#kinda requested

[abilouwrites]

I KNOW EVERYBODY HERE THINKS HE NEEDS YOU

ILL JUST BE WAITIN’ RIGHT HERE JUST TO SHOW YOU

@soapyswifee

- I saw ur request and was like fuck yeah let’s go and actually write smth for the first time in like three months ty 🙏

“She genuinely sparkles.. like I genuinely think she’s the sun” Ellie murmurs against a beer- the condensation cools the burning heat in her body. From the fifty people mushed into a small apartment or from the fact she’s watching you. You of all people dancing against some stupid blonde boy.

Your head gently tilted back as your eyes flutter from person to person- but always. They linger— on Ellie? On Jessie? She’s not 100% sure, “I think you’re criminally down horrible for your roommate” He replies coughing slightly into his red cup when a certain girl looks his way and winks.

“Yeah I’m not the only one, what’s going on with you and Dina? Still on and off?” Ellie asks- head tilted towards Jessie but eyes never leaving your dancing figure all until you come shimmying up to Ellie.

It doesn’t catch her by surprise the way your arms link around her shoulders and you pull her against your chest, “hi” you whisper breathlessly into her ear

“Hi” Ellie tries to crane her neck to talk to you face to face, “are you uh.. done dancing?”

She feels the cool exhale from your lips, “maybe, I can’t believe you’re not dancing” she can almost feel the pout against your lips as your chin rests against her shoulder. Ellie’s heart stumbles in her chest as your arms loosen against her shoulders and slip slightly, just for a fraction of a moment she lets herself believe- believe that her 100% straight roommate might have a thing for her biochem major roommate. It’s how they met after all.

“You want a drink?”

“Yeah what are you drinking?” You reach slightly to grab at the beer, “gross” you shake your head slightly and your curled hair tickles against the back of Ellie’s neck. You still drink the bud light.

Ellie shakes her head slightly, “You know you dont like beer?" she reminds playfully, but alas. Any alcohol is good, the buzz to drunken stupor is a steep and easy path for you and Ellie's become all too familiar with your nights spent hunched over a toilet, throwing up.

"Yeah, I still dont understand why you drink it, have something good- like a pina colada or uh.. uh.. cherry coke." Ellie can smell the taste of mixers and other drinks on your breath, in your sweat. She's all too hyper-aware of everything thats happening as you pull yourself away from her. Skin sticking together from the sweat.

Ellie finds you in front of her, suddenly enamored in a conversation with Jessie and Dina, which makes her ache sometimes. The kind thats deep in the heart- in the soul, the kind of ache that only comes from an unrequited love. But when you turn your head to look at her, watch as Ellie's lips move to add something into the conversation, it's like an angel is talking directly to her.

"You wanna get outta here?" You ask, pushing the sweat-licked bangs out of your eyes, "I have a 7am tomorrow." Ellie just stares before slowly nodding, and you do as you always do. Take her hand, and blind trust she'll safely guide you through the crowd of lacrosse and field hockey players.

"Yeah," She nods, grasping your hand firmly as you two weave in and out of standing people.

The walk back to the dorms is fresh and much needed from the smell of beer and sweat, "how do you feel?" You ask- walking slightly ahead of her

"fine, a little tipsy maybe"

"yeah me too"

"I think maybe more than tipsy."

Ellie can see the outline of your smile as you turn slightly, walking backwards to face her, "how was your blind date?"

Your timing is almost comical. Just as Ellie is admiring you, you ask about the awful date she went on. For you- it was your suggestion, wasn't it?

"Uhh, not super? She's focused on hockey, and I want to make captain of FH, so yeah, it just wouldn't work out." Ellie blabbers- lying straight through her teeth because the truth is. She didnt even go. She got in her dads truck and drove around for the hour she was supposed to be with Abby

"liar" You call out

fuck

You continue, "I know you didn't go, she texted me asking how you were feeling because you had the 'flu'" Ellie watches as your expression changes, but then you pivot your heel and turn to open the door to the girls' dormitory

"Oh... uhh" there really isn't an excuse Ellie can think of- no good reason why she would avoid going on a blind-ish date. And it's not like she can lie to you. Again in one night.

And she definitely can't explain how she doesn't want to date anyone but you how the idea of coming home to any face but yours makes the bile in her throat rise and her tear ducts begin to swell but you dont press it. You shrug as you slip your flats off and shimmy a little to adjust the tube top.

