#*i blow u kiss*

[drownedrow]

@evening-rose-309 hi ilyyyy

[ikiprian]

there’s a lot of interesting stuff that can be made by examining the objectively scary stuff the robins face in a realistic light, but also? i really like the robins making trauma jokes. humor’s a coping mechanism that makes a lot of sense for them, given their previous role as the lighter side of batman. and, perhaps more importantly, i think it’s funny

Dick: did you just house an entire family-sized bag of chips? by yourself, in less than an hour?

Jason: as an orphan, i qualify as a family of one

Steph: but you died too, so that would make you a family of zero

Damian: multiple of us have died. it doesn’t make anyone special. i, however, am naturally special, on account of being heir to the batman

Steph: ah, heck. well, i’m no longer special, guess it’s time to fake my death and flee to africa

Dick: are you really heir to the batman, though, if bruce kicking it anytime soon would just put me in the cowl? which is a terrible job, by the way, to which nobody should brag about being heir?

Tim: hey, guys. has anyone seen my chips? i coulda sworn i…

Jason: [makes direct eye contact as he tips the bag up, funneling the bottom-bag chip crumbs into his mouth]

Jason: oh, sorry. did someone take something from you? steal it, perhaps?

Tim: [deep breath]

Tim: do you want guns batman. because this is how you get guns batman

Dick: [muttering] at least someone wants the job

[mysterycitrus]

dctok has rights sometimes actually

[rocketbirdie]

party in the front party in the back babie!!!

[spearxwind]

Happy 10th birthday to Cercerion!

OUGHHH UR RIGHT CERCIE IS 10 YEARS OLD NOW !!!!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY BOY BELOVEDEST DID NOTHING WRONG EVER IN HIS WHOLE LIFE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[jackshiccup]

[icyachr]

[sets this down for the ingo fans] pspspspspspspspsps

He may not have won, but he's my #1 Tumblr Sexyman (and by extension, Emmet LMAO)

[ariiadnes]

ㅤ╭ ⿻ ･ 10 : 41pm.

-ˋ ♡ ◞ simon riley. call of duty.

if there is one thing that is to be known about simon riley ( which really, there shouldn't be anything, so he says, but apparently, this is an exception ), it's that he doesn't get sick. no, not the tall, gruff, rough-around-the-edges lieutenant who has been through hell and back.

dangerous missions? war criminals? missiles? easy to deal with.

viruses? ah, well--

a beep, then two.

you stare at the thermometer, brow raised before you let out a small sigh.

"i fear you may be sick, simon riley."

you show him the numbers. 101.2. he pauses, stares blankly at the tiny screen before his gaze slowly shifts to you. suddenly, he cannot read.

"no."

you stare back, deadpan.

"...no?"

"no."

a few seconds of silence.

"...so anyway," you continue, draping the blanket over his exhausted form, blatantly ignoring the massive aura of annoyance he's suddenly radiating, "you're sick, i'm right, and you're going to let me take care of you for once. got it?"

you certainly do expect some resistance, yes. you expect him to shoot straight out of bed and find something to keep him occupied, expect him to bluntly refuse your words, because god help him if he has to rest and do nothing. what you don't expect, however, is the way he pulls you down and forces you to lay with him.

you stay silent for a moment, listening to his heartbeat as you register the sudden movement.

"...this isn't taking care of you, si."

"it is." a short answer, as usual. "gonna be my personal heater, break my fever."

he can practically hear you rolling your eyes, but he keeps silent, awaiting further protest. but you're pretty tired yourself, and god damn, this man is too stubborn for his own good. you'll give in just this once, just for now.

"...that's such bullshit." you mumble, pulling the blankets over you both. "ten minutes, that's it. i gotta run to the store to get more meds. we're almost out."

he only offers a small noise of acknowledgement, arm gently wrapping around your waist as he holds you just a little bit closer, pressing a brief, light kiss to your head. god, he's warm, you think, and somehow, ten minutes turns into fifteen, twenty, forty-five... and then you suddenly wake up four hours later.

you're a little disoriented, a little groggy, a little confused-- because when did it suddenly become night? and does the store close at nine or does it close at ten? is it too late to go? and why do you feel so hot?

maybe it's because simon's actually the damn heater, and being bundled up in all these blankets does little to help. surely that's it.

...surely. right?

"...si."

he's half asleep when you speak up, instinctively tightening his grip on you.

"what?"

