#it like popped in my head

[angelkiyo]

2018 timeskip! atsumu miya posting on his snapchat stories with the dog filter and flexing at the gym with ‘god’s plan’ and ‘one dance’ playing as he tries to bag the hoes.

[a-little-bit-of-ravioli]

so how about that theory that Odysseus' red eyes in Six Hundred Strike mean Ares is helping him out on behalf of Athena, huh?

[drenched-in-sunlight]

i love the DLC man

[thethingything]

I just realised we can use the polls to ask the clone fucking debate questions. let's go!

(two answers are missing because you can only have 10 options. oh well)

[tea-earl-grey]

the thing is that when you look deep enough, Klingons and Klingon society is actually pretty well developed by Star Trek standards. we know the ideals of their society and the way their ideals are corrupted by classism and archaic tradition. we see how "warrior" and "honor" are complex terms that involve more than just warfare and fighting. but we also see Klingon scientists and lawyers who are proud of their work but are pushed aside for not living up to their society's standards. we see how their political relations change over time and how strategic alliances are formed and dissolved. we know their marriage customs and holidays and mythology and history. we see a variety of Klingon characters with varying degrees of attachment to their species and culture. we see how they're stereotyped and discriminated against in the Federation for being "too alien" when the Federation is supposed to be accepting of differences. we have an entire real, usable language for Kahless's sake.

the thing is also that 90% of Klingon stories choose to ignore all this complexity in favor of bioessentialism and racist takes on "warrior society".

[craacked-splatters]

Just a father and his sons :))

Hee hee I'm evil >:))

But seriously tho I still can't believe the creators orphaned them like that😭

I have always been curious about the turtles childhood and what their upbringing must've been like growing up. Especially since this version they never stepped foot out of the sewers until they were 15.

Lone rat and cubs is one of my top favorite eps out of the whole show. It's so bittersweet to watch and it genuinely brings me to tears knowing the futures they're all gonna have to endure and how much they grow into as ppl.

Wish we could've seen more of Splints being a dad. I wanna see the moment Mikey started calling him Papa, see him play more with his 2 eldest and feeding Don's curiosity for the world around him. I want to know more about this family cmon gimme gimme

Fun fact! this was all triggered by that one EP where splinter drunk fights his kids💀 ( it's the way he fought his sons, especially when he blew a raspberry on leo, that made me think)

I'ma call it 2012 Papa!Splinter doodles & this is gonna be pt 1✨

[steddietogo]

Metal head musician Eddie Munson’s black cat Strider who loves pop music and screams at Eddie every time he picks up his electric guitar.

Strider’s favorite is pop princess Steve Harrington’s newest album. Eddie knows each song word for word (he’ll never admit it)

[teddybeartoji]

im gnawing at puppy!satoru.... like pookie.... i didnt know I'd be obsessed with that.......... IM DESPERTLY WAITING FOR PUPPY!SATORU 😭 😭 😭

18+ mdni; gn!reader

puppy!satoru, who sits in front of your bed with the biggest and prettiest wide-eyes. tears pool in the corners of them, wetting his angelic eyelashes in the most beautiful way. a pretty baby blue collar hangs from his neck – it's tied to one of your desk's legs and it's the only thing that's keeping him from lunging at you. whimpers fall from his wet lips and drool dribbles down his chin; his tongue hangs from his mouth as he pants in desperation. he wants to taste, he wants to touch – but he's being punished right now.

he has been a bad pup.

a muzzle rests on his face, the straps sink into his soft flushed cheeks and you can already see the faint red marks that they're leaving on his perfect skin. you almost feel bad. almost. his hands are tied behind his back and he's completely at your mercy.

sitting down on his knees, he slightly bounces up and down on his legs just to get some relief. his tail thumps against the floor so hard that you can hear it. his fuzzy ears are bent back and he looks oh, so cute like this. they flop a little every time he raises his hips from the ground and you coo at him.

the sudden murmur makes them perk up again, his eyes growing even bigger than before. please, please, please. you grin at him from your place on your shared bed.

the thing he desires the most, the heaven that sits right between your legs, your soft thighs – it's exactly at his eye-level. this is pure torture.

he watches you touch yourself, play with yourself with slow movements; he can see the slick glistening on your sensitive skin and he'd do anything to lick you clean. he just wants to make you feel good! white tufts of hair fall in front of his eyes; they're starting to cling to his forehead from the way he's sweating. it's too hot in the room - he's not even wearing anything other than he stupid collar!

his rock hard cock bobs in the air, his balls twitching every time it hits his own lower belly. there's pre-cum smeared all over his happy trail and he's making such a big mess even without your help. your dirty pup...

another pretty little mewl tumbles from his swollen lips and he tugs harshly at his leash, but winces when it doesn't let up. a soft gasp followed by loud panting, his tail smacks against the floor. c'mon, he's being so good. he's so good for you. please, just let him taste you.

