#I promise I’m not into you

[spiritstar477]

anyone else constantly worried people think you’re flirting with them when you’re just naturally funny ???

like I’m not attracted to you !! i’m just hilarious !!

[chloesimaginationthings]

"Oswald's mom has got it going on" - FNAF Pit bonnie

[anna-scribbles]

resolutions

[gothamslostboy]

POLL TWO HERE

REBLOG FOR BIGGER SAMPLE SIZE BC IK YALL MOSTLY GOING FOR VAMPIRE AROUND HERE

[milf-murdock]

Simon muttering "what have you done to me?" when he realizes he’s in love with you.

Maybe it's the first time he catches himself draping a blanket over your form after you accidentally fall asleep on his lap.

Maybe it’s the first time he finds himself hurrying home after a mission because he just can’t wait to see your face.

Or maybe it’s the first time he catches himself eyeing a beautiful bouquet of flowers in the shops. “Ten fucking quid for flowers? Are they mental?” He sets them down with a huff and walks away to finish his shopping…only to begrudgingly grab them anyways on his way to the till.

He knows they will make you smile—that bright beautiful smile you seem to reserve just for him.

And as he sets the soft pink bundle on the checkout counter he can’t help but mutter aloud, “what have you done to me?”

[finisnihil]

“They finally made this theme more blatant-" Why does it need to be blatant. What's wrong with subtlety? Concepts can be underused but subtlety is not neglect.

Blaring all your concepts and themes is not good writing. It's so disruptive to a story's flow when the characters look off the screen to be like "See? This is the concept. The idea. The theme."

If you can feel the hand of the author becoming too heavy that's bad.

For example: I see people saying Azula's abuse in ATLA is more blatant in the live action and it's good because "it's being discussed more". It already was discussed at length. The show made it clear she was a victim at every turn, every behavior, every reaction, it came from a place of trauma. It was made clear that she was scared of ending up like Zuko because Zuko was an example of what would happen to her if she failed. When she says she's better than Zuko it wasn't just because she was raised to think hersef superior to him but because Zuko failed and failures get mutilated and exiled, failures are abandoned. In that final Agni Kai the music is morose and somber because this isnt some epic battle its a fucking tragedy, the burning out of "Ozai's brightest light" and Azula finally succumbing to her terror and trauma she was repressing now that her worst fears are realized. How can you see a fourteen year old girl chained to a sewer grate wailing and writhing and breathing fire desperately as unsympathetic? Even Katara and Zuko are horrified as to what has become of her.

The writers weren't looking us in the eye and saying "See? She's a victim too" when they wrote this, they weaved it in. They weaved it into her obsesison with symmetry, her extreme perfectionism, the way she talks about Ozai, the ways she calls herself a monster, her isolation from those with healthy home lives, all the ways she held herself together and ultimately all the cracks and seams that she shattered down when she fell apart. It did not need to be blatant to be clear.

[caraslefteyebrow]

OUR PRINCE WHO WAS PROMISED WE NEVER DOUBTED YOU FOR A SECOND

[valewritessss]

“In another life maybe Percy would’ve ended up with—“ You guys don’t understand, in EVERY SINGLE UNIVERSE, Percy and Annabeth will find each other.

[zorosdimples]

꒰ ITADORI YUUJI X READER ꒱

minors do not interact—i will block you! cw: gn!reader, rimming (yuuji receiving), male masturbation. note: i have no excuse for this…

“F-fuck,” Yuuji gasps, back bowing off of your shared bed. He strokes himself feverishly, the sticky clicks of his arousal and the loud slurps that tumble from your mouth echoing in the room. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna—”

You pause your ministrations, a thread of iridescent spit connecting your tongue to your boyfriend’s wet, fluttering hole. When you pull away, the string snaps. You shift to lay your head against his muscular thigh, mischievously rubbing the strip of flesh that rests beneath his sack; he shivers.

“You say that like you don’t want to finish.” A mock-pout graces your slick lips while your hand dances up to his balls, fondling the hot, velvety skin.

“Shit.”

He sucks his teeth. His fist slows as it reaches the base of his thick cock, foreskin pulled back, a fresh bead of pre pearling at his flushed tip. You sit up and lean forward to lap at it, dipping your tongue into his slit. A clammy palm catches your cheek as you taste his desire—rich and tangy; he nibbles his lip and smooths a calloused thumb up your cheekbone.

“Keep going—please.”

You reposition yourself between Yuuji’s strong legs. Slowly, you spread him apart—breath kissing his puckered rim—watching it twitch in anticipation. “Ask me again,” you murmur. His frustrated groan earns him an airy chuckle.

