a man before.
He untangled himself from you and fixed his disheveled appearance as much as he could. “Now let me get some fucking work done, alright? That baby’s not going to pay for itself, kid.” He winked and turned, leaving you alone in the office to continue the original task you had been sent here to do.

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a morning with damian and the latest guest in your home, or — in which, he realizes he has two spoiled girls on his hands. damian wayne x fem!reader too much fluff . now playing : ( fairuz ) يسعد صباحك – فيروز
“You’re making qahwa?”
Damian hummed, glancing briefly at where you stood in the doorway. “And toast. Come sit, you’ll get fed.” It’s an act of bravery from him, you think, and a great show of strength to be bare footed against the cold floors at this hour of the morning.
There’s a hypnotic softness within his voice though that coaxes you near, and your feet move without much thought, tiptoeing — or trying to, with little yelps along the way — across the cold tiles.
January was always one of the coldest months in Gotham, where mornings came with glowy windows slick from condensation and the silent stillness of wintertime.
January, the month of new things, like the rug Bruce gifted you both after the announcement of your engagement that you dreaded having to clean, like Damian’s Peds rotation that had him extra soft on you lately, because being around newborns will do that — not that you would ever complain when you get to have him home in the mornings, sweatpants hung loose, dark hair mussed from sleep and a Gotham U thermal sweatshirt big and soft over his impossible shoulders.
A soft meow came from atop one of the kitchen stools and Damian sighed. “Yes, ya Sultana, you’ll get yours too.”
New things, like the cat that has made her way into your lives. A fluffy white thing, ragdoll-ish and always frowning unless she gets her way. Sultana, Damian called her, because clearly he’s a servant in his own house.
“She’s not pleased, you missed her breakfast time,” you murmured, scooping the cat into your arms and settling yourself onto the stool. “Aren’t you, Sully?” The kitty meowed long and low, a grumble of frustration from her feline throat that spoke only of neglect.
“Tt.”
Damian slid a small plate across the counter — a small slice of toast, no crust and a dollop of labneh. He hunched next to you with a butter knife and his eyebrows drawn tight. “Sully?” he questioned, inquisitive.
“Short for Sultana,” you shrugged.
“Like the Federal Agent?” Damian spread the labneh diligently.
“Isn’t it so cute? We could have it printed on her little pillow.” You hummed in response and he shook his head, raising to his full height again to eye the work he’d completed.
“She does not pay rent. I don’t recall these living arrangements,” he grumbled.
The unwanted guest in question meowed once more, a paw outstretched towards the plate, and Damian, in the middle of his culinary assessment yanked it away, his brows lifting with realization. “Not yet.”
“Well, neither do I,” you said, suddenly distracted by the sight of him crossing the kitchen and reaching an arm up to the highest cabinet, the sleeve of his sweatshirt slipping down to his elbow.
A muscle twitched in his forearm, a vein peeked out too and you swallowed.
“Your name is on all the paperwork, do not insult me.” There was a small glass jar in his hand, and with expert movements, he moved it in front of him and out of your view before you could question it.
“Soon to be our name?” you grinned wolfishly. “Which do you think suits me best, Wayne or Al Ghul?”
“Both are yours,” Damian took the plate away and hunched over it at the corner of the counter like an evil scientist in his laboratory. Sultana meowed and you tried to take a secret glimpse, to no avail. “As well as the one who was born with them.”
“So romantic…” you sighed wistfully. Then your nose twitched at a smell; you knew that smell, earthy and sharp like fresh herbs.
Without a second lost, you rose from your seat. “Damian—”
“I would advise you not to—”
“Is that your mother’s za’atar?”
He winced. “There’s barely any in the jar, I’ll have to contact her soon.”
This did not deter you, as you stalked closer, one of your cold palms slipping under his shirt and meeting the warm flesh of his bare back.
“You liar,” you huffed.
On the counter there was his magnificent display of a dish worth The Sultana’s time, from which he had probably realized that a pretty sprinkle of za’atar on the top was all that was missing from his masterpiece. But the jar next to him was damn near full. “You’ve been hiding the za’atar from me?”
“You put it on your ice cream, ya rouhi.” Damian argued. The memory alone made his shoulders tighten.
“To see how it would taste!”
“You are not mentally well,” he picked up the plate and moved to serve the displeased cat who still sat perched and impatient for her breakfast. “And as your doctor…” he whipped back around to grab the jar before you could beat him to it. “I would advise you not to have any today.”
