imagination exists

anonymous asked:

For those who still doubt the the 1st pregnancy was fake (I imagine such people still exist) I would suggest looking up Keira's progress at the same time. The way she walks or sits(you can even compare them side by side at the Oscars) or just acts w/baby bump. Plus she's always been one of the thinnest actresses in Hollywood and still she gained some weight! xxx N

That’s the thing with real pregnancies N Anon, they look realistic! ;o)

AU where the Justice League forms like usual, except Batman maintained his “totally a myth” status and has in fact been active for years before the JL forms. He’s very cautious about trusting them, but still joins, and the others sort of accepts that as long as they trust that Batman has a really hard time with trust, it will all work out in its own weird way

Then, one day, in the middle of a JL mission, the League gets in a tight spot. Out of nowhere, this blue and black blur swoops in and saves everyone’s ass. Maybe breaking some shackles that were proving very difficult, maybe disarm a bomb that the League was just a hair’s breadth too slow to reach without help, but whatever happens, the shadowy figure pauses just long enough to say, “Hey, Batman, you know you there are these things called cellphones now and you can just call sometimes, it doesn’t have to be this dramatic?” and bounds away after shouting ‘let’s do brunch! Bring your new friends!’

Batman is mortified.

No one lets it go.

The entire rest of the mission, the whole League is asking so many questions. Who was that? Do you know him? How do you know him? What’s going on? I didn’t know there was a vigilante in this area?? They don’t let up until he talks.

“That was Nightwing.” Batman is mumbling. The JL forces him to bring them to the Brunch. Brunch happens to be in a run-down apartment on the edge of a bad neighborhood, at five in the morning, in costume. Nightwing introduces himself as Batman’s lovechild with justice.

“I did not realize Batman had a child,” Martian Manhunter says, calmly enough that no one’s sure if he’s accidentally plucking a really loud thought out of the air or if he’s trying to make a joke.

Nightwing stares for a moment falling over laughing. He doesn’t get up. Batman starts trying to apply anti-Joker venom but Nightwing just kicks him and laughs until he cries. He keeps trying to wipe his eyes and his mask keeps getting in the way, so he asks everyone to leave so he can please get a hold of himself

He is still laughing when they leave. Everyone is confused. Batman is furious.  Nightwing manages to breathe long enough to say, “We’re just so glad you’re socializing now, Batman.”

Superman turns to look at Batman very slowly. “…’we’?”

Keep reading

Jimin - Ride It (M)

Originally posted by wonhoslilmonster

((^^ Gif not mine btw))

Word Count - 1,196
Warnings - Nothing but sin. Thigh riding. Daddy kink. Swearing. Spanking. Please forgive me.
Synopsis - Jimin comes home early from practice one day, sweaty, hair a mess… Your thoughts get a little race-y, and despite your efforts to hide it, he catches on to what you want pretty quick.

——————————

It was times like this you wanted to shrivel up and die.

Jimin was your boyfriend of a solid year and a half now-despite the struggles of dating someone with his hectic schedule and busy lifestyle, honestly, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

But sometimes, sometimes you… Would trade it for anything. This was one of those times.

“Jagiyaaa~! I’m home a little early!” Jimin came happily walking into your shared apartment, looking simply overjoyed to be there, and to see you.

But he also looked… Sweaty. And messy.

His hair was messed up, as if he’d just gotten out of bed, sweat made his bangs cling to forehead, his skin was still practically glowing with energy from what you assumed was a long day of dance practice.

And god damnit, he was wearing shorts, on top of everything.

You’d never admit it, never in your life, but… Hot damn, your boyfriend had some banging thighs.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t imagine riding them all the time, hands on his shoulders to brace yourself, shuddering as he whispered sinful nothings into your ear-

“Earth to Y/N??” Jimin waved his hand in front of your dazed face, giggling at your spacey-ness. “I asked you how your day’s been, silly girl.”

“I-it’s been great, Minnie.” You nodded, forcing a convincing smile and trying your hardest not to let your eyes linger on his thighs as he sat beside you on the couch.

“Is everything okay, jagi? You seem flustered,” He pouted a little at you, reaching over and brushing a few stray strands of hair out of your face. Given the close proximity, you could feel the heat radiating from him as he withdrew his hand from your face and, unforunately, laid it on your thigh, patting it gently.

