#the dark man

[ladydenkiart]

[h3nr31ds]

randall flagg headcanons

he has retractable claws

and also he can purr. it often sounds more like a growl, though

he cannot stop smiling. there might be contradicting things about this headcanon in the book(s) he appears in but it’s real to me

he can change his gender at will with his shape shifting abilities, as well as his hair and eye color.

he’s genderfluid and pansexual

his teeth are slightly wolflike. what sharp teeth you have mister flagg!

he would absolutely wear those denim heels (if you know what i’m talking about then you know it’s true)

these are all i can think of currently but if you guys have any please share in reblogs or comments

[cerberus253]

I ADORE this… expression? The head-wing twitches are cute~

Bonus: GET HIS ASS

[pokerized]

ok i got to the part where flagg starts a barfight in the gunslinger and have decided that this book is amazing and worth my time

[eastgaysian]

[proselles]

alex hirsch was really just so pissed that no one saw his epic old man yaoi that he went and wrote a whole new book and made a whole website specifically to show meticulous evidence that this weird old man fucked a triangle.

he really said what were ford and bill really doing in that pocket dimension they shared, hm? did you ever think of that? oh - you think it was just chess? hm. interesting. i dont.

the ultimate rare pair shipper. i have never seen a creator do this before. absolutely fascinating at every angle.

[blistexenthusiast]

good night keys

[duckysprouts]

if you were at your worst, if you’re a villain or a screwup or whatever, there is a goth man dressed as a giant bat who keeps coming after you, bothering you. he sabotages your journey of self destruction over and over. ur ready to give up but he won’t let you. you think, today he won’t come. today he will give up on me too. he never does.

[bi-writes]

the new baby you take care of is the cutest baby you've ever met. (a lil dubcon, baby trapping, 18+)

he has a big head with a tuff of little blond waves, and he has the brightest brown eyes in the entire world. he smiles at every face you make at him, and he takes a bottle like a champ and will nap for hours as long as you're quiet.

his father has a strict schedule set for him. when you met that big man for the very first time, you were speechless. your teeth had clacked together with how fast you tried to close your gawking mouth, but it was impossible not to with how much he towered over you, nearly touching the top of the doorway.

he is methodical, down to every minute. tacked onto the fridge, he had shown you his son's current schedule, which he emphasized with a dead glare must be followed to a T.

two feedings in the morning followed by a nap. another feeding. a longer nap. another feeding. another nap. all separated in increments of 45 minutes, with instructions on how to use the bottle warmer and how to measure the formula.

his son does not cry. his father had told you, if he cries, y'r doin' somethin' wrong. and he was right. the baby only cried when he was hungry, and he would fall into a dead sleep as soon as you gave him a bottle.

it's odd, to take care of someone else's baby. especially this man's. there's no woman in the house, as far as you can tell. the whole house is decorated very minimally, cozy and in shades of warm greens and cool blues and browns. there are no heeled boots by the door or pretty fur coats, and whenever you pass by his bedroom, only one side of his bed ever looks lived-in. there are no pictures on the walls, no makeup in the bathroom drawers, and no pads or tampons under the sink.

just a big, unfeeling man and his big, adorable baby.

but you think that your actions to get this big, unfeeling man to like you are starting to have the wrong kind of implications.

it starts with dinner. you start to make it, using the ingredients from his fridge to make stews and buttery mashed potatoes and roasted veggies. the image of you stirring a pot with his baby on your hip has not left him, and whenever you don't have some kind of meal cooking when he gets home, you answer to someone curt, annoyed, and cold, even to the touch.

then it's the decorating. you thought his couch was a little bare, so now there's a few throw blankets laying across the back of it. there's a vase of pretty tulips on the coffee table. you're growing herbs on the windowsill, little pots of thyme and rosemary and basil. you leave house shoes by the door now, and even when you're not there, he sees those fuzzy pink slippers in the foyer, and he can't help the way he chubs up just seeing them when you're not around.

you start to bring some extra changes of clothes. after the baby spit up on you more than once in a day, you bring a duffel bag with you once a week with extra changes of clothes. he snarls when he sees your clothes in one of his drawers; pretty black panties and matching bras, all laid out under your lounge wear right next to his fucking socks.

the toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. the multi-colored chapsticks in the drawers. tampons and pads organized in the cabinet, your moisturizer next to his shaving cream. he smacks his fist against the wall when he sees the finished package of your birth control in the trash because wot the fuck are y'doing taking those things when y'know i want another--

he can see you in the baby monitor. swaying in the dark of his son's room, the baby's head on your chest as you rock him softly. you're singing a little, a gentle hum to soothe him enough that his eyes start closing. he groans a little when he sees your eyes shut as you kiss his son on the forehead, cooing at him as you pat his little back and tell him to have sweet dreams.

you're making brownies when he comes home that night. his son is seated in his high chair, clapping his hands, and you're smiling at him and cooing in that baby voice you do as you take the warm brownies out of the oven. when you see him emerge from the darkness of his living room, you smile at him, taking off the oven mitts.