"why is it so hot?"

he groans slightly as he shifts in bed, burying his face in the crook of your neck. a beat, a pause. you do feel strangely warm, he thinks.

huh. you almost think you feel him smiling against you.

"i fear you may be sick, dove."

oh, if looks could kill, simon riley would be a dead man a thousand times over.

"...shut up, simon."

( did you wake with a fever? yes. did a certain someone give you his little cold? yes. did you get moderately annoyed? absolutely. but did said person recover first a few days later and take care of you as a means of apology? also yes. so do you forgive him? for now, you suppose. for now. )

[customboytoyz]

concept: forcemasc cruise. gets advertised as a ladies cruise, a couple hundred or thousand women on a boat in the ocean with nowhere to run. maybe some people know what the cruise does and send others on it. the staff carefully plan to change the guests, aphrodisiacs and sleep aids in the food, injecting them with T in their sleep, subliminals and hypno playing in all the music and on the tvs, subtle and hidden. they transition slowly and easily, unaware, and they don't notice changes in themselves or others, but they're hornier and hornier with each passing day. eventually they get to a point too far along to hide, but the guests can't fight, easily aroused and hypnotically conditioned to accept the forcemascing, trying to resist but unable to stop it. there's an underlying element of the pleasure cruise—that they boarded the boat to enjoy themselves on the ocean, and aren't they enjoying themselves? isn't the pleasure just getting higher and higher? they should just give in. they should sit and take it. bend over, baby, just a little pinch and you'll feel even better. look here, lovely, focus on the screen, don't worry about my hands on your growing cock. don't you like the feeling of the hair on your chest? don't worry, keep petting it and you will, we're just going to shave your head, it'll all match in length soon.

if it leads to orgies, well. that's to be expected. a boat full of horny men finding release in each other? that's every other story about the navy. two men find each other on the pool deck, frotting and grinding, aware there's people around and feeling the shame of that but unable to control themselves. hot, heavy kisses, tdicks bumping together, hands roaming all over, and the other men start feeling hot and heavy too, grabbing each other, rolling onto the deck and crashing into deck chairs. a dining deck a few stories up can see, dinner and a show, and before long the after dinner party starts, wine and whiskey flowing. eventually they dock, somewhere sunny and warm, each guest going out to explore the city, but even off the boat they can't keep their hands to themselves, no matter where they are. other guests or folks from the city, it doesn't matter, they find themselves going at it in parks and stock rooms, on hikes and beaches, no need to speak the same language, just touching and touched. some bring women back to the ship to join the cruise, not that they'll leave that way.

they dock at the end of the trip, each guest sent off with new names and photos in passports, old faces in a new shapes, and a "thank you for sailing with us, sir. we hope to see you again." where they go from there, that's up to them, but they'll almost certainly be back again. maybe for another "ladies" cruise, to welcome the new men in the warmest (and wettest) way they know.

- dissertation anon

hi sorry dissertation anon i didn't have time to read this. this fucking rips 10000/10

[iinryer]

a little scene prompt game to get me writing!

from @eddiesgaymustache : prompt 2 cheddy boogaloo: 10, 📚😁🥂

bonus visuals if you want to know how i picture them [ 1 ] [ 2 ]

[now on ao3]

—

[📚😁🥂 + cheddy + 10: spooning at night]

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Teddy looks up from the glass she’s pouring, blinks at Chuck, blinks again, and says, “What,”

Chuck blinks back at her, stalling out like they’re playing back what they said, before suddenly snorting into their drink and having to hold a hand under their chin to save their shirt from falling victim to rogue rosé.

Teddy watches them fondly, raising her brow and waiting for Chuck to try again.

“No, wait, not like—,” Chuck laughs, waving their hand like they’re clearing the question from the record, “I meant like… when you were little, who did you think you were going to be?”

Teddy shakes her head, endeared, and says faux-wistfully, “I dunno. I think as a kid I always envisioned myself getting to go by Teo when I left home,”

Teo, unfortunately, did not fly. Not only was it deemed too boyish by her mom, but it was also her Abuelo’s nickname of choice—who she was named after, by the way. So it was either nothing or Dora—which, to this day, still makes her feel like she’s breaking out in hives. Teddy came later though, when she ran track in high school. One of the girls she got close with that year called out to her with it during practice, and it just stuck. It’s not Teo, but she’s grown quite fond of it.

At the mention of the name, though, Chuck brightens, straightening up from where they’d been trying to set the bottle and nearly empty glass safely on the floor from the bed, and says, so earnestly it’s almost comical, “I call you Teo!”