“Y-yeah, I’m okay!” You nodded affirmatively, though you… Couldn’t. Quite come up with a reason as to why you looked flustered in the first place.

“If you say so,” He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at you, leaving his hand where it was on your thigh, his fingers beginning to absently trace little patterns over the clothed skin.

Damnit, he’s on to you.

“I-I missed you today, Minnie-how was dance practice?” You shifted the subject away from the state of your well-being, knowing if you let him dwell on it he’d catch in to what was going on inside your head.

“Oh, it was great! We had a lot of fun today-Yoongi-hyung treated everybody to chicken and pizza for lunch, and our manager said since we’ve been working so hard lately, we can have tomorrow off! Isn’t that wonderful, jagiya?” Jimin, as you’d expect, was elated at the thought of a day off.

But there was a glint in his eyes you didn’t like.

“We can spend the whole day together tomorrow, how great will that be? Think of all the things we could do,”

Yikes. You understood now.

You’d been not-so-inconspicuously squeezing your thighs together, you realized, and… Yeah, you did sort of keep looking down at his thighs while was talking…

He caught on quicker than you anticipated.

“Spacing out again, baby girl?” He chuckled, shaking his head at you and turning your face towards his with his index finger, looking at you with mock sympathy.

“Poor little kitten… Did you think I wouldn’t notice you admiring my thighs like that? Be a little less obvious next time.” He was wearing a smirk the Cheshire Cat would envy, looking at you as if you were the prey to his predator.

And, let’s be real… You were.

“Stand up and take everything off.” He let go of your face, nodding at you and sitting back against the couch with an expectant look on his face.

You quickly moved to do as he said-honestly, if there was a record for fastest strip time, you’d have just broken it.

“Aww, so eager today, aren’t we?” He abruptly pulled you down onto his lap once you were naked, situating you so you straddled his thigh.

He looked… So smug, and pleased. He must have been thinking about this, too.

“You know, I was planning on asking you if you wanted to try this tomorrow… But thanks to your slutty attitude, I guess it can’t wait, can it?” He cocked his head at you, smirking at how… Small you seemed. How submissive you seemed. It delighted him.

“Daddy asked you a question, kitten. Answer me.” His hand slithered up your leg before slapping your ass, of course leaving a mark. He was good at that, spanking you.

“N-no Daddy, it can’t wait,” You squeaked out an answer, desperate to get this over with so you could… Ride his damn thigh already lord have mercy.

He chuckled at you, taking your hands and placing them on his shoulders.

“What are you waiting for, slut? Get going.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You immediately started rocking yourself on his thigh, not even slightly embarrassed as you saw his skin begin to glisten from the sheer wetness of your cunt. He seemed to enjoy it too, once he saw it.

“That’s it, good girl. Ride Daddy’s thigh. Damnit, look how wet you are-how long have you wanted to do this? You should have said something sooner.” He reached behind you, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking it back, causing a surprised groan to rumble up from your throat. He latched his mouth onto the expanse of your neck, immediately biting down and starting to pepper red-purple marks across your skin, while your hips worked frantically against his thigh of their own will and volition.

“Fuck,” Jimin pulled away from your neck, groaning as he saw the marks he’d left. “I hope you don’t think this is all we’ll be doing tonight, you little slut. I’m goona pound you so hard into the bed we’ll have to buy a new one,” With his free hand, he delivered several hard spanks to your already red ass.

The spanks just made you that much closer, in all honesty.

You were reduced to nothing short of a moaning, borderline screaming mess as you desperately rocked yourself on his thigh. “D-Daddy, Daddy, please-please make me cum, please,”

He just chuckled at you, and shook his head. “Work for it, you little whore.”

But what he did after he said that contradicted his words.

He wedged his hand between your pussy and his thigh, rubbing furiously at your clit and even pinching it.

“Daddy, I can’t-I can’t hold it if you do th-that-” “-Cum for me, then, slut. Do it. Cum all over Daddy’s thigh.”

Once again… You didn’t need to be told twice.

Your whole body shook, and you screamed, your back arching as your cunt fluttered and coated Jimin’s thigh in your cum.

