#image insertion

[yourlocalsurrealism]

So this low-key makes no sense but:

Bruce has a metagene. It is that any cape he wears has a pocket dimension. The robins have an uncontrollable urge to hide in it.

It doesn't even need to be a legitimate cape. He was playing superheroes with a besheet when he was seven, and he pulled a medieval battle axe out of it. The Wayne's have never owned a medieval battle axe. Alfred, Thomas and Martha were extremely confused and concerned about it's origins.

Yes, I know Bruce isn't a meta. But it'd be really funny if he was. Especially with such a specific, weird power. That's how he fits all the stuff in his cape.

Like, snacks, and weapons, and Tim swears that one time he saw him just make a whole motorcycle appear from it.

Dick was cold on patrol once, and Bruce opened his cape, and just thought nothing of the fact that Dick just disappeared into it, dismissed it as a result of a really heavy warm cape.

Dick found himself in a warm, cozy, dark place, and immediately decided to go there as much as possible. He then told Jason, who didn't believe him at first but then found himself in the pocket dimension and was like "fuck yeah this is awesome".

He didn't tell Tim, and Tim didn't feel as if he was allowed to ask Batman to hide under his cape even when he was cold, so it took several years of vigilante-ing before Tim figured it out.

Damian didn't really have any chances to hide in Bruce's cape before he was lost in time, the cape didn't work the same for dick, and by the time Bruce was back, Damian believed he was too old for such childish things as seeking shelter in his father's cape.

The robins just think that Bruce got his cape enchanted somehow, and just didn't care to tell them in typical Bruce fashion. Bruce has no idea about this and is just happy that his kids like him enough to feel comfortable with him during patrol.

[godserv]

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BUY THE BLUE SKY FUNERAL PROGRAM TEMPLATE

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[itty-bitty-sunshine]

Long day

[slabmaxxing]

like a black hole loves the light

[tizz-does-art]

I dubeth thee: The various shades of Ace-coded responses.

@xxtc-96xx How'd I do??

[fictitious-symbiosis]

SELF-SHIPPING TEMPLATES!

Greetings, fellow self-shippers and self-inserters! I come bearing templates!

Templates are fun, and I wanted to make templates that everybody and anybody can use. No DNI on these babies (though I ask you tag appropriately if mentioning darker topics, for the sake of filtering), and credit is appreciated but not required!

I've presented three colour schemes here in both stylised and legible fonts, but if you'd like a different colour, just pop it into your editing application and play around with the hue!

If you are unfamiliar with the terms or what I mean by them, "sharing" refers to whether you are comfortable with other people who self-ship with your F/O interacting, and "roleplay" refers to whether you're comfortable with people sending asks or interacting as your character, or anything else that involves roleplay. And, F/O means "fictional other," referring to whoever you are shipping yourself with! 😊

Fill these out and edit them however you like, and remember to have fun!!

[pillowspace]

Uhhhhhh. Would someone who's extremely self-indulgent over Puppet Charlie make THI

[connectedportal]

Intruder alert! A Brit is in the Daycare!

[screwpinecaprice]

@animation-recaps-by-sean

I dunno how to design an older Mabel and Pacifica so I just thrown in whatever and hope that works. 😅

hklsafkhakhen Sorry I didn't notice there were still ask requests from April left in my inbox! I'll slowly get back to em.

P.S. Not taking requests right now!

[dragon-curse-au]

Some shadow milk angst? 🥺👉👈

How the mighty have fallen.

[solcarow]

Look Back by Tatsuki Fujimoto // Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint by Sing Shong

[crowliphale]

Taking note of moments in time

[clemmmmmmmmmmmmmm]

So…stop me then

Exotic dancer!reader x Loa damian

Warnings:Smut,Spanking,Degrading,Fingering,Oral(Male)

The flicker of torchlight danced along the sandstone walls of the League’s stronghold, casting long shadows as night cloaked the desert outside. Deep within the compound, past layers of stone corridors and guarded passageways, lay Damian Wayne’s private chambers—sacred, silent, and off-limits to nearly everyone.Except her.She moved like smoke, veils whispering against her skin as she stepped into his sanctuary. An exotic dancer, hand-selected by the League’s inner circle not just for her performance, but for the sway she held over men trained to resist temptation. But Damian wasn’t just any man. And this visit wasn’t sanctioned.