"Well, goodnight Ellie"

"Goodnight, y/n."

The walls in the dorms aren’t thick, usually it’s a party at Max’s next door or someone fucking but tonight it’s different. It’s quiet. Except for the toss and turn of someone in the room across the hall.

You make minimal effort in being quiet- the hit of pillows to fluff them up, opening and closing the window, eventually Ellie can hear the covers come off and she’s not sure if you’re making a dash to throw up or to drink some water and take Advil to stay ahead of the hangover.

Finally Ellie decides to stand, shifting the thin covers off and walking out to check on you, “you alright?” She asks, pushing the hair up from the back of her neck

“Eh. I can’t sleep” you murmur, moving to sit on a piece of loose furniture

“Somethin on your mind?” Ellie finds herself asking- you shift uncomfortably at the question. Bringing your knees to your chest and sighing, “you can tell me” Ellie goes at the question gently. With the tact and politeness she’d never picked up from Joel- but the kind that Dina had slowly brushed onto her.

“Kinda but also—“ you shrug and hair falls from the loose low bun and begins to rest on your shoulders, “it’s so..” you sigh again. Tense and unsure how to carry on

Ellie sits slowly and her eyes flick all over your body- from your deep sunken in eyes and messy hair that seriously needs a cut and a touch up, but finally she focuses on the mole above your lips, it almost kisses the top of your cupids bow, “you don’t have to talk-” She starts but suddenly the words begin to flow

“How did you know?”

“Know what?” Ellie raises her eyebrow and perks her lips

“That you uh. Liked girls?” The words trail out and off your lips and hit her like an arrow through the chest.

“Oh.”

“I- fuck this is. I’m sorry” you go to stand but Ellie’s hand grabs you down, “Ellie” your voice- just a whisper

“Kiss me”

Jesus Christ she’d found her chance and god forgive if she was going to let it go.

Drunk? Probably not- horny? Most definitely. You throw your lips against her- sure you’d kissed guys before but this. This wasn’t just teeth chattering against eachother as some drunk guy tries to touch your boobs. This was. Is. Tactful.

Ellie knows her movements, her hands go to your waist and she deepens the kiss, you don’t know if you’re dreaming or really awake as she takes a hand and her index finger caresses the underside of your boob.

But when she pulls away- her hands are still touching you, “so?” She asks, almost mockingly tilting her head to the side.

The whine that leaves your lips is almost musical to her ears as you crawl back to her- hands grabbing at her face to smash your lips on hers once again.

[pixies-very-important-science]

Anonymous asked:For science reasons...who's out here eager to leave thigh hickies or secret hickies on you?Which one of them is a sucker for you leaving the hidden hickes on them? 👀👀👀--🍭

Lollipop anon! More research occured to me!

hyung line

[thegirlwhosimpstoomuch]

Celestial Bonds

Part 3 - The Heroes Of Olympus

Excitement and curiosity filled your heart as you awaited the arrival of these legendary demigods. When they finally arrived, you were in awe of their presence. There was Jason, recognizing old friends from his past adventures - Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase, Leo Valdez, Piper McLean, Hazel Levesque, Frank Zhang, and the mischievous son of Hermes, Luke Castellan.

Each of them had their own unique abilities and strengths, but together, they formed a formidable team that had faced incredible challenges and triumphed over great evil. As you all gathered around the campfire, stories were exchanged, laughter rang out, and bonds were quickly formed.

The Heroes of Olympus welcomed you and Jason into their ranks, recognizing the potential within you both to make a difference in the world. With their guidance and support, you embarked on a new journey, not just as demigods, but as a part of a larger family united by a common destiny.

As the flames flickered and the stars twinkled above, you knew that this meeting was just the beginning of a grand adventure that would test your courage, friendship, and loyalty like never before. Together with the Heroes of Olympus by your side, you were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that the bonds of friendship and destiny would carry you through any storm.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Oookay so I may have changed the plot a bit but the overall idea is that the crew of the Argo II love u 🥰

And also shoutout to @decadentrebelkitten for motivating me to write this part.