You slumped against his chest, panting, while he let go of your hair and started tracing patterns all over your now slightly sweaty back.

“Go ahead and take a breather, princess. Wouldn’t want you passing out on me or anything when we really get started.”

Yikes, you were in for a long night. Not to mention the next day.

- Ignis, can you… sense light?
- To a degree, yes.
- So when dawn breaks, you’ll know it.
- I should.
- Good to know.

10

GRVTY by Daniel Garay Arango

GRVTY is collection of surreal black & white images by Daniel Garay Arango, a photographer based in Colombia, where he re-imagines existing buildings as structures that seem to defy the laws of physics.

Follow the Source Link for images sources and more information.

Humans Get Even Weirder (fiction edition)

To add to the growing list on @space-australians

Humans are WEIRD!

Humans can form an emotional bond with anything. ANYTHING. We’re weird. Try explaining to an alien culture crying over a fictional character or having a Book Boyfriend. 

Other species bond, and can bond with individuals of another species (my dog loves me). But humans are the only species we know that can get emotionally attached to something or someone they know doesn’t exist. 

Imagine a human breaking down into tears over their favorite movie and the aliens trying to understand.

Alien: But, you said this individual does not exist?

Human: Yes! *sobbing* 

Alien: But you are crying.

Human: Didn’t you see him die?!?!

Alien: But he isn’t real. The actor stood up again. We watched the bonus scene.

Human: BUT I LOVE HIM!!!!! 

Me Against You

PART 1, PART 2 

A/N: I turned 18 today, on the 10th of April, and as a birthday treat, here’s an extra long chapter!! I wanted a date with Tom Holland for my birthday present, but needless to say, I did not get what I wanted. Someone please tell me that he’d love me as much as I loved him if we ever met in this lifetime. 

Warning: Angst, mentions of torture.


Everything happens quickly.

One moment you’re staring up at a wide expanse of blue sky, watching the jet disappear; the next, you’re surrounded by a group of soldiers rushing onto the scene in combat fatigues, pointing their guns at you.

Realization sends you backpedalling, but you run into something solid. You turn, already swinging, and nail one in the chin. He stumbles to the side and would have given you a clear shot to your friends, but three other soldiers take his place.

Before you realize what’s happening, a metal collar is snapped around your neck, sharp electrical pulses shooting through you. Suddenly, you can’t move, can barely breathe. Panic fills you, joining the adrenaline rushing through your veins, and your body isn’t sure how to react. Keep fighting, or shut down.

“W-What are they doing?” You hear Peter ask. You can’t see him, but he sounds scared. Panicked. “That’s a collar. Mr Stark, you said they were only going to talk to her!”

Stop it,” Agent Barton snaps. “That’s a child, not an animal, get that thing off!”

Keep fighting. Definitely keep fighting. The idea of sending your SAT scores to Attica instead of Cambridge is not appealing. You unleash it all with a scream. A plane explodes in a ball of fire, shaking the ground beneath your feet. Screams of terror fill your ears. The shock wave hits everyone within a hundred foot radius, knocking them backwards. You hit the ground hard, and a wave of pain sweeps over you.

“Run!” You try to shout, but only gurgles escape.

And then that familiar voice says your name, taut with pain.

(Y/n).”

It’s him.

“(Y/n),” Peter tries again.

You slowly lift your head up to stare at him.

He’d known what would happen. He’d done this. He’d betrayed you.

Peter’s scrambled to his feet now, hands outstretched, almost as if he wants to touch you, but can’t quite bring himself to.

With a feral scream, you launch yourself at him. You and Peter slam onto the ground, hard. Volts of electricity shoot through you, sharp and hot and carnivorous. You open your mouth to scream. Peter takes the opportunity to shove you off of him, shooting webs to pin your hands and feet to the ground.

(Y/n),” Peter manages. He sounds closes to tears now, his tone as tormented as his expression. “(Y/n), please, I’m your friend.”

You stare at him, your eye wild and feral-looking, your breath coming quicker and quicker from your parted lips. The pain is crashing over you in waves, the shocks making your muscles twitch and seize painfully, but you manage to raise your head, glaring at Peter with such soul-deep hatred that the blood turns to ice in his veins.

