#um. i dont know

[mephilesthebug]

ringos diary

so i just finished penguindrum (and i did not understand literally any part of it, so forgive me if im talking out my ass rn) but !? is this an oarfish on her diary.? theyre seen as symbols of (natural) disasters in japanese folklore and it could symbolize the doomed fate of himari i dont knowwwww i dont knowwwwwwwwwwwwwww

[sorrelpaws]

really obsessed with the "momentarily left alone with my best friends other best friend" vibe they gave off here

[depresed-duck]

I AM PHYSICALLY INCAPABLE OF BEING NORMAL ABOUT THEM

[rookinthecrownest]

Demon of Vyrantium

from a screenshot study of this post

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Heritance

There's not much left for Tim in his parents' wills. Or, well, not much by his standards - the rest of the family, barring Bruce and Damian, think he is absolutely loaded and too full of himself to care. Which is maybe a little bit true; receiving about a dozen properties across the world, a trust fund and a wide collection of artifacts that his parents have accumulated through years of their archeological escapades is a lot by middle class standards.

But Tim knows how much money Drakes actually had, and a few old houses and an assembly of junk seems like not much in comparison.

In any case, it's all rather useless in Tim's position. He has no interest in traveling aside from when he has to for a mission, and he couldn't give less shits about archeology even if he tried. The trust fund is fine, he guesses, but it's not like he needs it, what with being the CEO of Wayne Enterprises and one of the Wayne Wards.

So, as morbid as it is, the best reaction he can muster at his inheritance is a shrug and a mention in his mile-long list of 'things I need to figure out when I have time'. Which basically means he'll maybe get to it when he's old and retired, and not any sooner, because Tim Drake the CEO and Red Robin the vigilante are both very, very busy people who never have time.

Naturally, his life has other plans, and it's only two or three months later that Tim finds himself breaking through the balcony window of his own apartment in Praha.

It's at that moment, when he's lying on top of a soft persian rug, surrounded by glass shards and wondering if this move was enough to lose his tail that he realizes his inheritance might be slightly more than just a few properties and some boxes with old things.

Because, through his own heavy breathing, he hears a thoughtful, slightly sarcastic voice from inside the room, "I guess the door was too hard to figure out for you, wasn't it."

He sits up, turning his head so sharply it almost snaps. His eyes immediately fall on a boy not much older than him, sitting with one leg thrown over the other on the dark red couch near the wall. He looks like he clearly belongs here: white, vintage collar shirt and black, high-waist trousers, a silver ring on his thumb that looks too old to have been bought in this century, dark raven hair and perfect porcelain skin.

And he is reading a newspaper. Like a slightly bleeding costumed guy in a domino mask breaking the window and falling onto the carpet is just another Tuesday.

Hold on, this is Tim's house! He double-checked the address, there's no mistake!

"Who are you?" He demands, frowning, as his hands reach to the birdarangs out of habit.

"Keeper of Doors," the boy answers, not looking up and flipping the page, "And you're the Drakes' heir, I assume."

Tim blinks. The response provides no actual answers, it only creates more questions. "What doors?" He asks because the rest of the points can most likely be addressed later. Like the issue of his busted secret identity, right.

The boy sighs and closes the newspaper, folding it in half and uncrossing his legs to sit a bit straighter. "Doors, capital 'D'. The ones that lead everywhere you want."

"The what?.." Tim repeats, dumbfounded and lost in this unexpected nonsense. The boy gives him a truly unimpressed look, his eyebrow twitching. Then, he stands up - Tim's fingers close around the birdarang again - and steps towards the nearest door, grabbing the handle. His feet make absolutely no sound.

"Drake manor," the boy announces and pushes the door open. He doesn't step through, however, instead just standing in the doorway and turning back to Tim, gesturing for him to look.

Tim does.

Seeing the familiar hall, the one he's seen so many times, the one he walked through every day before he moved out, makes him realize a few things at once. One, he needs to revise the list of houses he inherited since it looks like they are not just properties but a map of teleportation points, most likely. Two, his parents knew full well he didn't need the trust fund, it wasn't for him, it was probably for this boy, who may or may not be the, well, gatekeeper. Three, if the first part of his inheritance turned out to be this, he is going to need to call in Zatanna to sort through the collection of his parents' artifacts lest something turns out to be actually cursed in there.

Four, he's been staring at the boy and gaping like a fish for longer than its socially acceptable.

"...What's your name?" He asks, suddenly conscious about the fact he was kind of rude before. The boy snorts, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he closes the door back.

"Danny," he introduces and snaps his fingers. The glass shards around Tim move all at once, rising from the ground and going back towards the window, like a reversed video recording. A second later, the balcony window looks as good as new, not a crack in the glass. "And you?"

"Red Ro-" Tim starts, but then pauses. Fuck it, he might as well, "Tim."

Danny waves his hand in the air, like snatching something out of nowhere, and, just like that, there's a box that looks suspiciously like a first-aid kit in his hands.

"Nice to meet you, Tim. Now, get over here and stop ruining my carpet with your blood."

[melissa-titanium]

[foopsie-daisy]

So um guess who ended up making that furry au

Version of the refs without the clothes under the cut because i had a lot of fun drawing the fur and i got sad i had to cover it up lol

[medi-bee]

Ancient Urban

(high quality stills below the cut)

[swoo0zy]

hi clover die trophy

heavily inspired by @pepperpepi s art of them !

