#it doesnt add up

[mtgsmash-or-pass]

[spiderziege]

Mordred Manor! (with close-ups under the cut)

edit: i just put up some new drawings on my ko-fi, so if you wanna print this out as a poster or something, you can find it there at full resolution in the 'Misc Art' folder! :) (personal use only!)

[melucomarket]

I wanna know why my lowest effort batboys doodles are poppin' off, I'm just standing here flabbergasted....

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC The Invisible Bat

I've been listening to Alone Again by Weathers on repeat lately, so this post is inspired by it.

Rumor on the street says there is a new Bat in the flock. Yet, there is no proof - no one has seen them, no one has heard them, no one knows if that's true or not.

But, the thing is, every once in a while, a fight with one of the Bats is... harder than expected. A second hit, heavier than the first one, is delivered to the same place Batman's fist landed. Another bullet comes from a different direction than where Red Hood was standing. A cold edge of a blade is pressed to the neck just seconds before Robin's katana does the same.

Over the next few weeks, the rumor grows. Until, one day, someone calls it Invisible Bat, and the name sticks. The unnamed presence that follows the vigilantes gets its recognition.

Meanwhile, the Bats have no idea to who or what is following them. All they've been able to learn about it so far is that the Invisible Bat doesn't like the attention, registers as a vague cold spot in thermovision, and escapes without a trace every time they acknowledge it.

A month of fruitless attempts to either capture on camera or befriend the Invisible Bat later, Damian suddenly stops in his tracks in the middle of the Cave, like he's just seen a ghost. Then, he leaves to find Tim in a rush.

Two days after that, Nightwing finally catches their new team member on film. The old camera he borrowed from Tim on Damian’s insistence shows a picture of a boy with white hair, wearing what looks like a hoodie and jeans, with eyes bright and green, like Lazarus Waters.

------------

Is this Al Ghul Twins? Is this 'Danny escaped GIW and now helps the local vigilantes'? Is this some sort of amnesia prompt, where Danny only remembers his Protection Obsession? Is this de-aged prompt? Who knows.

I only wanted the irony of Gothamites calling Danny the 'Invisible Bat' while his first alias was 'Inviso-Bill'.

[ophii]

ok ok so. i saw a video and there were sun catchers in them so i was like "lol apollo would love those." then, i kid you not, i saw a post about him liking them. i took it as a sign, ofc, as you do

thyese exist now have fun

[theloveinc]

jason todd x reader - really just wanted to say he's the type to start feeding you stuff when you're taking too long to finish. it turned into this. 1.5k+ ish.

(warnings: eating dessert (being spoon fed), pet names, gn!reader, lots of teasing, + sex mentioned! edited but will double check in a bit!)

It’s not that Jason Todd is jealous. It’s not.

He’s been jealous before (plenty, he has to admit). He’ll be jealous again (could be as soon as next week, if not as early as tomorrow, if Dick so much as texts you to ask for Jason’s location). He knows this as well as he knows anything—as well as he knows that he’ll keep kissing you before you drift off to sleep every single night he’s lucky enough to go to bed with you. That Roy will keep being, or doing…whatever it is that makes him so specifically Roy. That B will keep disappointing him, even despite the slow and half-ineffective effort he makes by managing to locate whatever burner number Jason is currently using and leaving unnecessary updates on whatever mission Jason has most recently declined being part of.

It’s something else that itches at him. Something that burns with that same fire, creases his brow low over his eyes, and pulls his mouth into a pout you’ll tease him for later. It’s impatience. It’s the fact that it’s forty-five minutes past three PM (pee em), the latest you said you’d be home by, which means you’re a whole hour and fifteen behind schedule… still sat at the same outdoor café table you ordered lunch at with your best friend…four hours ago.

(Jason hadn’t meant to come. Hadn’t actually been invited. But the thought of French toast, egg scrambles with peppers, and looking at you in your cute date clothes was too much for him not to at least ask.

It's not a real excuse, he knows that. But what can he say, really, when he normally works the graveyard shift at Vigilante Incorporated, full time. Which he’s sure is what you were also thinking when you said yes.)

He likes your best friend. Not because he’s inclined to in any specific way (they’re nice in the way most people are nice, pleasant, if not a little boring and unworthy by his refined standards), but because he likes what you like, and especially things that make you happy.

But Jason also likes being home (on floor in front of the couch, shoulders between your legs while you absentmindedly pick at his hair and he cleans his gun, the both of you pretending not to be invested in whatever adult cartoon Roy most recently recommended. In fact, when you’d promised you’d be home by three, it was so that you could have dinner made by six, a shower together (and maybe just a tiny bit of sex) by eight, so he could head out for his scheduled patrol by nine.

