#I WAS JUMPING UP AND DOWN

[harpdoodles]

LOOK WHAT CAME IN THE MAIL :D

[person4924]

exile being in tsitp made it all worth it (kinda but not really)

[visenyaism]

Gortash redemption wouldn’t work because he does not give a fuck about growing or improving or breaking the cycle he’s putting fireworks into teddy bears for refugee orphans because fuck ‘em. He’s cooked. Ketheric thinks he’s too far gone the sunk cost fallacy already has his hooks in him. It’s over. Orin though. Six months of secure attachments to people who see her as an individual, an introduction to art mediums that are not finger painting with intestines, a trip to the circus (fun), regular exposure to the sun, and a blunt later and she is picking up trash by the river and voting in municipal elections.

[adapotata]

So I was just in Chicago and got to see a TON of impressionist art (which is my absolute favorite) so if you don’t see new art for a bit it’s because I’m hyper focused on painting and trying to get acrylic to look like oils bc I’m broke (tips are appreciated on that front) anyway here are some picture of my favorite pieces that I’ll likely study a bit!

[memorizethisday]

Piltover’s finest, on the case.

[sp0o0kylights]

Part Two / Part Three

Ao3

It's 8:45 am. 

The Red Barn, which is neither red nor a barn, has been open since 7, catering to the early morning crowd with rounds of coffee and pancakes.

It was no Benny's, but given the size of Hawkins and the lack of alternatives?

No one was complaining. 

They were all too happy someone had opened up another watering hole for the working class man (or lass, as Foreman Shelly will dutifully remind you) which meant the place was packed with both day and night shift regulars, passing each other in staggered waves. 

It also meant Wayne was sharing the packed breakfast counter with a warehouse worker by the name of John Cheese on one side and Police Chief Jim Hopper on the other.

He doesn't mind it.

Wayne's a man on a budget thinner than his shoelace, but he's also a man who understands that small indulgences need to be made in life or you didn't truly live it.

This is how he convinces himself to get a coffee at the Barn after work everyday, reading the morning newspaper and chatting with the other regulars before he heads home.

Bonus, it gets him out of the rapid-fire franticness that is his nephew in the mornings.

(All the love in the world wouldn't change the fact that all that Eddie came with a lot of noise. 

The kind of noise that was a tried and true recipe for a headache right after a long shift.)

As a trade off, Wayne went to bed early so he could wake up in time for dinner with Eddie.

 It was a nice little system that worked for them. 

A routine Wayne was reminiscing fondly on, when the pager on Chief Hopper started to chirp. With a sad moan, the man fished out a few crumbled bills and threw them on the counter, abandoning his coffee to trudge out to his truck.

This was not unusual.

Particularly recently, given they were but a scant few weeks past that whole mall ordeal. A fact all too easy to remember when one caught sight of the Chief’s still healing face. 

What was unusual, was when he came storming through the doors a minute later, face now a furious shade of red with his hat clenched in his hand. 

The energy in the room shifted, taking on something a little watchful as Hopper swept his gaze from side to side, like a dog on the hunt.

Judging by the way he stilled when he caught sight of Wayne, the latter assumed he found what he was looking for and could only pray it was the person behind him. 

(He liked John, but Wayne had enough trouble this year and he wasn't looking for any more.) 

"Munson." Hopper called, striding over and dashing all his hopes. There was a choked fury emitting off him, and given the way John audibly scooted his chair away, Wayne knew everyone had clocked it. 

"Chief." Wayne greeted, inclining his head towards him.

Idly he wondered what the hell his nephew had done this time.

'So help me if he stole all the town's lawn flamingos and put them in that damn teachers yard again….'

Wayne didn't even get to finish his threat, the Chief was already next to him. 

"Mind if I have a word outside?" 

Dammit Eddie.

"Ah hell, what's he done now?" Wayne asked with a sigh, eyeing the coffee he had left morosely. 

There was still almost half of it left and the pot had tasted fresh for once. 

"What?" Hopper said, and then Wayne got to watch as the man ran through an entire chain of thoughts, each one punctuated by things like; "Oh," and "No. " 

"This is something else." He finished, flushed and fidgeting, anger making him antsy. 

Wayne stared up at him. 

"Something else?" He repeated, not sure he heard.

