#(ehehehe)

[pokemon-npcs]

[ew-selfish-art]

Dpxdc AU: Damian decides that it’s time to go collect his brother from his assignment. Danny is starting to sniff out some non-ghostly bullshit for once.

Damian knew his twin had been exiled from the age of seven, banished to travel and observe how scientists around the world engaged with Lazarus water. The only word that Damian received that his spare was still alive were the letters of lab reports and findings that were sent back to base. As the Heir, he’s pushed to be better lest he himself be exiled or simply executed. Danny becomes a fleeting thought and then once Damian arrived in Gotham, a none existent thought.

They weren’t raised to be friends or even friendly. The were not taught codependency or allotted time to bond. The could have been perfect strangers if not for their appearance and the stories of Danny’s shortcomings becoming Damian’s praise.

It’s only once Tim informs him of an intercepted letter, one sent and saved from years prior, that Damian recalls Danny enough to care. Tim prompts him to share more, especially given the coup recently committed by Deathstroke (Slade) and Talia gone into hiding with her zealots.

At family dinner that night Damian supplies: “I suppose I should be the one to bereave my twin of his assignment. His reports will certainly go unread.”

Chaos in the Batfam ensues- meanwhile across the country- Danny sneezes and finishes writing his yearly report: “No major discoveries aside from public record patents (attached), No assistance required. -Spare”. He doesn’t know why he bothers, he hasn’t received any contact from his mother or grandfather since he was 10ish and certainly hasnt thought about his twin. But, if there’s a chance (even an itty bitty one) that his reports are being read and are holding off his reassignment, he’d rather keep assassins out of Amity Park.

Little does he know that this letter is about to be intercepted by Pru, former assassin and friend of Tim Drake. He hadn’t expected his twin to suddenly arrive and tell him that his job was done. And certainly, seeing a plane filled with an uncomfortable looking ‘family’ that requested he join them and get to know Gotham and his birth father, was not on his bingo list.

Danny does his best to let them down gently- and they seem to be accepting that he’s acclimated to this weird little town and will leave him be- when Danny suddenly has to transform into Phantom in front of them to handle a rocket sent by Skulker.

They are less willing to accept his appeal to be left alone after that… Damian is trying to “bond” with him and all the others are trying to “help” in their own way.

Sam and Tucker howl with laughter at Danny’s suddenly very large family- all while secretly working with the Wayne’s to get Danny the fuck away from the Fentons before the scientists do something they can’t undo.

[elpida]

Her breath wavered, a trembled gasp at the fingers pressing into such a sensitive spot. She'd dreamt of his hands on her, salivated at the mere thought. "I've thought about you fucking me far too many places Wes, do you know how- fuck, just how bad I want you to bend me over that counter?" she breathed the words against his lips, the pace of her hand quickening, stroking him at the speed he imagined he'd fuck her.

"How about we make that a promise instead? Promise that you'll make me walk out of here with your cum dripping down my thighs Wes." Her eyes kept flicking to the door, despite how her pussy squeezed around his fingers, her arousal coating the digits. She hadn't wanted like this, like a goddamn craving in so long. He handled her so easily, like she was weightless and easy to move right how he wanted her. Eden found herself bent over that table, her dress scrunching around her hips, her back arching down so perfectly and her fingers, her hands, gripping the edge of the table because he was so suddenly thrust inside her. There should've been some more shame to how she fucking loved it, feeling his cock stretch her, feeling him that deep so suddenly but she couldn't even hide how much she needed it, the way she let her fingertips grip a mahogany surface, the soft moans, the way her hips already moved back, craving the friction of him pushing into her again and again.

She pushed herself up, so her back was more flush against his chest and her head rested back against his lower shoulder. She was red in the cheeks, flustered. Despite that, she managed to nod her head though when her lips parted the only thing that escaped were such soft sweet pleads for more, his name a sin on her tongue. "Oh my god Wes you feel so good. Please. Please, I need you to ruin me, right now." Such a needy girl, so needy and so perfectly his, his boss, his darling little baker, she could be his princess and his filthy slut all in one.

His breath caught in his throat the moment her fingers wrapped around his length and his own digits pressed against her sensitive nub. His mouth opened as his breathing became heavier while Eden slowly stroked him. "Have you thought of me fuckin' you on that counter back at the shop? 'cause I have," he began. "I've thought about bending you over and fucking you before clients walk in." Wesley murmured in her ear as his fingers slowly moved further along her soaked heat.

Using two of his digits, he began moving them in and out of her at the same time as she stroked his hardening length. "I wanna make you cum on my cock and have you walk out of here with my cum drippin' down your thighs." But Wesley was becoming desperate and who knew if someone would walk in, not that he would care anyway.

