#or too tough

[its-wabby-stuff]

Perhaps it’s just my feed, but I see so much of Donnie, Leo and Raph going through the horrors. What about Mikey? What if we let Mikey see the horrors?

[kaitcake1289]

in paris you gotta sleep with one eye open

[fesenmoon]

no fucking way

[araneapeixes]

I just think shes neat<3

[bookalicent]

yeah so this was insane

[chloesimaginationthings]

WAIT- UR TELLING ME.

VANESSA.

IS A SCENE KID?!?

HOLHWInehaiwkN18/!&:BFISNAW’77/2&!ajejdnwk

YOU GUYS GOTTA HEAR ME OUT, Doesn’t it makes so much sense Vanny would have been a scene kid??

[sugarlywhispers]

Just thinking about Bakugou falling to the floor, laughing –silently, shoulders shaking– as you try to ease your son's sadness over his own dad crying in laugh at an awful drawing the kid did of you. Artistic, you called it, which made Bakugou loose it completely.

"It's ugly," your five year old son says, pouting and looking deflected.

"Oh, no, honey... it's b-beautiful!" You're trying so fucking hard not to laugh too.

At least you have the decency to hide it, trying to be as kind and gentle with your son as possible. Contrary to your husband, Bakugou Katsuki, who is almost laying on the floor, not hiding his laughs at all. The bitch.

Your son sighs in sadness. "It's good, honey, I promise. You just... You just have to keep it up, okay? If this is what you like, do it. Keep drawing and practicing until you feel good, alright?"

"But daddy is laughing..."

That makes your husband laugh louder and harder, now completely laying on the floor.

"DADDY DOESN'T KNOW ANYTHING, ANYWAY. DON'T LISTEN TO HIM!" You yell over the strenuous laugh of Katsuki, before throwing one of the pillows of the couch at him, successfully hitting him on the face.

"Do you like it, mommy?" Your son's pretty wet puppy eyes makes you melt.

"Of course I do. I'm going to put it over the fridge door, like I do with all your drawings, baby," you promise as you hug your son. He hides his face on your neck as his little arms hug you back tightly around your neck.

Your eyes found Katsuki's, who is still on the floor, crying. His eyes then find again the drawing that it's forgotten on the floor and he begins laughing again.

You are so gonna kick his ass.

But you have to admit... the drawing is funny.

[sometimesrendog]

[Day 157] s8 ren i lovee youuuu

[borealwrites]

I see your (general) “Kakashi expects children to be half as smart as he was at that age” AU and raise you a “Kakashi thinks children are way dumber than they actually are” AU. His only in-person experiences with pre genin are himself, a year at the academy, and Naruto.

So he’s convinced that Iruka is some kind of god for wrangling 17 half-feral children (and Naruto) into real human beings who can read and write and use chopsticks and deadly weapons. Yes, clan children probably learn a bit before, but still.

Kakashi: can’t believe you taught them almost everything they know

Iruka: I didn’t??

Kakashi: I watched you turn 18 hellions into mostly functional members of society

Iruka: most of my kids were well behaved

Kakashi: they absolutely were not, I once saw baby Shino bite Chouji and Hinata took out Gai’s kneecaps because he stood still long enough for her to catch him

[baravaggio]

more panels for araki's "what is a child but a tiny man" collection

[razzafrazzle]

human marzi!! almost got the whole main cast designed now :o]

[image description: a page of drawings for a human design of marzipan from homestar runner, where she is depicted as a chubby woman with two prosthetic legs that is wearing a long corduroy purple skirt, a matching cardigan, and sandals. next to a fullbody drawing of her is a drawing of her original design, a drawing of her in a long purple dress, and a drawing of her in her sultry buttons costume, where she has black hair and sunglasses. end id]

[nelkcats]

Amity Parkers in Gotham

Casper High students graduated. As much as they loved their town (which now included ghosts as recurring residents) they knew they had to go. Not because Phantom didn't do a good job, or that ghosts attacked daily (on the contrary, after Phantom's intervention the destruction became concentrated in the Infinite Realms), but they had to go to a university. That's why most of them applied to Gotham University, it seemed right.

