#have a good day and stay safe

[gree-gon]

there will be no art for prob quite some time, as my arm is the equivalent of a sack of potatoes rn

but !! i will still drop silly hc and thoughts, as well as reblogging ur amazing art <3

[stuckinapril]

friend wanted to see my tumblr, and when i told him i can’t show it to him bc it’s basically my personal diary he went “oh so I can’t see it but a bunch of strangers on tumblr can??” he literally does not get me. no one will get me like the people in my phone get me

[pickleking8]

Heyo, I think I made a post about this a while back but it is still haunting me, so… I’m looking for a post/fic, if anyone can find it? It was on Tumblr, a pretty long chain with multiple different people that added on to it.

From what I remember of the plot, it went like: Danny is in Gotham because his parents want to try and “fix” him. He goes to the same school as the Batkids. Tim, based off the amount of injuries that Danny has (from his parents attempts at “fixing” him), for some reason assumes Danny is a vigilante. Tim decides to try and help teach Danny the ropes, and follows Danny around giving him advice and such. Meanwhile, Danny is slowly getting more and more pissed because this random kid is a.) telling him stuff he already learned, very much the hard way, and b.) not comprehending that everyone isn’t as lucky as he is to have his support systems. This culminates with Danny punching Tim in the face (there was a punching image/gif here), and telling Tim that some people’s villains were a lot closer to home (or something along those lines). Danny gets suspended for punching Tim, and Danny’s parents blame “the evil ghost inside him”, resulting in Danny getting even more hurt. Tim feels awful, but Danny won’t go near him now. Damian takes it upon himself to befriend and help Danny, going as far as to visit Danny’s room as Robin. Danny panics because he’s ecto-contaminated and doesn’t want his parents to hurt him. I kind of forgot what happened from here but I think in one of the reblog chains, Danny gets pinned down/vivisected (?) and Damian comes in to rescue him (?).

Alright sorry I know that was a really long explanation, but it won’t leave my head, so if anyone can find it I will reward you with one (1) drawing of a shrimp or something, and also my undying gratitude. Love y’all, and hope everyone has a good day :)

[dawnthefluffyduck]

feeling of being watched

[inkykeiji]

Gosh, i just know sir Morningstar would be such a good gentle daddy, he would spoil you rotten, his sweet princess, and would make sure to make you cum sooo much with his fingers and tongue, he'd get drunk on it!!!!! Can't stop thinking about him

you are literally so right, anon!!! Daddy lucifer would be an incredible Daddy! he’s surprisingly attentive, constantly anticipating your needs, ready to meet, fulfill, and exceed them the very moment they arise. he prides himself on being as prepared as possible—because, really, all he wants to do is keep his little baby happy, healthy, and humble—and he uses significant mental energy and effort to actually pay attention to your needs and desires. being a service dom at his core, he derives validation and satisfaction from tending to you, caring for you, and pleasing you, so it’s imperative that he take note of your necessities and wants. often, this does veer into him spoiling you rotten—with the prettiest clothes, with the finest food, with the best mind-blowing orgasms—because he just wants to give you the entire fucking universe, but make no mistake; this doesn’t mean Daddy is a pushover.

because although Daddy lucifer is sweet and doting and desperate to please you, he will not tolerate disrespect. he will not entertain bratty behaviour. he will not dismiss disobedience, especially if it’s stemming from a superficial or selfish root. one warning—that’s all you ever get. one warning to cease such despicable behaviour before Daddy ceases it for you. 

Daddy lucifer has limits, and he isn’t afraid to say no to you if he deems it appropriate—if he thinks whatever you’re asking for is unhealthy or unsafe. test him any further beyond his Daddy’s decision is final, sweetheart, even if it’s just a sweet little but Daddy!, and you’ll find your ass stained with his hand or his cane. ultimately, what Daddy says goes, end of discussion. because that’s what a good Daddy does, right? 

[shen-mu]

realised that i don't have any motivation to do anything maybe it's artblock or ......who knows

[moonkhao]

hi.