You’re a fucking tease, after all.

The man above you could easily overpower you; he could drag you by the hair and slot your panting mouth right where he wants it, using you to get off.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he yields to you. You may not give him what he wants, but you always give him what he needs.

“Baby please,” he whines, voice ragged with desperation. He looks down at you with heavy lids, his gaze molten amber—liquid gold. Dew shimmers at his temples and mats his blush hairline, and a sliver of pink darts out to dampen his lips. “Needa come so, so bad.”

Yuuji barely gets the words out before you finally swirl your tongue around his hole then slip the muscle inside, allowing him to roll his hips and gently buck against your mouth. Each time his ass makes contact with your face, you both moan, and it’s only a matter of moments before he finishes across his spasming abdomen with a cry.

Boneless, your lover nudges you away with his knees, then pulls you on top of himself, chest damp with sweat and heaving against your own.

“Yuu!” you shriek as his tacky spend oozes between your bodies and smears across your belly. He playfully squeezes your hips, burying his head into the crook of your neck.

“All you should worry about is how ’m gonna return the favor,” he mumbles into your skin. Before you can reply, he flips you over onto your back—showing you that a little mess is the least of your concerns.

[emry-stars-art]

I don’t know if you all realize how often I think about @02511213942 ‘s art and specifically the “Aaron and Neil were friends first” lol. Neil brought snacks for the study session

(I do know there’s a fic about the topic out there as well but I.. don’t read fic much so 025’s was my intro the au train of thought and I fell in love with it. Andrew’s throwback memory is their art from the above linked post and the whole thing is worth seeing again even if you’ve already seen it 😂💕)

Anyway Aaron, new counterargument: what if Neil brought Andrew a little treat tho

[inkbybambi]

piercings each of the boys have to maximize your pleasure —

soap and gaz with tongue piercings. wicked smiles and sharp teeth, they know exactly how to curve their tongues to graze against your clit, bury their tongues between your folds and eat you out like a man starving. they love when you grip the back of their necks, grind your clit against the ball of their piercing, shaking underneath them and whining at how good it feels.

price with prince albert, thick gauge snug under the head of his cock and peeking out from his slit. he loves when you suck him off, tongue lapping at him like a kitten, so fascinated with the ball, making it shiny with your spit. he likes to tease your clit with it, watch how sticky it gets with your arousal, hear you whine because you want it inside you so badly.

ghost with a jacob’s ladder with four rungs, a feral curl to his smile as he watches you rub your cunt against his cock like a cat in heat, watching how wet you get with each roll of your hips, desperate for him to fuck you. he takes particular pleasure when he does finally sink into your warm heat, watching your eyes flutter and roll to the back of your head as you mewl with each rung until he’s fully settled into you, feeling how you clench around him to keep him deep.

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

pt. 2

you just saw your ex boyfriend, dick grayson, for the first time since he broke up with you.

you ran into him on the street.

no, like, literally ran into him.

you were walking your mom’s dog for her, a german shepherd she got when you moved out. she’d aptly named him trouble. despite his name, trouble was usually a mellow guy, even if he was huge. walking him was just another thing you were doing to try and ignore the thoughts constantly pounding out a beat in your head.

oh, dick would think this is funny! that’s dick’s favorite color, i should buy it! dick and i should go there on our next date!

and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on and-

anyways, you were definitely trying to keep yourself busy.

any time a memory popped up in your brain of him—

laughing at your jokes, holding you close while you fell asleep, kissing your neck while he thrust into you

—you’d empty the dishwasher, paint your nails, (any color but blue) turn on reality tv, read a book, stuff your face, whatever.

anything to stop fucking thinking about him and his stupid blue eyes and his dumb smile.

you’d been been watching the news, sprawled across the couch. just the regular gotham news: don’t use main street, mr. freeze’s ray iced out the pavement. the iceberg lounge had been raided by the police for the third time this month. the justice league defeated yet another extraterrestrial threat to humanity, blah, blah, blah. you weren’t really watching. the news program ended, and the next one started. a gotham gossip show. they were doing a special segment on the wayne family.

of course they fucking were. even your tv was conspiring against you. you had to resist the urge to chuck the remote at it.

you turned it off instead, heading to your room to get ready for a run.

