#I don’t know where it came from

[flynncorvus]

BWU Fanart / No I’m not Dead

So I was bored, and I wanted to draw, but had no idea what, so I just went: “Boywithuke, but like. Cat.”

[possesseddog]

this fucking meme. sits in my camera roll. and whenever I see it I hear it in the goddamn S1 jonathan sims voice from fucking episode 1

[quibbs126]

For some reason I imagine Cauliflower being at a university. Not as a student mind you, but as some sort of a researcher. Probably not a professor though, I can’t really imagine her teaching, at least not now

Like the lab we see in her Cookie Trial is her lab at this hypothetical university

I legit thought it said somewhere that she worked at one, only to realize today there was nothing of the sort in any descriptions, and I don’t think it shows up in the story either. I think I just made it up and convinced myself it was real. But I can’t really imagine her just as a lone researcher though, she has to be at a university in my head

[stratos-ane]

:P

[milk-lover]

Got to the house and there’s dried blood dripped across the garage floor.???

[o-cinnamonstickz]

Stares at you motherfuckerly.

[beebopboom]

silly headcanon time

Maggie actually texted her message to Aziraphale but because he doesn’t have a modern phone it arrived through the mail slot

[artsymeeshee]

My two favorite ships: Ford x sleep and Stan x happiness

[jesuistrestriste]

cw (18+): sub!art, afab + femme!character, age gap, crying/dacryphilia, art being a sad and lonely hot guy in his forties, tashi and art never really got together, creampie

˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢

dilf!art getting with a pretty young thing from down the block. . .

he always admired her effortless confidence and the way her body moved when she walked down the street to the corner store every weekend.

always watched her return from his brownstone apartment window; a pack of cinnamon gum and a case of peach seltzer in her hands.

she’s beautiful and bouncy and everything he didn’t get to have in his youth when he was too sucked into tennis to let himself live a little. he lost tashi to patrick. that was that. and he never tried dating again until about ten or so years ago.

they were all flings that crashed and burned their way through his thirties. meaningless moments where all he was left with was a wet dick and a heaviness in his chest. he hated it. he was done with it.

until her.

she was different.

she sparked a conversation with him one day when they ran into each other outside his doorstep. she was cracking jokes that only made her seem more intriguing because art didn’t understand the social context behind them— he was no longer hip and cool, he’d accepted it. but that, combined with the pop of her hip she did when she was making him laugh (not to mention the way she smacked her gum + batted her lashes when she smiled; all pearly whites) made him feel like even more of a creep.

but now she’s bouncing on his cock and gazing down at him while he gasps and squirms like a livewire underneath her.

they’ve only really known each other for a week and a half.

“say thank you, Artie,” she purrs, her hand tracing the spattered flush on his chest, “say it.”

he bucks his hips up as much as he can to meet her movements, and bites his lip hard enough to taste metal when his tip bumps her cervix.

“thank you, oh my god, thank you— thank you, thank you—! ha-aah-!”

he babbles; a broken record of whines and shaky moans. his throat hurts from all of the sounds being pulled from him when the most he’s talked all month has come from just a couple of boring, remote interviews about his athletic career.

and her, of course.

god, it’s all her..

he swallows and keens, and then his eyes are watering.

and then he’s sobbing. he’s choking on his tears and yet he’s still feeling the tight coil of warmth tense further and further and further-

“don’t cry,” she whispers, leaning down to kiss the wetness from his cheeks, her hips swiveling to ride him harder just as the first slimy blurt of his orgasm spills inside, “you’re a good boy, okay? you’re perfect… a total catch…”

she smells like candy. she’s wiping his tears now.

“oh fuck, thank you-uu—hnghh!”

art lifts his hips, his face crumpling with pleasure and sadness, before he yelps and his climax wipes him out. his whole body trembles as he feels his cock pulse and coat her pussy with gooey clots of his spend. he’s practically wheezing.

he grips onto her hips fiercely; like if he doesn’t squeeze hard enough she’ll just go *poof*, and then he’ll be alone again.

“.. ungh, ‘m sorry, im cumming inside you, im cumming, im so sorry,” he whimpers, the aftershocks leaving him feeling bare and weak. stripped of all of his armor. if he even had any left to begin with.

she kisses his shoulder gently, and then she’s dipping her glossy lips down to whisper right next to his ear. her dainty necklace chills his skin when it dangles from her body and meets his collarbone. she’s so close to him.

“don’t worry, Mr. Donaldson…

you’ll be a great daddy.”

[ashirisu]

been watching the x-men cartoon

[eterniravioli]

oh.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 169

Danny is from a world where everyone has wings, even if most have long since lost the ability to fly. Something about loading and aspect ratio, wings being too small, body too heavy, now mostly used as display, whatever. 

It doesn’t matter even if he had blueprints from when he was like six of a jetpack to help fly. It won’t work anyway and hey, he has his ghost form! Which uh, might be perhaps, affecting his wings which were maybe sort of scorched black and practically down to the bone thanks to the accident. 

It doesn’t matter, he swears. Though he’s admittedly relieved to see the new feathers growing in are different from Dan’s angry sunset. Even if they’re not even supposed to be able to grow back. Alright, this is fine, no one is going to notice! It’s not like everyone knows about the poor Fenton kid whose wings were absolutely destroyed thanks to an accident! It’s fine. 

He’s not flying in a half-panic towards the Far Frozen while crying because his wings are coming back and he’s so scared. He didn’t panic and instantly fled the moment Jazz pointed them out while changing the bandages. 