Sure, Gotham wasn't as cool as Amity, nor did it include dimension travel to the Realm of the Dead (Amity Parkers had access to the Infinite Realms as long as they abided by Walker's rules), but they had a great scholarship program, and the city was so chaotic because of its heroes and villains that it felt...like home.

The problem was that no one taught Casper's ex-students some basics: Feeling afraid, avoiding your attackers, not attacking back. Things that seemed like common sense did not go through their heads. After years of dealing with ghost attacks they had gotten used to it, and knew how to counterattack.

So, after their arrival they were knocking out rogues, stopping robbery, and looking bored at the prospect of dying. That made Batman suspicious of a secret society of young soldiers, although it didn't really make much sense, was someone training teenagers? The batfamily was worried at the prospect.

At some point, there was even an "undead" attack in what was called the Justice League; Of course, the Amity Parkers were the first to establish a secure site and prevent the invasion from advancing. At the end everything seemed lost and the undead epidemic was about to spread out of Gotham, but Dash snorted and said that he would "contact a friend that can help", which raised the suspicions of the League.

Danny, who was taking a year off before starting his university studies, raised an eyebrow at the group he had with his old classmates. He shrugged before transforming into Phantom and going to the place, in a few minutes the invasion was over and Bruce was 90% sure that there was a secret society training a teenage army.

[racewinnerlandonorris]

he may not realistically be in the battle for the drivers championship anymore, however that doesn’t at all minimise just how proud i am of all lando has achieved this season. 3 wins (including his maiden), 7 poles, 12 podiums, leading his team to first place in the constructors championship, securing the most points of any mclaren driver in history. and that’s just on track, off it i am immensely proud of his growth too, from being someone who always saw everything as glass half full and was always so hard on himself, to the way he now talks in interviews you can see his confidence and belief in his own abilities has come on so far (as it should). it’s so nice to see how far he’s come from the little boy who started out in f1 so many years ago. maybe this year wasn’t his for the championship but mark my words, his time will come.

[comfortless]

would König ever agree to be a sugar baby? 🤔 most people write him as the rich one in the relationship so I'm curious if the dynamic can be reversed

you’re calling to my weakness of König being taken care of for once here…!! cue König being the absolute worst sugar baby that has ever existed (lovebombing!). implied age gap (König is maybe 24-26 here, reader is anything above), porn mention, masturbation, slightly suggestive but mostly fluff. minors do not interact.

Begrudgingly, a younger König probably would.

He isn’t sure how these relationships even work. There’s plenty of money in his bank accounts, he’s got a decent enough apartment, a car, (some) clothes that aren’t riddled with holes or tears... Hell, there isn’t even really anything that he wants. His curiosity only begins to spike the second his thumb stops its scrolling, lands on a picture of her, and his world comes to a grinding halt.

The woman in the photo is the most gorgeous, sweet creature he has ever lain eyes upon. Just the image of her smiling softly at the camera, her hands placed in her lap whilst she’s seated on a couch is enough to send his heart hammering. She doesn’t look the part of some vapid, cruel thing he had anticipated on a site like this. No, the woman only looks gentle, her eyes are even a little sad… She's all alone, her bed is cold, and König is already hard at the thought of how this could go if he had just a little luck in his corner.

He makes the decision to message her without thinking. It’s late, she probably wouldn’t even see it until morning, and he doubts a woman this cute would want to bother with him anyway.

A polite, articulate: hey do you wanna fuck

Followed by: you don’t even have to pay me XD

He settles for pulling up some porn video with the faces just out of frame, jacks off to the hypothetical of it being she and him one day and falls asleep with his phone on his chest and come stains in his boxers.

There’s nothing about him that’s deserving of this woman’s time nor her response, but he wakes to the chiming of his phone and a sweet message from her anyway. One in which she asks him if he would like to meet for drinks so that they can talk, she clarifies that she will pay, and even tells him that she thinks he’s handsome.

Handsome. Something only his oma had called him when she patted him on the cheek as a boy.

