#watch me starve

[msdeluluu]

If you come on to my feed and get upset that I don’t have any “trigger warnings” or tw labeled on my account, we’ll let me tell you: grow the fuck up. You know what’s triggering? Seeing your fat ass. How’d you allow yourself to get where you’re at in weight now? I don’t need to see that shit; go touch some fucking grass, put down the chips & pick up some running shoes and MOVE! We’re all mature here, stay off Tumblr if your easily “triggered”

[ruporas]

captain's warm hugs! (id in alt)

[yawnderu]

CW: mentions of kidnapping and stolen body autonomy.

Find a way in, kill the enemy, retrieve the hostages, leave. A routine of sorts that gave his life some sense of purpose to avoid going insane for the past two decades. Simon liked to believe he got over what happened in his past... truly, he did; and yet Manuel Roba’s horrors seem to haunt him no matter where how many years pass.

“C’mere.” Simon’s voice held no hostility, he made sure of it, yet your stiff position never changed. Legs angled to the right, hands folded on your lap, and eyes looking forward, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze even if it’s been hours since your rescue. Garrick, Price and Johnny have already tried to get you to talk multiple times, all of them with different approaches. 

Garrick was friendly, trying his best to seem approachable, a bright smile on his lips that you didn’t seem to notice, too busy staring at a wall no matter how much he tried to hold a conversation.

Price seemed fatherly, never once laying a hand on you even if it was itching to comfort you, and so he settled with telling you you’re safe now, how no one will ever get you again now that they're here. His words didn’t seem to do much, either. 

Johnny was… something else. His first attempt was a shitty pick up line, getting a reaction out of you for the first time— a nose scrunched up in disgust, but a reaction nonetheless.  

And Simon… Simon’s approach was different. The man was used to barking out orders and obeying them himself, not to deal with an unresponsive hostage. His behemoth frame was nestled next to you, putting a tray on the table and observing your reactions. From the way you swallowed thickly the moment the meal was presented to you, to the sound of your stomach growling. 

“Go on, then.” Your gaze follows his movements for the first time, the feeling of your stomach rumbling makes you more aware of your hunger, so many years being fed nothing but what was necessary to keep you alive by Manuel and his associates, so many years of being trained like a dog to obey to their very order. 

Simon can see the hesitation in your body language, too tense to allow yourself to dig in the way you wanted, yet no longer as stiff as before. There was a sense of relief at the fact that they didn’t seem to want to hurt you —unlike Roba—, yet years of non-stop brutal training can’t be erased within hours.

Roba’s training was engraved into your brain, and while the sense of security the SAS blokes gave you is something you’re thankful for, nothing guarantees they’re not working for him. You’ve seen other military men come and go throughout the years, always Roba’s friends, and always sharing the same disgusting, sadistic desires.

“Eat up.” The rest of the men watch the way you move, curiosity and amusement mixing at how strange your movements seem, almost robotic. Your forearms rest on the table, elbows away from the cheap wood as you attempt to hold your own cutlery— attempt, because it looks fully foreign to you, trying out different angles to make it work, and yet it's the first time in years you've been allowed to try and feed yourself.

Simon is the first one to catch on, having lived under Roba’s rules for long enough to know he enjoys taking people’s autonomy, to reduce them to nothing but a pathetic mess that depends on him. His gloved fingers are gentle as he takes the spoon from your hand, scooping up some food before holding it up to your lips. His full attention is on you, relief starting to make its way into his body as sees your rather soft lips wrap around the spoon, eating whatever he was feeding you. Lucky for you, this time it wasn’t an MRE… or beans on toast.

His gloved thumb wipes the corners of your lips every time you’re done chewing, and he’s quick to pick up more food from the plate, nothing but patience and kindness shown in his actions, so unlike the brooding soldier he's known to be.

“... two goldfish are in a tank…?” Johnny’s loud groan gets your attention for a second, yet you quickly glance back at Simon, curious eyes looking up at him, almost as if asking him to go on. 

“One turns to the other and says… ‘you know how to drive this thing?’” You can see the corners of his eyes crinkle before he even finishes his joke, clearly trying his best not to laugh at just how awful it was. A small smile hides in the corners of your lips, and Simon takes that as a victory, ignoring the questioning looks he’s getting from his team, for now.

