#*rissa

[animangascenery]

[otomokatsuhiro]

OTOMOKATSUHIRO’S 20K FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION ✧ favorite 90′s anime per member • @seishue

PRINCESS MONONOKE (1997) dir. hayao miyazaki

[knysource]

[choujinx]

[barghest-land]

a few studies of black-legged kittiwake gulls i saw for the first time this summer :) and a few of pictures i took there (with a phone, sometimes through binoculars lol):

[gardavwar]

No gyatt for Nerizzler

[herpsandbirds]

Red-legged Kittiwake (Rissa brevirostris), family Laridae, order Charadriiformes, Alaska

photograph by Milo Burcham

[f1-stuff]

Japanese GP '24 // SF Full Access

[wooobuddyletsgetnasty]

i have to get this out of my head oops

dick grayson x reader

⚠️: micro-cheating, dick grayson is obsessed, you respect yourself and LEAVE his ass, sexual content (M masturbation), dick looks at pics/vids of you without your consent like a little heart broken loser— blah blah blah

(you can imagine any version of dick you want)

maybe you should have put your foot down sooner, in fact, you absolutely should have.

you feel pathetic— like you wasted time on him. you shouldn’t worry when he’s out late vigilanteing— but you do. what if she’s there? what if she’s the one he thinks about when it’s late and he’s tired and alone?

you’ve seen slivers of conversation. nights where he can’t be bothered even to speak to you, all followed by you discreetly peeking over his shoulder, just to see her name. you always plan on confronting him, telling him you’re not stupid and you know what he’s doing but then— then you go to bed, and he wraps you up tight in his arms, kisses your shoulders, and you forget.

you should have known better— you should have learned from past mistakes but you chose to believe it isn’t what it is, what you know is true.

you love him, but he doesn’t love you back.

in theory, he does love you— but not the way you love him. not the way your love makes you drop everything, scurrying to place yourself accessible for every single fucking thing he needs, not in the way you turn off your phone— itching to hear him talk, not in the way you cut off anyone that could be a threat to your blooming relationship.

he doesn’t love you the way you love him and you’re okay with that— at least for a little bit. you can take the pain to the face. you allow yourself to feel what you feel— and then you swallow it.

you’ve wished for him for years, loved him for years. and you convince yourself you can live like this.

——

you can recall the exact day, the exact moment that makes you question everything about your relationship.

dick is standing in the kitchen of his apartment, dressed well and smelling like every dream you’ve ever had of him. he’d invited you over after work, saying sweet lines about missing you and wishing to see you.

you peer at him with curious eyes, asking instantly, “i thought you were off today— where have you been?” the breath is sucked from your lungs instantly, “well— kori needed my help with something today so i drove over.”

you pause in the doorway, heart beating loud enough you can’t hear anything but it. you’re hesitant in your next words, “oh— uhm.. you didn’t tell me that you were going to kori’s today..” your voice trails, you’re unsure what to say next— unsure if you should bring up any worries, unsure if you should voice how absolutely uncomfortable the idea of them being alone makes you.

he’s seeing her in the daytime now. using his precious days off to assist her with things she needs. it’s more than just texting— more than just work.

you don’t have the chance to speak your concerns, dick’s million-watt smile pulling you out of any worries you had. he takes your coat and he asks you how your day was— and you forget.

——

the next time— the final time comes on a day that you feel worse for wear.

you feel like you got hit by a fucking trash truck— every bone in your body somehow hurts and you’re tired beyond reason.

you feel bad, like you’re ruining the plans you and dick had made for the day, despite him hushing you softly, promising that he doesn’t mind— promising that he’ll take care of you.

you give in— and you rest on the couch for just a second. a second, that’s all you need, you swear to yourself.

you don’t wake up for hours.

when the first stream of dull light hits your eyes, you’re dazed— confused. the apartment is silent. there’s no tinkering, no TV show playing obnoxiously in the background— there’s no sign of dick anywhere.

your stomach seems to drop impossibly lower— you feel ill, iller than before, and there’s something gnawing— chewing at the back of your brain until you’re sure your right— dick isn’t here because he went to kori’s.

you feel delusional for a second— it can’t be true. he wouldn’t do that to you, would he?— but with each breath, each thought running through your groggy mind, you convince yourself you’re fucking right.

you check your phone with a hesitance you haven’t felt ever in your life.

it seems like your suspicions were correct. a text message from dick is all you see, a text message from over an hour ago— “be back soon— running some errands.”

errands your fucking ass.

——

despite how worn down you feel, utterly heartbroken and impossibly sicker than you felt before your nap— you spend the time packing up things you’ve left in dick’s apartment. clothes, your toothbrush, shampoo and conditioner— miscellaneous nicknacks that you’d brought over with your time spent here, with him.

you’d feel impossibly stupid if he comes home and it was nothing— but you know it isn’t. call it intuition or maybe just fucking crazy but you know it.

it takes just about another hour for him to show face, in fact, you hear him before you see him— soft footsteps on the well of the stairs, the jingle of his keys. you have them memorized and for a moment, just a moment before you tear the future down in front of you, you allow yourself to be excited.