“You are not my doctor,” you pouted, and Sultana only meowed, happily accepting the dish placed in front of her. “Damiannnn,” you whined.
“I won’t be persuaded,” he turned his back to you, inhaling sharply through his nose. “Go sit down.”
“This is unfair!” You complained childishly. “How come Sultana gets za’atar but I can’t have any? What is this favoritism?”
At the same time, the poor cat sneezed. Definitely the za’atar.
“Bless you, Sully.” “May the Most High prolong your reign, Sultana.” Came simultaneously.
“And this is the cat you don’t want?” you trailed behind him like an invasive shadow, following his every turn, even when he poured the qahwa into your favorite mug, leaving it out to cool. You were by his side when he reached for another plate — or rather, melted into his side — as the loud click! of bread popping up from the toaster took his attention.
“My exact words were that I did not recall any agreed upon living arrangements,” he said. Again, he cut the crusts off — not that you ever once asked him to — and spread labneh onto the toast, the magical jar of za’atar next to him still unopened. “I’m open to options regarding her staying.”
“But you’re not open to sharing the za’atar?” you mumbled, smooshing your cheek against his arm, peering up at him with big, pleading eyes. His jaw twitched, yet his resolve remained.
“Pleeaaaseee, Dami…”
Damian closed his eyes and sighed. “No.”
“But—”
“No, you’ll have too much and it will make you ill.”
“But, I promise—”
“Do not beg,” he sighed. “It’s beneath you.”
You deflated, snaking your arms around his middle. His hand rested atop yours briefly before he broke off a piece of labneh covered toast and brought it to your lips. “Where’s yours?” you asked mid chew.
“I ate last night,” he answered.
You shook your head. “You’ll eat with me,” your fingers found the toast and you reached up to feed him a piece. He accepted it, one of his canines grazing your thumb. “Good?”
He hummed in satisfaction. Your fingers brushed a crumb from his bottom lip and he took your hand against his mouth, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Missing something,” he murmured into your skin.
“Like… your mom’s za’atar?” you smiled cheekily, lifting your head to kiss his cheek, then the corner of his mouth.
He pressed a peck to your nose as you pulled away. “Perhaps.”
“Damian…” you pouted, placing a kiss to his jaw. Your eyelashes fluttered against the skin of his cheek and you felt his lips curve upwards in a smile. Then you suckled at the little sweet spot under the curve of his jawline where his pulse beats your name.
He squeezed his eyes shut tight, one hand wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him through that facade of restraint. “Seduction tactics are also beneath you,” he whispered, in that low throaty voice.
A giggle left your throat. “I’m not doing anything…”
Damian sighed, long and heavy. “You’re a better liar than that, beloved.” He tilted his head down and kissed you for real this time, your mouths moving together softly.
Your fingers grasped at the front of his sweatshirt to pull him closer as he hummed against your lips, open mouthed and wanting more.
Brazenly, and mid kiss, you reached your other hand blindly onto the counter for the za’atar jar, but he grasped your wrist in his gentle hold, bringing it up to rest against the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Damn him and his assassin senses.
Across the way, Sultana meowed hungrily. You pulled away, lips swollen, and burst out laughing.
Damian was quick to work on more labneh toast, his brows drawn as he murmured with faux disbelief, “I am a servant. I am a servant in my own home.”
With a sprinkle of za’atar he turned to serve Her Highness, but paused to break a piece of the toast, coated in labneh and now dusted with za’atar, bringing it to your overexcited mouth.
You chewed happily with a squeal and wiggle of your knees.
“Spoiled,” he said, the smile on his face contradicting his words. Then, he leaned down to steal a kiss from your lips, flavored with za’atar and the assorted spices of loving him. He bumped his nose against yours. “You were wrong. It did not require the za’atar.”
“What was missing?” You followed close behind him.
He took your hand in his as he sat down next to the hungry cat, pulling you across his lap. Sultana padded gracefully towards her awaiting plate and began her feast.
“You,” Damian brought the back of your hand to his mouth, placing soft kisses along your knuckles. “Now it tastes like home, ya rouhi.”
🗒️ had to post a dami fic, sick and tired of ppl playing in his face also where are the dami fic writers pls hmu so i can binge read 😔 #myrobin
see my problem is if i “listen to my body” it literally only wants to lie down and take naps, all the time