Taking his fingers out, he grabbed her by the hips tightly and turned her around. Bunching up her dress, he yanked her panties down her body, fully exposing her and without thinking further into it, he lined up his cock to her entrance and with a single thrust, he sheathed himself fully inside her with a low grunt. "Is this what you wanted, darlin'? My cock inside your pretty pussy?" Then his teeth gently nipped her earlobe.

[wyervan]

[djo]

And impossible odds work is what we do here.

DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN 1.02: Optics

[gotham-at-nightfall]

Catwoman's Got Jokes

By broccoli.tyme

[vivern-of-nosgoth]

Used amazing gifs by @cherriesandsulphur

[overcastkid]

ummm yeah

[celestinesky]

[diamondzart]

Meet the “Princess assassin”

This design took me quite some time, there was a rather interesting task here for adult Tanya’s design — to convey the features of her father, while at the same time demonstrating her desire to follow in the footsteps of her grandfather, and these two were practically opposites in the team. Quiet, calculating and cold-blooded against loud, cocky and short-tempered.

RED variant and more details under the cut 👇👇👇

> Initially I wanted to make her suit neutral in black and white palette, but then I saw the idea of a hypothetical TF3 where some of the characters were children of the OG mercs and decided to go in that direction, giving her the colors of the teams.

> This jacket doesn't cost 10k dollars, of course, but in its appearance it tries to approach the style of its predecessor as much as possible! I also studied fem designs for Spy, both fan-made and official (the cancelled idea of an addition with female characters). The headscarf is featured practically everywhere on the fan ones, while the official ones are only wearing dark glasses with their heads uncovered. But in the end, I also decided to use a headscarf.

> White gloves are used as a counterbalance to the dark gray ones of the original Spy, and I used spats on her shoes to complement this extra white in the design.

[honeybunnilieu]

Hermit a Day May - Day 30: Doc!

one of my absolute FAVORITE designs for one of my favorite hermits

"judge bdubs send him to the skyblock and have him EXPELLED-!!" -everyone probably

sketch and lineart vers under the cut!

[wesaier]

Ohh..hmm I love you...

[rallentando1011]

certain ineffable things

(rise Donnie x touch starved gn reader - little bit of angst, mostly fluff) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lazy circles drawn on hips.

Tender pats on the shoulder or head, conveying much more than mere words.

Nudges of encouragement or of endearment or at least conveying that someone else was there.

Various affectionate displays - all luxuries experienced in the most painfully infrequent intervals.

 At least, they were to you.

Home definitely wasn’t the place to be seeking out stuff like that - your upbringing had all but made certain of that - nor was anywhere with your colleagues or friends. Any time anyone so much as got near, your skin seemed to crawl and spine shivered and-

In short, it seemed an endeavor destined to fail.

That wasn’t to say you didn’t like it. The physical contact part, that was; the yearning and all that was inarguably awful.

But the occasional touch or elbow rub or hug just absolutely made you melt. Only when you felt like it though. And normally only when you initiated it. And typically only with a certain purple clad significant other-

A hand grasped onto yours.

You snapped back to the present, sitting in Donnie’s lab where you’d been idly passing him tools and utensils as needed and he’d been discarding them back into your palm, and where a misunderstanding where each of you thought the other to be passing them something and extended two empty hands made quite the startling connection of the two.

“Sorry!” Your hand retracted as if repulsed by his. “Sorry.”

He jolted on his own accord before looking over at you. “You alright?”

“Are you?”

Donnie blinked. “You shuddered as if I transferred a few thousand volts which, considering my current field of experimentation, is feasible. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all.” You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. What a way to get dragged out of a soliloquy. “It just, uh, caught me off guard is all. What about you? You just about leapt out of your seat.”

“All’s good on my end.”

“Yep. Same here.”

“Alright then.”

A terse moment passed. Despite how fervently you hoped he’d turn back to his work and drop the upsettingly awkward conversation, Donnie’s softly confused gaze stayed fixed on you. 

It made your stomach churn in a manner halfway between flustered and unbearable - that was to say, leaving sounded like a viable option.

“You know what? I might go get a snack or something; it’s been a minute since I had anything so...”

“Right. Want me to have S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. fetch you something?”

“No!” You took a deep breath upon realizing you were nearly shouting. “No, that’s quite alright. I don’t mind moving around a little bit.”

“Oh. Okay.” Donnie remained wide-eyed and immobile, tracking you curiously even as you moved for the door. He probably kept that up as long as he could, as long as you were in his sight before going back to work, not that you knew for certain, of course. You had squared your shoulders and rushed out as swiftly as possible, only easing up when you reached the kitchen.

You set straight to work on that snack and a warm drink to help you recuperate.

With a sigh, you prepped a kettle on the stove, leaving it to boil as you ventured mindlessly to the pantry.