"does puppy wanna play, hm?"

his eyes roll back into his head at your sultry voice and he's nodding his head so strongly that he starts to feel a little dizzy. the collar around his neck only seems to be getting tighter and tighter, his airways getting blocked by his suffocating desire. a glob of pre-cum spills from his slit and it slides down the side of his shaft. he feels it. he imagines you wiping it off with your finger, with your mouth. he's so fucking hard.

his eyes are glued to your center – his least meal, his only solution to his unquenchable thirst. he wants to bury his nose into your crotch, he wants to breathe you in, he wants you to be the only thing on his mind.

(as if you aren't just that already.)

more. he needs more.

the silk ropes around his wrist dig into him, and even those just seem to be getting tighter by the second. he can't stop moving around, he can't sit still – he's the one that's making it worse. it hurts.

he likes it.

satoru's glassy eyes follow your free hand as it trails all over your thigh and your stomach and he can't surpress the saddest little whine that crawls up his throat. your lips stretch into a wide grin while raising your hand to play with your nipple. your other hand stays playing with yourself, filling the room with the slick delicious sounds.

you watch him lick his lips, you watch him pant, you watch him yank at the collar again – he's like a magnet, drawn to you always and forever.

he humps the air and a tear falls from the corner of his eye.

"aww... you crying, puppy?" voice far from sincere, his cock twitches. your teeth sink into your lower lip and your eyebrows furrow in a fake, mocking expression. "oh, you poor thing..."

his sharp fangs glimmer in the low lights of the room. "please..."

his tail swishes behind him, he can't help himself. he has no control over his own body.

"please what, baby?"

"taste, please, can i have a taste?"

you laugh at his neediness and you hear the little metal parts of his collar cling together. he's getting impatient now. "i don't know... can you?"

pushing yourself off your back, you crawl over to your pup. he's sitting so pretty, harboring a big aching mess between his legs. you reward him with another teasing coo as you situate yourself on the edge of the bed – close enough for him to drown in your scent but far enough to shed another miserable tear.

his eyes fall shut as he lets you properly fill his nostrils, all of his senses. a shiver runs down his spine when he feels your fingers on the side of his face and his pretty blues snap open in an instant. he's staring up at you – hungry and eager to please, ready to take whatever you'll give him—

—ready to give whatever you'll take.

you push his head back a little, tilting his head so he's getting a good look at you. in this position, you tower over him so easily and he feels like putty in your hands. combing through his hair, you scratch right behind his ear and watch him lean into your touch with hearts in your eyes.

but then you tug on his white strands, intoxicated by the smallest sounds that keep falling from him. forcing him to keep his gaze on you, you widen your legs in front of him. it's so, so hard for him to obey you, to be good, when it's right there. his lip wobbles behind the restriction and another quiet plea echoes the room.

"are you gonna behave, puppy?"

"yes." the speed at which he answers is almost ridiculous, but you can't tease him for it. not when your own stomach fills with butterflies aswell. you want him just as much.

loosing the grip in his hair, you let him slowly sink toward your center; he keeps his eyes on you, not daring to look away for even a second. the scent is so strong now, his balls twitch as pre-cum dribbles down them. just another inch, just a little more. he's right there. right fucking there.

the muzzle barely bumps against your crotch and eyes fall shut with a dramatic sigh. his ears flop down so fucking cutely; he's literally a breath away but the damn thing is in his way, it's ruining him, it's killing him. and to add to that, it seems like the collar is just about an inch too short aswell because there's a big vein running on the side of his neck – a clear sign of him not getting enough air.

but he doesn't pull away. his tail thumps, it never stopped. he bounces on his heel and tilts his head to meet your gaze again. he rests his cheek on against your thigh and you take the second to admire the mess he's made already. his skin is all flushed, from his chest and up to the tips of his ears; red markings peek from behind the straps of the muzzle – the contrast between those and his marble skin is just exceptional.

drool trickles through the miniature cage and straight down onto your thigh but you don't mind. he looks absolutely fucked out like this. you allow yourself to card through his hair again, unable to keep your hands off of him for more than two minutes and he hums at your soft touch.

"such a cute, pup, hm?"

you cradle his jaw as best as you can and hold his face to yours again before leaning down and pressing a kiss onto the muzzle, just above where his nose would be. and then another to the side of the thing. he squirms in your hold, overwhelmed by your sudden touches. he feels like he's going to melt into a puddle when you press the next one to his jaw.

he can smell your arousal. it's... so fucking good. he hums as he tries to nuzzle further into you. all he can think about is filling you up and giving you his knot. c'mon, he's been so, soooo good... he deserves it, right?

you will let him breed you, right? you're gonna let him have a taste? gonna let him pump you full? gonna let him give you his knot?

right?

+ @staryukis & @ohimsummer hiiiiiiii guuuyss.... puppyboy!satoru on my mind so i just had to tag you two too hehehehe:333

[salamispots]

[ew-selfish-art]

DpxDc AU: Tim as a child was never given a lot of information regarding the scribbling messy handwriting that appeared over night all over his arms- naturally he came to his own conclusions.