(running for exercise or running from your thoughts?)

your mom had asked you to take trouble right before you’d walked out the door, and so you grabbed him and his leash and headed out. you’d forgotten the bags for his poop, but you didn’t think you would be out that long, so you just kept on going.

you were wearing the leggings dick had bought you, ones he joked should be a specific blue color. you hadn’t understood then, but you more than understood now. it was warmer, and so you just had on an old sports bra on top, and some converse.

you were not the athletic type. that was dick. probably still was. you wouldn’t really know.

you hadn’t talked since it happened, like three or four weeks ago.

time had become a little fuzzy. your mom said you could stay with her as long as you needed, but you were starting to get the itch to move out.

nothing against your mom, it’s just hard to sob really loudly into a pint of ice cream when she’s there.

and she keeps trying to wash the one shirt of dick’s you still have. you know, fully well, how dumb it is, (and a little gross) but you’re still wearing his shirt every night to bed. and maybe it’s all in your head, but it still smells like him. you aren’t ready to wash it. besides, now that you’re sleeping by yourself, you’re pretty sure it’s helping you fall asleep. something that was hard to do the first few nights without your big warm boyfriend next to you in bed.

it probably isn’t good for you, to keep wearing his shirt.

you’d had your hand between your thighs more than once late at night thinking about being enveloped in his scent. your nights were haunted with thoughts of his body over yours, his phantom voice in your ear. calling you angel, asking you if this was heaven, like the last time you’d had sex.

it definitely isn’t good for you.

but neither is life without dick grayson.

you try not to dwell on the fact that dick had given you a sort of non-reason for the breakup. sure, it got lonely sometimes, or you got anxious for your masked boyfriend, so you cried. so what if your patience wore thin after a few too many “i’m sorry, angel, i can’t make it this time”-s.

you were human!

but you’d never, never once complained about his absence or his commitments to his family.

never.

he’d just assumed you were silently suffering and it really irked you if you thought about it for too long. you still weren’t sure if you were mad at him or sad, or whatever. it felt like your brain couldn’t decide on an emotion so you just got twelve at once. but what you did know for sure was that he was 110% worth it to you. you just wish he’d realize that. see that. instead of just the times you were a little emotionally strung out. your ex boyfriend was too willing to sacrifice his own mental health for the sake of yours and you were sick of it. but you didn’t know if you had the courage to say that to him. or even see him, after the way this breakup had hit you.

your friends had managed to get you out of the house, a few times now.

you’d gotten almost too drunk every time, escaping your friends and going outside to get some air. this time, you saw a guy that looked just enough like dick, and it’d all been too much. so you got out of there. you sat yourself down on the curb, looking up at the hazy rooftops. you were always looking up. always.

and since the break up, you’d noticed the vigilantes of your city more often. maybe there was more criminal activity. maybe you were just paying more attention than you used to.

you’d seen spoiler and orphan, pounding the pavement behind you to run after some seedy looking guy holding a briefcase. you think spoiler tried to high five you on the way past, but there was no way. you wrote it off as your memory embellishing things.

you were pretty sure red hood had nodded at you before disappearing down a fire escape on the other side of the building.

your mom had recently gotten a delivery of security cameras for her house. but she hadn’t ordered them. the shipping address had only the address of some warehouse on the dock, the name just, ‘R.R.’ you’d set the cameras up, but you and your mom both were still baffled about it.

and here, sitting on the curb, you were staring at what looked like a dark figure crouched on the rooftop opposite. they’d been there when you’d entered the club, too.

you squinted, trying to make out shoulders and suit colors, when they stood up, and the light bounced off his shiny cowl.

fucking batman?

you shook your head, trying to shake your drunk brain like an etch-a-sketch. there was actually no way.

a smaller figure, one you hadn’t seen behind the shape of batman (!?) pulled a weapon, a gleaming silver sword, and pointed it at you. your head spun. batman (there was no way) shook his head at robin. he sheathed his sword, throwing his hands up in what looked like annoyance. you blinked, and they were gone.

you weren’t really sure if it had happened or not. you’d been trying not to think too hard about the fact that you still hadn’t seen nightwing. you’d really been trying.

so instead, you were walking your mom’s dog.

trouble had, in fact, pooped, and you were frantically looking around for something to pick it up with. gotham was already shitty enough without the addition of, well, literal shit. the streets were busy, but not crowded, and someone down the block whistled for a cab, catching your attention. you turned, and at the same time, trouble jerked your arm, pulling you backwards into someone walking on the sidewalk. the stranger made a choked sound.

“trouble??”

your heart stopped. you held your breath, turning around.

trouble was at attention, looking up at your ex-boyfriend with his head cocked.

dick’s eyes were wide. his hair shorter than you remember. he leaned down to scratch trouble behind the ears, his biceps and shoulder muscles in hard relief. are you dreaming? you didn’t recognize the shirt he had on, but he was wearing your favorite jeans of his, and his matching converse. your mouth felt like a desert.

trouble trails around the two of you, the leash long. he loves your ex-boyfriend, you know he won’t go anywhere.

