#I got inspired okay

[getosugurusbangs]

guys i think i might be kinda going back to doing more genuine line art for drawings…. hell’s frozen over

[weird-color]

ya'll will just NEVER guess who became my fav in the welcome home cast.

[silvercaptain24]

Do i write the "bad brain box" fic or do i work on a previous wip, that is the question-

[strifethedestroyer]

wow who is this? strife becoming a songwriter??

[chloesimaginationthings]

How Michael’s interview with Phone dude went in FNAF 3

[waves-mp4]

drawing swindle in a dress and she is fat and has gun

[mothervega]

anyone out there who enjoys both Bive and The Smiler i’m boutta summon all of you cuz I MADE A SMILER INSPIRED BIVE AVATAR MUAHAHAHAHAA

[toffeesbabbles]

enough of drawing ink happy- ink emo time

[apassingbird]

It's well past midnight when Tommy steps into the club, the room a cacaphony of music, laughter, and people half yelling at each other. He had gotten the text half an hour earlier, letters and words nothing but a barely readable mess. He'd been able to decipher it eventually, though, typed out a stay there, and then hopped into an Uber.

It doesn't take long for him to find Buck. He's kind of hard to miss, actually, where he's standing on top of a table, phone in hand as he looks out over the crowd searching for Tommy. He might be a little bit disheveled after a night of partying, but when the lights hit him just so, Tommy wonders if Buck isn't the most beautiful man he's ever seen. He might be. Even when he looks like a kicked puppy, he might be.

Buck catches him then, the sad look on his face morphing into something else entirely, a soft smile and even softer eyes. It sets something alight in Tommy's chest. He smiles back, gives Buck a little wave, laughs when Buck immediately jumps off the table, and all but runs towards him. They meet somewhere in the middle, Tommy's hands finding their place on Buck's waist on the own accord, the motion almost too familiar after such a short amount of time. It's only been a few weeks. But then Buck loops his arms around Tommy's neck, crowds in closer and closer until they're pressed against each other. He clings and Tommy lets him.

"You okay?"

"Mm," Buck hums, presses his nose against Tommy's neck, takes a deep breath in. "You smell so good."

Tommy can't help but let out a small laugh, squeezing Buck's waist a little. "Thanks."

"I missed you." Buck's words are a mumbled mess against his skin, barely audible over the loud music. "'s not the same, without you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Buck sighs, presses a wet kiss into Tommy's skin, and leans back. His eyes cheeks are flushed, but his eyes are clearer than Tommy would've imagined. "I just- I wanted you to be here, y'know? With me. I wanted you to be here with me."

"I'm here now."

Buck nods, swallows, his eyes dropping momentarily to Tommy's mouth. "I wanna- we should kiss."

"Here?" Tommy asks, because of course he have to ask. "You sure?"

"Mm, yeah," Buck licks his lips, nods again. "Yeah, is that- don't you?"

"Evan," Tommy breathes out, wondering in what world Buck would ever think that he wouldn't want to kiss him. "Of course I want-"

He doesn't get to finish that sentence, as Buck pulls him in and captures those last words with his mouth. One of Buck's hands comes to a rest at the sharp line of Tommy's jaw, guiding him into another kiss and then another, until there's no pauses at all. Tommy's vaguely aware of the other people there, dancing and singing, moving as a wave around them. It all kind of fades away after a while. The only thing he knows in this very moment is Buck.

It's new and exciting to be so public about it, and Tommy is not afraid to admit that it makes him a bit weak in the knees. But then again, Buck has that effect on him on a daily basis by merely existing. Tommy's not afraid to admit that either.

[ruporas]

can’t talk about it

[ID: Black and white comic of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. The comic starts with the sounds "thud, thud, click". Vash, mid-action of peeling an apple, turns to the sound, noticing who it was that entered, and says, "Oh, Wolfwood, you're back." He resumes back to his apple in the next panel as he speaks, "Where'd you go? You snuck out of bed quickly this morning..." Wolfwood's hand then enters the panel, hovering over Vash's cheek and Vash looks up as Wolfwood asks, "Can I?" Vash responds, "Not going to talk about it?" while using a hand to gently hold Wolfwood's hovering hand and presses a kiss to his inner palm.

Vash then gets up fully, setting down the knife down on the table and the apple onto a plate, He leans into Wolfwood as Wolfwood explains, "Had to meet someone. Nothing interesting to talk about." Vash kisses Wolfwood's left cheek and a hand moves to cup his other cheek while muttering, "You're being vague." Wolfwood says neutrally, "If yer really that curious, keep askin'. We  can talk about that instead of doing this." Vash leans back and responds, "Let's talk after, since... You look so tired."

The panel pans to a close up of Wolfwood's downcast eyes, bags heavy underneath his eyes. He doesn't allow Vash to sit in that moment for long though, then saying, "Yer not helping, Spikey. Being all slow with it... I could fall asleep right now." He moves his hand to start unclasping Vash's coat, starting from his collar. Vash with red cheeks, responds briskly, "Oh, shut up. I'm worried about you. I can't be worried?"

The final shot shows Wolfwood's back to the viewer while Vash's softened expression can be seen as he holds gently onto the side of Wolfwood's face and a hand firm on his waist. Wolfwood responds, "I'm fine, seriously," pausing for a moment before continuing, "Is it okay to still..?" Vash responds, "Yeah, it's okay."