[keferon]

Isn’t Vortex a fucking torture freak tho? 👀👀👀

Yep. He is. He is a lot of things actually. The more you learn about him the more fucked up it gets

[ewwww-what]

It probably won’t (it will)

[demiesop]

What happened the first time Sorn saw Gale eat absorb a magic artifact?

Hello! I'm sorry for the delay, and thank you for the ask! 🙇

Well... not much, really

Gale can feed Nethery anything it needs we have plenty

I hope this answers your question! 🙇

[showtimepast2500]

i can be reborn as someone meaningful with this reincarnation apple. 🍏

[messier-jin]

Trust Me!

I’m here to elaborate on my touch starved Knives with a reader who has “physical touch” as their love language. It’s been a while since I wrote anything in English so I’m sorry in advance if I’m rusty...

I’m hope you’ll enjoy these headcanons!

Content warning: gender neutral reader, maybe OOC, physical affection, skin-to-skin contact, fluff in general.

Song I listened to while writing: Trust Me! by DREAMCATCHER.

Knives does not like being touched. Or more precisely, he never lets anyone touch him. You, on the other hand, touching is how you prove someone you care about them, reassuring them with your presence and gentle touches.

The first time where, out of habit, you reached out toward Knives to place your hand against his back, you did not have to time to come closer enough that he stopped you. “Don’t.” A simple word which sounded like a warning.

As frustrating as it was, not matter how much you wanted to pat his back, no matter how much you wanted to give him a hug, no matter how much you just wanted to even bump your shoulder against his, you did not. You were patient and accepted his boundaries.

Well, until one day, where you found Knives fuming, alone in a room. It was not the first time you ran across him, isolating himself as he mumbled things about his brother, humans, “that woman”... And with intimidating aura around him, nobody dared to come near, scared to lose a limb or worse.

But this very day, you decided to move. You called out his name in a gentle voice. And before he had the time to reject you, you extended your hand and tenderly patted his head, promising that everything would be okay.

And at this very moment, time stopped from Knives. His eyes were focused on you and only you. He felt the tension leave his body. He never realized how much he needed the comforting pat (not that he would ever admit it anyway).

From this moment on, Knives has never rejected your touch ever again. He accepts every touch you offer, and inconsciously leans into it.

Placing your hand against his back when you leaned over to grab something? Yes. Casual bumps on his shoulder? He accepts them. You playing with his hands and fingers when you’re talking with him? Please, do. Giving him goodnight cheek kisses when you head to bed? He melts on the spot. A goodbye hug each time you have to go working? He does not want you to stop.

Knives got used to your physical affection faster that he thought he would, quickly becoming addicted to it. He even complained that one time you were sicked and you were the one refusing to touch him to not give him your germs. “I can’t get sick. Come.”

With time, Knives would start to initiate the touches himself. Except that his ones were more daring, as I can picture him liking skin-to-skin contact (in a not sexual way).

Sometimes, when you go to bed, Knives follows you to lay down and has some rest, even if he does not need it as much as you. He slips his hand under the top of your pajamas to place it against your belly, gently stroking the skin there.

When he feels more comfortable with the idea, his hand moves up to rest on your chest, just above your heart. He just likes to feel your heart beating under his hand. And with your permission, he would lay his head against your chest to listen to your beating heart (with or without your top on, but this man has his preference for without because, once again, skin-to-skin contact). And if you were to gently play with his hair, caressing his scalp with your fingers at the same time, he would just melt in your hands.

(Also, if someone dares to come and bother you two during these kind of moments, Knives would destroy them on the spot, no question asked).

All in all, Knives would never admit how much he fell in love with your gentle touches, nor how much he actually craves your physical affection and seeks it when you’re not here to offer him any... But it’s obvious he loves it. After all, you’re the only one who can touch him.

[kualticrypt]

Hey hey, made another tshirt :3

Reblog to grow the mothman fan club. Please I love this little freak so much and I want other people to appreciate him too. He's so sweet and handsome look at him confess his love for LAMP LAMP LAMP L-

Sorry that was weird. Purchase for your nearest forest-dwelling cryptid. (yes you count. I promise. we know.) Pre-order ends November 6th, don't forget!

[seeminglyseph]

I think it matters a lot that a) everyone who has seeming offered to help Karna has done so *after* she needed it. And b) was in some way using her and therefore needed her.

In the eyes of a child, if you weren’t there when she needed you, and can’t even help yourself, what good are you to her?