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF Vanny and Michael if they met as teens

[shigeoreum]

im rlly sorry user friendlybog…….. i misread your req and i drew the wrong troi…. have a lwaxana & crusher sketch tho as compensation

[spiralinaa]

Yeah tell em telly

AND MY POOKIESSSS I LOVE THEM SO MUCH HEHEHHE GOD BLESS EM

[aloeville]

my friend asked me to draw edgeworth crashing out so i drew him crushing the hot coffee cup in his hand from AA1

I also totally took inspo from @kittycandyart’s post-unecessary feelings edgeworth drawing where he’s bombarded by little nicks lol

[grenadehearts]

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki nearing his 40s, his muscles aching more than they did when he was freshly 20, the years of hard labor carved into every tendon and joint. his sandy blonde hair, once bright and wild, starting to show a few stubborn greys. he even grew stubble — coarse and scratchy — that leaves your skin burning when he kisses you.

and you'll complain about it, listing off reasons on your pretty, young, manicured fingers why he needs to shave, tapping each one against his chest. he'll just tilt his head, give you that lazy, lopsided smirk, and grunt a simple, "nah."

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki and the way he met you — this bright, pretty thing tucked away behind rows of blooms — when he ducked into a floral shop for a last-minute birthday gift for the old hag. how he saw you there, sleeves rolled up, soil caked on your delicate hands, loose strands of hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, and how you just blew them away without a second thought — left him absolutely weak in the knees.

your laugh was brighter than any flower in that whole damn shop, and your eyes?

god, your eyes put every petal to shame.

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki who lingered way longer than he should have, asking the dumbest questions known to man about orchids, tulips, lilies, and roses, just so he could hear you talk. how you lit up at every answer, spilling all these little facts with that animated sparkle in your voice.

he didn't even like flowers.

but he liked you.

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki who kept coming back to that little shop for months after. at first, it was excuses — shitty ones, too. "forgot what kinda flowers she liked," he'd mutter. "need somethin' for a friend."

but pretty soon, there weren't any excuses left. he was just there, like clockwork, hanging on your every word, wrapped around your finger like some lovesick, pathetic mutt.

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki whose hands are rough, calloused from decades of labor — decades that stretch back to before you were even born. big, scarred palms that make your soft skin feel like silk in comparison.

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki who takes a little longer to get out of bed in the mornings, always grumbling about his bad back, how he needs time to "get movin’."

but really, he just wants an excuse to pull you in close — press you flush against him, soak in the heat of you — and watch your pretty eyelashes flutter while you sleep.

and he has to be there when you wake up.

he needs to see those gorgeous eyes make sure they find him first thing in the morning.

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki who hadn't even thought about dating for years — too busy, too bitter, too tired — until he stumbled into you. all doe-eyed and sweet, so eager and fresh-faced you knocked the damn wind outta him.

made him awkward again, made him red-faced and desperate to impress you.

and all the boys you had before? college kids, jerks who only cared about frat parties and notches on their belts. they didn’t know the first thing about taking care of someone like you.

but katsuki did. he was older. more patient. rough around the edges, sure — but he knew how to make you feel good, how to take his time and worship you like you deserved.

getting there, though?

getting there was tricky.

you were both such messes, two bumbling, nervous idiots, fumbling around each other like awkward teenagers.

but god, it was worth it.

a/n: based on this request lmk if you guys are wanting to see more of this, masterlist link here. and tysm for 1k followers!

taglist: @xoxojisu @candiiee @luvseraphh @cvnt4him @soundtrqck @chlosology @lotusstarr @cupkiki @wokasiv @badslittlemuffin @princessshnazzy @203steph @chitteringcicadaeyes @idk1187 @notartemis777 @chosostonguepiercing @chocolatedefendorbaa @t33th--r0t @3lenaatvt @the-faceless-bride @tuneinwlosers @badslittlemuffin @dreamcastgirl99 @gethexxed @moonstonejpg @pluto-9456 @wonubby @kye1aaazene @izukusfangirl @van9lla @dienamiight @sofi4dsam @kawaiiclubdaily @therefore-evermore @bluemailhiot @luckybibucky @sk1ppy-art @d011yyxx @myths-and-ledgends @icanread-icantwrite @changkyunnnie @blue-birdie-bixch @aj1j @twoplayergaymers @socialobligation

[niinnyu]

Right! Right.

As suggested by @thewormscientist (thanks!)

[procyoren]

Hii! Well, since you're taking recs, I was thinking of...mayhaps..Wirt from Over the Garden Wall in his orange sweather? He'd look so adorable in your style...

