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there’s honestly a severe lack of stein and spirit albarn smut on this hellsite…. might have to change that

LIL BABY MAN

LILBABYMANLILBABYMANLILBABYMANLILBABYMANLILBABYMANLILBABYMANLILBABYMANLILBABYMANLILBABYMANLILBABYMANLILBABYMANLILBABYMANLILBABYMANLILBABYMANLILBABYMANLILBABYMANLILBABYMANLILBABYMANLILBABYMAN

Swap Au

Heads up, Tumblr Nerfed the picture quality, so click the photo to actually read the notes.

Full explanation under the cut

Obvi Danny is swapped with Vlad here, so of course Sam is swapped with Maddie, and Tucker is swapped with Jack (he's still smart with tech, he's just stupid with what he does with it) Vlad here is the hero, and has an outfit similar to phantom's in this, gonna draw up his design soon, so now for the actual explanation of what happened to our boy here.

So we got the typical backstory for Danny, only Sam here spray painted (eco friendly and recycled) the portal black, Danny was just trying to get a closer look and wasn't actually skeptical, Danny got ecto vomited on by every ghost at once (bro was too ugly for them), and got deaged down to about 10 years old, only physically though, and of course the ecto acne and all that stuff, he has his Ice core still.

His ghost form causes a sense of longing, for the person he'll likely never be able to grow into, as the portal stunted his growth and he'll become a full ghost before he ever looks anywhere close to his true age, not that he'll admit this.

he becomes known as world's youngest billionaire (he got tired of explaining to people he was in fact in his early 40's and just said, if it makes me more famous why not)

Rather than being obsessed with the Packers and trying to buy them, he tries to buy the St. Louis Blues (idk a lot of ice hockey teams, I just thought he would like ice hockey)

he's still totally cringefail and creepy, but he gets away with it cause he barely looks a day over 18 (the amount of times he's gotten kicked out of bars for having a "fake" id is in the hundreds)

He adopts a black German shepherd puppy from the pound and names her Sam (when confronted about this by Vlad he says he only adopted her for defense and not because he was lonely af)

Yes, he did fall many, many, many times before he finally got the hang of running, walking, etc in platform boots

After he was made aware he got deaged back to ten years old physically he immediately checked under his hospital gown to see if he still had the balls he literally paid for and didn't have the doinkers he got with his free X chromosome (top and bottom surgery), and thankfully both are still just as he left them, scars and all (though his top scars changed from just the usual lines to something similar to crowns)

Thanks for listening to me yap about my dumb idea I got from drawing a particularly sassy Danny in a suit at school.

Still trying to decide on a different name or a nickname for Vlad so he actually sounds like a teen and not some weird vampire. any suggestions?

Batfam Pokemon Teams

Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Babs, Jason, Tim, Steph, Cass, Damian, & Duke

[Batman: Absol, Bisharp, Noivern, Gengar, alolan Marowak]

[Brucie: shiny Altaria]

[Just Bruce: day form Lycanroc]

Noivern is his main pokemon partner when acting as Batman. I chose Noivern out of all the bat pokemon because it’s huge wingspan is big enough to carry most (if not all) of the batkids

Bruce met Cubone in the aftermath of his parents deaths and they bonded hard. They were both heavily into punk bands much to Alfred’s dismay

The rest of his Batman Pokemon he caught while training around the world.

I gave him a Bisharp for the “Dark Knight” aspect. An Absol because they sense disasters and would come real in handy for a hero. And a Gengar because he spooky.

Both Absol and Gengar can mega evolve. So can Altaria, but Brucie pretends like she’s harmless so it rarely happens

As Brucie Altaria is his main pokemon. She’s a shiny because he’s Extra like that

Both Noivern and Altaria and dragon/flying types, yet they are inverses of each other, which I find v interesting narratively speaking

Lycanroc aka Ace acts as an emotional support pokemon for the family

Batman is hyper competent at battles. So as Brucie he pretends to be terrible at them. Forgetting type match ups and not using his keystone because he thinks it’s just a fancy rock.

Diablos, Monster Hunter World. Aka, My first Monster Hunter Sketch, from soon-to-be my first game of the Series.

Lynx: what brought you to the Ice Kingdom?

Tsunami: we threw a dart at a map and it landed in a trash can.

Owl House au idea

I have an au brewing in my head for toh, inspired by some youtube videos of other role-swap au's; I've seen people swap Luz and Amity a lot but also swap their personalities. But what if they didn't?