"Yes, something else." Hopper snapped impatiently, before leaning forward, voice dropping low. "This doesn't involve your nephew, but we both know you owe me for how many times I've let that kid off, Wayne. That's a damn big favor I've been doing you and I'm calling it in." 

If it were any other cop, it'd sound like a threat.

It was Hopper though. The same Hopper who Wayne had gone to school with.

They'd never been friends exactly, but they had been friendly and remained so. Even now, after Wayne had taken Eddie in, who’d gone on to be an undeniable pain in the local PD’s ass. 

Hopper really did let the kid off easy. 

Wayne really did owe him. 

So he put down his coffee with a sigh, passed his newspaper over to John and stood up, motioning for Hopper to lead the way. Got into the Chief’s truck when he waved him in, and didn’t make a big fuss when Hopper tore out of the parking lot like hell was about to open up under them. 

"Not a lot of the kids involved in the mall fire could be identified, but a few of them were." Hopper started, which felt nonsensical given the utter lack of context. 

Wayne hummed to show he’d heard. 

“Some of them got banged up more than others, and a lot of people wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t make it.” 

A pause, Hopper white knuckling the steering wheel as he swung the truck hard around a turn. 

“For certain people, those kids dying is the preferred outcome.” 

A mix of fear and warning swopped low in Wayne’s gut. 

"Jim." Wayne said, dropping the use of a last name because if any situation called for it, it was this one. "What exactly are you saying here?" 

The Chief chewed on his split lip. 

"I know you're smart, Munson. I know you, and plenty of others are aware that something's happening, been happening in this town." 

Which was a hell of an understatement if you asked Wayne. Plenty of the upper classes might be able to bury their heads when it came to the military parading about and the flow of “accidents” they brought in their wake, but then, they didn't see all the other signs of trouble. 

The absolute oddity that was Starcourt’s construction. 

How it had been built using primarily outside crews and anyone who'd taken a singular look at the site could tell you they were building it weird. 

Weird as in it looked like it would have a multi-level basement, and not what a mall should have. 

Then there were the constant electrical problems. The backups upon backups that failed. The late night delivery vans headed out to the Hawkins Lab. 

The things in the woods that kept spooking all the deer and the weird markings they left behind that unnerved even the hardest of hunters. 

This didn’t even touch the Russian military that more than one reputable person swore was hanging around. 

The very same Wayne himself had seen, on more than one occasion. 

(And you couldn’t deny it; those boys were military. Past or present, it didn’t matter. They moved like a threat, and Wayne treated them like one, staying well clear.)

"Yeah." Wayne admitted. "I also know better than to stick my nose in it." 

"That makes you a smarter man than me.' Hop complained under his breath, but the anger was self directed. 

"The point is, there are some government types crawling around, doing shit they shouldn't be doing, and more than a few of them are in the business of making people disappear.” 

This was absolutely not where Wayne had thought this was going. 

Hopper took a breath. Than another.

A third.

It was starting to make Wayne nervous, in a way he hadn’t felt since a social worker had brought Eddie to him for the last time and final time. It was the feeling that things were about to shift in a way that would change the course of his life. 

"Steve Harrington is sitting in my office right now, beat to absolute shit.” Hopper admitted.

Wayne gave him the floor to talk, letting him go at his own pace without interruptions. 

“He's there because some of those government types finally figured out his parents are never fucking home.” 

Wayne sucked in a breath. 

"We both know his parents, Wayne. Harassing them to come back and take care of their kid won't work, and frankly, I’m beginning to think all the phone lines are tapped anyway.” He winced here, like voicing such a thing pained him, and Wayne understood.

It sounded a little too out there, a little like he was buying into a conspiracy. 

Except he wasn’t. Wayne knew he wasn’t. 

Jim Hopper might have been an alcoholic, a man living in pain and unconcerned with his own life, but if there was one thing he was solid for, it was shit like this.

He didn’t jump to conclusions. Didn’t believe the first thing people told him. Even at his worst, he did the work to see what was really happening, and made his decisions from there. 

(Even if that decision was to accept the occasional bribe, or drive an intoxicated 13 year old Eddie home instead of hauling his ass into the drunk tank.) 

