JBB: An Artblog!
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Not today Justin
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$LAYYYTER
Cosmic Funnies
art blog(derogatory)
#extradirty
Xuebing Du
shark vs the universe
JVL
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styofa doing anything
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
AnasAbdin
izzy's playlists!
h
almost home
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Andulka
seen from Philippines
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United States
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@cottage-worm
i would rather see the information for an event handwritten in sharpie on a paper towel than see another AI generated flyer
Saving this post to show my boss who I told the AI flier makes us look lazy and ignorant, and offered to hand draw one. She still printed tons of ai fliers and I'm tempted to make a better one just because it annoys me so much.
Fun update: event was canceled because literally nobody rsvp'd to the AI flier.
When Tess Morgan's son came home with a tattoo, she was griefstricken. She knew her reaction was OTT (he's 21) but it signalled a change in their relationship
This is gold this, absolute gold, the most over the top melodramatic hysterical ridiculous thing I’ve ever read
This is actually so interesting to read- it’s from 2012 but its full of the same anxieties, even some of the same phrasing that many of the guardian’s later pieces on transness use. really hammers home how much of the terfism that emerged in the late 10s was middle class mothers angry at a loss of control over their adult children- whether that be their bodies or their friends or their opinions- and making that everyone’s problem because they have the power to do so
He says, “I’m still the same person.”
I look at him, sitting there, my 21-year-old son. I feel I’m being interviewed for a job I don’t even want. I say, “But you’re not. You’re different. I will never look at you in the same way again. It’s a visceral feeling. Maybe because I’m your mother. All those years of looking after your body – taking you to the dentist and making you drink milk and worrying about green leafy vegetables and sunscreen and cancer from mobile phones. And then you let some stranger inject ink under your skin. To me, it seems like self-mutilation. If you’d lost your arm in a car accident, I would have understood. I would have done everything to make you feel better. But this – this is desecration. And I hate it.”
Also just the classism of her associating tattoos with “vest tops, dogs on chains, broken beer glasses”; like, just say you hate poor people
there will never be anything as funny as the mutual disbelief between long form and short form fic writers about each other's style.
short form writers look at people writing 100k+ fics as though this is some sort of talent given as part of a fae bargain, that the commitment required shows some sort of ungodly mental fortitude.
meanwhile long form writers look at people writing 1000 word one shots like god I would cut off my left nipple to be able to say anything concisely. i would love to play with multiple ideas. free me from the shackles of this child I have birthed. i love them but I now must take them to t-ball and doctor's appointments and they're going to destroy everything I own.
i feel strongly about this
I hate the auto generated ones. They are often inaccurate, go by too quickly, and not formatted well. Plus usually the people who do have proper subtitles include funny things in them. Shout out to Good Mythical Morning, Smosh, and especially Viva La Dirt League for the best subtitles I have encountered on YouTube
what a beautiful day to not be in high school
This is the like those “remember to be grateful you don’t have a sore throat right now” posts. It IS a beautiful day to not be in high school! Thank you!
if youre ever confused about why preboot!jason does something or acts in a certain way i ask you to consider that hes like 18 and super duper suicidal
“jasons methods in uth werent sustainable” he didnt intend to sustain them
“jasons a hypocrite and his motives are contradictory” teenagers arent known for being particularly rational
“jason didnt plan for the long term effects and power vacuum left by his takeover” jason didnt plan for the long term, Full Stop
“why does jason do the whole uth confrontation instead of just killing the joker” hes 18 and he wants his dad to choose him
“if jason is trying to reach out to people why is he such an asshole” he is reaching out to get them to kill him
“its egotistical for jason to think his approach is the only right one” have you met a teenage boy. like ever
i could go on but you get the point. if one questions preboot!jason todd then one must consider the fact that hes supposed to be drinking buzzballz under a bridge (or lowkey just jumping off of it) and instead hes dismantling a criminal network and replacing its leader with himself
i should note i was not being totally serious while writing this guys like this was directly motivated by a tweet that pissed me off like im so tired of hearing these arguments in general cause theyre Stupid and half of them make no sense if youve read a single comic ever its sooo
but anyway i am aware theres more context and better arguments to make in response it just irritates me because even without the context of jasons moral philosophy, his trauma, war games, oyl, etc, these arguments are still so easily refuted by the fact hes a suicidal teenager so no duh hes childish no duh hes mean no duh hes Like That, can we get some new topics please
Hi Apple users, Apple released a fun thing where they take your photos and Siri transcripts and use them to train AI! And they may be automatically turned on without your knowledge, because oh boy they sure were for me!!!!!!!!!!!!