What if Odalia is still a bitch in the human realm while Camila is an advocate for better health regulations or something similar on the Isles?

What if witch!Luz was still the weirdo and made friends with Willow and Gus early? Or witch!Luz tries being friends with Bocha but is treated like crap so Amity defends her girlfriend like a boss?

What if Bocha secretly appreciated witch!Luz's kindness?

Are there au's people have made that don't swap personalities and I just haven't seen them?

TW: Scopophobia, unsettling imagery under cut

Tried digital painting, actually dig this

Chapter 8: Love and Happiness

Ok, you know the drill - 5 chapters, and then I be quiet! (I'm still writing this fic, so once we get to Ch 13, we'll be caught up, so read slowly!!/j)

TRIGGER WARNING FOR "SOMNO"!!

Homelander brushed a lock of the woman's hair from her sleeping face, the sounds of the city acting as a quiet backdrop as he gazed at her. Her lips, swollen from kisses, parted gently, a soft sigh escaping them; Homelander ducked to inhale it, chasing the air into his lungs. They'd spent all night in each other's arms, locked in an embrace that nothing but the call of sleep could break. He'd wanted to take her then - he'd stripped her naked, under the glow of the candlelight - but they'd been too worn from the exertion of both of their respective revelations. So he'd been content, for now, to hold her as they drifted off.

Underneath the bed rang his phone; the woman shifted, her brow furrowing lightly - and Homelander reached frantically for it, the name "Stan" blaring before his eyes, before crushing it in his grasp, the sound like bones snapping. He felt a dark satisfaction curl around him at the feel of the ruined metal, and smiled. That would teach Stan to call him on a weekend.

Turning his attention back to her, Homelander let his eyes roam her body, from the hill of her hip beneath the duvet, to the delicate slope of her neck... and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her hair. She pressed into his touch, the haze of slumber turning her movements smooth and surreal. Her arm fell across his waist, and Homelander held his breath. 

Could she feel him, even in sleep? A burst of excitement pulsed in his core.

Leaning in further, he tested the theory and graced his lips against hers, eyes trained on her face. She didn't move further - but he caught the sound of her heart picking up in speed, his mouth turning up at the corners. 

Homelander shifted into a sitting position and then hovered above the woman now, the tip of his nose buried in her hair. Settling on top of her, bracing himself on hands and knees, he lowered himself incrementally, until his hips met hers with a brief kiss, eyes locked on her downswept lashes. He let his hips dip low again, half willing her awake with the sweet heat of this contact - but she did not stir. Homelander bit his lip, and, assured that she was asleep, lowered his head to her breast, seeking out the bud of her nipple with his mouth and granting it a tentative flick, and then another.

He grew greedy then, undulating into her as he rolled her nipple with his tongue, his panting echoing in the room like that of a crazed beast. The slick silk beneath him shifted in a way that made his toes curl; he released her from his mouth with a quiet pop, focusing on the feel of her warmth beneath him as the gentle rocking of his hips threatened to fall into a rut. He looked up, expecting a faint flush on the woman's sleeping face, but gasped, body stilling to a cold halt. She was staring at him, eyes glinting in the moonlight from the window. He stared at her, too shocked at being caught to hide his look of surprise, the hint of mortification.

"Do you want to?" she whispered, the sleepy tilt of her eyes making Homelander worry his lip. He swallowed heavily, and nodded. She smiled, letting out a soft coo and cupping his face in her hand, before rolling onto her stomach. Homelander raised his brows, heart pounding.

He waited for a stretch of time, steadying himself and letting her drift back into sleep, then slowly joining her under the duvet, blanketing her with his body, and let it seal them in, resting on his forearms on top of her. He brought his hands to her hips, kneaded her there, slowly, before lifting the sheer silk of her nightgown, the sound of the fabric against her skin like a gentle breeze.

Pressing his weight onto her fully - he felt a twinge of excitement at her deep exhale - he rocked his hips into her again, no barrier between them now. The feel of her skin against his was electric in its intensity; he looked, and saw that the hair of his arms was standing on end. Clamping his jaws onto her pillow, he sent his hips back slowly, then brought them to meet her, pressing hard when he'd filled the gap with their union.

She gasped then, and he brought a hand to her mouth, tracing a finger against her lip, hips surging forward when she took the digit into her mouth, the sensation wringing a stuttered groan from his lips.