[hawkeyeslaughter]

not to be like dramatic or anything but trapper john calling me ‘ honey ‘ to comfort me would heal every single thing wrong

[dead-girl-tells-stories]

Almost finished reading Dungeon Meshi and I got an idea

So in Dungeon Meshi or Delicious in Dungeon, there are these... dungeons.

And from what I have gathered dungeons can be made naturally or artificially but both types have the same few things in common.

They are made to contain demons

They attract adventures

The dungeons have lords who manage/control the dungeon and are given the power to do so by the demons

I know that I'm skimming over some important bits, but long story short, the demons come from an alternate dimension called 'The Infinite Realm' and feed off of people's desires, the Lord of the Dungeon's specifically.

That being said... (incoming dp x dc prompt)

Beings from the Infinite Realms aren't ghosts but demons. And while they do still have obsessions, they lack desires. And so, they've become something they hunger for.

Danny learns this the hard way when he accidentally eats his parents' desire to hunt 'ghosts'.

When the endless, all-consuming hunger, that had been growing inside himself became just a bit satisfied by the action, he got scared. He ran to Clockwork, who immediately explained everything to him.

From there he became terrified. He didn't want to eat people's desires, especially considering that he had some of his own. But CW explained that while other demons will most likely never be satisfied no matter how many desires they consume, because of Danny's halfa status he may be able to. (Also it would be a bad thing if the baby starves itself. No one wants the baby to starve!)

To test out this theory, CW pulls (more than) a couple of strings, and soon his dungeon was set up in Gotham City in the DC universe.

He felt a bit bad since he had to set up shop in another ghost's/demon's territory, but Lady Gotham seemed to have taken a liking to him.

Danny takes his time searching for the most desperate person he can find, (Lady Gotham is leading him to some of the most desperate people in her city, aka the Batfam.), and appears to one of them as a fawn (signifying his hunger and current 'lack' of power). He then looks deep into their mind and offers them the power to fulfill all their desires.

The Batfam? They should be better than this, but damn they were in a tight spot and the city is going to shit because the rouges have been more active than ever, and their family is on the verge of crumbling!... And the answer to fix it all was right there, just within their reach.

They held the fawn in their arms gently. Its ivory wings, coat of starlight, and piercing Lazurus green eyes. Gotham began to change.

A few years later, some members of the JL and the JLD are once again trying their hand at clearing the dungeon but are a bit discouraged because last time their team was wiped out completely.

It was inconvenient how their powers were nullified whenever they were inside the dungeon, but they had yet to find a spell to counteract it.

In an attempt to get past the third floor, they teamed with a team called Team Phantom, which comprised two young adult siblings, their 12-year-old sister, and a few teenagers.

Morally, they were against this. No one this young should be trying to clear the dungeon! But on the other hand, this team was the closest to getting to the fourth floor.

Sucking it up, they teamed up with the young dungeon dwellers and quickly found out why they were so close to getting to the third floor.

These kids were skilled. These kids were powerful. These kids were trained. On top of that, they didn't care about their lives! Because these kids? They wouldn't- no! They couldn't die, and they were using it to their advantage.

The JL/JLD now had much more to worry about than clearing the dungeon.

[strampunch]

I never played the Forge, but I've been watching a bunch of Dimension 20 campaigns and was inspired to revisit the DST characters as DnD archetypes and I just had to draw Maxwell in warlock shenanigans.

Excuse the poor quality of the photos, but if I don't post these now I never will. (I feel Wilson would be an Alchemist artificer or something, so his Forge skin doesn't fit too well, but I haven't designed his look yet)

[sapphire-drawings]

Hey Sapphire!! I have a question about your Adult Webber

How did he end up getting fused with a spider? Is it sort of the same way that the normal Webber did?

Express reply for Beetle lol

In my head it started all the same as the canon but instead of kicking him out, his mother recognized his crying and they realized what happened to their only child

And his dad would be so mad!

By losing this rare spider specimen he also lost the opportunity to be somewhat relevant in the science community (and his child too). Since that day everything changed and Webber grew with little to no affection practically raising themselves, specially from his dad. The only good company being his now own spider.

But I also like to think his grandparents would try their best. Grandpa providing as much books as he could to read together developing a love for literature, also taking his father's entomology and other sciences ones and eventually finding ways to get more growing up. Such a bookworm, but what else would he do, right?

He considers himself a scientist like his dad taking every opportunity to apply everything he read. Not because he was taught.

