#here's smth for you

[mono-socke]

lucas gray, but the jason tam version bc why not

[edlucavalden]

Learning to eat with your hands.

[saphushia]

btw. i made this quick guide of some of the natural size and proportion reference points in the human body. of course this all varies even irl, and you can stylize however you want, so ymmv but thought it might be helpful for some folks.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[unrelatedsideblog]

bleping doodles idk

[crsssie]

class cancelled. see you online - professor!simon riley x professor!reader

In the early years when he first started, Simon didn't cancel class. It was kind of well known at that point. He'd rather spend the class chattering about his wife than cancel class, so imagine everyone's surprise when he sent out the collective email detailing that he was canceling class because his wife was in labor.

What.

He sent them the slides for the day and a previous recording from a while back, letting them know that class on Thursday would be on zoom — a link that he will post onto the class canvas eventually.

He signs off the email with a photo of the baby locked by a password hidden in the slides, and he replies to everyone's congratulations once you're back in the home. He ends up staying back to teach the rest of the term from home because he was taking care of the baby

It was something briefly mentioned on his rate my professor, detailing how Professor Riley had "Moved the rest of our semester online because he wanted to stay home and take care of his wife. How did the school allow this?" and "I for one loved the online classes and congrats to him for finally being a father — 5/5 for my semester tbh" but truth was while the rate my professors ratted him out, his students didn't mention that class was moved online at the time.

So, when he lets his class know that he'll be out for a couple of weeks and moving class online, everyone sends in their congratulations early, earning a furrow of his brows and a laugh from your lips as he reads his emails to you.

"They really read their RMP reviews huh?"

"Sure did. I didn't even mention it this time. I barely talk about our daughter." He hums, hand on your bump as the second kicks at it.

"Well, I think I walked in once or twice." You hum. "Besides, they like it online."

"I do too." He mumbles, pinching at his daughter's cheeks as she giggles. "But most people don't pick up enough when you teach online."

"That's true." You take the berry from your daughter's hand as she hands one to you and presses another to Simon's lips.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

She nods, eyes glued back onto the screen as you glance at the recent check-up results.

"You bet Johnny's gonna cancel class too?"

"Heard he already told his students."

"Crazy."

[ikiprian]

Clark is taking Kon and Jon out for a classic, super-style bonding flight. Just a quick jaunt around the US and back!

They don’t get far. Somewhere in Illinois airpace, they run across another family.

The three (a hulking man, a snarky teenage boy, and a cackling youngest girl, each a grayscale blur in the blue, blue sky) throw neon-lit beams of energy at one another, quips and insults flying almost as fast as they do. It looks like training. It looks like fun!

The boy of them looks like a younger version of the man. Exactly like, even. Clark is familiar with clones.

The youngest, a girl, looks like both of them, but not quite. Perhaps she will, age sharpening her childish features, but it’s hard to say. More likely, she’s the man’s daughter.

Interested, Clark introduces himself to Dan. He seems to be a hero in his own right, even if Superman’s yet to see him in action. And it’s not often Clark sees a family so like his own!

[saintaviator]

something something gman tommy something something gordon in stasis. you know how it is.

[slotheyes]

SNS Month '24 Day 20: Body worship 🙏

Full version is on my twt @/bumbydraws 👀

[jesuistrestriste]

frustrated, overworked, sad art donaldson who comes home to you after losing what was supposed to be an ‘easy win’

and when he gets in the door, he doesn’t even take his shoes off before he’s tracking you down in your guys’ apartment; he could’ve been a bloodhound in a past life with the way he’s able to find you just by scent alone

when he does find you, curled up on the bed as you work on your laptop, there’s not a moment of hesitation before he’s crawling up over you and pushing your device aside. he’s got this soft, needy expression on his face, and then you feel his sticky + sweaty body pressing down over yours.

he’s already aching in his athletic shorts, pent up from all the adrenaline and guilt from the loss. he begins rutting down over your clothed hips like a dog in heat; burying his face into the warmth of your neck and murmuring little words and whines and moans.

his palms are pressed down on either side of your body to cage you in, his fingers curled to clutch the sheets as he bucks and rolls his cock against your pelvis. you can feel it too, it’s hot and pulsing and heavy in the confines of the fabric, and he doesn’t seem like’s gonna stop to wait for you to give any sort of protest.

you do try, pushing your hands against his chest and saying things like, “Art— wait—“

but he just shakes his head and lets out a pleading, guttural whine as he fucks your body through the layers of cotton and spandex material. your hesitancy to indulge him right away only riles him up more; heightening the desperation boiling in his core.

he’s not even totally aware of what he’s doing now, just mindlessly and frantically pushing his body down over yours and babbling rushed, whispered phrases.

“oh god, please— please, i wan’ you, need you, need this—“

“need to feel you, need to— i j-just— ohhh— fuuhhcckkk—!”

“can i come? i can’t hold it— im not gonna hold it— can’t— stop— oh shit—! baby, i’m gonna come.. ‘m gonna— about to—!”

he spills into his boxers + his shorts, gushing thick ropes as he shudders and mouths at your neck. his jaw is nearly slack.

art’s usually one to take things slow, so this whole thing is odd, but you start to realize that he’s probably only behaving this way because he’d just lost the match you sent him off to on his own.

you don’t need him to tell you that he lost, you know now.

you hold him as he collapses, panting and gasping, and you kiss the side of his head.

“you’ll do better next time,” you whisper to him.

he won’t.

[aliencatart]

comic i made for @astellaradventurezine this is by far my most favorite thing i've made this past year and i'm so excited to finally share it will y'all! and be sure to look and read all the stellar pieces of this digital zine here!

[elsecrytt]

okay but jjk somnophilia is like

gojo "please please pleaaaaase let me put it in while you're sleeping PLEASE i swear i'll make you cum i proooomise please let's try it once pleeaaase. YOU can put it in ME whenever you want!!! any time any place anything you want in any of my holes!! wake me up with it!! it'll be soooo hot" satoru

vs

nanami "i have kink charts for both of us and they have sliding scales and notes section for each one. we can mark hard boundaries for what state of consciousness we want for ourselves or our partners, giving or receiving, what sex acts, etc. we'll set up a safe word and a safe gesture and then we can start trying things out" kento

vs

geto "sorry i fell asleep while eating you out, it will happen again. no, i won't stop eating you out when i fall unconscious. just tear me off your pussy if you don't like it" suguru

[peacockrulz]

An Well Made Excuse To Post My Specific Headcanons I've Had Since The Show Came Out

[erinwantstowrite]

chapter 16 ooc doodle :3

[friendlyengie]

hey do you guys want some references. Because brother I have some fucking references for you.

[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."