She turned, eyes half lidded, and pulled him into a kiss with one hand, interlacing her fingers with his with the other, and in the snatches of air between their kisses, she whispered, hot and fervent, into his skin, "You can have this, any time." Homelander felt the explosion of stars beneath his closed eyelids, her words taking root and holding him firm against the pliant softness of her body.

He lost himself then, his grip on her tightening as he drove into her harder, the desperate clash of his body against hers loud in the room. At the feeling of her squeezing his hand, he let out a soft cry and spilled inside her, holding her in his arms and listening to the race of their heartbeats, marveling at the way his sweat glinted on her skin. Homelander let out a gusty sigh, tucking his chin into the crook of her neck, warmth bleeding into him when she entangled her legs with his and pressed his hand to her lips, before wrapping it around herself. He melted - she'd wanted him close.

She wanted him, he thought, smiling softly as sleep pulled him under now, too. She wanted him.

Stan watched the couple with a patient boredom in his eyes; he'd rolled his eyes when Homelander had crushed his phone to dust when he'd called, but felt himself slide back into apathy as he crept on top of the woman's sleeping form. She'd given him everything, and yet he still felt the need to take. It was typical Homelander, he thought, sweeping his eyes away. Even he didn't wish to see what was about to unfold.

He brought his gaze up, though flickering with faint curiosity, when the woman stopped Homelander with that innocuous question, that froze him in his tracks.

Do you want to?  Stan leaned in.

So this was her angle, then; the illusion of choice, redemption. She'd pretended to sleep, kept still until he'd lost himself, and then presented him with her compliance, drawing him in deeper. Stan couldn't help but feel a little impressed. Clever girl.

But... to what end? She hadn't asked him for money, hadn't stolen anything from Vought when he'd brought her - she hadn't even posted pictures of the inside of the Tower, though this last thought was less surprising. The woman had no social media, save for a blog she posted updates to occasionally. 

He couldn't bring himself to read another post - it was all the same depressive drivel, the same unsettling longing. She liked villains, monsters. Stan supposed, then, that this next one, the one in her bed, wasn't so far a leap to make.

It was Saturday, but Stan always stayed late, seven days a week. He tucked his chair in closer, studying the segment he'd rewound; the woman, wrapping Homelander's arm around her, pressing a kiss into his open palm.

What did she want from him?

He picked up his phone, messaged Noir to confirm that he was in position, ready to act - and a moment later, Noir replied with a picture of the woman's front door. Stan nodded, shut the laptop, and made his way to the window of his office, looking outside with a contemplative air.

The woman snuggled in closer to Homelander, feeling his breath ruffle her hair and smiling. This was exactly how it should be. She thought back to the fear of last night - that blind terror that he'd see the shrine, recoil in disgust, and fly out of her life forever. A future of being barred from all events he hosted, blacklisted from the store she got his news clippings from - maybe even walked away in handcuffs for collecting his gum, flashed through her mind.

She thought of the day she'd created the shrine; Vought had cancelled an event she'd bought tickets to, four months in advance, and then it happened. One moment, she was staring at the message they'd posted, ears ringing - and the next, before she knew it, she was taking a hammer to the wall, screaming as chunks of drywall flew back at her. When the dust settled, she'd looked in horror at the mess, before stuffing the cavern full of her Homelander memorabilia, a dark peace washing over her as she lit the candles. Even then, she knew it was... intense. Maybe too intense to show him. But he'd needed her to, she thought, remembering the faint tremor in his voice when he'd asked why she'd been okay with the overseas massacre.

Why?

She considered, tracing his cheek with her index finger. Maybe she'd just seen too much; the world, even before Homelander, was an abysmal, wretched place, and each tragedy only felt like the same news, repeated on a loop in her mind. There was no need to fear a superhero who could level cities to the ground, when the politicians on Capitol Hill hovered around the Big Red Button, daring each other to push it like teens at a sleepover. The ocean was heating up and would boil them alive, anyway -what did it matter if Homelander sped things up a bit?

Maybe it was because she was angry for him. Angry that he felt the need to act on their behalf, chained to their puny wills, when he should be free, as any person was, to live a life of his own choosing. Even if China hadn't raised Homelander to the heights he stood at now... they most likely would have, if they'd had the chance. And besides - it would only be a matter of time before they did. China would never let an affront like this go unpunished. But Homelander would be waiting, as he always was. The thought comforted her.

