#...T-THIS LITTLE...!!

[ask-the-biggering-onceler]

...Sigh...

...Well...?? Are ya happy, yet...? ...Ya fill that hole deep down inside ya...?

...Or do you still need more?

[forecast0ctopus]

AN-TI-BO-DIES

[lilcherry06]

[decaffeinatedpartymuggoop]

My favorite thing about Annabeth is her wardrobe.

Cause like, Rick simplifies her clothes in a way a man would, and you can tell.

Cause in EVERY book, from The Lightning Thief to Chalice, she’s in the goddamn CHB shirt. With like some shorts or cargo pants. Nothing more, nothing less.

He’s made improvements over the years, giving her some other clothes. But he’ll always come back to old faithful.

Like, he most definitely did it on accident, but he made her so Adam Sandler and I love it

[charcoaldustonmyfingers]

Tech Support: Part 3

[1-2-3]

Yes, this was a real thing we had to help with once.

Even though he complains, Donnie feels a lot of pride being looked to as the family expert for these things, I’m sure. For all that Splinter probably doesn’t know the deep intricacies of computers, I’ll bet he knows the basics. Could there be a deeper meaning to his confusion?

I personally headcanon that Splinter is the one who introduced computers, phones, and appliances to his sons way back in the dumpster diving days, and probably showed Donnie how to fix his first toaster or something. However, the special interest kicked in hard and pretty soon Donnie could run circles around Splinter when it came to fixing and engineering stuff. Perhaps, this is a way Splinter can find time to partake in Donnie’s interests and boost his confidence despite being way out of his depth on technical know-how himself.

When you don’t have a lot, it’s important to be resourceful and handy with a quick fix. Donnie had to have started building stuff somewhere!

It makes it all the more bittersweet if they were really close only to have Splinter struggle to bond with Donnie when he’s a little older. Don’t worry though, they’ll figure it out :)

[barksbog]

panther chameleon plushies!!!

based on the Amilobe locality of Furcifer pardalis

magnetic little hands for to grab things

soft

funny eyes

doesn´t need high humidty or complex care!

teddy joints for to move their little legs

---

adopt one from my bog

barks-bog.com

[urfavrtlittlesister]

🎀🧁

mmmhh so hrni n so needi ,,

i wna b liek all da othr big grls n show m b00bs hehe >:3

do u liek them big bruvr (>/////< " )

i love you dada ! !

iz three enuf or do u need more papa (˶˃⤙˂˶)

[keferon]

THIS FUCKING MOMENT

[jey-chan]

Danny: jejeje

batfam member: ... what?

Danny: i just imagined the face of the joker if i would impresionate the dead robin.

batkidds:....

Danny: but that would be rude so..

Jakson: i will give you permison and $15 for the record of that.

Alfred sudenly apering from no where: and there would be a cake if that case should be.

Cut to the joker beging to be let in on tha Asylum, cause this ghostly bird is not stoping to T pose and saying random things more insane that his mind.

[lilcherry06]

baby's first postt!😇

[sydneighsays]

Can I rest now? 😭

[clip from: TMA ep 111 Family business]

This is probably going to flop 🧍🏻‍♀️🫶🤭😙🫴❤️

[VD: A grayscale Magnus Archives animatic of Jon and Gerry talking in episode 111 of The Magnus Archives. Gerry, a ghostly goth, and Jon, a thin brown man in a graphic T-shirt, sit together at a table. Gerry says scornfully, "Playing politics with things they didn’t understand. Reckoned her tradition was less the academic and more the, uh…" Jon offers dryly, "V-Village witch?"

Gerry laughs, pleased, and asks, "You sure you don’t know her?" He sighs, sobers, and says, "Yeah. But deep down what she wanted wasn’t all that different from the ivory tower idiots she hated. Y’know, I think, secretly, she dreamed of starting a little mystic dynasty of her own." He grimaces. "With me."

Jon says a little eagerly, "Like the, the Lukases? Or the Fairchilds?" Gerry corrects, "Well, Fairchild’s just a name, they’re not really family." Then he does a finger gun and says, "The Lukases, though, yeah."