Open the “apps” section in your settings (it’s usually at the very bottom), go to photos and scroll until you see “Enhanced Visual Search” and then turn that shit off. Then go to “Privacy and Security”, scroll until you see “Analytics & Improvements”, and turn off “Improve Siri & Dictation” as well.
I am an artist with hundreds upon hundreds of my artworks in my photo album. I also have plenty of photos with not only my own face, but the faces of my friends and my family. I do not appreciate that being used to train AI without my consent, and I’m pretty sure it’s the same for others too.
I’m so tired of big companies.
Can i write superbat is thag crazy
can i be lesbian and say gender swapped superbat???
Cass cain and her strap on send tweet
ི ✉️ ֦ છ 𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐊 ˗ˏ 𝓕𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. . . jason todd x 𝒻𝑒𝓂!reader drabble ꒰ mdni `` 18+ content ꒱ ۪ ݁ 781 words.
。 🧷ׄ ⠀ ❛ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧. . . oral. language. one brief mention of a spank.
jason todd is a d1 pussy eater.
your thighs are wrapped around his head, the occasional tremble passing through the tense muscle. his breath hot against your skin when he periodically pulls back to get a good look at your pretty pussy, eyes lidded in focus and satisfaction. he’s thriving off the pleasure he can pull from you, your whines and squirms sending his ego through the roof. jason genuinely is obsessed, from how you taste to the way you’ll whine out in that pitchy voice.
his tongue licks a broad stripe up your slit, tongue flattening against your clit to feel your thighs tremble. “fuckin’ christ,” he groans against your cunt, the vibrations enough to make your toes curl. “could stay here forever.”
his mouth seals over your clit, sucking gently before increasing the pressure somewhat. teeth grazing over the swollen bud, just enough to feel a minor twitch. your hips jerking up towards his face, but he’s forcing your hips still with a heavy palm on your belly. “quit the squirmin’, need you ready for my cock.”
the sounds of your breathing mix with the wet noises of his tongue working between your puffy folds. he doesn’t miss a single spot, making sure no part of your cunt goes neglected. that’s just the type of man he is.
“j-jay,” you stammer out, hips trying to roll up against his face again, but he’s unrelenting—refusing to let you do as you please. he pulls away from you, barely, letting a thick glob of spit land on your glistening folds. his free hand rubbing in the saliva on your clit, tight circles that send your fingers flying to his dark hair. “‘m close.”
“yeah, you’re gonna cum,” he says matter-of-factly, pressing a wet kiss over your core. tongue darting out to flick against your heated skin, teasing you before his mouth latches back onto your pussy. jason’s tongue sliding between your folds roughly, drinking you in as his thumb continues rubbing at the pulsing nub. he’s moving his heavy palm from your stomach, the freshly freed hand slipping under your knee to spread you wider to his awaiting mouth. “go ahead, use me the way you want.”
you don’t need to be told twice, your hips bucking up against his face desperately. the slight stubble along his jaw rough against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, one that’s always welcome. his tongue never ceases its vigorous strokes, the pink muscle dipping into your clenching hole before dragging back up your slit to where his thumb works you over. jason repeats the movement until you’re dripping, a puddle of saliva and arousal pooling under your ass.
your fisting his hair tighter, drawing a hiss from his lips, hips humping up into his face mindlessly. that familiar coil tightening as your stomach clenches, thighs somehow tensing even more on either side of his head.
his thumb moves to expose your clit fully, another ragged groan tearing from the back of his throat. drinking in the full expanse of your cunt, a sight he’s memorized every day. he doesn’t stay away long, mouth sucking your sensitive nub between his lips. applying just the right amount of pressure with his teeth, barely grazing over the bud before soothing it again with his tongue.