Teddy barks out a laugh. Okay. So Chuck is maybe a little deeper into the bottle of rosé than she is. She just nods, acquiescing, “You sure do, rockstar,”

Chuck just tips their head—followed by their torso—to the side like it weighs too much, grinning from ear to ear. They end up toppling down the rest of the way, the side of their face smushed into the pillow at Teddy’s hip.

They grin up at Teddy, body folded awkwardly but looking pleased as punch about it, before scrunching up their nose and saying, “Okay, for real this time. What did little Teodora Vásquez want to be when she grew up?”

Teddy makes a face, and flicks Chuck’s forehead, “Don’t government-name me, you ass,”

Laughter bubbles up from their chest, followed by a snort that should really be unflattering, but somehow never is.

“Dunno,” Teddy eventually sighs, wine-heavy in her own way, absently curling her finger through an errant lock of Chuck’s hair, “I think I always thought I’d be a doctor or something like that. Something helpful,”

Chuck’s eyes, glazed and unfocused with alcohol, go wide and adoring, “You are. You are helpful,”

Teddy hums on a smile. Takes a prolonged sip from her glass.

“And! You’ll be even more helpful once you pass your paramedic cert next month,” they add, conspiratorially, nodding over at the textbooks that Teddy abandoned on the nightstand earlier in the evening, like it’s a sure thing. Their confidence always makes Teddy’s heart feel warm and full, “and that’s like, basically a doctor, right? Look at you! Growing up to be the thing you wanted,”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Teddy snorts, then sighs. It is a thought she’s had in the past. That maybe all the time she spent in and out of hospitals growing up would actually land her somewhere good. Somewhere useful. Worthwhile.

“You’re the coolest,” Chuck adds, one uncoordinated finger coming up to poke Teddy in the chin.

Or maybe it just landed her here, who-knows-how-many glasses of wine deep into Chuck’s mattress, during a 48-off. Heavy, slow. Happy.

Maybe, somehow, it’s the same thing.

“Yeah yeah, says the Wunderkind,” Teddy laughs, swatting the hand out of her face before she finally wiggles her way to slide down further against the headboard, getting settled with her cheek in hand and elbow propped up on the pillow next to Chuck, looking down at them, “What about you, huh? What did the little cherub-faced Beverly Charlton want to be when they grew up?”

Between one breath and the next, Chuck gets a faraway look in their eye—almost like they weren’t expecting to have their own question sent back around. Knowing them, they maybe weren’t.

Teddy watches their lashes flutter, something somber pulling across their face like a wave. For a moment, she’s worried she shouldn’t have pulled the full name out, even in jest—but then Chuck is swallowing harshly and taking a breath.

Their eyes stay trained on the ceiling past Teddy’s head when they say, “Loved, I think,”

Teddy feels her own expression collapse, a wounded sound in her throat.

Then, with a with a gasp of a breath through their nose, it’s like Chuck comes back to themself; sitting upright so suddenly they almost collide with Teddy.

Chuckling awkwardly, they clear their throat, “Sorry, sorry, that wasn’t—I didn’t mean… um. Didn’t mean for that to sound so pathetic,”

Teddy doesn’t like that Chuck’s back is to her.

“Chuck,” she says.

Chuck hesitates for a moment before peering sheepishly back over their shoulder.

Teddy gives her best pleading eyes and pout, sets her glass on the nightstand with her coursework, and just reaches her newly freed hand out to Chuck, wiggling her fingers for good measure.

Chuck looks a little watery, but it seems like that’s all the permission they need before they’re collapsing back down at Teddy’s side, letting her arrange the two of them however she pleases.

They’ve done this enough over the years for it to not be too odd, as long as she doesn’t think about it too hard. How much she likes having Chuck close like this. How Chuck lets her, every time. So Teddy tucks them together, back to chest, arms wrapped around Chuck’s middle. Reaches over them to fumble with the lamp to turn out one of the two dim lights they’d had on, and settles.

They lay quietly for a while, just breathing, before Teddy finds the courage to murmur, sleepy and slow to the back of Chuck’s neck, “You did too,”

A beat of quiet. Then Chuck hums in question.

“You said I grew up to be the thing I wanted to be as a kid,” Teddy mumbles, teetering on the edge of sleep, “You did too,”

Chuck doesn’t say anything else, but Teddy feels the sniffle in their chest, and she doesn’t say anything either. Just squeezes a little tighter, and lets sleep come for them both.