Tim Drake was home entirely alone at 9 years old and was about to go out for the night to test his brand new long exposure camera lens when he sees the writing on his arm. It’s not English, like he assumed it was at first, but it was using the alphabet to represent… Tim isn’t bad at math but this formula is complex for his little genius brain.

Looking at his camera, he decides he can spare a moment to look it up, solve it, and get back out into old town Gotham in time for Batman and Robin’s final patrol lap. He does just that, finding the problem to relate to some aerospace engineering and then quickly deduces what laws and theorems need to be applied. He finds a pen, writes down his findings in much neater handwriting onto his arm, and goes out. It’s barely a remarkable night at all. He gets a much more memorable photo of Robin roundhouse kicking a hench person.

Things just continued on that way. Tim would find some complex math, physics or chemistry prompt on his arm (surrounded by various question marks or notes or sad faces)- he’d answer it as best he could and move on with his life. Perhaps his parents were manifesting these pop quizzes? Perhaps his subconscious felt guilty about abandoning his studies for more Bat related pursuits? Tim really didn’t care to think much about it once he became Robin- there was too much on his plate and too many peoples problems for him to fix.

Notably, however, after the attack at the Tower, the pop quiz appeared and Tim wrote back that he wouldn’t be able to find an answer to this one. It was the only time Tim questioned the markings appearance and it was because the next thing that appeared was “Hope you feel better soon.”

… his parents wouldn’t include that on a pop quiz. Cursed then. Tim decided it must be a curse, whatever, he’d deal with the implications later in life.

Tim then has the worst year of his life, hes 15, no longer Robin and the questions from his curse are getting less math oriented and more… philosophical. A lot of mentions of death that, in hindsight helped him actually grieve, and a lot of theories about dark matter and souls. Tim answers back as best he can but he’s drained and his answers aren’t very good in his opinion. He gets minimal feedback.

It all comes to a point that he’s at a family dinner, Bruce is at the head of the table, Jason has promised just to stay for dessert, Damian hasn’t thrown a single insult his way and Steph was laughing at him- when a new theoretical model appears on his arm.

“You’re just as bad as Bruce, Timberly. Hiding a soulmate from all of us, how fucking typical.” Jason points out, while watching Tim scribble back some math with a question mark onto his arm.

“A what? No, this is just a curse. I get pop quizzes every now and then.” Tim bats away Steph who rapidly approaches and began to analyze his arm (the rest of the family isn’t far behind).

“Drake. Explain how you came to this conclusion.” Damian seems more curious than anything, if his lack of insults was anything to go off of.

“Since I was young I’ve had at least weekly math check ins, I never had a parent or anyone else around so I assumed my parents had me cursed to ensure I stayed on top of my studies. Sometimes it’s physics or chemistry, for a while there it was a ton of philosophy and behavioral psychology.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Master Tim, I believe the lack of adults in your life has led you towards a false conclusion. That is most certainly a soulmate mark. The individual to whom you are responding is undoubtedly your other half.” Alfred attempts to calm the room before explaining to Tim. Tim isnt sure if he believes the butler, though Alfred only very rarely lied, so he grabs the pen once more. He writes his first question back: “Who am I to you?”

The room waits in anticipation and within moments a brand new line appears on Tim’s arm and he is vindicated: “We do math together???”

——

The reason Danny is failing English is because his built in homework helper sucks ass at metaphors and has apparently never read any classic literature. The tutor on his arm is great at puzzles and math tho.

Danny gets a reply back one night that he wasn’t expecting (Who am I to you?) and he mentions it to Jazz. Who goes insane that Danny didn’t even question it and just went with “meh, probably haunted” as his explanation for the phenomenon for all these years.

Apparently, if Jazz was right, he had a soulmate who was uh, super fucking smart. That was an overwhelming thought.

The next day Danny is in crisis mode and writes back “Wait, WHAT AM I TO YOU??? Can I help on your homework??”

Danny gets vindicated when the writing on his arm presents a shit ton of dates and information for an unsolved Gotham cold case. See, Haunted.

———

Eventually between Danny becoming the top candidate for astrophysics at Wayne Enterprises and Tim Drake being outed as having contributed tips to the GCPD that solved cold cases- they meet and realize just how dumb they’ve been.

[engagedtobefree]

The more I think about it, the more romantic it is that Creature got Lisa Michael's dick. I imagine his thoughts as, "If that's the dick she wants, that's the dick she's gonna get" and then he went and got it for her. It's almost equivalent to coming home with a bouquet of flowers, just longer-lasting and more useful

[wigglebox]

Sad Bois’ Story Time

Bonus:

[spiderking-of-queens]

“You’re so quiet, what are you thinking about?”

[magentasnail]

being an artist

[friendlyengie]

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

[kikker-oma]

(no pressure sketch request)

Twi expressing his "culture" secretly

Have a lovely day!

-🤍💙

I'm so sorry for this reference haha