Poetry and clarinet guy

[pixies-very-important-science]

Anonymous asked: For science reasons...who's out here eager to leave thigh hickies or secret hickies on you? Which one of them is a sucker for you leaving the hidden hickes on them? 👀👀👀 --🍭

Lollipop anon! More research occured to me!

maknae line

[yannawayne]

not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

SYNOPSIS: You get kidnapped and Damian snaps. TAGS: Graphic Depictions Of Violence! Genderneutral! Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Kidnapping, Childhood Trauma, My Mother is the Worst Woman Alive and I'm her Favorite Son, Damian is Eighteen.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.

"Beloved."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

YOUR PALMS WERE PRESSED tightly against your eyes, wrists raw and burning from the rope that had bound them just minutes ago. Sobs slipped from your lips, eyes bloodshot, and mouth parched dry.

The rotting smell of the warehouse was an assault on your senses—an acrid mix of trash, harsh chemicals, and the faint tang of gunfire that lingered in the air.

There was a hushing in your ear as you leaned against a cloaked figure—Batman. Bruce. 

His hand rubbed at your back, firm and steady, a grounding presence amid the chaos. His cape, dark and imposing, wrapped around you like a shield, blocking out the violence unfolding just in front of you.

Shadows danced erratically on the walls as Robin moved with lethal precision. Bodies fell unconscious, thudding heavily against the concrete floor. Blood splattered. Screams echoed. Each punch landed with a sickening crunch, bones breaking. Crates and debris were scattered haphazardly, wood and concrete slamming onto the floor. 

Damian couldn't see anything but red.

His vision was tunneled, focused solely on the next target, the next blow, the next scream. 

A swift roundhouse kick sent one assailant crashing into a stack of crates, the wood splintering under the impact. One punch connected with a jaw, the sickening crunch of bone breaking echoing through the air. Blood sprayed on his fist. Another one rushed toward him, brandishing a knife, but he disarmed the man with a swift twist of the wrist, jamming the blade into the attacker's palm. The man screamed, clutching his arm as red streaked his skin.

Damian's eyes flickered with a dark satisfaction as he watched the thug stumble backward, clutching at the wound.

One last man remained. One who had lunged at him from behind, grappling onto his back. Damian scowled and surged backward, driving both himself and his attacker into the wall with bone-crushing force. The man's grip loosened, a pained gasp escaping his lips as the air was knocked out of him.

"Fool," Damian spat, his voice dripping with venom. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"

The thug whimpered, trying to scramble away, but Damian was relentless. He twisted sharply, dislodging the assailant and slamming an elbow into his ribs. The man crumpled against the wall, clutching his side, his eyes wide with fear and pain.

"You think you can touch those I care for and get away with it?" Damian growled. He didn't give the thug a moment to recover. He swung a powerful fist into the guy's face, the impact sending a spray of blood and teeth into the air. 

"F-Fuck you, man!" The man yanked a gun from his waistband, but before he could even line up a shot, Damian’s foot kicked out, sending the weapon flying through the air. The gun clattered against the concrete with a deafening clang. With a snarl, Damian lunged forward, grabbing the thug by the collar and slamming him into the ground.

"H-Hey! Mercy! Mercy! I'm a-already down!" the assailant wailed, his hands clawing at Robin's uniform in a desperate plea. "The Bat don’t kill! You—you ain't gonna kill me!"

Damian's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as his voice dropped to a low, menacing growl.

"I'm not Batman," he spat, the tone amplified and darkened by the modulator. "Every breath you take is a mercy I choose to grant. By the time I'm finished, you'll be begging for death."

He raised his fist, the tension in his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. The thug’s eyes widened in terror, his pleas growing frantic as he braced for the blow. However, just as Damian’s fist was about to land, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, grabbing onto his hand with a vice-like grip. Before he could react, Batman—Bruce—had tackled him, pinning him firmly against his chest. 

“Robin,” Batman’s voice was firm, concern barely concealed. “That’s enough.”

Damian's struggle was fierce, his body thrashing under his father’s strength as he roared in fury.

“Let me go!” he screamed, his voice raw with anger. “I’m going to kill him for what he did to them!”

The anger engulfed Damian like a stormy ocean, dragging him beneath its violent waves. Visions of his mother’s face, his grandfather’s form, and accusing shadows surged from the depths, all condemning him. Damian’s cries erupted into a raw, guttural scream, gradually dissolving into ragged gasps as he battled the relentless tide.