[venusandsaturnsrings]

VENUS I NEED THOUGHTS OF COWBOY TARU NOW IM COAMING AT THE MOUTH AND DYING!! ONLY COWBOY THOUGHTS OF HIM CAN SAVE ME :((( -chubby darling anon <3

HAIIII RESPONDING TO THIS NAOOWWW i love u my fav anon (don’t tell the others shhh) and i’m always game for cowboys <3 i have more thoughts on this but im feeling romantical rn apparently?? if this still interests you from however long its been im willing to dump more longer ideas!! cowboy taru and rope and lassos and spurs and whips…

contains: your first meeting, light flirting, and a suggestive ending…

cowboy tartaglia… he’s both the widely feared type and the generous type. think of him like robin hood but a major sadomasochist!!

your first encounter with him is as dusk gives way to night, working a slow evening at the bar. you’re sure you’ve washed all the tabletops at least two times more than necessary and the glasses have never looked so spotless but alas, it’s far from closing time. only a couple regular patrons and sickly looking drunks sit at a handful of tables and all seem to be lost in their own worlds until the front doors swing open with an unceremonious screech and clatter. you lazily look towards the entrance as a pair of boots loudly clacks your way, the signature jingle of spurs following in harmony. the boots belong to a sun-kissed, smiling, and freckle covered ginger who’s giving you a boyish smile despite the scar that draws upwards from his lips. you’re almost charmed by his appearance alone but it’s his dangerously unbuttoned shirt paired with a tip of his hat that really puts the nail in your coffin. he slides into a stool with practised ease and folds his hands atop the bar.

“‘evening, miss. mind fixin’ up a nice glass of sarsaparilla and bourbon for me? take your time, i’ve got a lovely view from here,” his expression borders on leering and usually you’d be quick to shoot down such flirtations but something about him had butterflies forming in your gut. short on words without risk of stuttering, you nod and attempt to give him a pleasant smile but you’re sure it comes off as foolish more than anything. the man seems endeared regardless, resting his chin in his hand with a soft chuckle.

you turn quickly to avoid making a real joke of yourself and focus on making the best damn drink of your life despite the simple instructions. turning back and placing the glass in front of him, he softly thanks you with a wink and takes a sip before humming in approval.

“you’ve got a steady hand clearly, what’s the name, little miss? ajax is mine. would look pretty comin’ outta your mouth,” and you’re swallowing thickly to even out your voice and wet your painfully dry throat before voicing your own.

“ah… ajax… suits you,” only simple words seem to come out in your nervousness but he seems happy to hear it all nonetheless.

the rest of your shift is spent exchanging idle chatter with him as you pay little attention to the other patrons to focus on just how pretty ajax is and how sweet his words sound swirling around your head. you come to learn he spends his days running errands for those who can’t afford to do it themselves and, though it sends a shiver down your spine, how he punishes those in need of correction. you don’t pry on the latter but his giving nature has you swooning while you lose track of time.

at the end of the evening he’s inviting you back to the hotel he’s got for the night and promising a good ride plus more if you’re willing to hang around him longer.

[lydiaalin]

commission for @fetabathwater of Jennifer Lamb, Infamous IF MC

[saintundying]

listen, i am always first and foremost a daniel leaves armand in 1985 truther. he runs away in the books, louis gave him a lifeline back out of falling...

also let me twist the knife in a little harder - when has armand ever been capable of leaving? ever? he does not leave, he destroys.

[4mulaone]

mclaren mewling pawing whining desperately into landos ear for twenty laps like pleaseee babe the undercut was a joke omfg only to be ghosted so hard they changed the tactic to ok im going to kill myself now ASIDE the real comedy has to be max verstappen approaching such a state of rage at perceived slights against him he ties his own neck in a noose and we witness the first instance of a world champion being discriminated against for being a gamer in live commentary

[dukecarrion]

i wonder if the cherry blossoms will bloom in the spring...

[ahollowgrave]

-- I prefer girls. [featuring the ever elegant Lia of @the-white-snake!]

I am very late with this trend, but we are here! Recreation of this novel cover:

Recreation might be a bit of a stretch, no? Perhaps inspired by. Either way!! Thank you to Rasp for sharing her poses HERE -- I just had to tweak them for scaling! Also thank you to Iron for lending me Lia and rotating them together with me. It has been a joy building their relationship.