His response is insistent, demanding almost, when he suggests that she come to him, meet immediately that same day. Who cares if it’s only afternoon by the time she arrives, he could go for a beer and a sweet, tight pussy at any hour, doesn’t hold himself back from telling her this either while he grins at his phone like he’s possessed - all teeth and wild eyes.

There’s a part of him that believes this woman will be scared off, stand him up entirely and block his account, but to his surprise, she does actually show up. She’s there before even he arrives, seated in a booth at the back of the bar with his order and her own placed neatly on the table in front of her.

His chest feels too tight when he places himself across from her, all cockiness diminished in light of something he hasn’t felt since he was two feet shorter and more than a decade younger.

He’s fucking petrified.

His to-be-sugar-mommy eases him with her softspoken voice, going over the less than rigid terms of their agreement and praising his looks as well as his ability to handle his alcohol.

She isn’t asking for sex, just someone to care for. She tells him that he’s beautiful, while he feels like a smear on the pavement in comparison to her. And fuck. He isn’t handling his alcohol well at all, he’s just nervous and needs to keep his hands and his mouth busy, because all he wants to do is bend this adorable woman who compares his ugly face to that of an archangel’s over this table and fuck her like a stallion, spit such filth into her hair that no amount of repentance could ever make her feel clean again.

He can’t. He can’t when she suggests in that same cooing voice that she take him shopping for boots that are less scuffed, offers her hand to him as though it’s natural for a lady so ethereal to tether herself to a beast. Her hand is so dainty and cold, whereas he feels like a boiler on the cusp of bursting the second their fingers slot between one another.

His head is a mess of thoughts, memories of being dragged by the collar to attend services with his oma where he never prayed. Shit, maybe he should start, because surely he has someone or something to thank for this, for her.

Their first date becomes the strangest ordeal of his life as she seats him on a bench and helps him to try on boots as though he were only a boy who didn’t yet know how to tie his laces. She even kneels before him and ties them up herself before placing his foot back on the store’s floor; doesn’t even comment on the obvious hole in his sock or the awkward, longing way that he’s staring at her, only presses her chin to his knee and smiles up at him with so much affection he thinks he might actually pass out for a moment. She buys the ones he likes, three pairs of them, and doesn’t even bat an eye at the price.

That’s when he decides it’s all too much: he tells her that he can buy his own stuff, that he doesn’t need her to do it or tie his shoelaces or anything because he’s a man, after all. He should be showering her in flowers and soft dresses, paying for her nails and hair dye.

His lady only laughs and asks if he wants to come home with her, he doesn’t have to stay, just sit with her for a bit. So… he follows her home like a sulking shadow, hovering just behind her lost entirely in his head. He had barked at her like a rabid dog and she still brings him back to her place, strokes her thumb against the back of his hand, offers him little smiles of assurance when he goes completely silent.

He wants to hate it, wants to tell her something dirty and toss a stack of cash her way when she opens her door for him. Instead, he finds his head in her lap while she pets his face, running the tips of her fingers over every scar.

Her compliments are the most ridiculous, beautiful things that he’s ever heard, ranging from outright calling him her angel to telling him that he’s charming, that the scars are pretty… He loves every second spent with her like this, with each soft brush of her fingers as they pet the top of his head down to his neck, the way she hums some pleasing song to him when she massages at his shoulder.

He’s never been pampered or coddled like this before, and it feels good. The boner threatening to tear its way out of his pants isn’t something he’s proud of this time; he only wants this sweet little fairy to feel as comfortable as she’s making him.

Maybe he could do that if she let him pull up her skirt and make love to her: he could be gentle if he tried, play with her hair and her clit while he slowly spears her open until she’s pliant and panting, take it slow until she comes around his cock and her pussy calls him to utterly defile it as well as the rest of her. There wouldn’t be a part of her left untouched.

When she asks to be held instead, he swears he’s getting all of that and then some: she puts herself right in his lap, her chest to his and her legs parted just enough to straddle his hips. Her head tips forward against his shoulder as his fingers dance across her back, squeezing at her hips before smoothing back up her sides. She’s so soft… the most pleasing thing he’s ever touched, smoother than gunmetal and the flat of a blade. The way she smells is even sweeter, like spiced tea and blooming flowers.