“Harrington won’t admit it, but he’s got a hell of a concussion if not a full blown brain injury and he’s not reacting as well as he should to Suites trying to run him off the road.” Hopper continued. Angrily, he added, “Damn kid didn’t even come to me until they tried to break into his house last night.” 

His fingers squeezed the wheel so hard Wayne heard the leather creak in protest. 

“I’d take him, but my cabin is being renovated from…” He trailed off, heaving a sigh.

 “A storm, so me and my kid are bunked with the Byers right now and we’re full up.” 

Hawkins hadn't had a storm like that in years, but Wayne wasn't going to call him out on the blatant lie. 

“I need a place to stash him for the next few weeks, until I can work with some of the higher ups sniffing around, and get them to call off their attack dogs.” 

“And you want to stuff him with me.” Wayne finished. 

“I know you don’t have the room.” Hopper admitted easily, stopping his truck at a red light and locking eyes with the other man. “But I also know you’ll be the last place anyone would look for him.” 

'Ain’t that the damn truth.'

“You’re really gonna go this far for a Harrington?” Wayne asked, instead of the million of other questions leaping to the forefront of his mind. 

This one, he figured, was the most important. 

“He’s not his dad.” Hopper said, as firm as Wayne had ever heard him. “He’s not either of his parents, and he saved my little girl.” 

Wayne hadn’t even known Hopper had another little girl, but he also knew better than to ask where the guy had found one. 

It wasn’t his business, just as nothing else Jim was involved in, was his business.

Except, apparently, Steve Harrington. 

“I’m gonna need my own truck if I’m takin' Harrington home.” Wayne said easily, instead of bothering to ask anything else.

If Jim said the kid was different than his daddy, then he was--because when it came to things like that, Jim didn't lie.

No point in it. 

“I know. Just needed to talk to you first, without anyone overhearing.” Jim said, before swinging the police truck around and heading back to the Barn. 

“I’ll stay in contact with you, and I’ll make sure Harrington pays you for the pleasure of your hospitality. Just--” Here Jim cut himself off, looking like he was struggling an awful lot with the next thing he wanted to say. 

Once again, Wayne waited him out.

“Don’t let Steve fool you. He’s good at fooling people, letting them think he’s okay. Too good at it, and between the two of us, I have a real good idea of the reason why.” 

A memory came to Wayne unbidden, of Richard Harrington and Chet Hagan, beating some poor kid in the highschool bathroom bloody. The grins on their faces as the poor guy wailed for them to stop.

How they almost hadn’t. 

“Alright.” Wayne agreed.

Hopper swung back into the Barn's parking lot, and Wayne moved right to his own beat to shit truck, ready to follow Jim back to the police station.

He wasn’t a praying man, not anymore, but Catholisim wasn’t a thing that let you go easy. 

He found himself sending up a quick prayer, fingers flicking in a kind of miniature version of the sign of the cross. 

Considering his own kid’s history with Harrington, and the sheer small space of the trailer? 

Wayne had a feeling it was needed.

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

Watching Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron again as an adult is so great because not only do you appreciate the nostalgia and joy of it, the stunning 2D animation mixed with early 3D techonology and well written tight story with a main character that never speaks.

But also you appreciate that the plot relies on horses, despite not being typical talking horses in cartoons, being extremely intelligent to the point that they are aware of their captivity and exploitation. And it involves a hyper intelligent horse dismantling (or, at the very least significantly delaying) American colonialism's expansion into the west.

This horse also very likely killed many colonialists when they were either launched at high speeds from his back, kicked in the head or blown up in a train explosion.

Good for him.

[isjasz]

[Day 186]

Yellow is the color of betrayal

[b0wi3sgir1]

Regulus: *applying chapstick*

James: what flavor is that?

Regulus: oh it’s *some chapstick flavor*

James: can I try some?

Regulus: sure *hands over chapstick*

James: *kisses him* holy shit it does taste like *that flavor*

Regulus: *blank face, internally freaking out*

Sirius who was just walking by: what tHE FUCK

[hinamie]

for @cherryys who (rightfully!) hcs lategame megumi as having a bunch of scars befitting his status as resident punching bag

[jodielandons]

“I would say ‘never give up.’ Never allow media, never allow outsiders, never allow anything but yourself and your faith to define who you are. I would say 'Always fight. No matter what, fight.'"