“We were never friends!” Your screams come one after another, scraping along your raw throat without pause. “I have always HATED you!”

For the third time that day, Peter recoils. He goes incredibly still, so still that you notice how his hands are trembling. He’s wearing a mask, but you know that his face is contorted in misery. There’s a quiet whoosh of air, followed by the sharp stab of pain in your arm. You can only stare at the small darts in your shoulder before blackness pulls you under.


“– How is she?” A male is saying. You recognize his voice. It makes you angry. Angry enough to force you out of your deep sleep, the only thing protecting you from feeling the pain in your body.

You blink, looking through eyes glassy from the strain they’ve endured. Tony Stark peers in through the glass window, looking at you as though you are a particularly interesting specimen under a microscope. Dark half-moons ring his eyes, and his arm is in a sling. You can’t find it in you to feel sympathetic for his injuries.

The anger magnifies, giving you strength. Strapped to the cot with metal shackles, you fight for freedom. Snarling like the very animal you might be becoming, you twist and buck, half-crazed eyes staring at him, wishing that you could do so much more than try to kill him with your eyes. All you receive for your trouble is another jolt of electricity. The bed shakes with the force of your shudders, the pain acute, gut-wrenching and soul-zapping. They’re going to kill you. How could they not? After a while, even your skin begins to vibrate and it doesn’t stop when the electricity does. Your bones feel brittle, as if they’re going to break at any second. Your lungs have to be filled with glass rather than air. Every breath is agony.

Tony Stark only looks at you again once your screams have stopped. His head droops. With shame? “The Spiderling wants to see you. You hurt him pretty bad.”

Good,” You snarl, surprised at the sound of your voice. You’ve shouted, but only a whisper can be heard. “Tell him I hate him and that I lied.”

Tony Stark closes his eyes, releasing a heavy breath. “He was doing the right thing.”

You raise your head to stare at him, eyes narrowed to angry slits. “No. He was doing what you asked him to.”

Tony Stark’s mouth opens and closes, and you know he’s searching for a response. When he finds none, he turned on his heel and marches out of the room.

“Good riddance,” Clint mutters.

Scott’s the first to recover, a curious edge to his voice. “What exactly did you lie about?”

You let your head droop back onto the pillow. “Having a good time,” You dead-pan, your eyes flickering up to the ceiling. “We went out a lot.”

Scott’s the first to snort in amusement. Slowly, the others join in, Clint and Sam snickering right along with him. It’s even enough to rouse a weak and rusty-sounding laugh out of Wanda, who’s been silent for the whole week that you’ve been stuck here.

It feels good to laugh. Even for only a moment.


You wake with wet cheeks, and a warm, calloused hand tapping at your face. You hope this doesn’t mean that the doctors are back to draw more of your blood; but the doctors at the Raft would never be that gentle with you.

(Y/n)? (Y/n), can you hear me?” The voice is pained, and you think you hear a muttered curse of, “Damn it, Tony.”

The pain is a constant throb in your head and limbs, you shouldn’t move; it will only make everything worse. Wincing, you crane your head up to see who has called your name. Blinking several times, you focus as hard as you can on the only face you can see. It is contorted with anger. His eyes are the palest blue you’ve ever seen, and remind you of clear summer skies and languorous lagoons. He’s not in the red and blue uniform, but in a plain grey hoodie, a white shirt and a pair of jeans. But you would recognize that face anywhere.

“Captain,” You croak weakly. “How was Russia?”

“Cold,” He answers wryly. “I prefer a warmer climate.”

He kneels, you hear the tinkle of metal being ripped apart, and your hands and legs are free. It’s difficult to move; fatigue has added weight to each of your limbs and your eyelids feel as if they’ve been replaced with sandpaper. Captain America helps you sit up, draping his hoodie over your shoulders.

“The collar now. Okay?” He offers you a calm and steady smile, his eyes warm and kind. “One, two –”

Quick as a flash, he grasps at the collar around your neck. Your fingers dig into your palms, gouging crescent shaped marks into soft flesh. Bracing yourself for an electric shock, you nod tersely, and he breaks it apart with his bare hands. You exhale in relief, smiling faintly and wanly at him.

“We’re getting out of here, (Y/n),” Captain America says, smoothing back soaked and matted hair away from your forehead. “Everyone’s waiting in the jet.”