He turns away, pensive and frowning, and says, "Thing is, it’s harder than it looks. What’s out there… doesn’t care about blood." Jon, grinning a little, says, "Well, I-I mean, except for the vampires…" Gerry scowls, "Yeah, obviously except for the vampires." Jon looks abashed, and Gerry looks down sorrowfully to say, "But they care about your choices, your fears, not your parents." End VD]

[ID: A still of the scene where Gerry scowls and says "Yeah, obviously except for the vampires" to an embarrassed Jon. End ID]

Described by princess-of-purple-prose

[charcoaldustonmyfingers]

Tech Support: Part 1

[1-2-3]

Based on my childhood, wherein my dad would shout for my older brother for help double clicking an icon on his desktop only to get each one of us trailing in to help. Of course, he didn’t need the help of just anyone, no; he needed the kid who did computers for his conundrum.

[eddievedders]

GOOD OMENS — Chapter 5: The Ball.

[yeyinde]

waking up after a night out drinking in a foreign country only to realise that the bed you're in is not your own. no one is beside you. you try to leave but the doors are all locked. the windows won't open. you're trapped. a pretty bird in a cage.

nothing is in the dressers except large, old shirts. the clothes you were wearing when you woke up disappear after you take a shower. no panties. no bra. food shows up on schedule. you never see who leaves it.

they don't answer when you scream. when you bang your fists against the door until they're bloodied. passing out on the floor when the drugs finally kick in. but the mess you make in the daytime is cleaned up. your hands bandaged. disapproval heavy in the air along with the stale scent of tobacco. smoke.

when you're good, you get things. books. magazines. treats. your favourite food. a laptop arrives when you sob yourself to sleep after screaming yourself hoarse about loneliness, and how this isn't right. this isn't okay. it's restricted, of course. you log into Facebook but the moment you try and ask for help, the internet is turned off. you're being watched. monitored closely.

you learn your lesson slowly, giving nothing away to your family and pretending you're enjoying your holiday. being good. quiet.

instead of treats, gifts, recipe books arrive—some pages dogeared. you start making the food. leaving a plate in the fridge. it's gone the next morning. more recipes appear. you make them, too. an expensive chain comes next. a pretty gold necklace for a pretty bird in a golden cage.

(each meal gets you a strange rash on your cheek, jaw the next morning. beard burn, you think, and try not to shudder.)

lingerie comes after. silk, lace. all of it fits perfectly. you try to avoid it. the idea, the implication, is a knife between your ribs, but the next morning, your laptop is missing. the books are gone. food, too. your clothes disappear until all that remains is the lingerie set and a little black box. one you pointedly ignore. throw out with the trash. chew on gum to make the ache in your belly go away until that vanishes too.

your world is narrowed down to hunger. loneliness. isolation—

(in the corner of the rooms, a red light glints in the dark. lonely, but not alone.)

it persists until you relent. give in. another lesson you learn. you wear the set to bed, and try to think nothing of it—

you wake up to something heavy around you. a warm, thick body pressed against your bare spine. coarse chair tickling the skin between your shoulder blades. a burly arm under your neck, elbow bent to wrap a rough hand around your neck. the other slung over your hip, shoved between your thighs. something hard presses into your ass. a bruising pressure. it aches. you stifle a gasp, but with his long, thick fingers wrapped tight around your throat, he feels it.

everything goes still. quiet. just the faint rustle of sheets. the scratch of coarse hair on silk. a breath. you tremble. fight back another gasp when lips press into your crown with a sharp inhale. scenting you. nuzzling into your scalp. warm breath that smalls of malt and honey. woodsy. tobacco.

your eyes adjust slowly to the dark, and fall on a black box left on top of your end table. velvet, you know. you've felt the softness between your fingers when you threw it in the trash with a sob. no escaping it, after all.

the hand between your thighs twitches. when he speaks, it shudders through your spine, makes your hair stand on end. it's a growling purr. the low roar of an old engine. more grit than comfort in the midnight dark.

"jus' close your eyes, love," he rasps, pushing his thick body tighter against you. coiling around you like a big, hungry bear. "an' go back to sleep for me."

and you do.

[petitepixiegirl]

Little sister's who sleepily climb into big brothers bed with him and wake up confused with a sore little cunt still leaking his hot cum>>>>>

[apprentice-s]

resurrection