your whines are growing louder as you near the edge, toes curled tight as your heels dig into his shoulder blades. jason sinks two thick fingers into your sopping hole, the added stimulation sending your walls clamping around the digits. you grind your hips erratically, chasing the high only he seems to give you, and he doesn’t stop you. an occasional ‘mm’ or ‘so good’ coming from him his swollen lips against your pussy.
he sucks harder at your clit, fingers pumping inside your spasming hole. a rough curl of his middle and ring fingers sends shockwaves through your body as your thighs squeeze around his head. you’re cumming hard, so hard your brain goes blank. however, he doesn’t stop moving his fingers, tongue still lapping at your clit. he helps you ride through your release until you’re pushing his head back from overstimulation. your body overstimulated and spent from his relentless ministrations.
“my favorite bedtime snack,” he grins, sitting up between your spread, trembling thighs—a smug grin gracing his obnoxiously attractive face. your slick coating his chin, however, he’s not bothered. wiping off the proof of your arousal with the back of his hand. offering a quick, wet smack to your glistening cunt, not letting you clamp your legs shut at the brief jolt of sharp pleasure. “no ma’am, not done with you yet—still gotta put you to sleep, baby.”
Please?
Summary - Jason plans out a whole proposal only to forget everything when he gets down on one knee.
Jason has always been a planner. Even when he was young he took comfort in making a plan. It makes him feel more confident in himself and in his abilities if he can make a plan and at least a dozen contingencies for said plan.
So when it came to him proposing to you he planned it out for months in advance.
You had begun dropping hints after your third anniversary, staring too long at rings in the windows of a jewelry store, making a secret wedding Pinterest board that he found open on accident on your phone, bringing up the future often.
Jason would be an idiot to not see your hints and come hell or high water he was going to make it happen.
Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne giving their girl the princess treatment…
warnings : only slightly suggestive in these? tooth rotting fluff, the boys are whipped for their girl, female reader, mentions of feet, golden retriever type boyfriends fr
Taglist : @i-dearbambi-dxx | please let me know if you want to be tagged in any of my ongoing works!
note : my first time ever writing a request >.< actually had a lot of fun writing this and will defo do more in the future :)
Based on this request
Bruce Wayne has zero ability in restraint when it comes to spoiling his girlfriend—you. If there’s anything he sees you looking at, humming in consideration of buying at all, he’s whipping out his card and he’s buying it without hesitation.
“What’s this?” You ask, shrugging off your outdoor coat and handing it to a patiently waiting Alfred in the foyer. The butler takes your coat and folds it in his arms, his greying brows raising with intrigue at the expensive designer box in Bruce’s hands.
Bruce holds the box out for you to take, and you do so without hesitation. Though, you give a suspicious look to him before delicately removing the lid and pushing aside the crinkling tissue paper inside.
You gasp as you reach in and reveal the backless designer dress you had stared at for a millisecond yesterday at the store.
“Bruce!” You squeal, eyes sparkling in adoration for the gift. Alfred wordlessly takes the box from your hands as you fly forwards to wrap your arms around Bruce’s midriff. Bruce only chuckles, fondness in his expression, pure adoration for your reaction and you in general.
“Do you like it?” Bruce leans down and presses a lingering kiss to your temple. His fingers, calloused and blemished from the years of his work as Batman, trace patterns into the skin under your shirt. You do your best to conceal a shiver at the touch, but nothing can slip past the detectives trained eye.
You hum. “I love it. You didn’t have to buy that for me—it must have cost a fortune.”
An ironic statement considering Bruce Wayne is the richest man in Gotham. A billionaire philanthropist sitting pretty on a wealth dating back several generations.
Bruce shakes his head and presses his lips again to your skin, this time lower and nearing your mouth. “Money doesn’t matter,” he assures, his voice lowering to a husk. “You’re worth every penny I’ll ever spend.”
You tilt your head back and lift yourself onto your toes, lips gently colliding with his. He reciprocates immediately, his fingers digging into your waist while he holds you steady. Then, he breaks the kiss and glances over at the box that Alfred is still holding—where he’s still standing nearby and not at all looking embarrassed by the affection.
You follow his gaze and rest your head to his chest. “I should try it on—make sure it fits.”
