#or push you back

[thefuseoftemptation]

What type of hugger do you think Eddie is?

Oh, he full on hugs you. Just pulls you into him and holds you. Eddie’s the type to put everything into the hug, he won’t let go until you do and even then he doesn’t feel like pulling back because m’sure he likes and needs it just as much as you.

Expect times where he surges to you suddenly and just pulls you into him—wherever you guys are at. It happens plenty when you guys are together and he hasn’t seen you in a while. And by a while, I mean it could’ve been just a few hours.

“Eddie,” you breathe out. “We just saw the other…” you speak rubbing his back.

“I know.” It’s mumbled but you hear.

Expect too, behind the back hugs. Do it to him and that’s it—he’s gone. He just melts.

(That’s all if he knows you).

But if you guys haven’t known the other for much time, m’sure he’ll still be the type to hug you because whether he knows it or not—he revels the feeling.

Though, there are times where if he’s not expecting it and it suddenly happens—there’s a brief second of him not knowing how to even take to it. Like he’ll just sort of be there with his arms up to the side before he sighs and leans into it. He won’t be sure of himself for a few but he’ll get used it in no time.

. . .

[ladiablesse]

idk to me it’s just like,,,black people coined the phrases say her name and rest in power for a reason and im gonna focus specifically on say her name because it was black women who wanted to call attention to the systemic violences that we have faced that have resulted in the deaths of so many of us which were left unrecognized. it was specifically addressing an issue within the black community wherein black femicides (particularly at the hands of the police/intimate partners) were not given the same spotlight as the murders of black men. we are always forgotten in life and in death and that is part of why the violence against us has been permitted to continue to the point that we are at a significantly higher risk of homicide than any other race. and the statistics are even more grim for black transwomen and femmes. for every nonblack victim of transphobic violence that gets recognition in their horrific death, there are 10 black victims whose names we never know. like that is the whole point of the phrase this shit is life or death for us and we know that the moment race is decontextualized from the nature of the phrase then that is when we are once again forgotten. but yall are acting like we’re trying to start genz tiktok lingo/aave co-opting discourse.

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[hermit-frog]

[seiwas]

cw: pro-hero bakugo, reader has boobs, kind of explicit/nsfw? idk i describe boobs, reader is smaller and shorter than bakugo, unedited sawry

bakugo's muscle tee looks as ill-fitting as it'll ever be draped over you.

there are reasons for this, perfectly founded and logical reasons for why that is—the main one being that, it's, well, his; two, maybe even three sizes larger than what it should be to fit you properly.

but, he can't stop staring, and there are reasons for that too—the main one being that, it's his, and yet, the only way he can ever imagine it now is when it's being worn by you.

your hips sway to the song you've been humming for the past five minutes. it's the same one, the chorus on a perpetual loop. he's sure it's the only part you know; you do this often enough that it's the only part he knows now, too.

the hem of his tee hits right at the top of your thighs, concealing just enough to tease, but he’s confident that if you reach up even the slightest bit for the cupboard overhead, there'll be nothing to hide.

he feels a little bit like a creep like this, watching as he stands in the middle of your shared living room, but it's impossible too look away—you've got to be doing this on purpose, right?

heat flares inside of him when you turn your body ever so slightly, the armhole of his muscle tee large enough to give him the clearest view of skin—

he gulps.

it's smooth, sloping just right; the side view of your under boob curves into its perfect shape and he can imagine it, feel—

(is this considered perving if he's been with you for years?)

the pan in front of you sizzles as you plop in god knows what. you pour in something from the side and wait, one hand propped on the hip you pop out. then, you pick up the pan, attempting to flip what's inside (probably a pancake, now that he thinks about it).

it’s hard to focus on what you’re cooking though, especially when all he sees is plump flesh jiggling, bouncing as you further agitate the pan.

he just got the pants of this suit readjusted, and now they're fucking tight.

bakugo normally runs hot; it’s kind of part of his dna. but this warmth is different, flushing him from head to toe. it creeps up the side of his neck, painting the tips of his ears a blooming red.

you turn around then, plopping the pancake on the plate atop the counter behind you.

"oh! you're done," you greet him with a smile. so. fucking. casually.

as if your tits aren't fucking peaking against the gray fabric of his tee.

as if you think he buys the fake innocence poorly concealing that sly, conniving look in your pretty eyes.

as if you aren't standing in front of him in his muscle tee, wearing nothing underneath it like you didn’t do this on purpose. like you don’t know what it fucking does to him.

his eyes squint suspiciously, deep vermillion staring straight into yours.

you tilt your head, the tips of your lashes kissing the top of your cheekbones as you blink. you reach for a bottle of honey.