His back was to her, stripped to the waist, scars etched like battle scripts down his spine. He sensed her presence instantly—no one could sneak up on the Demon’s Heir—but he didn’t turn. Not yet.

“You weren’t on tonight’s list,” he murmured.

Her smile was slow, teasing. “I wasn’t supposed to be.”

That got his attention. He pivoted, eyes dark as obsidian, sharp and hungry. A quiet tension crackled in the air—danger laced with want. She approached him with the grace of a blade drawn in silk, slipping out of her sheer wrap until it puddled on the stone floor.

His jaw tensed. “You know this is forbidden.”

She stepped close, barely a breath between them. “So stop me.”

He didn’t.

In an instant, his mouth crashed against hers—hard, consuming. Hands gripped her waist, pulling her into him, until she could feel the heat of his chest against her bare skin. She tangled her fingers in his dark hair, moaning softly as his lips moved to her neck, biting just enough to leave a mark.His hand slid down, exploring the curve of her thigh, then slipping between her legs—deliberate, skilled. Fingers worked slow at first, teasing, until she was trembling in his arms, lips parted with a gasp that he swallowed with another hungry kiss.

“Damian…” she breathed, clutching his shoulders.

“Say it again,” he growled, voice low, primal.

“Damian.”

It was dangerous. Reckless. A betrayal of every code he’d been taught.

Not tonight.

The chambers were dim, lit only by the flicker of torches and the low, infernal glow of a brazier. Smoke curled lazily in the air, scented with sandalwood and something sharper—like heat and control. Damian’s private sanctuary wasn’t just where he slept. It was where he trained, where he commanded, and where no one entered without purpose.

Yet she stood there anyway, back arched beneath sheer fabric, veils clinging to sweat-kissed skin. She knew exactly how to present herself: demure at a glance, defiant underneath.”You’re not permitted in here,” Damian said, voice flat, but eyes dragging slowly down her frame.She stepped forward. “Then punish me.”The air between them snapped tight.Damian moved in a flash, grabbing her wrist and spinning her around, pressing her chest to the stone wall. One hand gripped her hair, tugging it back to bare her throat, while the other slipped beneath her veil and cupped between her thighs.”Soaking,” he murmured, breath hot against her ear. “You like breaking rules, don’t you?”She moaned as his fingers rubbed slow, deliberate circles through the wet lace. “Only yours.”He chuckled darkly. “On your knees.”She dropped instantly, veils puddling around her.

Damian undid his pants, cock hard and already leaking. She looked up at him with a knowing smirk, then took him into her mouth—slow and deep, teasing him with long licks and hollowed cheeks until he hissed and tangled his fingers in her hair, guiding her faster.Just before he tipped over the edge, he yanked her back with a low growl.”Face the bed. Hands on the post.”She obeyed, crawling onto the silk-covered mattress and gripping the carved wood. Behind her, she heard him move—then snap. The leather bite of his belt coiled around her wrists, binding them to the headboard. Her breath quickened.”You said you wanted punishment,” he said, trailing fingers down her spine. “Don’t expect mercy.”He grabbed a silk blindfold from the side table, slipping it over her eyes. Darkness bloomed. Every sound—his breath, the rustle of his clothes—became sharper. When his fingers slid back between her thighs, it was electric.Two slipped inside her, then three—stretching, curling, fucking her open slow and rough. She moaned, bucking back, but he kept her right on the edge, never letting her fall over it.

“Please…” she gasped.”Please what?”

“Touch me. Fuck me. Something.”

He spanked her, once—sharp, and then rubbed the sting away.“I decide when,” he said. “And how.”She was shaking by the time he finally pushed into her, slow and deliberate. He fucked her hard, hand around her throat just tight enough to make her gasp and clench. Her walls fluttered around him, slick and needy, every thrust a tease and a threat.