Another thought tapped at the forefront of her brain - one that she didn't often engage with, because it unsettled her, if only briefly. As she looked into Homelander's sweet, sleeping face, her heart swelling, she thought maybe she hadn't cared... because nobody else mattered to her. He could give whatever answer he wanted - he'd said it 'needed to be done', she recalled with an affectionate roll of her eyes  - but the answer wouldn't have changed things. For as long as she could remember, she'd never been extremely concerned with the sanctity of human life. An old woman dying, surrounded by friends and loved ones... a man, bleeding out in the street after a mugging gone wrong... it was the same to her. And if the one behind the gun was the man who'd seen the apathy in her eyes, kissed away her tears? How could she care?

So she'd told him that she believed him, and it was true.

Rising up on her knees to straddle him, she laid her cheek on his, humming contentedly when he wrapped his arms around her, his eyes sweeping open. Homelander looked into her face and smiled, feeling her trying to press herself as deeply onto him as possible. "Morning," she chirped, winding her hips against him, kissing his cheek, his neck.

Homelander growled, sliding his hands to her waist and pressing into her in turn. "Don't start something you can't finish," he teased darkly, nipping at her earlobe. She kissed him then, her lips hot on his mouth. "Never," she whispered.

The couple folded into the embrace, Homelander's fingers teasing at the waistband of her panties - when a sharp knock jolted them out of the moment. The woman frowned, reaching for her robe, and Homelander strode toward the door, eyes narrowed, swinging it open - and staring into Noir's masked face. He was holding a sign, Homelander noted with irritation.

'Stan says you don't have enough vacation days for this "excursion" '  Homelander felt the muscles in his face twitch. He nodded minutely, before stepping back into the apartment, gesturing toward the couch. 

"I'll be just a minute," he grumbled at Noir, before meeting the woman. She was standing in the hallway, a mix of surprise and wariness on her face.

"Who is that?" she whispered, eyeing Noir with distrust. Homelander smiled at her pouting expression. "That... is your ticket to a trip to Vought Tower. Hosted by yours truly, of course." He winked at her when she beamed, stepping into her room to pull the suitcase from under her bed. He smacked her lightly on the behind. 

"Get packing," Homelander said cheerily, loud enough for Noir to hear, "and bring your lingerie," he murmured in her ear, chuckling at her gasp.

Maeve watched Homelander and the woman fly through the doors of Vought Tower through the slats in the blinds, the headache she'd been tending to re-emerging with a vengeance at the sight of the woman's lilac suitcase. He was holding her in one arm, the luggage in the other. She scoffed. How much says he sees them as the same thing? 

She'd stayed gone from the last three Seven meetings, ignoring Ashley's frantic texts, spitting cutting remarks at Deep when she passed him in the halls... but nothing could seem to mend the void Sage had left inside her that night. 

She hadn't been clingy with her - she hadn't. But it hadn't mattered to Sage. She thought of their hazy bar crawl, the flush on the shorter woman's face when Maeve had teased her - and she'd really believed it... she'd believed that Sage had wanted her. Maybe not in the traditional sense... but in some way. Why lean in, then, when Maeve dipped her head to kiss her? Why lead her to her bedroom, hands in her hair?

Had she really been unable to distinguish passion from the need for control? 

The wet ragged squelch of Sage's brain, coming apart under the lobotomy wand, suddenly rang through her mind - Maeve jerked up, clambering for the trash can she'd left by the bed, the splatter of vomit loud in her ears. She rinsed her mouth out, before rising to her feet, and putting the thought from her mind.

This woman would be staying with them, for who knows how long, Maeve thought. It wouldn't do well to show weakness - not while this new dynamic was unfolding. So she stood, checking herself in the mirror, before stepping out of her room for the first time in days, the crisp air of the hall raising the hairs on her arms.

As she walked by, she caught a glimpse of The Deep, who instantly tried avoiding her path. Too late; she caught up to him on the way to the meeting room, gaze venomous.

"Something smells fishy," she snarked. "Letting Ambrosia hit third base already?" Deep blanched. "It's 'Ambrosius,' ", he mumbled, rubbing his arm and looking away. Maeve smirked, making her way to the table. Hell yeah. She wouldn't let petty one-night stand gone wrong ruin her.

Stan sat at his desk, eyeing Sage with a cold gaze that made her straighten her spine. He'd actually gone out of his way to consult her this time around, in regards to a plan he'd crafted. As she listened, a whisper of incredulousness tangled in her mind, until the last word he'd said had made her outright snort with laughter. Stan stopped at once, eyes somehow even shrewder.