(And be home by five am, so he could kiss you at least one more time before you had to leave for work.)

He could go on.

Not to mention, Jason burns; turns red as rust and Manhattan clam chowder when left in the sun too long (a phenomenon that remains unnamed yet oddly frequent among Gotham natives), which is simply just to say, in this little suburb an hour outside the city (when you aren’t going 90 in the carpool lane on a motorcycle), it’s all finally catching up to him. He can feel the pink on his cheeks.

In front of him, your dessert sweats. Fresh mascarpone cream seeping from between the now leaning, three-tier stack of biscuits, layered with the start of summer’s blackberries and drizzled with syrup. Still, you chatter away, the afternoon sun glinting off the spoon near your plate, as if to call attention to the fact that you haven’t even noticed.

“Eat with me!” it calls, and then as if to mock Jason’s poor sense of humor, “this whole thing is mildly irritating and definitely a waste of your time!”

He can’t take it anymore (you’d responded to the text he’d sent from the men’s room an hour ago, promising you’d pack it up as soon as you finished the food, but he knows now was silly of him to assume you’d be able to get anything in your mouth when you were that wrapped up in talking) and his body moves on its own: he picks up the spoon, leans across the table, and cuts through the top layer of your cakes without any care for decorum…or chivalry. The cream oozes, some of the syrup dripping down the side, and still, you don’t react.

“Honey,” he says, flat and low and grumpy, the only warning you get before he’s holding the bite up, inches from your lips. “Don’t let it melt.”

You blink. Your conversation stutters, falters, then dies completely as your eyes find his, and then the spoon.

“Oh,” you say, a little surprised, a little soft. Then, you smile, and Jason curses himself for ever being annoyed in the first place. “Thanks, baby.”

You take the bite graciously, tugging the spoon from his hands gently to finish off the bite. You wipe the corners of your lips, then lean in to give him the briefest of pecks, one that leaves his mouth sticky and warm with melting sugar. It’s almost enough to distract him from the fact he’s trying to lure you home… but you’re pulling away before he even has the time to fully close his eyes and enjoy it (as much as he’s eager to) and the spoon is set down in it’s original spot.

“Sorry,” you giggle to your friend, though your embarrassment is only half genuine, much to his relief.

He has to resist the urge to groan. And to make a sour face. And to express his frustration by scooping up a wad of whip cream and swiping it across your cheek (which is what he’d do if you were in private, not that he even needs the excuse to lick sweetness right off your face).

He gives it two minutes before he’s pressing another bite your way. Again, there’s no warning, no teasing, no words before there’s a heaping spoon of blackberries and cream mere centimeters from your mouth and his deep, blue eyes are narrowed in that particular, Jason Todd way, telling you: either you eat this, or… you eat this.

He thinks, at the very least, you’re finally picking up on the hint, as when you accept the bite, you roll your eyes and give him a playful glare. Jason doesn’t let you escape with the spoon however, this time pulling it from your mouth to let it rest between his forefingers as a clear reminder: you are going to finish this dessert, say goodbye, and go home… even if he has to be by his hand that it happens.

If you were a much more cruel partner than the one that you are, you’d offer back something biting, tease Jason, make a show of savoring the treat, and maybe even share a taste by exchanging tongue with him (as you sometimes do when you’re alone and eating something sweet)… instead, however, you offer him your hand under the table, fingers brushing the topside of his knuckles in a quiet, deliberate, and (most importantly) sweet way he will never admit makes him tender immediately.

Interlinked, your thumb starts to smooth over the scars that wrap around his skin, soothing any raw scabs in a wordless apology and a promise all at once. You don’t need to say anything, even though you still can’t, not really, not unless you want risk offending your friend. He knows you’ll apologize to him later, the way you always save the more intimate and vulnerable parts of your relationship, the parts you’re both still learning how to navigate, for when you’re alone together.

Jason exhales, something caught between relief and satisfied resignation. He’s happy to wait now that he knows he won’t really have to, so long as you let him keep this up.

You finish dessert slowly but obediently, taking the bites when he offers them, unabashedly disregarding the awkwardness that begins to fester without even needing to end your conversation. Though polite enough not to comment (as you’ve probably already mentioned to them Jason’s tendencies as a partner on the days he’s not desperate enough to tag along), your friend seems to pick up on the shift too, wrapping up the conversation with a glance at their phone and money for their portion and a tip passed your way. They excuse themselves with a hug and a cheerful goodbye that Jason barely manages to acknowledge in kind (though he does, again, for your sake).

Once they’re gone, the sudden silence is filled by the scraping of the fork against the soggy crumbs of your plate. Jason feeds you the spoon of syrup and mush one last time, and you can help but to giggle, a hand over your mouth as you chew, finally acknowledging the impatience that led to this whole scheme.