He definitely didn’t trip over something while wiping away said tears and blacking out from all the stress and all of his problems that he definitely mentioned to someone and isn’t keeping a secret. Definitely. 

Hawkwoman and Hawkman would like everyone to know that neither of them were expecting a very small child to be spat out of the villain of that week’s machine that should definitely not be a portal. A very small child, maybe nine or ten, with a multitude of concerning wounds both old and fresh. Which isn’t even beginning to touch on the wings. 

Feathered, like baby down despite the gnarled scars, unlike their own metallic, with the beginning of tiny specklings like stars amidst the darker fuzz peeking from the wounded flesh. 

Who?! Who dared?! It’s (at least to the forever reincarnating duo) a literal baby! They still have down! Tiny baby fuzz! Was it the portal?! Oh this villain is going to taste their maces for causing this if that’s the case! 

The rest of the Justice League would honestly like to know what just happened and are honestly unsure on if they should stop the two��

[euphoricfilter]

hearts for dinner:

(cw: mentions of death/ murder, smut)

very short drabble for a fic idea before i forget.

demon! reader x obsessive bf! taehyung

where you have to eat human hearts to survive— your preferred organ of choice. and what sort of boyfriend would taehyung be if he didn’t go out and collect his pretty girlfriend her meals?

he doesn’t remember how he felt when he first found out. maybe it was disgust? fear? something that had been drowned out by the worry of you not being able to sustain yourself. it wouldn’t have taken more than a month for him to go and fix your issue himself. barely registering the blood on his hands as he’d knocked on the door of your apartment

now, he feels no remorse as he slaughters both men and women, not an ounce of guilt within him; not when he pushes your plate forward at dinner time, a wet kiss pressed to his cheek in thanks.

he’d be so utterly obsessed with you, getting better at hiding the body each time he murders someone. slowly being dubbed a faceless killer, and maybe he’d fuck you in front of the television as they talk about this mysterious man and the bodies left behind. limbs intact, the only thing missing being their hearts

some nights he might have your legs pulled open, stretched over his thighs, lithe fingers toying with your clit lazily as he presses wet kisses to your neck. your body his to toy with, something surreal about his hands, the same ones he’s used to kill a man, bringing you so much pleasure. the mere thought of it so arousing he finds himself rutting his cock up into your ass, thin fabric of his underwear the only barrier between him and your slick skin

and he’d pull your head back by your hair, making you look at the television, calling you his spoiled little baby. because you always knew you’d be able to get her way with him.

he’d hand you the moon if you ever asked for it.

little knife always tucked away in his pocket, just for those days when you tells him your dinner isn’t sweet enough, and he treks back into the real world— far from your secluded little cottage, to go and get you another heart to sate your demonic needs

he never lets you leave the house, tucking you away in his bed during the day. always bringing you home things to keep you entertained throughout the day as he works

always making sure to take care of you like the princess he knew you were, never having to worry your pretty little head about anything other than him

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

Remember to enrich your Archivist daily by putting him in a surveillance room and letting him Watch! It is recommended you do this for at least an hour, otherwise your Archivist may start to Watch strangers across the street, causing discomfort amidst the public.

It is reccomend you do further research into Archivists before taking one in!

[thestuffedalligator]

“It’s… not what I expected Fairyland to look like.”

“You said you wanted the safest route.”

“Well, yes, but — where are the woods? The forests? The mushrooms with gnomes living in them?”

“Yeah, right — look, all that twinkly enchanted forest crap was made by humans who came here in the 1800s. Capital-R Romantic artists. They hated industrialization and loved nature, and they wanted an escape from the modern world.

“And Fairyland loves humans who want to escape from the modern world. It makes for easy bait. So when artists came here in the 1800s, it made itself look exactly like what they wanted it to.”

“And people want this?”

She gestured out to a world painted in pastel shades of pink and green, and lit with a blaze of neon lights. Every surface gleamed and twinkled with starburst sparkles, and the air smelled sticky sweet with a chemical whiff of hairspray.

Every building was neatly geometrical. Every window was a view into a Norman Rockwell painting. On the wind she could hear the sounds of music and the words: “Sandman, I’m so alone, I’ve got nobody to call all my own…”

It was like being dunked headfirst into a bucket of the 1950s.

But… but there was a weirdness to it. The children playing in Davy Crockett caps and cowboy hats looked like goblins. The gleaming cars with glittering tailfins had huge, sad, colourless eyes instead of headlights.

A gaggle of beehived housewives stood on a corner and watched her pass with glittering, hungry eyes. One of them parted perfectly painted lips and licked its lion’s teeth.

The guide shrugged. “Of course. Every now and then someone falls into Fairyland who loves mid-twentieth century Americana, who wishes they could go back to ‘the good old days.’ Fairyland opens its arms and offers them a world where things are simple, where pixies wear poodle skirts and elves wear aprons, and men are men and women are women and all the jukeboxes in all the soda shops play Mr. Sandman.

“And then this place eats them alive.”

She swallowed. “But it’s safe for us?”

“Do you dream about going back to the fifties?”

“God no.”

“Then it’s safe.”

[strangersatellites]

y’all know i’m an “eddie calls steve every pet name under the sun” truther, but tell me why it only occurred to me now that eddie would absolutely call him loverboy

and not even in that sarcastic, goading tone that he has but like…

so soft and so genuine with kisses pressed to his cheek and a quiet “missed you loverboy” and steve’s cheeks flush the prettiest pink