#darker tones

[fashnotfound]

[1percentcharge]

bee (in copics)

[shiiokaze]

Protective (possessive)

[marzipanandminutiae]

kind of hate that western society jumped from "dark skin is coarse and common and also ugly, whether natural or acquired from sun exposure" to "no actually tanning is The Beauty Standard (if you have naturally light skin) (still going to be racist about it) and anything bad that the entire medical establishment has to say about it is either fake or will Definitely Never Happen To You, Personally. also pale skin makes you look sick :/"

like

I feel as if we should have tried harder to find a more nuanced stance there, guys

[voidpidgeon]

maybe possibly a High Fashion technoblade? 🐷

great taste anon, that color pallette is beautiful!

[deaddovedarlin]

I can't stand people who say they are a freak, but only the sanitized version of a freak.

C'mon. Ship something that you wouldn't condone in real life, try a kink- fictionally or otherwise- that you might not normally like, look over a darkfic or whump fic with a character you particularly dislike- or like, draw something that puts shame in your cheeks, identity with or as an animal, identity with an xenogender or mogai, make up your own gender! Try something a little freak-ish <3

[starrysharks]

i push my penis into my pies or whatever corey taylor said

[rainofthetwilight]

just a quick reminder that if POC and black people look 'bad' in your artstyle, then your artstyle just fucking sucks. (and you also might be racist but anyway)

[hom3landr]

Little Miss Why So

18+

Homelander X GN!Reader

(While the song title referenced is gendered, the reader in the fic is written as gender neutral)

Very loosely inspired by the song of the same name by The Amazing Devil

“Why won’t you believe I love you if I’m not hurting you?” He says.

Written for Cozy Corner Kinktober 2024 for the prompts Crying, Biting, and possibly Magical Healing Cock?

CW: Dubcon, Toxic Coping Mechanisms, Toxic Relationship Dynamics

When he finds you, you’re sobbing. Fat tears stream down your face and drop onto the pavement below. Your eyes are swollen and sticky with sorrow and the force with which you wail stirs up bile in your gut. Rain drenches you and the cloying stench of rot from the wet trash in the alley mimics the disgust you feel for yourself in that moment.

This isn’t about him but you know he’ll take it that way. He seems to take any emotion that isn’t pure adoration of him as some personal slight, as though he’s not good enough to keep you distracted from your pathetic life and its struggles. He sees it as a competition between your world and his. You see it as your reality. You’d wanted to find a quiet place to lick your wounds alone. That’s why you escaped to this filthy alley in the first place. But he found you anyway, vulnerable and ill-prepared to handle his ego.

He doesn’t say anything. He just stands in the alleyway entrance with his hands on his hips and a cock of his head. His face is blank as he looks you over, his lip curling slightly in distaste. You know you look a mess with your nose leaking snot and your cheeks hot and swollen. You don’t say anything. You don’t have the energy. You just sniffle and wait for the inevitable blast wave.

He stays silent, the only noise is the soft patter of rain and the squelch of his boots on the wet ground as he walks toward you. He crowds you against the brick and grips your hips to spin you to face the wall. You brace yourself with your hands and he pushes in close behind you. The soft bulge of his cup hides his erection but you can tell by the eagerness with which he presses against you that he's hard. You rest your head on the wall and sigh. You don’t have the energy to reciprocate but it doesn’t seem like he expects you too.

“You look so good like this,” He purrs in your ear. It surprises you. You know you look like shit. “So pure and perfect.”

He grinds against your ass and peppers your neck with greedy kisses. His hands quickly fumble with the button of your jeans and he slides the zipper down with a hiss. His hand dives into your underwear, testing your readiness. You aren’t at all really but it doesn’t seem to deter him too much. He strokes you exactly the way he knows that you like and your body responds accordingly. You arch into his touch even though your crying hasn’t ceased. He hushes you softly.

You hear the hiss of his own zipper and he uses his knee to coax your legs further apart as he tugs your jeans down past your ass. You offer no resistance. He spits on his palm for some lubrication and strokes himself before pressing in. He goes slow but it still stings a bit without the usual extended preparation. You hiccup and whimper at the stretch but despite all his flaws, you trust him not to cause you any damage. He’s careful and strangely you find that you don’t mind the pain. It’s cathartic.

“Just let it out. That’s it. You’re doing so good.” He coos in your ear as he bottoms out. You grunt, uncomfortably full but satisfied by the distraction from your own thoughts. He doesn’t move except to resume stroking you, humming in pleasure at the way you clench tightly around him.

“I want you to cry for me until you can’t anymore. Don’t fucking stop.” He growls. You nod weakly as you allow the tears to fall freely without shame. There’s nowhere for you to hide with the way you’re pinned between the wall and his hard cock.

