#i was trying to be balanced

[zytes]

this manatee looks like it’s in a skyrim loading screen

[lotus-lost-n-found]

Some Batfam Headcanons because the brain never stops;

Jason hates being called "Bruce's Son". But he hates it more when hes called "One of Wayne's Orphans/Wayne's child" because fuck you I'm his son-! wait no--

With the exception of Damian, they rarely refer to Bruce as "Dad/Father". Either it didn't occur to them/didn't see the need to/thought it would be strange. But when Dick/Jason/Tim/Cass are tired or injured it might slip out. And Bruce might just crumble a bit at it

Doesn't mean they don't say it to their siblings when Bruce is out of Earshot.

"Dad said you couldn't." "What do you mean Dad said I couldn't use that mug? It's my mug!" "You snooze you lose Timmy Boy-" "Jason don't be an asshole-"

That being said Bruce says "son/daughter/child" at every available opportunity he can after he knows that they have acclimated enough that they wouldn't be uncomfortable/know they can tell Bruce that they don't want to be called that.

First time Bruce called Dick "son" in a way that meant "You are my kid" and not in a "This police officer just called me son with a brow furrow" way Dick grinned and carried on with the conversation. Later he wondered if his dad wouldn't like someone else calling him Son; but Dick thinks about the life he was given because of Bruce and thinks maybe his dad wouldn't mind.

Calling Jason "son" is a hit or miss situation, even before he died. The first time it happened he was confused, he didnt think that was the relationship they had and it made everything change for him. He got frustrated--not angry--with himself and Bruce at this sudden emotional turmoil. Wasn't he just the kid Bruce picked up in an alleyway? Wasn't he just some street rat in bright Robin clothing? (He lets himself believe that he can be Bruce's son. If for only a little while).

Tim cries after Bruce is out of earshot, it would've been a year or so after his parents died and he was adopted. He didn't think he could have been wanted like that again. Even if you think the Drake's had A+ Parenting or not, I don't think he would have gotten a lot of confirmation of being wanted otherwise.

Cass smiles, emotions carefully concealed under her expression. She's grateful she found Bruce and he doesn't mention it if she leans a bit closer in a request for closeness.

Damian doesn't expect anything less, he only appears satisfied. But also relieved that he has gotten the confirmation that yes, Bruce wants and accepts him.

EDIT 10/11; hiii, i have added Duke, Steph & a Bonus in a reblog you can find on the same blog under my 'batfamily headcanons' / 'sore rambles' tag. have fun :)

[mellowmaidenhairs]

style experimentation ft. taako and garryl

closeup under cut

[pixels-art-stuff]

Finished :D

[havanillas]

hello there! just wondering if you're still going to continue merventurine?

i still have unused sketches for it, i'm just gonna have to figure out how to connect them in the linear plot in a way that makes the most sense

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 271

“Grandmother is visiting,” Damian suddenly said with no warning and with his usual not-quite demanding tone. 

“Who?” Tim wasn’t the only one to startle, seeing as Bruce had practically froze, a downturn to his lips in a silent show of confusion. 

Damian scowled. “Are you deaf Drake? Grandmother is coming to Gotham to, quote, make sure I am being properly cared for.” None of them had known that Ras was with anyone actually. At least Tim was pretty sure that would have been in the files. 

“Oh?” Dick didn’t quite crouch to Damian’s height but it was a near thing. “She-” “He,” Damian corrected, interrupting him. They all exchanged a glance before Dick continued. 

“Is he coming to the Manor or…” 

Damian scoffed again, a tiny bit of a flush against his face. “No, Grandmother will most likely be staying with Akhi-”

Now wait one moment-

“YOU HAVE ANOTHER BROTHER?!” 

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 2; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

The hard part is admitting to himself that he doesn’t know how to function on leave without Ghost’s voice in his ear.

Johnny’s two days into his annual leave when that stray thought crosses his brain. Out with chums even, packed into the booth of an old pub in his hometown, the leather well-worn and a match on the telly that he half watches while one of his mates goes up to the bar to order another round for them. In between his third and fourth pint of lukewarm mild, he thinks something like, wonder what Simon’s up to.

The thought comes and then keeps coming. Keeps cropping up when he least expects. At the pub (wonder what Simon’s up to), in line at the grocery store (wonder how Ghost takes his steak), drowsily puttering around the kitchen while making breakfast (no way he wears the mask at home), listening to some guy in front of him hack up a lung at the dry cleaner (Lt’d do his fuckin’ head in if he was here), and even in the shower with his head tipped back, rinsing out the suds (wonder if he’s got a girl tucked away at home). 

Is it so unusual? Johnny can’t remember a time in his life when someone lived in his head night and day, but Ghost’s presence feels like an extension of his own these days. He’s cycled through girlfriends without a care in the world, without contemplating their existence for half as long, but they never cradled his life like a small bird in the palm of their hands and returned it safe and sound, did they?