Though Bruce had shaped him into a hero, a beacon of justice, and his family had offered him a fragile semblance of belonging, Damian was still his mother’s son.

The violence and anger roiling within him were like roots twisted deep within his soul. There was not a thing that could purge the primal rage and pain that had taken root before his first breath.

When he finally broke through the surface, baptized in blood and weighed down by sins that clung to him like chains, he sought you out with an urgent, almost desperate need.

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.

"Beloved."

Your hands were carefully peeled away from your eyes, and you met soft emerald eyes through a veil of tears. His hands moved to unlatch his cape, the soft fabric pooling around your form. His lips, speaking in his mother tongue, murmured a soothing litany of comfort, Arabic endearments flowing like silk. He pressed your head against his chest and you found refuge in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

Bruce watched the scene with a pensive look. His son's body had dwarfed you, broad shoulders and strong muscles enveloping your form like a shield. His head was tucked into your hair, his hands raking all over your tense and sweaty skin.

Damian had momentarily shed the hardened exterior he so often wore—a soldier with a heart that, despite its armor, occasionally revealed cracks. This was a side of him that often surprised people.

Because Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

He was all sharp edges. Poisonous, scalding words that could sear through the thickest armor of patience. Rough, nearly violent in his touch, like a blade pressed against skin. There was no gentleness in his movements, no softness in his gestures, only the relentless precision of a trained killer.

From the earliest moments he could walk, his life was an unending series of tests, each more grueling than the last. Each cut and bruise was a lesson. Failure was met with harsh punishment, success with silent approval. Affection and praise were as rare as mercy. 

The League’s doctrine was ingrained in him: emotions were vulnerabilities, attachments were liabilities, and loyalty was owed only to the mission and the League. His purpose in the League of Assassins was clear—to be the perfect instrument of their will, a living embodiment of their principles. 

Emotion was his enemy, a weakness to be purged.  He was taught to suppress his feelings, to turn them off like a switch. Pain was an illusion, fear a phantom to be banished. He learned to compartmentalize his thoughts, locking away his humanity in the deepest recesses of his mind. 

By the time he reached ten, he was a finely honed instrument of death.

A living weapon in a world that knew no peace.

It had taken Bruce eight grueling years to begin undoing the damage. And even then, he had barely scratched the surface.

Then there was you.

The trembling, warm-faced student Damian had introduced during his senior year—his partner for a science project, he said. 

At first, the interactions were subtle—a fleeting glance here, a hesitant smile there. But as time went on, it became impossible to ignore the way your presence began to soften the sharp edges of Damian's demeanor.

Bruce had seen you both fall for each other over the months. And he saw hope. 

You were the opposite of every lesson Damian has ever been taught.

To him, you were soft, in every sense. Soft movements, soft features, soft voice. Everything about you exuded comfort.

You made something he had always pushed down and shut away come to the surface.

You made him feel things—things he should not.

When you touched him with your soft hands, everything in him burned. The gentle brush of your fingers against his skin ignited a searing heat, a raw and unfamiliar longing that clawed violently at the walls he had worked so hard to maintain. Each touch chipped away at the concrete barriers of his training, breaking them down and leaving him exposed, aching for something he couldn’t quite name.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

Mania. Drake had called it, a wild obsession of his that could consume and devour.

Damian's arms encircled you like a lifeline, holding you close as though he feared you might slip away. His lips brushed against your temple, warm and tender, while his biceps pressed firmly under your chest, anchoring you in his embrace. The air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, blood, and the lingering residue of fear. 

And yet, amidst these odors, there was an underlying, almost imperceptible hint of Damian’s cologne—Arabian oudh. It was rich and smoky, with notes of aged wood, a faint earthy sweetness, and subtle undertones of leather and spice.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, the fabric of his suit brushing against your cheek.

A Crush. Todd had chalked it up to puppy love, something that would eventually fade with time.

He lifted you effortlessly from the floor, his strength evident in his smooth, controlled movements. The way he adjusted his hold with such care to ensure your comfort spoke louder than any words could.

Warmth enveloped you—Damian had always run hotter, like a human furnace. On sweltering days, his clinginess (no matter how much he denied it) had been a nuisance, his heat making you feel as if your skin might melt off. But now, that same warmth was a comforting embrace, a welcome shield.