“You want to come?” he rasped against her ear.

“Yes—”

“Beg.”

She did. Shamelessly. Moaning his name like a mantra, legs trembling as she begged to be ruined.Only then did he let her break. Her orgasm hit hard, body arching against the binds, helpless as wave after wave rolled through her. Damian came with a curse, thrusting deep, spilling inside her with a growl of satisfaction.When it was over, he leaned in and unfastened the belt, pulling off her blindfold. Her eyes met his—still burning, even in the afterglow.”That wasn’t punishment,” she whispered, voice raw.

He smirked. “No, it wasn’t. That comes next.”

She lay there, limbs slack, thighs still twitching from the orgasm he’d pulled out of her—and denied three times before giving in. But Damian wasn’t done. Not even close.He leaned over her, breath hot against her cheek. “Did I say you were finished?”She blinked, still hazy. “I—”

“Wrong answer.”

A sharp crack echoed through the chamber as his hand met her ass again, harder this time. She gasped, the sting sharp and arousing. Damian gripped her hips, flipping her onto her back, her wrists still bound in front of her now with the same belt.”You come without permission again,” he said, dragging two fingers down her stomach, “and I’ll make you spend the rest of the night begging for release with nothing but my thigh between your legs.”

Her lips parted.

“Would you like that?” he teased, nudging her entrance with his cock again—already half-hard, slick with both of them.

She nodded, flushed. “Yes, sir.”

That earned her a slow kiss, possessive and filthy, tongue pushing past her lips like he owned her mouth too. His hand slipped up, wrapping around her throat—not tight this time, but firm. Controlling. Perfect.

“You’re learning.”

Then he reached for something by the bed—a small lacquered box, one she hadn’t noticed before. He opened it slowly, letting her hear the sound of leather sliding over silk. A crop. Slim. Black. Precise.Her breath hitched.Damian tapped it lightly against her inner thigh. “Color?”

“Green.”The first strike landed sharp and stinging on the inside of her thigh. Then another—slightly higher. Not cruel, just firm. He watched her squirm, soaking in every gasp, every twitch, every wide-eyed flicker of arousal.“Look at you,” he murmured, voice silk-wrapped steel. “Tied up. Marked. Begging. And all it took was a little discipline.”The crop traced the line of her folds—then struck down with a snap that made her cry out, pleasure and pain mixing into something dizzying. She was dripping, wrecked and aching. He knew it.“Want to come again?”

“Yes—God, yes.”Damian knelt, gripping her thighs and spreading her wide. “Then stay still. Don’t move. Don’t speak.”And then his mouth was on her—tongue relentless, precise, dragging moans from her throat like a musician plucking strings. She writhed, struggling against the bindings, thighs shaking.

He stopped. Pulled back.

“You moved.”

She whimpered.

“Try again.”

Again. And again. He edged her mercilessly, dragging her to the brink and yanking it away with a smug look every time she gasped too loudly or clenched the bedsheets.By the time he finally slid inside her again, she was begging, nearly crying from how bad she needed it. He fucked her slow this time, holding eye contact, lips brushing hers with every thrust.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, pressing his palm flat over her belly. “Right here. Say it.”” I’m yours,” she gasped. “All yours.”And when he finally gave the word, she shattered—screaming his name like a vow, body convulsing around him. He spilled inside her a moment later, kissing her hard as they both came undone.

[daily-sifloop]

Loop and Sif fishing together? 🥺

Day 76: sleeping with the fishes

[lycankeyy]

Funniest thing about Tenna is for how much he's very sympathetic and also probably didn't fuck over Spamton as hard as he implies he still is very much a corrupt businessman. My man abuses NDAs. He forces people to sign contracts without letting them read the fine print that seems to more or less imply that he owns them. All of his employees hate him so much that if you fail to recruit a single one of them they're fully content to just leave him to die. In Susiezilla they all risk getting fired for the chance to beat the shit out of him actually