Bruce reaches over and takes the box from Alfred with a small “thank you”.
He turns his steely blue eyes down to meet yours, and you try not to shudder under the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes sharpen in that way he’s plotting something.
“You absolutely should try it on,” he encourages after a beat, his smile turning deliciously wicked before he adds: “then we can see how it looks on my bedroom floor.”
~*~*~
Dick Grayson is constantly on the move. He’s never known the ability to stay in one place; his thoughts are constantly running in overdrive with plans for the future. And that’s not limited to his role as a leader or vigilante, it also shows in his relationship.
“This was wonderful,” you say with a breathy sigh, closing your eyes as the golden sun sets over the horizon. The final rays of light glow upon your face, a warmth that feels like the sky itself is placing kisses across your skin. “Thank you for planning this, I’ve had an amazing time.”
Dick bumps his shoulder into yours, his hand moving from behind him to rest on your thigh. His thumb moves in small circles, a soothing motion that simply makes you melt at the touch.
“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed yourself,” he admits, his smile as beautiful as the sunset itself. “I was thinking of a shopping date tomorrow—and then we can watch that new movie you were talking about last week. I was also thinking dinner at that new Italian place that opened up last month.”
You turn to look at him, amusement barely concealed in your fond smile. “Another date? Dick, you’re going to go bankrupt if you keep spending your money on me like this. You know I’m perfectly happy with lazy days with you.”
Dick leans his head down and nuzzles his nose against yours, his lips brushing your own. You lean into him and chase the kiss, but his hand reaches up and holds you in place. He knows if he kisses you now he won’t be able to stop, and there’s still more to this night that he planned. Instead, he rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes.
“I know, but you’re my girl and I want to spoil you,” he admits. He doesn’t sound ashamed by that at all, and the genuineness in his voice melts your entire body into a puddle. “Let me enjoy spoiling you. Please.”
You pretend to hum in thought. “Alright. But you’ll have to let me spoil you at some point, okay?”
There’s a woosh of air and suddenly you’re on your back on the picnic blanket, one hand braced next to your head while the other settles onto your hip. His legs cage you in, and he swoops his head down to press a deep, loving kiss to your lips. You reciprocate without hesitation, a hum vibrating your throat at the unfiltered taste of him. And just as you’re turning to goo underneath him, just when that familiar fire is sparking low in your stomach, he pulls away and steals all the warmth with him.
“You existing is enough for me,” Dick says, his voice low and husky and absolutely addicting.
You reach your hands up and thread your fingers through his thick, dark locks. If he were a cat, you’re sure he would have started purring, just from the way his eyelids droop at the pleasant sensation.
And then Dick is no longer above you. He tucks himself at your side and pulls you into a hug, ensuring the both of you are angled in a way to see the sky perfectly. “Are you ready for the show?” He asks.
You try to look at his face for clues, but find nothing. So you look back to the sky curiously, just as the first star shoots across the darkening background. You gasp in delight at the sight, awed by the series of stars that follow.
“Shooting stars,” you whisper, your hand reaching to rest on Dicks chest. He encases your hand with his own, his thumb rubbing gentle circles across the your fingers.
“Make a wish, baby,” Dick tells you, his head tilting to the side to gauge your reaction.
“I don’t need to wish for anything.”
Dick hums, a little confused. “You don’t?”
You roll to the side and lift yourself so you’re sitting on his lap, legs straddling him and pinning him to the floor—not that he’d fight to be above you, he loves every angle of yourself that you give. You lean down and press your lips to his, devouring him before trailing kisses down his jawline. He groans at the tingling feeling each kiss leaves behind on his skin, craving more.
You stop and lean back, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Everything I’ve ever wished for in the past—those wishes were all granted the moment you came into my life, Dick Grayson.”
A shooting star flies across the skyline behind you, and in that very same moment Dick makes the wish that this moment will last forever.
~*~*~
Jason Todd is quiet with his displays of devotion. He’s always felt things more strongly than others, and maybe it’s because he missed some vital development points during his teen years—but his devotion to Gotham, his home city, his love for the people seeps into his love for you.