Still, he feels it like a knot in his chest. Dreams about Ghost even; wakes up hot and hard, and scrubs his hand down the side of his face when he sits up in bed. Phantom memories of a body heavier than his weighing him down (just the duvet) and a thick hand curling around his dick (his own hand wrapped around his shaft, rubbing one out in his sleep). 

He shakes it off, but it follows him out into the real world. Looking at the door of a coffee shop and thinking absentmindedly, Ghost would have to duck under that. 

Johnny puts it out of his mind. As much as he’s able to, that is. Chalks it up to some kind of hero worship. He’s worked with superior officers before—plenty of times, hundreds of times—but there are few men of Ghost’s calibre, both in skillset and mystique. Not to mention the sheer size of the guy. And what is Johnny if not a moth to a flame?

Better not to ruminate. He casts the memory of seeing Ghost’s dick in the showers after their last mission (monstrous thing, uncut, pubes darker than the hair on his head, more than a mouthful—it’d give him lockjaw) out of his head. Doesn’t think about it. Laughs at a mate’s joke at the pub when he didn’t catch a word of it to mask the way he perked up at the sight of a wide-shoulder man until he turned around, giving Johnny a proper look at his face.

He’s not ready to think about it. Might never be able to really look at why he eats it up, why he struts around with his chin cocked just a bit higher than usual because he knows everyone else is watching him with equal parts envy and curiosity for being Ghost’s favourite. 

Then, one day, he meets a girl.

Johnny’s not winning an award any time soon for world’s best son, but he knows a thing or two. The first thing being chocolates and the second being flowers. His sisters handle the rest; they fuss about the party, get a gift certificate to the spa, send out the invites—all that fun stuff. He’s sent off for the bare essentials. Practically kicked out of the house by his oldest sister—nearly brains himself on the asphalt and tugs his windbreaker on when it’s thrown out the door after him a second later, grumbling about being the errand boy.

He picks up a box of chocolates from the corner shop (not fancy enough, his sisters will probably bitch, but that’s a problem for later) before heading down the road to the florist. There’s a bench out front stacked with tin flower vases, the only spot of colour on a dreary spring morning. He spends a couple minutes chatting with the cashier and flirting a bit halfheartedly (he thinks maybe it’ll be worth it if it gets him a discount, even five percent off) until the florist comes out from the back. 

“Jesus, who gave ye the right?” Johnny breathes, horse blinders on, vision narrowing on the object of desire coming out of the back in a linen apron and simple t-shirt underneath, scissors poking out of the front pocket. 

“The right?” she repeats back, blinking.

“To leave the house lookin’ so fuckin’ gorgeous. Glad I wasn’t driving when I passed you by—woulda been in a twenty car pile up.”

She’s not impressed in the slightest. It’s thrilling. By that point, the cashier is long forgotten. Probably not the best impression he’s ever made, but he’s made worse ones. It’s not every day he comes across an angel. Hard to be polite in front of a real life miracle. 

He wears her down over the week though, showing up each day for a new bouquet. His mam’s never liked him more, so at least there’s that. His sisters side-eye him whenever he ducks out of the house to head down the road to the florist’s, but even they know better than to bring it up and risk pissing off their mam. He interrogates her about flowers and her job, makes his presence unavoidable, a week long siege that ends with Johnny taking her out to dinner and then letting her take him to bed. 

He wakes up nestled in her cozy apartment above the flower shop, stretching out and making himself right at home. When she trades in her linen apron for a terry cloth robe and stands expectantly by the door, Johnny just grins. Shows all of his teeth. 

“Are ye just gonna use me and kick me out?” he pouts. Folds his hands behind his head and digs a foot into the sheets, trying to sink into the mattress. Little king in his castle. 

“You know, you don’t have to pussyfoot around with me. Weren’t you just trying to get laid?” she asks, brow arched. The disbelief thick in her voice makes it clear what she thinks of him. 

“No’ just some playboy, hen,” he scoffs. “I have feelings too.”

Her other eyebrow lifts. He’s tickled pink.

He plays the part well, he supposes. Lounges in bed and eats grapes all morning while she stares at him from the kitchen like he might dissipate at any moment. He’s used to leaving a false impression, like a lake that someone builds their house next to until years go by and someone says I think this was once a meteor. 

When she comes back to bed around mid morning, Johnny wastes no time pulling her up onto the bed until she plants her cunt over his mouth and sinks down onto his waiting tongue. 

Candy sweet pussy, he thinks blissfully, then says it out loud because he can never keep his mouth shut. It must tickle because she yelps and nearly pulls away from his face altogether, but he wrenches her back down, fingers digging into her ass cheeks a bit too forcefully. He’ll pay for that later. 

In the aftermath, when she collapses beside him in bed and rests her head on his chest while he plays with her hair, he itches in his skin to message Ghost. It perplexes him. They never text, he and Ghost; they don’t call, they don’t write, they don’t email. For all intents and purposes, their relationship ends at the perimeter around base, dissolves to nothing. It’s not Ghost’s fault he trickles into Johnny’s dreams sometimes. 