She doesn’t even slap him when he bucks upward against her pussy, grinds the throbbing bulge in his pants against the place that she’s warmest. No, she only kisses his cheek and tells him what a wonderful day she’s having, what a gentleman he is even if he knows that part is certainly a lie.

Her breasts are soft in his hands when he finds the courage to squish them, against his cheek when she guides his head down to her. She pets his hair, tells him how she’s always wanted to hold a man like this… that she’s been waiting for someone exactly like him for longer than she even knows.

She even laughs when she asks, “You think that I’m pathetic, don’t you?”

All thoughts of just getting a good fuck out of this woman die someplace beneath his skull. Who would ever even think to call someone so lovely and kind pathetic? He couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t imagine ever doing anything more than protecting her fragile little heart and letting her stroke at him like an overgrown kitten, not anymore.

“Nein… no…”

He swears he could almost see tears in her eyes when she shoots him a glance then. Appreciative, contented tears that he prays she won’t shed. He’s a man, he’s not going to cry, but… fuck, he might if she did right now. Everything feels so doughy and warm, cotton candy and summer rain when his grip around her tightens to pull her in even closer.

She wipes away those unshed tears as she nuzzles against his cheek, slowly rubs her nose there and leaves a trail of kisses up to his temple. His mind is devoid of anything but outright infatuation, some impromptu dedication. He would tell her right now he loved her and know wholeheartedly that he meant it, but love isn’t in the agreement.

His lady only just wants to give herself away for nothing in return, not for a dick to make her cry or his own money layering her pockets; she just wants to pretend he’s her own personal angel, bury him in all the love and gifts she’s never been able to give to anyone else.

He watches her when she falls asleep curled up in his arms, takes in the way she smiles even in dreaming when her soft breaths break up the quiet. He presses his mouth to hers until her eyelids flutter and her breath catches in her little throat. She wakes to the kiss and only reciprocates it with the same softness she’s displayed with every prior action.

Her lips part to take him in, and she doesn’t even moan when he laps into her mouth with a grunt. There’s no lust in this for her: only the most senseless adoration, all love and tenderness, the things he’s yet to properly learn.

She tastes like vanilla and honey, her tongue yields beneath his own… and finally he pulls himself away, staring into her eyes like he might find a treasure there, as if he wasn’t already convinced that every part of her wasn’t something divine and holy.

“Do you have any others?,” he asks, devoid of any trepidation.

There’s not a care in the world of how she might view him. He’s convinced, certain that whatever he’s feeling has to be mutual. There are butterflies fluttering like the gentlest tornado in the pits of his stomach, and just by the wounded look she gives him then he just knows she must feel them too.

“Only you.”

“Gut… gut.”

There’s another kiss, one that is initiated by the both of them and steals all breath from his lungs. It’s not her harboring tears this time, but him who feels the dull sting, separates from her and turns his head away to rub at his face. He knows that he’s the pathetic one now, burdened down with the thought that he’s head over heels for a woman for just treating him as if he deserves anything at all.

Damn her for the way she readily reaches for him to pull him back in, to kiss at the outer corner of his eye and tell him in such a quiet way that she knows… In just a day she’s noticed him more than anyone, given more than anyone.

When he guides her back towards his mouth with a firm hand at the nape of her neck, could he really be faulted for whispering a confession? “Ich bin in dich verliebt,” spoken nearly inaudibly before he shuts her up with his lips over hers.

There’s no need for an answer, he knows the agreement had nothing to do with love. She wouldn’t accept his money in turn, but maybe a heart would suffice. He promises he’ll send her letters each time he’s deployed between mashing his mouth against her own, swears he will come running back to her when those greedy kisses slip down to her jaw. This sweet dove only laughs and squirms in his lap, tells him she would love to see him any time before he shushes her again.

Shouldn’t sweet things like this know not to feed a stray?

[nekrownomicon]

earthmover

[geminison]

Continuing my Disco Elysium style portraits series, Daud The Knife of Dunwall