It’s early evening when you arrive home from work. Sweaty, exhausted, rosy cheeked and desperate for a shower; you lock the door behind you and kick your shoes off into a messy heap. You don’t even bother heading to the lounge room at the end of the hall, because you’re so tired and desperate to just collapse in bed and sleep for the next twelve hours.
But as you enter your bedroom, fingers fumbling with the button on your jeans, you pause in the threshold and blink slowly at the bouquet of flowers placed neatly on your side of the bed. A beautiful arrangement of red and pink roses, tied at the stems with a red ribbon that looks utterly perfect. You shuffle further into the room and scoop the bouquet from the bed, a knowing smile on your lips.
Then, footsteps approach from behind, and two buff arms encase you from behind. Your back presses into a solid chest, and you tilt your head until you’re staring up into the adoring, beautiful eyes of your boyfriend, Jason.
“Was work okay?” Jason asks, his lips brushing against the crown of your head.
You hum and close your eyes, basking in the warmth of his love. “It went,” you answer shortly, not wanting to discuss your gruelling day as a waitress. Instead, you lift the bouquet higher to draw Jason’s eyes to it, and you watch in delight as he briefly looks away from your face and to the flowers.
“Do you like them?” He whispers, leaning down again and kissing your forehead once more. Needy and uncertainty disguised as lazy confidence—you’ve been with Jason long enough to know his tells; the way his eyes crinkle at the corners with worry, the way his lips twitch downwards in an effort to not frown.
“I love them,” you tell him honestly. Without fully breaking free from his hold, you manage to swivel in his arms so you’re standing chest-to-chest. He’s looking down at you still, and you take advantage of the position and brush your nose against his. “I’m going to need more vases, though.”
Jason raises a brow. “More vases? You already have an entire cupboard dedicated to them,” he points out, confused.
You stifle a laugh and pull from the embrace, slipping your hand into his and tugging him out of the bedroom. He follows without question, eyes wide with curiosity as you lead him into the kitchen.
You pull open the cupboard under the sink to reveal very empty shelves, where you like to store the glass and ceramic vases. At the back corner is a cobweb and a tiny spider weaving in the middle, making the most of the vast empty space. You gesture to the shelves with an amused smile, watching as Jason’s face drops in realisation.
“Oh. Where did they all go?”
You resort to staying quiet as you squeeze his hand and take him on a tour around the apartment. There you point out the ceramic vase and flowers on the centre of the coffee table, and then to the glass vase with flowers on the decorative table underneath the window. The bookshelf next to the hallway has two more vases filled with flowers, looking just as fresh as when Jason had presented them to you two days ago.
But you’re not done, even as realisation starts to dawn on Jason’s face. You lead him to the bathroom, where another vase is perched next to the sink, where lilies spill out over the top. Next, you show him to the bedroom, where a vase and flowers are sitting pretty on your dresser, by your vanity table next to the mirror, and one sitting on the window.
You slowly turn to look at Jason, your smile teasing and easy. “Hm—I wonder where my vases have all gone?” You ask with a teasing lilt.
Jason huffs a laugh and pulls you back to his chest. “Okay, I get it. I buy you too many flowers. If you’re expecting me to apologise then you’re out of luck.”
You conceal a snort of laughter and shake your head. “Apologise? Jason, this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I can’t imagine ever being upset at the fact that I’ve run out of vases.”
You lean up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He presses back into you, his eyes sliding shut at the warmth of your mouth against his. He pulls away briefly to gaze down at the roses in your hand.
“They’ll die if we don’t put them in some water,” he mutters, sounding sadder than you’d ever expect a large man such as himself to be at flowers. “Maybe we can put them in a jug for now and I can get some new vases tomorrow?”
You hum in thought. Then, you turn your gaze to your bed and a bright idea sparks behind your eyes.
“I need to take a shower,” you tell him, lifting the bouquet up for Jason to take. He does without hesitation, but he doesn’t look any less confused about it. You continue, “why don’t you decorate the bed for when I finish up? I hear roses always look pretty as petals scattered on sheets.”
Jason opens his mouth to say something, then he immediately shuts his mouth again. The apples of his cheeks morph into a shade of red, and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards into a boyish smile. He gives a firm nod and presses a kiss to your mouth once again, then gently pushes you away so you can go and shower.