You’re unable to support your own weight; he has to half-carry, half-drag you for several paces at your insistence that you can walk. When what little strength you have drains out of you, you crumple into a heap on the floor. He gives up the charade of allowing you to walk on your own and unceremoniously lifts you up off the floor and into his arms, as if you weigh nothing more than a feather. Your head lolls against his chest as he carries you out of your cell. An alarm erupts, screeching through the empty room.

“I was mean to him,” You confess groggily, your voice strained. “Very, very mean.”

Him. That kid with the webs?” Captain America bends down, and rips a badge off the neck of an unconscious guard. “The one from Queens?”

“He’s called Peter Parker,” You confirm, tears springing into your eyes. “He’s got the warmest brown eyes, and the nicest brown hair. He’s funny, he’s smart, he’s nice. He always got picked on by Flash Thompson, but Peter never let Flash bully me. He’s – well, was – my best friend.”

“I’m sorry,” Captain America apologises, the pain naked in his voice. “I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in this. Tony shouldn’t have –”

You close your eyes on a pained sigh. “Tony Stark is responsible for many things. But he didn’t make me shove Peter out a window, or into a concrete wall. I did those. Me. I’m a horrible person.”

Captain America uses the badge to open the door to the hallway. The two of you enter a long, narrow, passage that you’re relieved to find is empty. Maybe he’s disabled all the guards already. You can only hope. You’re tired of fighting, of having to use your powers. All you want to do is curl up in a ball and fall asleep.

“Believe me, I’ve seen a lot of horrible people. You’re not one of them.”

It doesn’t make you feel any better. You close your eyes against the pounding in your head. “I said I hated him. I hurt him, really bad. Peter hates me now.” And I don’t blame him.

Down the hall. Around a corner. Another hall, another corner. In the stairwell, your breathing and footsteps echo off the walls. But these are the only sounds. No one is following the two of you. Others will be here soon, though. You’re certain the alarm’s already been reported to Ross, wherever that monster is.

A pained groan slips past your lips as Captain America carries you up, up the steps. As fatigued as you are, as undernourished, as wounded, your trembling seems to magnify with every new inch of ground the two of you gain. He opens the door to the landing pad, and you see the jet you’d helped to hijack sitting right in the middle of it.

It’s dark outside. Frigid air envelopes you, worse because you’re in thin prison clothes, with only a hoodie draped over your skinny frame. The cold sea breeze whips hair around your face, and, you think, slices at your skin. You huddle closer to Captain America, exhaustion glazing your moon-soaked features.

“Hold on,” Captain America says pleadingly, and you hear the worry in his voice as he practically sprints for the jet. “There’s a first aid kit in the jet. You’re going to be fine.”

Sam yanks the door closed as soon as the two of you are on the jet, strapped in and ready to go. Without a hitch, you’re shooting across the dark sky. Bucky turns, sympathy written in his eyes. He’s been through some horrible things, too. Wanda is curled up by Clint’s side, her face gaunt and her eyes closed. Scott’s already asleep, snoring like a jackhammer in the seat by the window.

“What if he hates me?” A sob escapes you, a testament to the still-fraying rope holding back your emotions. It won’t last much longer now. “Peter hates me, I hate me, I’m –”

(Y/n), do you want to know what I think?” Captain America asks kindly, kneeling down to look into your red-rimmed eyes, brimming with tears. He clasps your hands in his. It feels as though you’re holding the full blazing sun in your small palms, his so hot and yours so cold. “I have heard nothing but positives about Peter Parker. If this guy is as good a person as you seem to think he is, then I’m willing to bet he’ll forgive you when you apologize.”

Your chin trembles, a fresh round of tears threatening to fall. You lean forwards, pressing your face into his shoulder, and there is a sudden, hollow silence.

Stupid Spirk Imagine #86,397

Imagine Spirk watching the Star Wars prequels together because Jim is like, “Agh they’re so awful but you really just need to see them at least once; trust me on this” and they get to the awkward as hell “romantic” scene between Anakin and Padme where he’s like “I hate sand….” 

And Spock just turns to Jim super serious like, “Clearly this boy is the villain – he does not appreciate the perfect desert landscape into which he was born.”