“everything okay?” you ask, voice syrupy, sickeningly sweet.

your movements play in front of him languidly, the corner of your lips curling up slightly as you smirk. honey catches on your finger as you pop open the bottle cap.

he’s supposed to be out the door in five minutes if he wants to make it in time for a meeting at the agency. technically, he should already be there if he wants to keep up his track record of consistently being fifteen minutes too early.

but you start to approach him, rounding the kitchen island. there’s a narrow space between him and the slab of marble, but you slide into it like it was made for you.

he’s certain it was, from the way the tip of your nose brushes against his as you tiptoe. your tits are right fucking there, brushing against the skintight material of his suit.

there’s too much fucking fabric if you ask him, between cotton and spandex.

your grin widens, and he feels hot, the heat from his cheeks radiating.

then you whisper, still saccharine, “breakfast is ready,” before kissing him on the lips lightly. a short peck, soft in the way that promises more before you slip away, giggling in your retreat.

he huffs, watching you leave. his feet shift as he thinks.

five minutes, huh?

like hell he’s going to eat these damn pancakes for breakfast today.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I'm not going back to Gusu with you.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[beyondthisdarkhouse]

After months of research and development and market testing and perfecting the first item I feel confident selling online, I have realized... that it is an incredibly niche item that only a specific subset of absolute nerds would want to buy, and I will have to do a ton of explaining the basic idea over and over again before people generally get what it is I'm even selling. RIP me

[belle-keys]

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 177

Now Dan is no coward. He’s not. 

But this stupid child body does have an effect on his reactions to things and honestly it’s a horrible thing that’s too small and too weak for him to use all his abilities. He could barely manage a fireball if he concentrated, yet everything caught fire with a mere outburst! His control was utterly gone, and a tantrum resulted in having to wear a stupid child leash backpack. 

It wasn’t like he was really a child, and it wasn’t like he’d get lost or some stupid shit that Danny would insist. Ugh, this isn’t even fair, technically he was older than him yet was stuck in a smaller body that he kept tripping over! 

Urgh, he’s even insisting on rewarding ‘good behavior’ and shit- must have talked to Jazz or something- because… Oh. No he wants the constellation bear, give! His star bear now, no takes back and, urgh, stupid baby body! 

Well, on the other hand, it’s utterly hilarious how much Danny sputters whenever he calls him Mom, not to mention strangers’ utter befuddlement. He ignores how Danny seems to be trying his best to live up ro the title. 

But! As he was saying, he’s no coward! He’s also not an idiot though, and having no control over his powers isn’t exactly a good thing. It’s really not a good thing when there’s a murderous-looking hero that he thinks he might have maimed in the future- which they apparently remember- staring down at him. So, he has to call in the big guns to fix this. 

“Mom, there’s a creepy fruitloop staring at me!” “There’s WHAT?!” Hah. Take that hero he doesn’t remember the name of.

(Behold the Grumpiest of Babies)

[thedisablednaturalist]

I think when people think of mental illness and what helps, especially with things like anxiety and depression, the treatment involves pushing yourself. Pushing yourself to get out of bed, to exercise, to take a shower, to go out in public, to order your own food from the cashier, etc.

And because the mental health movement has grown so much, people think that's the default of ALL illnesses. That the only way someone will get better is if they push themselves. That practice makes perfect. That you'll become more comfortable or strong over time the more you do something.

But what people need to realize is, with physical disabilities and chronic illnesses, pushing yourself in most cases is DETRIMENTAL. Pushing yourself past your limits can lead to flare ups or further injury. That's why it's important to know your limits, how certain activities may affect your condition, and learn how to either adapt or get help to complete the activity in question.

Also, most of us are already pushing ourselves. Most of us don't have access to the help or equipment we need. Most of us live in places where we frequently encounter inaccessible obstacles. Most of us NEED to rest.

So please don't try to be our physical therapists or doctors. There are people specifically trained to help us navigate our own conditions and limitations. There are people trained to help us strengthen our body's resilience without causing flare-ups or injury. Do not tell us "it'll be good for you" or "you need the exercise" when we say something is too heavy or too far or when we say we need our mobility aid(s). Your friend with depression may need to be encouraged to get out of bed, but your friend with chronic illness definitely doesn't.

Respect our rest.

[turtleblogatlast]

I think a lot about Leo standing up for his brothers in the things that really matter to them.

Like- Leo is the one who immediately pushes Mikey and Donnie into finding Raph the second it’s clear that their oldest brother is missing because he knows Raph can’t handle being separated like that.

Leo is the one who stands up for Mikey when Mikey wants to go on a solo mission, actively vouching for him and being the one to convince Raph into letting Mikey go, because being independent and proving himself just as capable of standing on his own two feet as everyone else means so much to Mikey.

And Leo defends Donnie’s honor in particular when his brothers’ intelligence is insulted because Leo is well aware of how important Donnie’s smarts are to him - and how important having those smarts valued and acknowledged is as well.

All this goes right into just how well Leo knows his brothers. For as much as he’ll tease or fight with them, he knows them, and he loves them.

[suckdickforcoin]

Peri and dev doodles !!

[howlerbat]

imagine if Armand and Daniel did have a relationship in the past and when they inevitably went through one of those “why won’t you turn me?” fights Daniel said something about how Louis was gonna leave him anyway because their marriage is shit and Armand was like “alright then WHEN Louis leaves me like you say he will I’ll turn you!” and Daniel took that shit so so seriously

[riickgrimes]

ZENDAYA as TASHI DUNCAN CHALLENGERS (2024) dir. Luca Guadagnino

[mikayesha]

enlighten me, my dear. why am i still here?

[collophora]

"Let's fix this drawing" *redraw the whole thing*