#are so sticky

[bitchfitch]

how many cans of spray foam could it Possibly take to fill a 3ft tall pig head? 1? no it's looking closer to six or seven rn. i bought one, borrowed 1 and found a third that's busted and no longer has air pressure.

[chelfaust]

☁ a fluffy pixel art sky ☁

print | wallpaper

[ionomycin]

inhale, hold

[linkerbell]

@ane-doodles mentioned Narindersonas so heres my Beerinder with my lambsona. ✨🐝

[egophiliac]

the Stitch crossover so far is just pure chaos and honestly, that tracks.

[doctorsiren]

Got some mini canvases yesterday :)

[amelia-yap]

fruits...

[mossy-paws]

Fantasy creature Phighters! (PHIGHTING!)

Hi tumblr. Guess who’s alive again!!!! Anyways here’s sword and rocket as fantasy creatures, I actually made these a long time ago but I just completely forgot to post them :’DD

for those curios, this is like a mini little fun silly au of mine, nothing much and I’m not gonna draw anything for it in the future but it was me turning Phighters into different fantasy monsters or creatures, currently:

Rocket is a Kelpie Centaur, Sword is a harpy, Scythe would be a Greek Sphinx, Subspace would be a manticore, Coil would be a Japanese Knobold, Broker would be a siren, Slingshot would be a werecat, etc etc! Here’s an extra little fun doodle by the way, I hate them. /aff

[valtsv]

i think that one of the most obvious things wrong with me is that every time i get a visible injury i get the urge to post it online for people to look at. like a selfie.

[cokoweee]

Stage direction: Enter 🟥

I wasn’t kidding when I said I was rotting over this stupid sticky note.

GOD HE LOOKS SO DUMB AHAHAHAHHAHA IM CRYING AFHABUOGAEUOFUOAAHHAHA

[nights-at-crystarium]

behold my discord stickers

[r3starttt]

messy make out session with abby? yeah, need it

You're sitting on her lap, your legs on the sides of her waist, trying their best to support your every move on top of her, desperately rubbing your cunt on her lap every chance you got.

Her hands all over your body. On top of your ass, guiding it. Running painfully slowly from your lower back all the way up to the back or your neck, caressing the sides of your cheeks as your lips move gracefully against hers in a very sloppy kiss.

You keep your hands on her upper body, not moving any lower knowing not you or her would be able to stop it there, and what's the fun in that?

Making circles around her chest, up and down, side to side. Putting your weight on her by holding her shoulders or the sides of her arms whenever she helps you ride her. Or on her neck whenever she deepens the kiss.

This being pure torture for both, but it feels so good. Somehow even better than being skin to skin, it feels just right to say the least.

Hums, silent moans and whimpers coming out of her mouth in between every kiss, and prasings that are barely coherent, pure mumbles.

"Doing so good f' me baby" "Mhm yeah, just like that, keep going" "nuh uh, don't stop"

[inkz123]

Day 3: Coffee

[tinystepsforward]

the good thing about no longer working for automattic has been being able to like. watch matt go off the rails during his ostensible sabbatical and have it be 0% my problem any more

[andy-clutterbuck]

The Ones Who Live - 1x01 - Years

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

---------------

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."