“Somewhere you trying to go, handsome?”

He scoffs lightly, trying but failing to seem unbothered when he begins roughly stacking your plates, “we have plans, might I remind you?”

“Oh?” you peer at him, failing to hide the sarcasm in your voice, “I had no idea. Really.”

“You said we’d be home,” he emphasizes with his dark eyebrows raised, “by three. Guess what? It’s four.”

(Jason is more of a homebody than he likes to admit, or at least, a stickler for getting his own way, which right now, includes taking both of your bodies home.)

You smile at him for real this time—genuinely, warmly, in a way that reaches something sore and soft behind his ribs.

“Yeah,” you peer at him, “But snuggling doesn’t exactly prompt rushing, does it?”

He gives you his flattest look, unamused, and even you have to admit, justified.

“My poor baby,” you laugh, standing and brushing crumbs from your clothes before reaching to gently brush Jason’s bangs out of his eyes. “I’m teasing. Let’s go snuggle.”

He ignores the sappy jab (really, the truth) and stands, too. He throws down a fat wad on cash on the check and reaches for your bag before you can, slinging it over his shoulder. You pull on the strap (see: attempt to make him relinquish the needless favor), but he’s already stomping back to his bike before you can even start another silly spat.

It’s not that Jason is jealous. It’s not.

He just wants you home—even if it means he has to feed you cake to get you there.

[fairsweetlonging]

i have so many thoughts about luo binghe rising early from the endless abyss but instead of joining huan hua palace he returns to qing jing peak for revenge, believing his shizun must be happy and celebrating, but instead he finds a grief-stricken shen qingqiu who calls out for binghe like he's still there and who sits at his sword mount for hours every day, holding himself in a state of inedia and neglecting the care of without-a-cure like he's punishing himself; and binghe decides then and there that no one can look after his shizun and keep him safe like he can, and his shizun clearly needs him even if he doesn't want to see him, so he follows shen qingqiu in secret and helps him from the shadows

[equill]

Reuniting with a distorted past.

Extra:(New personality tested gone wrong)

wanted to play with rin living in the aftermath aus aswell and had these drawings laying around to share so yay

Panel 1: Was buried alive.

Comic 1: Who are you supposed to be?

new friends

Comic 2: Misguided protection.

obito still sensing the warning signs of rin losing her temper. anyways they proceeded to be dragged into the ocean by rin like some sea monster

Comic 3: Finding out (Now what will you do?)

obito is harshly brought back from his delusions because now its not just kushina but rin too who he needs to ripped out the tail beast from

[willthespy]

Nico di Angelo ; Fallen Angel (ft. Will Solace)

(sorry for being inactive. i promise I’ll still do the requests…one day (soon))

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

Sometimes I feel like celiac disease doesn't actually count as a disability since it's so easy and stress free compared to deadly allergies, but then I remember that I have to meticulously plan every trip I go to and play 4D chess with uni campus restaurant menus and for a brief moment there was genuine consideration if I should be put on growth hormones because I was so small from not getting enough nutrients

[fascinationstreetmp3]

im aware that daniel calling armand "boss" is a one time thing in the book and at some point it became like a fanon nickname that gets used frequently and some people don't like it. but personally i am a daniel caling armand "boss" enjoyer. i think it's cute. especially when it's like... it just started out as a snarky passive aggressive thing whenever armand got really bossy and bitchy and daniel bit back and then it evolved into a term of endearment

[bvckbiter]

tbh anytime i think about pjotv my mind just. gets absolutely fucking boggled. the amount of shit they didnt explain. why sally stays with gabe, how adhd and dyslexia are fixtures in a demigod’s life, LUKE’S QUEST, the mist, WHY THE PACT OF THE BIG THREE EXISTS, why the gods are in america… for a show that has an ungodly amount of exposition dump they sure glossed over a lot of important plot and lore details!

[zvezdacito]

Saw this tweet on Twitter and now I have to make it about them

Like, brother 1 based off Maleficent and brother 2 based off the sword that kills her it doesn't get any more toxic and doomed than that

[arinmoss]

Astarion :3

[1071png]

The Baenre children...

My favorites were Quentel (I love a spoiled evil princess) and Gromph, hes probably extremely powerful being a 700 year old wizard and yet hes still pathetic somehow

[smithsibsceo]

zane and kai bonded in the early seasons by discovering new music together. both didnt really have a great access to it growing up (there was an only an old radio or maybe a scratchy vinyl player in ignacia's library and zane's village had no electricity) so they mainly grew up hearing their respective villages' traditional live music. Hearing those 'end-of-2012-mashup' compilations changed both of their lives