"Something amusing?" he asked. Sage shook her head.

"No, sir. It's just... therapy? With all due respect... are you sure? It seems a bit... late for that." Stan shook his head.

"Sage, you've seen your... teammates. Deep, with his fixation on that octopus he thinks I don't know about... Maeve, drinking herself into a coma. Starlight, cracking under the pressure of what it truly means to work for Vought. They're all children, equipped with the power to make their issues the world's problem. Vought's problem." Sage shivered, the unspoken tail of that sentence menacing in her brain: My problem.

"To that end... I suggest that we stop pretending that this is something else. We meet them at their level - and maybe they'll even feel the need to rise above these measures, prove they're not as immature as they come across." Stan gestured to her.

"That's where you come in. You have insight on the Seven that even I don't; what they like, what makes them tick... their idiosyncrasies. Using that knowledge, we can craft a series of sessions that will prove to be more effective than previous attempts others have made."

Sage looked at him, thoughts swirling. "So... you want to... speak to their inner children?" Stan smiled. "Precisely." 

"I expect your findings by end of day. We start this effective immediately; I already have therapists waiting in the wings, ready to act." Stan made to dismiss her, but the worry that had blossomed in her gut refused to let her leave. "But sir... surely Homelander will object to being... analyzed like this. What do we do if he... rebels?" Stan ushered her to the door anyway, a frosty glint in his eyes, that polite smile pointed at the edges of his mouth.

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked. "This is a therapy session for the entire Seven. Not everything revolves around Homelander, you know." 

friend sent me these two photos unprompted with the text "welcome back alexander hamilton. red locks big nose and beautiful anime eyes iktr. my man my man my man."

congrats leland francis fraser. you have ousted tom blyth as my friend's alexander hamilton of the month, private subsidiary of white boy of the month.

A couple new demon ocs

while u were busy being human, i studied the blade!

Thomas Hewitt

& Sweet Tooth

are my

❤️‍🩹Heartthrobs❤️‍🩹

Definitely thinking about it now, Ive got an idea but would it be too weird? I've been Wakko themed for like a few years..

Should I redesign my blog?

I haven't done anything with Wakko in like a forever and a half

thinking about giving agatha a condition known as "asteroid hyalosis", which causes particles to form in the eyes and give them a sparkling effect. the doctor that discovered the condition describes the particles as "stars on a clear night". it's uncommon for it to have an effect on someone's sight and even more uncommon for surgery to be required

My Little Fairy (KSJ x Female Reader) Preview

Your hand hesitated as it reached out to the door, then opened it slowly. 

   The empty room seems to mockingly remind you that your family and friends are gone. Having no wings meant having no mate, no grandchildren. For that, your family and friends shunned you. The rest of your generation had already taken flight and chosen their mates, while you were left on the ground, with no one to share your heart.

You were just.

Alone.

Videogame idea: Spartan’s Return- Rage of the Gods

A long time ago, one of Odysseus’s greatest soldiers was cursed for his and his troops crimes against the gods’ temples in Troy. This soldier warrior was turned to stone, forced to be a tool for the gods’ wishes. Thousands of years later, the gods rise from Olympus after being tricked into a millennium of centuries of slumber. Prometheus and Sisyphus, being free from the gods due to their former slumber, call upon the spartan to awaken once more to defend them from certain peril and hopefully reward the spartan with some freedom of his own. Now, RETURN, SPARTAN! FACE THE RAGE OF THE GODS!

Help me to find poetry books

I KNOW FOR A FACT MOST OF YOU ARE READING BECAUSE YOU NEED CONTEXT

so basically, I'm a poet on tumblr and recently I lost one of my favorite poetry books and I still have not found it. I took it with me to a friends place, and have still not found it. I am currently very... ok I don't know how to explain it but it gives off the same emotion that a purplish green with a tad bit of black would have. very confusing but how I feel.

queasy! thats how I feel! aight.

now dis got me thinking, what other good poetry books should I read while we are looking for my lost poetry book?

and if anyone should know and suggest good poetry books, it's tumblr!

should here I am! suggest some good poetry books!

and do it any way you want, I'm new to tumblr. idk what the heck i'm souposed to say.

Fallen Angels

loosey based of hazbin hotel what do think?

My little doodle 💛. I can't tell if it's an old angry ghost or a maid 🤔