Infatuation. Grayson had suggested, thinking it was just a fleeting, intense passion. But there was something deeper in the way he looked at you, something that felt permanent and unshakeable.

“I am here. I am here, beloved," he spoke to you lowly. "It's alright now."

Love. His father called it.

In an instant, everything seemed to collapse around you. Tears welled up and streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed into his chest, each shudder of your body sending waves of anguish through him. Damian’s heart twisted painfully at the sight of you. 

He has seen suffering—he has inflicted suffering. But this was different. Your pain was a torment he was helpless to alleviate. 

Face twisted in guilt, he pulled you tighter against him, as though he could hold the world’s pain at bay if he just held you close enough.

A hand tapped at his shoulder, and he flinched, turning to see his father.

“The Batmobile is just by the docks. We can—”

“They're in shock,” Damian scowled. the fire back in his eyes. “Do you honestly believe they're in any state to be moved at this moment?”

Bruce’s gaze was firm. “Damian, we don’t have time to—”

“They need to be stabilized first,” Damian cut in sharply, his tone brooking no argument. He turned abruptly, striding towards the exit. “If you want them to survive this, we need to take care of them properly, not rush them into a car. I shall be outside.”

Without waiting for a response, Damian moved swiftly, the clatter of his boots echoing as he stepped into the cool night air with you. Once the warehouse door closed behind him, he turned his full attention back to you, his hand gently brushing your tear-streaked face. 

He moved to press his forehead gently against yours, the warmth of his skin meeting yours in a tender connection. He could offer no verbal comfort anymore; words seemed woefully inadequate. Your cries gradually subsided as you drew comfort from his presence.

Love.

He lifted his hand to the side of his face, pressing a button. As his mask retracted, his eyes met yours. Damian knew that more than anything else, you loved his eyes.

Time and again, you found yourself drawn to them, unable to tear your gaze away. They were hypnotic—an exquisite blend of emerald green, green as vibrant as the leather cover of his sketchbook, flecked with gold and streaked with brown paint.

His eyes were windows to his soul, offering the only genuine glimpse into the depths of his emotions. In them, you could see his anger burning like a stormy sea, joy dancing like sunlight on rippling water, embarrassment flitting like a shadow, and pain etched as deep as his scars.

At times, his eyes grew gentle, revealing something much softer—something that made your heart swell and your knees feel weak. A love so pure and unexpected that it could melt the coldest of hearts.

Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

But in these soft, fragile moments he shared with you, where his heart beat in sync with yours, Damian found an unexpected calm. It was in these rare interludes, away from the brutality and darkness that defined his world, that he could truly be himself.

Here, he was not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

ao3: yenwayne

NOTE: I want to delve into the line I wrote: 'Damian is still his mother’s son.'

It's just to show his trauma, I despise Talia with all my guts.

Talia's control over Damian is a textbook example of manipulative conditioning at its most extreme. In psychological development, early experiences and parental influence are crucial in shaping one's self-concept. From his earliest days, Damian was deprived of a normal childhood. His personality, thoughts, and desires have all been sculpted by the League of Assassins from day one.

His anger, protectiveness, and sense of duty are manifestations of this—a child raised to be a killer, now struggling with the fragments of a humanity that was never fully allowed to blossom.

I'm not saying he hasn't changed!!! He has turned into so much more than the weapon they intended him to be. He is genuinely good. But the impact of such deep-seated trauma cannot be easily overlooked or resolved. It’s not something that can simply be swept under the rug or fixed overnight.

So, this was my attempt at capturing his character! I’m very open to constructive criticism since I’m new to the fandom. Please be kind and gentle with your feedback :)

[gender-premium-tm]

begging on my KNEES for you to draw damian. My precious bean. My little meow meow. My gorgeous murder baby.

Please I know that you have the skills to truly capture his adorable little gremlin energy 🫁

(I misclicked and pressed lungs on accident but I'm leaving them there. You can have some lungs <3 your probably need them)

ask and ye shall receive, anon!!

i need you know that this ask filled me with so much motivation it’s unreal. my stabby son boy!!! look at him go!!! :3

reblogs>>>likes

[neztune]

My cat was getting in the way of me doodling for the nth time… so I feel like Toothless would do the same thing as her if he was fun sized XD

[zeldalizzy]

January: Snowy Shenanigans 🩵

[fungiikind]

they came to me in a dream (and held me at gun point, threatening my life)