[joznii]

her shenanigans take 10 years off his life

[forevermore-quoth-the-kitten]

strong urge to write an Obey Me fic where MC figured out really fast human fascinate demons for many reasons and gets a Devilhub account. they're really popular on it really fast. but the thing is

they're just doing normal shit and chatting about what life is like in the human realm

and demons go wild for it

[ishipmutualrespect]

Did you see that Enews posted about it too?do you think this was all planned?because it sure looks like it but I just cant see the reason

I think it might have been planned based on a few things such:

Louis announcing 1 day before that he was going to be online and chat with us. He never did that before. I was already a bit suspicious when he posted that tbh

People were expecting him to be online the whole day and when he started chatting we were amused by his usual sassy self until he mentioned Freddie and then the whole Chicken Parmesan happened.

When I found out that that article was posted 1 day before it was already a little confirmation that this whole thing was planned for me

On top of everything, it’s interesting because the article quoted the “childish conspiracy theory” that he mentioned but at the time that they posted that he hadn’t even started answering questions.

But when I read the comments under that article on the writer’s end, that confirmed it even more for me. They’re saying that they prepare some articles beforehand

But honestly how do you accidentally quote something that’s not been posted yet? Do you foretell the future?

Anyways, he sat a date and made sure to mention Freddie and Larry (honestly this was the stretchiest of the strechtes on all the things he could have chose to speak about larry. He or the person who answered for him saw the word chicken and panicked and rushed to make a comment on that not realising that it wasn’t even the right dish shfkshdj) at the same time.

I don’t even know the reasons tbh, it could be anything but the thing is it happened and one of the funniest things is that I’m sure a new wave of new larries is going to join

[inezrable]

In their retirement, Crowley and Aziraphale listen to humans who find their way to the South Downs cottage, and offer them tea and comfort, a shelter from the outside world.

Humans who find the cottage in their times of need never actively search it out, they only come across a two-storey, light grey home in the village by chance, and feel compelled to knock on the door. When it opens, the humans are greeted by a couple with the most comforting presence, and instantly feel calmer. The couple always take the humans in, and listen to their stories, their mug of tea never emptying unless they were ready to go. Anyone is welcome, any time, at the Fell-Crowley residence.

[hawnks]

Logging out for a while, love you miss you <3

[nightmarearian]

do you think the abyss healed Childe’s scars?

realistically I know it’s stupid graphics & model “limitations”

But do you think his skin looks as normal as it did before he fell.

Cause when they’re hit, an abyss monster.

They disintegrate.

Do you think Ajax’s scars healed like that? In the abyss? After it, too?

Do you think they burned? Or was it numb, as the darkened skin faded away with little, yellow, glowing particles?

That he has no evidence of his suffering for those three months in hell (and his only companion’s silence) but dull eyes no one wants to look at?

Callouses on his hands and feet that no one pays attention to? Takes care of?

That he shows his prowess and uncanniness and abyssal hunger because that’s the only way how? Yes. he is hungry and wants a fight. Look at him. He’s off. Broken now.

Look at him.

Please.

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

[inkykeiji]

Seeing the other anons post I wanted to ask

What would adam call you? In bed/just plain nicknames 👀

ooooh okay, well first of all (and the first thing that instantly came to my mind), i think adam would 100% call you sugar tits, based on the fact that he calls lute danger tits. most of the pet names he uses for you are a little silly and make you giggle—because your laugh is, without a doubt, his all-time favourite piece of music to listen to—sticking to terms like honey bunny, honey bunches, angel eyes, sweets, sweet cheeks, my dream doll, and his personal favourite, what’s cookin’ good lookin’.

he’ll also use the typical condescending nicknames he uses within the show, like babe and sweetheart, but usually when he’s scolding you or mansplaining something. and during those late-night moments when his voice has gone all soft and melty and it’s barely more than a wisp of breath between the two of you, he’ll use endearments like gorgeous and beautiful, often pairing them with something possessive; my gorgeous baby, my beautiful angel, etc.

i also think adam has a thing for degradation + dumbification in bed, resorting to classics like whore, slut, bitch, cum dump, stupid little thing, my plaything/toy, etc.

[ephiesoul]

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day everyone 💚🌈🍀✨