[lucabyte]

Not all who wander are lost. Some who wander, however, are extremely, extremely lost.

[heartorbit]

bugs when you lift up a rock

[quandaryqueen]

Psycho Sweet

Sub No Goggles Mark Grayson X Dom Reader

🔞 Minors DNI

Pet play, knife play, edging, Dom/sub dynamics

Mark stayed still like the good boy he prided himself as. Situated in your bed, the headboard sporting dents and chips from his misbehavior and lack of control, he didn’t need to be handcuffed, nor tied anymore.

His strength, he can control. Though his patience waned, he promised to remain behaved. His whines and whimpers, however, he could never get a grasp on, not even gags could muffle this little fucker. He has come a long way from being a rabid little thing. It gives him comfort and pleasure to know that he was being good to his owner, the reward was a bonus. You deserved the best, after all, and he would be damned to give you anything less. Such a good, disciplined pet he was. A sham of a Viltrumite, yet the thought does not cross him with guilt, no, he wore it like a badge of honour.

The situation before him had him panting like a dog, penetrative gaze refusing to stray from you. The wanton noise held from the back of his throat slips out when the light catches to the kitchen knife you held, glinting dangerously, oh so deliciously in your possession. Not allowed to touch himself, he fisted the sheets under him to assuage the inferna in his body.

“What are gonna do t’me, master?” he pleads, thighs pressing against one another. “Make me bleed on the sheets? Give me new holes for you to fill up? Stuff me with the knife?” Those, he said with utmost yearning, as suggestions. “O-or, I can stay quiet and let you do the work, master.” He added meekly, like a puppy tilting its head down after being kicked, pathetic brown gaze wielded methodically, designed to fawn.

“That’s a good boy,” Mark perks up upon hearing your voice, beaming further when you place yourself on his hips, right where you belong. He must have given you one of the most pathetic looks of wanting in his life that you sighed in a relenting manner, “What do we say?”

“May I put my hands on you, master?”

“You may, pet.” Not waiting to be told twice, Mark had his hands on your hips the instant words left your lips. Thumbs smoothing over your hipbone, he peers through his lashes like a flustered schoolboy when you chuckled at his display of eagerness. That earns him a hearty headpat, which he leans into, he would purr if he can.

“To answer your previous question, no, nothing too intense today,” you rumbled, words punctuated with a hypnotic twirl of a wrist as you admired the handiwork of the knife. One could see in his eyes that he almost deflated, but then you added something that made him perk up. “Maybe later.”

Poising the tip of the blade on his bare chest had Mark's breath lodged in his throat. The hammering of his heart accompanied his shallow breath, almost craving for the rise and fall of his chest to touch the point and poke him. He couldn't help but notice the knife's handle being his colours, your attention to detail impeccable as always.

Mark chants under his breath, a cry for relief. "I'm not fragile, I'm not fragile, I'm not fragile, you know that. More, more, more—"

The cold metal glides along his chest, dull-part against his skin, much to his disappointment, and impatience. He wanted his blood pooling in his skin, streaming down your sheets, staining your hands. But he knew to behave in the midst of anticipation. Gratification is tangible if he was on his best behaviour. It traces around his nipple, the cold colliding against sensitive flesh causing them to pebble at the contact. Letting out a pitiful moan, his back subconsciously arches to meet the sharp tip.

"I'm going to cut you now."

The knife trail upwards, grazes his skin, the first taste of pain sending him reeling fow more. The first cut drift from his sternum to his collarbone. A shallow incision akin to a kitten's scratch, beading with pricks of blood that remained stationary on the tiny cut.

"More, please." Mark breathes out, fingers digging into your hips, before apologetically smoothing his thumbs upon it with circular motions.

The second cut was made, applied with a little more pressure, from the expanse of his left collarbone to his shoulder, a pattern of spirals against his skin. This time, ample amounts of blood began to drip from the wound. Mark was breathing in the coppery miasma drifting in the room like his personal supply of drug.

Then another, under his rib on his left flanks where you wrote your initials. That had further tipped him on the precipice. Y/N'S. His master's pet. Just a little more...

"Mark," his own body corrects him, straightening up at the sound of chiding reprimand of your tone.

He swallows thickly, unaware of the drool dripping from the corners of his mouth. "Please... Cover me with your name. With... With hearts. Pretty, pretty please?"

In the haze of his pleasure, he found your smile the most heavenly of them all. Like the comforting, reassuring gesture of an angel. He will get what he wants.

His body was littered with your name in varying depths. Mark wished they could scar permanently, but on the bright side, you could always rebrand him. On his chest, arms, abdomen. Marks breath hitched when your knife approached his shaft after you carved your name on his hip bone. He bucks his hips forward eagerly when your gaze settled to his, in a imperceptible manner of assessing his reaction.

"Y-you can," he whines. "Let them know this cock is yours."

[eggtomatosoup]

IT IS FINALLY DONE!!! my 5 minute* oc animatic about a robotgirl** with meat in it!

Please check it out! (+some frames I like under the cut)

and of course,

*(it's 4 minutes and 51 seconds)

**(she's working on it)

[erufin-art]

Razzma my friend razzma... a sprite redraw although I did change the pose a bit for the fun of it

[reallemonmeat]

soyrry for the shirtless man jumpscare im rlly proud of this though .sniper has rotted my brain

[msrandonstuff]

Man you know what sure whatever