"hi, simon," you say softly, and his pupils dilate when you slip a hand over his son's head to soothe him. "i made some dessert, hope that's okay. thought you might wanna try my new recipe."

simon comes into the kitchen as you take his baby out of his high chair. you hoist him up against your hip, and when simon comes closer, you giggle as tilts his head to the side and stares down at you both. you tilt your head back a little, blinking up at him, and the flutter of your lashes is enough to have him rock hard in his cargos as his hands curl into frustrated fists at his sides.

"i'm gonna put him down for bed, it's a little late," you tell him. you hoist his son up a little higher on your hip, picking up his little chubby arm and waving up at simon. "say goodnight, daddy."

simon grins under his mask at the soft lilt of your voice. you try not to squeak when one of his big hands slides around your waist to hold you at your back, and he bends down to kiss his son's forehead through his mask.

"goodnight, my boy."

you try not to linger on the idea that he may have grabbed your ass as you walked away. no, his arms are just so long, they grazed you while you passed by him.

the baby always goes down nice and easy. one bottle later, with a full stomach, he's rubbing his little eyes and fussing in your arms as he tries to fall asleep. he's a mover, simon's little one--always grasping around with his arms and flopping onto his side in the bed. oftentimes, after a nap, he's facing the opposite direction and on the other end of the crib when you come to get him.

so you shouldn't be surprised when as he's falling asleep, his little grubby hands reach for you and pull.

your eyes widen when you hear the pop of buttons. you look down, gasping, when you see his son has grabbed onto the front of your blouse and pulled the first few buttons out. they clatter onto the floor in a mess, and you're not able to see where they go with it so dark in his room.

"oh, god!"

you try to be gentle as you set the baby down in his crib. he immediately sticks his thumb in his mouth with his head lolling to the side, and you try to pick up anything you step on as you hurry out of the room, trying to hold your shirt together.

it's useless. you're standing there in the hallway, hastily shutting the baby's room closed, tits out at eight in the evening.

"tha' why he so good ta ya, mama?"

your eyes bug out of your head when you see simon there. he's standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes are focused on your poor open blouse. the bra you're wearing leaves nothing to the imagination--just mesh with underwire, and when simon comes closer, there's virtually nothing separating you when he reaches up with that gloved hand and cups one breast, thumb smoothing over your nipple before he tugs on it gently.

"wha--simon--"

"thinks y'r his mum, pretty tits out like tha'," simon hisses. "'f ya wanted it so bad, why didn't ya just say?"

"simon--"

he tsks, using both hands this time to grip your blouse by the edges and tug it down your arms. it falls around your elbows, and he takes the straps of your bra with it, until it's pooled around your waist and your tits fall free.

"fuckin' hell," he breathes, and your lips part gently as he hikes up his mask and spits on your nipples before sucking them into his mouth. "mmmph..."

you arch your back as he rips the rest of the buttons off with one smooth tug. your blouse falls, and your bra follows it, until you're in nothing but your skirt, backing up into the darkness of his bedroom as he kicks the door shut. you scramble to get him back on top of you when your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you're laying down--grabbing around his shoulders as you try to guide his mouth back to your breasts where he can suckle on them with that filthy mouth of his.

"knew it--" he rasps. "fuck, i knew it--"

your eyes squeeze shut when he ruts his hips against yours. your panties are ruined, slick wet and digging uncomfortably into your folds, but the scratch of simon's jeans have your back bowing at a hard angle, your fingers sliding between your bodies as you reach for his zipper. you gasp when you feel him under your hand, straining against denim, the girth of him tying your stomach in hard knots as you think about what it'll take to get you open enough for him to slip in.

"keepin' me fat," simon murmurs. "holdin' my baby like tha', wot did ya think was goin' ta happen, eh?"

"h-huh?"

"'m gonna make you fat, too, swee'eart," he says, smoothing his hand over your tummy. "saw those little pills in y'r bag. it won't take today, but we'll try again tomorrow, yeah?"

you're drooling as he fucks you. your hips are hiked up, your skirt flipped up as his thighs smack against your ass. you're not privy to the way the fat of you shakes every time he's buried to the hilt, but simon appreciates it, tongue out as he watches you push back against him to try and get yourself filled quicker. he traces your spine with his fingers, leaning over you as he watches your fingers dig into his dark sheets and grip for dear life as he gives it to you fast and deep. it's a mess of wet between you, and you know the bed underneath you will be soaked by the time he's done with you, but you can't think about that when the very thing you've been wanting since the day you met him is so close, so within reach.

you haven't taken a single one of those pills since the first week you met that fat, beautiful baby. maybe simon didn't take too close a look at the dated little pills in your bag and in the bin, the little calendar you used to mark rotting away in a forgotten pocket, gathering dust.

when simon comes, your mouth is filled with saliva, and you gurgle between barely-lucid giggles as your hips sink into the mattress. he's saying something, but you don't hear it. instead you reach down with your fingers and stuff them inside, trying to gather as much of his cum and keep it. when simon tries to cum in your mouth later, you nearly bite his dick off.

how dare he try and waste it?