A week goes by. Calm the mind. He thinks of Ghost and his fingers tremble and the phone stays silent and he lets the thought go. Steady. Breathe in and out. His caryatid girl slips in and out of his sheets, hesitant always like he might leave. Johnny doesn’t know if she wants him to, wants to feel vindicated in her assumption, but of all her wants, that ranks the lowest in his mind. 

He spirals deeper into it, infatuated. She’s sweet but snippy, candy sweet with a sour kick—everything he’s ever wanted in a girl. Ever unimpressed, watching him with a small, hidden smile, amused despite herself. 

Johnny wonders if this is the universe waving its hand in front of his face. Yoohoo, missing something?

He looks pointedly away. 

It’s new, but maybe he’s like every other military man in the world, unable to go with the flow, dissatisfied with seeing where things go. He needs instant gratification, everything now-now-now, the certainty of commitment—he spills blood with everyone he knows, so why would his girl be any different?

Returning back to base is harder this time around. The last day of his leave is an exercise in restraint, tempered only by her smile when he sees her off at the door to her apartment, reluctant to leave. 

“C’mon, promise me you’ll call, hen,” Johnny mumbles into her mouth, catching her answer with a languid swipe of his tongue. His arms press her tight to his chest, digging his hands into her back pockets and giving a good squeeze, relishing in the way she squeaks. “How’m I gonna survive without ye, huh? They’re gonna have to jumpstart my heart after it gives out from missing ye so bad.”

“So dramatic. You have my number,” she says when he finally pulls back enough to let her speak.

“No, please, baby, please—promise me—”

“Oh my god, alright, fine—I’ll call. Now get going already.”

The drive back to base leaves him feeling bedraggled, lost. When he gets in, it’s straight to the barracks, an hour long nap before reporting to Price, dragging his feet the whole way over. Moping, for lack of a better word, until he rounds a corner and nearly collides with someone that stops him with a single hand on his shoulder. 

When he looks up to eyes rimmed in black paint, the world lightens. His shoulders lift. 

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Johnny.”

It takes Johnny awhile to bring her up with Ghost. Something keeps holding him back, choking him when he tries to say it outloud. He blames it on uncertainty (had to be sure she was the one, Lt, ye ken?) but he feels the truth at the core of him. When he does finally muster up the nerve to pass his phone to Ghost where her photo is front and centre, no mistaking his intentions, he waits on tenterhooks for a reaction. 

Only breathes out when Ghost asks to meet her. He can do that. 

“Aye, Lt. Just for you.”

[stars-n-kites]

really enjoy the implication that merle is a powerful cleric not because hes particularly devout or even really that good at it but because pan just really loves him specifically. divine nepo baby

[silverquillsideas]

you could stain your hands the deepest scarlet, and I'd wash them clean for you.

🔗 prints

[lightningant]

snape snape severus snape

[bunnieswithknives]

(nature au) you said that while dale dislikes dev using a cane in the house he doesn’t really care too much, but what if dev used a cane in public? i can’t imagine dale would be okay with that at all. he’d be pissed, like confiscate the cane kind of pissed

Originally the gag here was just going to be Dev clinging onto his dads arm for dear life while he shivers like a chihuahua but he is just. So small.. I couldnt get it to look reasonable

Bonus:

[lucabyte]

Perceptive kid, I wonder just how much they pretend not to overhear.

[chloesimaginationthings]

i absolutely love your characterization of movie vanessa,, like she is so mentally unwell but also she is full of whimsy!

The duality of Vanessa Shelly,,

[araneapeixes]

hey im trying to be good and keep the nsfw goods for my patreon homies buttt i was doing some style experimentation here and I like how it came out :^) Full under the cut

[rottentricks]

𝔻𝕠𝕝𝕝’𝕤 𝕁𝕦𝕕𝕘𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥

Story recap

- 𝔼𝕩𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕖𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕟. 𝔻𝕠𝕝𝕝 𝕚𝕤 ��𝕚𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙’𝕤 𝕘𝕣𝕚𝕡 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕤 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕣. 𝕌𝕡𝕠𝕟 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕔𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕣’𝕤 𝕔𝕣𝕦𝕖𝕝 𝕘𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕔𝕒𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕖, 𝔻𝕠𝕝𝕝 𝕞𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕒 𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕠 𝕖𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕣'𝕤 𝕒𝕞𝕦𝕤𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕓𝕪 𝕥𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕦𝕡 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕤, 𝕦𝕟𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕪𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕣. 𝔻𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕛𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕪, 𝔻𝕠𝕝𝕝 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕠𝕟, 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒 𝕡𝕦𝕣𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕖, 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕖 𝕒 𝕔𝕖𝕣𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕕𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕤 𝕒 𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕥 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕔𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥.

- \\\ -

Just a fun little au I been thinking about for a while, might write about it? Idk I just thought she would look cooler as DD

[fake-married-my-dead-fiance]

Fangs of Fortune Text Posts, 2/? (1 here)