“Go shower, baby. I can handle a little bit of decoration. But don’t take too long, yeah?”
~*~*~
Tim Drake can’t exist longer than a few minutes without needing to be in some form of contact with you. Whether it’s through texting updates about his day—including asking about yours, even if you’re doing the most basic, mundane of tasks—or draping his body over yours. There is no scale, because he’s simply content to be with you regardless.
“Your muscles are so tight…”
You strain through a hum of agreement as Tim works his long fingers into the arch of your foot, his thumbs pressing hard and tender to roughly soothe out the tension that’s been bothering you for the better part of your day. You fight a groan at a particularly sensitive spot, one that feels both painful and like instant relief—like pressing on a bruise repeatedly and not learning your lesson that it’s sore.
Even though it was Tim who insisted you sit down and let him ease the stress from your muscles, you still feel riddled with guilt at the fact that you’ve indirectly pulled him away from one of his many detective cases.
“You don’t have to do this,” you remind him softly, brows scrunching together as he starts a circular motion beneath your toes. It takes every ounce of your strength to not openly whine at the sensation. “I can just go and soak in the bath like I usually do.”
Tim shoots you an accusing stare, like he’s offended at the very suggestion. “Like you usually do?” He echoes back, scandalised by the mere thought. He doesn’t ease up with his ministrations, but instead presses firmer into your foot. “You’re telling me you deal with this a lot?”
You watch as he lowers your left foot and begins showing the same amount of attention and care to the right. He dollops a generous amount of lotion onto his pale hands, rubs the cream to spread it evenly, then begins the circular motions to your other foot. The entire process is Heavenly and unmatched, and you question why you’d never recruited him for foot massages before now in the first place.
“Sometimes,” you answer softly, a soft sigh leaving your lips as he digs the pads of his thumbs into another tense spot. With every motion you can feel the discomfort roll its way out your foot. “I don’t want to pester you with how busy your job is.”
Tim tuts and shakes his head, his black hair brushing his pale forehead. “Unbelievable,” he grumbles, like your selflessness is an inconvenience to him, “I can’t believe this whole time you’ve let yourself be uncomfortable when I’m literally right here and capable of helping you.”
You slyly lift your left foot and poke his cheek with your toe, hoping for him to grumble some more. Instead, Tim catches you by the ankle and begins pressing gentle, tender kisses up to the middle of your shin.
“Tim—“ you whine, attempting to tug your foot back so make him stop.
But Tim doesn’t let go, and instead he starts pressing kisses to your right leg for good measure. An even distribution of love and attention for every inch of your body—the very body he worships and would be damned if he had to live a day without.
“Let me take care of you,” Tim mutters, his nose nuzzling into your skin.
~*~*~
Damian Wayne shows his love in the most oddest of ways. Through his childhood of being raised in the League, he had to learn that attachment to others could be exploited and used against him. But after meeting his girlfriend—you—several years after moving to Gotham City to live with his father, he threw himself in the deep end in exploring how to show affection and unlearning the negative repercussions of forming attachments.
“Beloved,” Damian calls out, his voice as sharp as the blade he has hidden at his side, “where are you going?”
He stands in the threshold from the corridor to the lavish foyer, his dark brows furrowed against tanned skin. He watches as you finish buttoning up your autumnal jacket, mind running with replays of the conversations he has held with you over the past few days in search of an explanation for why you’re leaving. But when he finds no such recollection, his heart skips a beat.
You peer up at him through long lashes, your lips tugging into a gentle smile at the sight of his tight expression. “My friends planned a last-minute shopping trip,” you explain softly, offering the reassurance he refuses to admit he needs. “I’m about to head out to meet with them. I think we’re getting lunch, too.”
Damian’s shoulders drop a fraction with relief, but his posture remains steadfast in the way it was vigorously trained to be as a child. “I see,” he mutters, his hand already reaching to his pocket to retrieve the black leathered wallet. The motions are familiar as he flips it open and slips out the credit card with ease, his eyes waiting and expectant of you.
You blink at the offer and sigh. “Dami—you don’t have to give me your card,” you remind him, your gentle hand reaching up to touch his wrist and direct it away. “You spoil me so much already.”