The first thrust hurts. You haven’t fully relaxed around him yet although you’re slick enough to take him by now. He grunts, rubbing you faster while his other hand reaches up to grab your jaw, turning your gaze to meet his. He searches your eyes for something and he seems to find it. The cold appraisal in his expression warms slightly as he leans down to lick the salt from your cheeks.

“Give it to me. Don’t hide it.” He moans against your skin as he begins to increase the speed of his thrusts. Your discomfort is quickly evolving into pleasure now at the intensity of the sensations he’s filling you with. You moan and his grips tightens bruisingly, purple inevitably beginning to bloom under his fingers. You cry out and he throbs inside you.

“This belongs to me.” He growls and his pace is brutal as he uses you.

You’re beginning to understand his fervor now. You begin to understand why he feels so entitled to your pain. How many times have you seen him at his weakest? How many times have you held him while he cried and comforted him as his shoulders shook with sorrow and self-pity? He doesn’t like uneven scales. He’s gloating, gleeful that he’s not the only weak one in the relationship.

It’s fucked up…but that’s him. How can you begrudge him when this is all he’s ever known? After all, it is helping. The overwhelm of sensation is the only thing that could have pulled you out of that headspace. You need this wake-up call as a reboot of your brain. Your mournful cries have evolved into needy moans and your hips press eagerly back into his. A kinder response wouldn’t have reached the root of your hurt. Like lancing a boil, you need him to drain the poison out of you.

He continues to whisper sweet nothings in your ear despite the way he’s fucking you as though he doesn’t give a damn whether you live or die. It’s cold and emotionless, using you as merely a sleeve for his cock. But his breath against your ear is warm and he nuzzles sweetly against your temple. You try to speak but the wind is knocked out of you every time his cock pounds against that soft spot inside you.

“I don’t want to hear anything come out of your mouth unless it’s your pathetic sobbing. That’s what you came all this way for, so fucking do it.” He pants breathlessly against your ear as he nears his release.

You do, although the tears that prick at your eyes are those of pleasure now. You’re loose and quivering around him and every nerve ending tingles with electricity. Your nail tears as you claw at the brick to brace yourself for the edge he’s quickly driving you towards.

You cry out his name and he bites your shoulder harshly, the bloody reprimand staining his teeth.

“What did I just fucking say?” He hisses before lapping hungrily at the wound and groaning darkly at the iron tang that fills his mouth. He can taste the endorphins in it and it drives him crazy.

The sudden sharp pain hurls you into a world ending orgasm and your legs give out. You almost collapse until he presses you bodily against his wall. His pace shifts into a deep filthy grind right into your spasming hole as he holds you up with his body. You wail and clench around him and it doesn’t take much longer at all until he’s spilling into you, his release leaking out of you and dripping down his balls onto the slick pavement below. He moans and whines in your ear, his demeanor shifting from cruel to needy in the span of a heartbeat.

You struggle to catch your breath, agony and delight filling your veins in equal measure. It’s perfect. It’s just what you needed. He’s just what you needed, every cruel beautiful inch of him. You don’t merely endure him. You need the sharp edges of him to keep you grounded. You need that pain.

His arms wrap around you. He peppers your sore shoulder with sweet kisses as a silent apology. You’ll need to bandage it up when you return but you aren’t going to worry about it right now. You’re content in his embrace. The two of you wait there in silence as the silver rain continues to fall all around you, causing the dirty alley to glint prettily in the moonlight. Your chest still aches but you can survive it.

“Let’s get you back home. I’ll run you a bath and have the kitchen bring you up your favorite. How does that sound?” His tone is so kind and warm, a far cry from his earlier demeanor. You still aren’t quite capable of speech but you nod.

“There you are.” He coos, and as he scoops you up into his arms and off into the sky, you slip away into a comfortable doze.

You know it’s not healthy but it’s all you have. It’s all he can give you. If it gets you results then you can learn to be content with that. So you lean into him and let the rain wash away the remnants of what ails you.

[calypsolemon]

my little headcanon is that despite all the possible negative associations he could have with it, Steven still goes out of his way to wear the color pink because it reminds him of the overwhelming self-love he felt when embracing his seperated self. He might have originally worn the color in a passive attempt to emulate his mother at first, but now it's a reminder of how much he isn't her, and how desperately he wanted to be himself when he fell apart. A comforting thought when he is otherwise feeling self-doubt.

[skywing206]

Exploring different concepts with Pharaoh Man

[calamarispiderart]

few months late, nevermind that. my ship for CJs TSOT song(s?)!

[wolfythewitch]

To summarize (jokingly) your design

Jesus: soft and squishy, canonically shares lunch (or turns any existing lunch in a potluck by inserting himself, see Zaccheus)

Odysseus: sharp and pointy, will possibly steal your lunch

Yes thank you

[princessmoms]

Those two always make us proud!

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[Patreon]

[puppppppppy]

ouppys and kibbys

[dailyfigures]

.......right