SHA'CARRI RICHARDSON after winning the 100m gold medal in her Worlds' debut

[dailyinkk]

no art today! have a headcanon!

ink loves to play in the rain❗️

[dentdechien]

Shoes a little too big

[devicecontact]

The top is inspired by Closeness Lines by Olivia de Recat

[seobslatina]

open wide! >__<

pairing ; jongseob x fem! reader

warnings ; smut !!! in public, spitting, skater seob (screams into pillow), edging, choking, gagging, seobs kinda mean at the end oops, & nothing else i could notice c:

notes ; lowercase intended, im no skater erm ..., ive never written smut like this before so be weary (so soz...) feedback is nice!! i know the pacing is probs weird but o well ^__^ anyways i need him bad

"open your pretty mouth for me, yeah?"

those were the only real words your dizzy brain could understand as jongseob pounded into you at the skatepark bench.

seob and you hadn't been able to hangout for a while, and he thought "what better way to spend time with my sweet girl then her watch me show off at the skate park?" and he did exactly that. you watch him walk up to you, fangs on display as he smiles so sweetly, but that white compression shirt. the specific one that had you clenching your thighs when he sent you the picture on the day he bought it.

"hey angelface" seob says, snapping you out of your trance. he opens his arms, enveloping you in his embrace. lean torso pushed against yours, strong arms around you, contoured back feeling just so right in your hands ..

"y/n, baby, i'm talking' to you" he laughs out, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. "what's got my girl so distracted hm?" he asks, pulling away, popping the board into one hand, other in his sweatpant pocket.

"oh it's nothing seob, truly" awkward smile on your face as you fidget with the hem of your top. "liar." he points out immediately. "cmon, talk to me, pretty girl" he hums oh so convincingly, hand from his pocket coming up and brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face.

"i just ... ithinkyoulookreallygoodinthatshirt" you blurt out embarrassingly fast. "oh, well of that was it babe that's all you had to– oh ..." he stops himself, admiring his outfit when he noticed his shirt. "you think i look good?" he hums, stepping closer to you. you nod, because duh

but that's not enough for jongseob oh no ..

"words, angel" his voice soft, but tone almost condescending in a way, like you knew better.

"i think you look good..." you say as jongseob drops his board, hands snaking around your waist. "i missed you" you add, hands moving to his shoulders. "i know pretty.. let me make it up to you?"

and with that, the sun setting, everyone being gone and some more of jongseob's smooth talking, you were now laid on the skatepark bench, fat cock stretching your pretty cunny with ease.

"s-seobie, please!!!" but you're not even sure what you're pleading for. jongseob's pace is relentless, mushroom tip kissing your cervix so nicely, bruising grip on your hips as his fat cock stretches you. "you're being too loud y/n .. you want the street to know how much of a slut you are?" he huffs out, hips becoming sloppy as he shoves two of his slender fingers into your mouth, gagging at the unexpected feeling. you look at him, his eyebrow piercing shining from the streetlights and he huffs and groans. the way his compression shirt hugs his frame, riding up the slightest bit, blonde hairs sticking to his forehead, three knuckles deep into your mouth.

"but you're my slut aren't you? my sweet sweet slut .." he grunts out, pace never letting up. "this pretty pussy is so good t'me".. you squeeze around him, whimpering on his fingers before he slides them out, spit string connecting you both before he quickly moves them to your puffy clit. "open that pretty mouth for me, yeah?" he huffs out, gathering spit in his mouth. you open, tongue lolling out before feeling a glob land on your tongue, whining at the feeling.

"go on, swallow it" he huffs, before going even harder than before, if that was possible. you feel so good, so unbelievably full and so close ...

"seob!!! i-i think 'm gonna–" but before you can even finish your sentence, seob slides out, tucking himself in his pants. "jongseob what the fu–" before he lightly slaps your inner thigh, making you whine in response. he slides your panties back up, the slick and mess all sticking uncomfortably against you.

"need to hear you, can't stand having to keep my angel quiet"

and with that, you both quickly make your way to seobs apartment.

[sergle]

the idea of dogs needing a Firm Hand to learn (aka mild to medium animal mistreatment) is so funny to me, because Hugo had his feelings MORTALLY WOUNDED while being taught to Play Dead because I gently pushed him into a laying-on-his-side position... heartbroken from being gently pushed