——

he looks happy when he sees you, wide awake and sitting on the couch. he speaks your name in the tone that makes your heart flutter, but he’s stopped short at the site of the bags by your feet.

when you ask this time, there’s no room for argument, “where were you?” there’s something in your tone that makes him avoid eye contact— he’s guilty, and he fucking knows it.

“kori called while you were sleeping— she needed help moving a couch into her new apartment.”

again— the breath gets stolen from your lungs, “and that was your errand?” you don’t even think of mentioning she’s freakishly fucking strong and could put the goddamn couch on her back if she really needed to— it’s irrelevant.

he puts his keys down on the table he keeps next to the door, the noise sending a sharp twinge of irritation up your spine. he nods, mouth instantly opening for whatever bullshit apology you know he will spew.

you cut him off sharply, “i won’t do this.” you take in a deep breath, standing to your full height, “you don’t get to treat me like this.”

your tone is calm, sure— but dick can see it in your eyes, you’re rightfully fucking furious.

“you’re leaving me?” there’s something quiet, something pathetic in his tone when he asks. it throws a wrench in your plan— goddamn him, goddamn dick fucking grayson and his perfect fucking eyes.

you’d spent the hour waiting for him imagining that you’d be tough as nails— sure of yourself. you’d tell him straight that you were leaving and leave it at that.

you don’t feel like that anymore.

“i don’t know.” it’s honest. you mean it when you say it and you can see the sag of relief in his shoulders when you speak it to him.

he shifts, like he wants to touch you, but he seems to restrain himself, “i have to go, bruce called. he needs help in Gotham. please,” he does it again, speaks your name in the tone that makes you melt, makes you think that you could put up with him entertaining kori for the rest of your lives, “please don’t leave— we can talk about this more when i get back.”

you agree to his request.

but— in the end, you lie.

you lug every fucking memory of yourself down the stairs of his apartment— and then, when you make it safely to your home— you block his fucking phone number too.

——

it takes until the morning for dick to realize you’re gone. really gone.

maybe it’s because he’s been out all night— helping bruce, Batman, restrain every criminal that had escaped from Arkham— or maybe it’s because he lingered in Gotham too long, worried about what he’d find when he returned home.

something about you— the look in your eye when you’d confronted him.

you weren’t staying and he fucking knew it— but he left anyways, too scared to watch you walk away, to watch you abandon him.

when he comes home, he hopes to see you cuddled up in his bed, sleeping soundly the way you normally would be on your days off and he’s gone for the night— but instead he finds nothing.

not even an echo of you.

everything you’d ever graced his apartment with is gone.

the air feels heavy with regret, his regret.

dick decides he need to go to bed— he needs sleep.

he will worry about winning you back when he’s back to his normal wits.

——

you’ve changed your phone number.

dick can’t reach out to you even if he’d tried.

it’s been a week— almost two and dick feels like he might crumble. he needs to see you. he needs to speak to you.

he’s so used to you, you and your bright smile— you and the way you show up and liven up any situation. he craves you, the way you rub his shoulders— the way you ease him into relaxing.

but you’re gone and he knows he shouldn’t do it. he knows you’d hate him for even thinking about it— but he can’t fucking help it.

he opens the hidden folder on his phone— the folder full of pictures and videos of you.

full of picture and videos your bare pussy— your whole bare body. videos of you keening for him to touch you, pictures you’ve sent from the safety of your apartment, just for him.

he could just look at the non-lewd pictures of you, of the two of you, but he’s sure he has them memorized by now. he needs something else, something new.

and as he’s looking at them— he can’t help himself. he misses you so much. the way your hair smells, how your body feels against his— the way you taste.

his hands pull at his boxers— just one time, he thinks— and then he touches himself for the first time since you’ve been gone, since you left him.

he touches himself to the sight of you, spitting on his cock when he needs to— to slick himself up, to imagine it’s you, your soft insides he’s sinking into with each desperate thrust of his hips.

he cums with a noise he’s never heard himself make before— calling your name with a sound so pathetic it makes his ribcage hurt.

he deletes the pictures and videos of you, the whole album, the moment he realizes what he’s done.

and then, once he’s settled back into his bed, clean and alone— he cries.

he fucking cries— he misses you so much.

what will he do without the memory of you? he just deleted the last little grip of his sanity.

——

despite his sureness that deleting your photos was the right choice, he feels more empty without them.

the very next night he spends hours— hours, surfing porn sites. he needs someone that resembles you— the way your body looks, the color of your hair, the way you sound.

it takes longer than he anticipated, the sun rising quicker than he thought it would but he finally finds one satisfying enough that he gets the urge to touch himself.

dick grayson thought he was above videos of internet girls. he thought he’d never need to resort back to porn like a teenager but that’s obviously changed now— none of the women willing to fuck him in real life are you.

after an empty orgasm, he pays to save the video.

he doesn’t know it yet, but he’ll watch that video until he’s fucking memorized it.

maybe he’s a pathetic mess but hopefully, wherever you are, you’re happy.

[argentinagp]

now baby francos posts about his mom

[animangascenery]

[formulaonedirection]

The Lando Norris Illegal Rear many are reporting on

[knysource]

[tyresdeg]

x

[captish]

[oscarpiastriwdc]