Damian frowns. “I fail to see the issue with that,” he counters, clicking his tongue at your refusal. “Is it wrong for me to provide for you?”
“No, no it’s not. It’s cute. But I don’t want you thinking you have to give me your card every time I go out with my friends,” you say, closing the gap and standing almost chest-to-chest with him. You guide your hands up his arms until they loop around his neck, silently prodding him to lean down until your lips brush close to his. “You already pay for everything when it’s just us. I can fund my own spending habits when I’m with my friends.”
Damian shakes his head and then brushes his nose against yours. You inhale his scent, heart fluttering at the scent of his cologne. “I don’t think I have to,” he corrects without missing a beat, his green eyes boring into your own. It’s then that you feel his fingers brushing the skin of your cheek, a motion that’s loving and adoring. “I want to, my love. Let me spoil you.”
Arguing with Damian has always been futile, so you relent without putting up a fight or attempting a logical argument.
Instead, you suggest the next best thing that you can possibly think of as repayment for his generosity:
“Then perhaps I’ll visit that one store you like so much?”
There’s an obvious pause on his behalf, an extra second taken as he visibly composes himself. His lips curl up at the corners, his eyes creasing. “What time can I expect you home?” He asks, the question feigning pure innocence.
Your eyes sparkle. “Early evening,” you murmur in promise, now standing on your toes to reach up and fully press a kiss to his lips. “Do you want your gift before dinner or after?”
Damian’s forehead presses to yours, and you feel his shuddering breath across your face as he visibly restrains himself. His fingers flex into your hips, a sign that he’s fighting himself to not force you to stay with him.
Instead, he pulls back and firmly places his credit card into your hand, his long fingers closing yours around the plastic. Then he guides your hand to his mouth and kisses each finger, like he’s willing his love into your digits.
“There is no limit,” Damian reminds you, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’d like a full show of everything when you come home.”
“Even the boring parts?” You tease.
“My love, there are no such thing as boring parts where you are concerned.”
Respectfully, I do not believe you can call yourself a writer if AI is writing it for you.
The increase in fics I've seen where the writer is just like "well it's how I write so scroll if it bothers you"
Babe you're killing the planet
what if I just made my profile picture a male calico cat or something. hurm
Could I suggest a picture of Dawntreader Texas Calboy? He is a beautiful male calico cat who is a chimera. He's also somewhat controversial among some cat fancy associations since he is a male cat with female colors, and some people are strangely transphobic towards him, despite him being a cat? There was even a rule implemented to keep him from competing in a cat show. If you look up his name, he made a few news articles.
Oh my god?????
Yeah you're right about beautiful I'm squeezing him until he pops!!!!! I love this guy I think I'm going to make an edit real quickly Calboy I love you I'm so sorry people are calling you a freak??????
okay yeah i do think your filler is off putting and your botox makes you rigid and strange to look at
I know you think it’s “feminist” to hate on women who already have self esteem and image issues (through no fault of their own, as a direct result of patriarchy) for doing something to help them cope with their fleeting youth - which may or may not have been stripped from them against their will due to years of depression, abuse, oppression, or whatever else - but the truth is that the freedom to get Botox is actually a right feminists have fought for - whether intentionally or unintentionally. Women used to get thrown away when we outlived our youth and beauty - now we have the option to prolong it and change the way we are perceived and treated by society as a whole. We ALL had to grow up too fast. We ALL have to cope with a childhood that ended too soon. I’m no less a feminist than you are simply because I choose to hold onto my youth and beauty because it helps me feel better about my own loss of innocence. This is all just another excuse to hate on women and tear us down. You’re literally letting the patriarchy win by judging women for their personal choices which harm absolutely no one. Please grow up. Not everyone is conventionally attractive or ages gracefully. Some women can cope with that and some can’t. Both deserve love and respect. Have some decency. You’re not edgy for this. You’re hating just like a man would.
Feminists … have fought… for the right … to use Botox…..
sex is a distraction from your true purpose in life which is to go to the aquarium and look at the fish and go "wooooooaaah.... fishies". cmon guys we all need to lock in.
i’m doing really well for someone who goes through the five stages of grief every day