“did you cut your hair?” you take a step forward. dick does too.

“i-” he clears his throat. “i did. do you like it?” he shifts his eyes, his cheeks bright pink.

you make a show of looking it over. he turns his head so you can see it from all angles. like he always did when he got a haircut.

your chest hurts.

you nod approvingly, flashing him a weak smile.

“it looks really nice. you’re very-” your face heats as you stop yourself. “it looks very handsome.”

that’s an understatement. you would’ve climbed him like a tree the minute he’d come home looking like that. the way his biceps were bulging out of his shirt sleeves could not be good for his circulation. it was great for yours, your heart was beating a mile a minute.

dick smiles down at you, stepping forward again.

“thanks.” he looks down, taking in your outfit. “nice leggings, ang-” he’s cut off when trouble spots a squirrel and darts, barking wildly. the problem is, trouble had been walking his leashed self around you and dick.

you’re now chest to chest with your ex boyfriend in the middle of a sidewalk, tied to him by rope. you vaguely hear trouble whine at the way his collar bit into his neck from the leash pulling taut. you didn’t even have the time to process the fact that he had almost called you angel. which was probably a good thing.

you’re breathing heavily, while dick doesn’t seem to be breathing at all.

he’s put his arms around you on instinct, and you hate the way you feel like you’re home. a shiver runs up your spine at the sudden closeness, and dick peers down at you through half-lids. your mouth dries up again. you suddenly feel indignant.

“you are not allowed to breakup with me and then show up and look at me like that!” you hiss at him.

you would throw up your hands in exasperation if they weren’t basically pinned to dick’s body. a smile breaks across his face, his bright blue eyes telling you everything you need to know. he stares at you, studying you. you wonder if he can feel how hard your heart is beating.

“alfred taught me a new recipe.” he blurts, his hand clutching at your back.

he’s adorable. but you school your face and raise an eyebrow at him.

“..oookay?”

dick blushes, his face sheepish. “i could make it for you, if you wanted.”

“what i want is an apology.” you look him up and down.

your ex boyfriend grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut. “understandable.”

“on your hands and knees. i think this is one of those begging-for-my-forgiveness type situations, don’t you think?”

dick nods, a strand of hair falling across his forehead. his eyes flash.

“you don’t have to worry about getting me on my knees.”

one heartbeat pounds behind your ribs, the other one between your legs. you huff out a weird sort of nervous laugh.

“oh, i’m not joking.” his lips curve up in a smile, one you know very well. he obviously plans to make up on lost time.

you forgot how charming he was. you have to practically force yourself to breathe. you’d do anything to have the real thing over his old t-shirt. you give yourself a mental shake.

he can flirt all he wants, but what about your heart? you look up at him, and his face softens, his pupils huge.

“can you get us untangled?”

dick nods, whistling for trouble. he frees an arm and grabs trouble’s collar, guiding him back around so the leash falls to the sidewalk. you step back, taking a deep breath. you’re cold at the sudden loss of his body heat. it’s a harsh reminder of reality. you grab trouble’s leash, having him sit. you look at your ex boyfriend.

“thanks.” you take another deep breath. “can you promise me something, though?”

he nods, his face serious. “anything. anything at all.”

“promise you won’t break my heart again?” you hold out your pinky finger.

dick coughs, surprised at your words. he looks down, taking a shaky breath. he’s in disbelief, he’s ecstatic, he’s on top of the world, he…has a lot of apologizing to do.

when he looks back up to offer up his own pinky, his eyes are shining. the sight makes your heart melt. you take his finger in yours, beaming up at him.

he gives you a soft smile in return. “i promise.”

you take your hand back, feeling the most hopeful you have in a month.

a breeze picks up, and the whiff you get reminds you of your earlier predicament. you look down. dick looks down too.

shit. literally.

you forgot about the fact that trouble had used the sidewalk as a toilet.

“is that trouble’s?” he asks.

you nod, making a face. “i forgot the poop bags.”

“rookie mistake.” dick shakes his head, smiling. you look him up and down, and then turn, walking back the way you came.

“text me about that recipe!” you lift your hand in a wave.

“but-..uh, the shit?” he calls after you.

“that’s alllll you, baby!” you yell back, practically skipping away. you feel like you’re floating.

[chloesimaginationthings]

Why is he kinda...

These two asks were right next to each other, and I think that’s beautiful

[dollylex]

“that’s my fucking girl” while ur making me cum on ur cock <3

[lizaisdrawing]

Collection of sketches, that I will possibly render later.

[inkbagel]

They have a question