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Happy #PrideMonth from Łowicz girls!

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why he got a belt.

he's half naked

sitting like that

with a belt in his hand.

sir.

Why he got his milk mountains out and about like that?

I mean I'm not complaining

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I’m just so into him already you have no idea.

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no context let’s just bask in this image

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✨ picnic 🌸

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wives

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high voltage

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Sometimes I draw comics where the characters are just nice to each other.

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mens physique in the 60-70s was so crazy beautiful. athletic but not pumped and everyone was so hairy. they should have all just had sex with each other

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“LOOK AT HIM!! HE’S FUCKING SIZZLING!!”

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this. beautiful.

Idk if you take requests, but can you do a patrick hocksetter x reader where theyre as crazy as he is?

“What is it?” Henry Bowers tilted his head. He stared at your drawing for a long minute now. His eyes moved from left to right to left again. He turned your sketchbook upside down. You waited there with your hands folded. Patrick Hockstetter peeked over Henry’s shoulder.

“It’s the church,” Patrick said, matter-of-factly. “St. Francis of Ass.”

“Assisi,” you corrected. You smoothed your sweaty hands down the front of your Catholic school uniform.

Henry wrinkled his nose. “What the hell are you two talking about? This is just a bunch of crap. It’s lines and scribbles.”

“You don’t get it,” Patrick snatched the sketchbook away and handed it back to you. He lowered his voice. “I see it. He never gets it.” You smiled at him. Your crush on Henry Bowers started to waver.

“There’s nothing to get!” Henry argued. “She just scribbled a bunch of crap. You’re not an artist.” He stomped off, but it didn’t bother you much at all. Glancing at Patrick, you noticed how his dark eyes seemed almost black like looking into a dark hallway. Unknown and a bit haunting. You stared at your hands, smiling to yourself.

“What are you looking at?” Patrick asked. You liked having Patrick’s attention. It was much more satisfying than someone who only saw scribbles on a page.

“Stigmata,” you smiled, showing him your hands. Each palm had a small, scabby wound in the center. “It means I’m a saint. Just like St. Francis.” Patrick grabbed your wrist. He studied your small wound. His fingers brushed over it. The silence between you both wasn’t tense like it was between you and Henry just now. It was settling. Patrick made you feel the same way rain did. Rain could pour, calming a part of you, reminding you that you were alive.

“What are you the saint of? My mom says there’s saints for everything.” Patrick took his fingers away from your hand. His eyes lingered on your sketchbook.

“Animals, I think.” You answered. “I haven’t made a miracle happen yet.”

“Miracle?”

“I have to bring one back to life. Or, something like that.”

A smile grew on Patrick’s face like a weed. He offered his hand to you. “I can help. I have a miracle fridge where lots of things happen.”

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Paul Dano Riddler: *breathes*

my stomach:

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this

WE URGENTLY NEED THE RIDDLER FANFICS (Paul Dano).

I'm dying for it.

Please, I'm beggin.

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YOU hates terfs

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Two years?! I’m in!

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drew my persona Honey (they/them) with Sun!

Sun's amazing design belongs to @ slaughtereyes on Instagram^^

just neurodivergent kids being themselves

do yall got have any, ahem, fanfics 👀 i could read