After retrieving something to munch on, something easily poppable, you returned to an eagerly whistling kettle, the contents of which you quickly emptied into an eagerly awaiting mug. You plucked a tea bag from the cabinet adjacent to the stove and dunked it in, setting a timer.

As the tea steeped, you tried not to do so in your thoughts. Swimming and swarming uncomfortably through your brain with unpleasant reminders of how unfairly you’d behaved earlier, how unfair the circumstances around how averse you felt toward simple contact were-

No, not going there right now. You busied yourself with snagging pieces of your snack, losing your thoughts under the fervent sound of crunching and grinding and-

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Right. The tea.

Steeping over and tea bag tossed, you gathered your bearings and paused in the doorway. On one hand, you could go back to the lab and talk things out like a sensible person. On the other hand, cowering away in Donnie’s room was also there.

“Psh.” You shook your head lightly at yourself and trudged your way to his room, ever the craven.

You sipped at your earl grey contentedly, navigating around stacks of thick books and planters filled with rich soil and plum-colored tradescantia. Donnie, ever the botanist at heart.

Following the oh-so-perilous journey across his purple-fluorescently lit room, you settled on his mattress. Something struck you as funny in a deprecating sort of way when you sat - going into his room uninvited and making yourself at home on his bed seemed less intimate than simply coming into contact with him. Maybe you were just desensitized to eradicating his personal space but still quite opposed to doing the same with his personal bubble.

Yes, it was funny. Pathetic, too, but ironically funny nonetheless.

You couldn’t remember the last time you purposefully came into contact with someone and liked it. Like, genuinely, when was the last time you were touched?

Yes, sometimes it happened out of necessity - someone helping fasten on a bracelet’s clasp or zip up an outfit or something of the sort - other times it happened by accident - like earlier - but other than that, you hadn’t the foggiest idea of when you’d last sought intentional contact with anyone. All you knew was that it had been a painfully long time which made it a painfully sore subject.

The quiet shuffle of steps made a sudden appearance, ones you could recognize as Donnie’s without even looking up. So you didn’t.

A weight settled a considerable distance away from you on the bed, the sounds of the anxious pops of phalanges and the wringing of wrists making it even more apparent it was him.

You took a long, slow sip of your tea, savoring the last bit of warmth cascading down your throat before deftly discarding the empty mug on his busied nightstand.

You shuffled.

Talking, right? That was what was supposed to, what needed to come next, right?

Hashing it out verbally, coming to a resolution, going back to sitting in the lab with hardly a word exchanged and certainly no skin brushing by skin.

How do you ask someone why they scarcely touch you without sounding inappropriate or impotent? Not exactly a normal thing to ask. Or feel.

And how do you describe the niche feeling of wanting to feel any kind of contact but only under the most specific of circumstances?

Daunting, it was. All of it.

“Do you want to talk about earlier?” Donnie broke the silence.

The shake of your head was nigh indiscernible, but he perceived it nonetheless.

He twiddled his thumbs.

You cleared your throat.

He looked up from his lap.

You cautiously extended your arms out. An invitation to skip the words and go straight to the resolution.

Hesitantly, his hand met yours, the feeling electric, burning as his digits slid across yours to take gentle hold of you.

The two of you met eyes and, upon seeing no disapproval, continued with the utmost care.

You couldn’t recall which one of you moved to lay down first, but the other quickly reciprocated the shift, both of you ending up facing each other on silken violet sheets.

Legs tangled lightly for the purpose of pulling each other closer.

Tridactyl hands lightly glided to your sides, as if handling something delicate.

Yours made their way up, joining together behind his neck.

“I’m being so honest right now: if you want to stop, we’re stopping,” you voiced quietly yet surely.

Lazy circles on your hips drawn by his thumbs drew you in, drawn by thumbs that had increasingly more bravado by the second.

“Seriously, any moment you’re done, we’re done.”

A low hum sounded his amusement.

“Not as in done done, like done with this specific-”

“Respectfully,” Donnie interjected lightheartedly, “shut up. I’m good if you’re good.”

“…”

The silence this time once again carried an awkward air, but it was decidedly less insufferable.

Another second was spent before he cleared his throat, not wanting to misinterpret your silence. “You’re good?”

“Mmhm.”

“Then it’s good.”

With that, you decided his advice to shut up was the best idea you’d heard all day and did so, nuzzling your face into his neck sleepily. The reverberating churr and tighter hold you received in return were exquisite.

Oftentimes words proved to be the best and most concise way to convey a message; however, sometimes actions took that distinction, able to show as opposed to tell certain ineffable things.

[fishiteeth]

"eheh e, ,, hhaha" says the little man, observant to the horrors surrounding his poor choices

[glassofpumpkinjuice]

patrick discusses his various wwwyf hats (x)

[xombrav]