#i don’t know where that came from

[messylustt]

I need Miguel as a boxer rn. Like imagine him being in the ring and you see ur name tattooed on the back of his neck like from SouthPaw, and he looks over at you with that stupid smirk before absolutely K.Oing the shit out of his opponent. And then with the adrenaline still rushing though his veins, he has a whole make out session in the warm up/locker room with you, talking bout some “you like seeing me up there don’t you, seeing me get dirty like that.. I can see the way you stare… mhm.” HIS VOICE IS A LITTLE SHAKY AS HE CHUCKLES AND KISSES AND TOUCHES AND **** WITH HIS *****. IM CLENCHING MY TOES AT THESE THOUGHTS.

absolutely screamingggg at this.

him knowing that you’re watching him would only fuels his punches. like he’d be slamming the guy. fr poor guy getting beaten to a bloody pulp. and after when everyone had begun to disperse you felt a hand wrap around your arm or shirt, tugging you somewhere far more secluded and actually off limits to those who aren’t boxing. but he wouldn’t care, just bringing you closer as you stare at him wide eyed.

his hands would eagerly move to your waist and up under you shirt. “pretty thing like you probably shouldn’t be here.” it would be a normal thing between you two. miguel’s said that it’s no place for someone so fragile as you. even if you try to deny so. “shh…that’s alright…” he’d be saying, pushing you up against a wall as he’d begun to place sloppy kisses all over your neck. “your my pretty fragile thing aren’t you?…yeah…so sweet in letting me wind down by letting me taste your skin…so sweet of you…”

he’d said you probably shouldn’t come back. but you always do, heart beating a mile a minute. miguel knows that you will come back every time, his hand now moving to spread your legs around his waist as he hoists you up. “you know…you get me a little distracted sometimes…sitting on the side line, looking all pretty f’me…it’s f’me right?” you’d shakily nod, as he’d slightly grind into your soaked pussy, now capturing your lips in a heated kiss. “such a pretty thing…” he’d mutter, feverishly kissing you harder, claws inbedded into your thighs as small whines escape you.

[localratwithcowboyhat]

Gay gay homosexual

I chant as I look in the mirror

[isittoolatenow]

no one:

me when i get startled: AIYYAMMA

[stratos-ane]

:P

[my-goddess-nyx]

Healing is a process that takes time and effort, but it is also a journey that can bring about transformation and growth. Whether we are healing from physical or emotional pain, the path towards healing can be a difficult one, but it is a necessary one.

To heal is to take the time to tend to our wounds, to acknowledge the pain that we have experienced, and to give ourselves the space to grieve, to process, and to release. It is a process that requires patience, self-compassion, and a willingness to confront the difficult emotions that arise.

But healing is also a process of transformation. As we move through our pain and allow ourselves to feel it fully, we begin to release old patterns and beliefs that no longer serve us. We learn to let go of past hurts and to create a new narrative for our lives, one that is grounded in self-love and forgiveness.

The journey towards healing is not always easy, but it is a journey that is worth taking. It is a journey towards wholeness, towards the restoration of our physical, emotional, and spiritual wellbeing. And as we move through this journey, we begin to see the beauty and the strength that lies within us, the beauty and the strength that we may have forgotten was there.

So let us take the time to heal, to tend to our wounds, and to embrace the journey towards wholeness. Let us have patience and compassion with ourselves, and let us be open to the transformation and growth that comes with the journey towards healing.

[arkangelo-7]

I need Battison to have a Robin.

I need him to carry around a little bundle of joy in his arms. I need him to risk his life saving him from the movie’s big bad. I need him to hold his tiny hands or cradle his tiny face. I need him to crack the smallest of smiles when Robin makes a pun.

I need him to walk into the penthouse, tired and anger and sad, and see his little Robin sprawled across the floor, giggling as his crayons draw him and Alfie and B—their little family.

I him to crawl out of the darkness with Robin. His Robin.

[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…

[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

[nocturnal-artist]

The bond of two high school kids who died on the first day of school together

I read This post and was already emotional about this line so I worked it into the art I wanted to make of them