[retrocausality]

T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land

[stingray-art]

Black Whale, 12.5x12"

I tried quilting for the first time! It was super fun and I learned a lot. It's nowhere near perfect but I'm really proud of it!

Originally submitted for a mini event in @greedislandchallenge <3

[screampied]

can we talk about them 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

[h3nr31ds]

lloyd henreid and his three boyfriends

[cerberus253]

The Aesthetic! ✨🖤💜❤️

Okay, I’m not into Nyarlathotep, but his Dark Man/Dark Pharaoh form in “Alone in the Dark” (2024) is 👀💦

Egyptian based? Yes.

Tall, dark, and mysterious? YES.

Masked? YESS.

Purple, red, and gold combo? YESSS.

Those weird insect wings on his head used for slight expression? YESSS!

God I want to fu-- I mean, I want him to fu-- I mean, I think he's really cool, I like him a lot. Maybe we could hang out or something.

[maliciouscigarette]

Art by giganticbuddha (here's their ko-fi)

[sleep-0-deprived]

Dom! Yan professor x himbo reader imagines~! ໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა

Just imagining your biology professor being a total hard ass, rude and unkind to every student he’s ever had and giving out the most excessive amounts of homework daily, as soon as he met you something sinister had awoken inside him. The way you’d smile at him all stupid wearing shorts that showed to much and jogging pants that let him see the side profile of your cock during the first day of meeting you had this man losing it.

Just imagining you staying back after your college classes, you being freshly twenty three and scraping by if not failing every class you took, only making it to college on a sports scholarship with you staring and blinking at your professor all class. Yandere professor, just imagining him watching you from the corner of his eye the whole class, his hands moving on auto pilot only able to think about you and how you blink dumbly at him while he teaches making him speak up “is something wrong Mr L/n?”

Just imagining you getting stuck after class in tutoring sessions all hours of the day because he claims “I’m just trying to help you achieve better [name]” he’d utter those words so sincerely it would keep you oblivious while he stares at your ass and your pecs, bitting his lips when you lean in your chair showing him the perfect peak of your body having this man insane having to excuse himself for a moment during your sessions while he goes and “fixes” the situation between his legs.

Just imagining Yandere professor who rubs up against you grabbing and touching your body all over at any chance he gets with close proximity, slowly over time building trust off of his age and status, him pushing mid forties and freshly divorced. Just imagining him bringing up chats about his golden retriever just to twist your oblivious trust into something else, making you feel special whilst he gives you all the attention you could ever dream of with the intent of getting you all to himself wanting to possess and keep you like a boy toy.

Just imagining Yandere professor who asks you for “favors” claiming he’d make sure you passed all your classes, that you’d never have to worry about losing your scholar ship. He’d have your face in his crotch with your mouth wide open engulfing his cock all flushed in the face with teary eyes holding his thighs. Oh how he almost felt sorry for those poor girls that drooled after you during your games….almost, but having your mouth stuffed full of cock asking “am I doin good E’nough f’you sherr” while you soured your words with spit making slurping sounds just trying to please a good grade out of him.

Just imagining Yandere professor who does random dorm checkups on you, making you stay over at his apartment the nights your frat bros throw parties, not standing for the thought of some sorority girl getting her manicured hands on you, you were His and he’d fuck you so good that you knew it. Two glasses of wine later sitting in his apartment with your hand gripping the counters in shambles “s-ir!” All you can repeat over and over is his name speaking it like a prayer to your messiah feeling a drunken man going at it fucking you so hard the sounds start buzzing together and the over head light in his kitchen blurs under your pupils.

Just imagining Yandere professor who had your legs spread wide open sitting leaned back on his desk eating your ass out like a starving man. Gripping your skin and kissing your pucker, practically making out with your rim and letting you ramble on cluelessly about your plays and strategies, whining about how “the coach is placing me as Qb this year!” While you grip the back of your professors head looking down at him just blinking and getting comfy when you see him having no intentions of letting you go since him being able to work your body and play with you however he liked was part of the “conditions”

Just imagining your grades going from a fifties and forties across the boards to becoming a straight A+ student having all of your friends asking how you managed to swindle that, having your fiends wanting to know your secret while one of them asks “all those time you’ve been ditching, you must be going off to secretly study huh!” Your closest buddy just laughs and nudges you during practice unable to tell him that you’ve been whoring yourself out to the most hated teacher on campus.