Soooo yeah, not a good childhood

Does any of this makes sense? Not at all. It's way more logical for them to get rid of him but that's what Au's are for, right????

[back-in-2037]

1938:

2007:

I recently found a post by @dreadfulgentleman about how A Day with Wilbur Robinson, the book Meet the Robinsons is based on, was inspired by the play You Can't Take it With You by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart. The play was adapted into a movie in 1938 by director Frank Capra. The black and white screenshots shown above are taken from one of the scenes of said movie adaptation.

To summarize, You Can't Take it With You follows the Vanderhof household, a group that consist of both people related by blood as well as others not biologically related to anyone in the family but that are still considered part of it and are loved and accepted as such. They all have quirky interests (there's a toy maker, people making fireworks in the basement, a lady who dances while she bakes pastries she calls 'Love Dreams', etc.) and they all live by the philosophy that you should spend your days doing the things you love most with the people you love most, because what else should you do with your life? You can't take anything in it with you when you are gone, so you might as well make the best of your time while you can.

And so every member of the family encourages each other to pursue their interests freely, no matter how odd they might be or if they end up causing their fair share of accidents and troubles. They stick with one another through thick and thin.

Sounds familiar?

I think its fascinating how one piece of art can inspire someone to create something else, which in turn inspires someone else to create their own art and so on and so forth. Not only in matters of style or aesthetics, but also in the themes and lessons these stories leave us with.

I think it is fascinating how some of these themes found You Can't Take it With You managed to find their way to newer generations through this other work of fiction it partially inspired. Because while I don't think most of my generation has seen You Can't Take it With You, many of us grew up with Meet the Robinsons and became familiar with the Robinson philosophy. That one motto in particular.

And I think that the way in which we can draw this line; in which we can look at the different branches in this family tree of inspiration, showing us how a work of art inspires another one that can carry its themes and lessons for other people to learn from across time, while also creating something new and unique, is something truly beautiful.

Specially for those who seek to create something themselves. Just knowing that the artists one looks up to were also inspired by someone else's art to make their own, can be encouraging, since maybe one day they can create something that will become another branch in that tree. Something that could inspire somebody else in the future, not only to create their own art, but to find the courage to simply live their lives.

To Keep Moving Forward.

[thissortofsorcery]

Steve won’t stop touching Billy.

He’s there with an arm around Billy’s shoulders when they’re walking into school in the morning, laughing off the elbow to the ribs he gets in return. He’s a line of warmth along Billy’s side when they’re eating lunch in the cafeteria with the basketball team, pressed together from shoulders to thighs.

He’s feet tripping Billy in the hallways and hands grabbing him around the waist, goofing off in between classes and during free periods, then blinking innocently at teachers when they’re told off for making a racket. He laughs in Billy’s ear like it’s a secret just for him.

When the weekend comes, Billy tries not to count the hours until he sees Steve again, tries to ignore the way his skin misses him, lies in bed and runs his fingers over his chest, imagining it’s Steve’s hand leaving a trail of warmth instead of his own.

Being alone with Steve is a revelation.

Whatever shit they do to pass the time, Steve’s got a hand on him somehow. One hand on Billy’s thigh when they’re eating pizza. Fingers in his hair while they’re watching a movie. Sprawling all over Billy when they’re smoking weed and listening to music, singing along, laughing at each other when they get the words wrong. Trading kisses like they’ve got all the time in the world.

There’s this thing Steve does. Billy doesn’t know if he even notices it, but it’s become this thing that’s a better indicator of which way is up than trying to find the sun when you’re underwater.

They’re sprawled on the floor of Steve’s room, listening to Billy’s Hendrix record, volume low so they can still talk quietly to each other. Their legs are tangled together, denim scratching on denim, and Steve stretched out an arm so Billy could lay his head on it, and Billy thinks it’s already numb but Steve hasn’t complained yet. Billy’s got a hand on Steve’s face, pretending he’s not tracing his moles, and they’re so close together their noses are almost touching. Steve’s talking about the movie they went to see Friday night with a smile on his face. Billy doesn’t think he’s smiling about the movie.

Steve’s hand is settled on the curve of Billy’s waist, large and warm, pushed under his shirt. Over his ribs, Steve’s thumb strokes back and forth, carving a path on Billy’s skin, making it tingle. Steve always does this.

Hand on his thigh, his neck, his face, fingers interlocked with fingers, thumbs nestled together, Billy will feel Steve’s thumb stroking over his skin. Billy’s true north.