[ahqkas]

hello love!! may i please request some headcanons for arthur morgan and charles smith when they see their partners wearing their shirt? (and maybe john and javier? only if you’re up for it of course!) xx

PRETTY LIKE THE SUN ; arthur morgan, john marston, javier escuella, charles smith

RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2 MASTERLIST!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

𝜗𝜚 ARTHUR MORGAN !

when arthur saw you wearing one his shirts, his eyes instantly softened and his lips parted slightly. the sight of you struck him — seeing something of his on you, so intimately close, filled him with a mix of emotions

“well, don’t you look just perfect,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. his irises never left your form, taking in the way the shirt enveloped you. it was an old, worn shirt, softened by years of wear, and seeing it on you brought a warmth to his chest

“you look better in this than i ever did,” he murmured, his voice rough with affection. his fingers brushed over the fabric, lingering on your arm as if committing the moment to memory

“but i gotta say, seein’ you in my shirt . . . it makes me feel all warm.”

he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips, each kiss a silent vow of his affection and presence. holding you close, he rested his chin on top of your head. “you can wear my shirts anytime you like,” he whispered, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “makes me feel real good, knowin’ you want to.”

he’s such a sweetheart about it

𝜗𝜚 JOHN MARSTON !

his eyes widened slightly at the unexpected sight before him. there you were, standing by the window, wrapped in one of his old, worn shirts. the shirt hung loosely on your frame, the sleeves too long, and the hem brushing against your thighs

a slow smile spread across john's face, his amusement evident. “well, look at you,” he said, his voice tinged with a chuckle. he stepped closer, his eyes roaming over you. “that’s my shirt, ain’t it?”

his heart swelled at the sight

“you look real good in it, darlin’”

he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. “you can wear my shirts anytime you want, darlin’,” he whispered into your hair. “hell, you can have ’em all if it makes you happy.”

this man wouldn’t shut up about it, he’d annoy you for the next days, even weeks

but he wouldn’t admit he’s replaying the picture of you, standing in front of him in one of his shirts. the thought made him feel deep things, things he wouldn’t even admit when drunk on alcohol

from that day, he wants you to wear his clothes every single day

𝜗𝜚 JAVIER ESCUELLA !

javier strolled into your shared tent, a soft tune humming from his lips as he shook off the day’s dust. his eyes immediately caught sight of you, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. you were wearing one of his shirts, the fabric loose and flowing around you, and the sight stopped him in his tracks

“. . . is that my shirt you’re wearing?”

he would be either so confused or in denial of this happening

but once the feeling dropped off, a wide, delighted smile spread across his face

even his eyes smiled

“you look absolutely beautiful,” he murmured, his voice tinged with awe

reaching out, javier gently took your hands in his, lifting them to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “you always look beautiful, but seeing you in my shirt . . . you’re breathtaking, mi amor.”

javier held you close, his hands lightly caressing your palms. “you can wear my shirts anytime you like,” he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity. “in fact, i’d love it if you did.”

the thought of you wearing his clothes makes you even more his than you already are

𝜗𝜚 CHARLES SMITH !

charles walked into your shared tent, the weight of the day's tasks evident in his tired steps. as he glanced up, he froze momentarily, taking in the sight before him. you stood there, illuminated by the soft glow of the lantern, wearing one of his old shirts. the fabric was too big for you, sleeves hanging past your wrists and the hem falling almost to your knees, but the sight of you in it struck him deeply

“hey there,” he said softly, a warm smile spreading across his face. his eyes softened, filled with a mix of surprise and admiration. the man moved closer, his gaze never leaving you, taking in every detail of how his shirt enveloped your form

you smiled at him. “i hope you don’t mind,” you murmured, glancing down at the large shirt

charles’ heart swelled with adoration at you words. he reached out, his big, calloused hand gently lifting your chin so he could look into her eyes. “mind? not at all,” he said, his voice low and tender. “you look beautiful. it means a lot to me that you wanted to feel close.”

he brushed a soft kiss across your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “if you ever need anything — comfort, warmth, just a piece of me — you take whatever you need.”

he’s ready to gift you all of his shirts