The next image is a shot from later that night after the previous comic. Vash and Wolfwood are now in bed, half naked. Wolfwood's buries his face into Vash's chest, his arms wrapped around him, while Vash is petting at his hair. Vash reminds him, "Hey. You said we'd talk about it." Wolfwood pauses for a moment before piping up, "In the morning? I'm sleepy." Vash says, "Okay..."

The next two pages start from the morning after. Wolfwood is already fully awake, pulling on his outer jacket as he says to Vash, whos' still bundled in his blankets, "Breakfast is on the table. Make sure to eat it. I'm going to grab some things in town and then we're leavin'. Got it?" Vash says, "Mh." Wolfwood responds, "Good. See ya in a bit." The dialogue starts to shift into Vash's inner thoughts now, as he gets up and eats toast, thinking, "Wait. Weren't we supposed to... talk about it?" The next shot then shows him fully up, meeting Wolfwood in town. He carries a half worried expression with him while Wolfwood slides on his glasses for him. A quick panel shows Wolfwood's tired expression from the night before and quickly juxtaposes with Wolfwood in front of him who's smiling gently, the shades covering his eye bags. Wolfwood asks him, "Still not awake yet?" Vash pauses, his thoughts stirring, thinking, "Oh. I guess I was getting ahead of myself... thinking you owe me that kind of honesty." He smiles at Wolfwood and responds, "I'm awake!" His thoughts continue, "Maybe one day, you'd trust me enough to share your burdens."

The final image shows Wolfwood pulling at Vash's cheek and Vash complains, "Owwwww why..." Wolfwood quickly says, "You were thinking something stupid, right? It's all over yer face." Vash mutters, "Nooo, I wasn't..." END ID]

[dendroaspis-viridis]

I'm begging you, BioWare... Learn from the mistakes of Baldur's Gates past...

[territorial-utopia]

Huzzah! It's birthday time! I'm slowly accumulating more and more things I like (latest additions this vest I made and a travel typewriter! Still need to fix the latter one though)

Sure has been a year.

[kedsandtubesocks]

give you something to dream about

joel miller x f!reader

summary: It’s game night at the bar and you stumble upon the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, no outbreak AU, Joel has both of his daughters, ‘strangers at a bar and maybe something more’ scenario with eventual husband!Joel, mentions of drinking, spicy making out session, Joel gets a bit handsy, gendered language / reader is addressed as “baby” & “darlin” light football discussions and terminology, lovesick and possessive!Joel

word count: 4k

a/n: this is my love letter to Joel, his love for football and maybe my own love for Texas football as well lol. To have this as my first fic of the new year and for it being for Joel means so much. To come back and write for the Pedro fandom is special and means so much. Big thank you to my babe @ahauntedcowboy for letting me scream my sports girl head off about this, and for @lowlights for giving me guidance when I needed it. And lastly - thank you for reading, you are what truly makes this so incredibly special and wonderful

A mixture of bright neon and low soft white lights bathe the bar in a cozy ambient glow. The music is barely audible, a sort of after thought. Instead commotion and the ramble of sports announcers fills the room.

You manage to squeeze through the sea of onlookers dressed in burnt orange. Maria thankfully stays close to you. Now at the bar counter relief floods you as you lean against it.

“Order me a beer, I’m gonna find our table.” Maria yells over the liveliness swirling around.

You give her a thumbs up and thankfully don’t have to wait for the bartender long.

“Like your shirt!”

The bartender’s voice catches you instantly. Bright and direct you blink towards him. He’s cute, young, maybe a grad student from UT Austin who works here.

You can’t help but glance down at what you’re wearing.

Even under your jacket the shirt is comfortably a bit larger on you. The main focus is the old cartoon type logo of Bevo, the Texas Longhorn's mascot. The burnt orange coloring is faded adding to its weathered look.

A warmth flutters through you from just seeing it.

“It’s vintage, cool as hell.” The bartender continues admiring.

“Thanks. Uh, a friend of mine gave it to me.” Thankfully the bartender nods understandingly and doesn’t press the topic more. Instead he soon asks what you’ll be having.

You order Maria’s beer and a drink for yourself.

“So, you a big Texas fan? Well okay, I mean…you gotta be if you’re here.” The bartender, grabbing a drink glass, starts up another conversation with you as his tone becomes playful.

“A lot of people I know and love are. So by default I am too.” You admit with a sleepy grin.

“Aw,” his face melts. “Now that’s sweet. Well glad to have you here cheering for Texas.”

The bartender now even winks at you. You politely laugh but then, the bar erupts silencing the conversation.

Excited yells come so loud you jump out of your skin. Quickly you turn around to view the many tvs and projectors showing the game.

From what you can tell the Texas defense managed to take down the quarterback. You even watch the replay to see what the fuss is about. It was a good tackle and the play kept the other team’s quarterback from even advancing.

The game has you memorized now. You watch as the burnt orange and white uniforms of the players scramble like chaotic ants now trying to rush after the ball was kicked, no, punted to them.

Your lips twitch. You never would’ve thought you knew this much football terminology or could at least follow the game. Yet here you are.

The bartender clears his throat and embarrassingly fast you turn back around.

Not two but three drinks sit before you on the bar counter.

One happens to be a surprise shot that makes your eyes go wide.

“Uh, so the guy at the end of the bar sent it your way.” The bartender explains lowly, trying to be discreet about it.

Your eyes instead whip up to search for the mystery man. Then your heart sprouts wings when you discover him.

Leaning against the bar rail at the very opposed end of where you are, the man seems like something out of a romance novel’s dream.

Ruggedly handsome, his distinguished aged face and striking nose glow against the mixture of neon and dim lighting. It highlights the grays in his beard and gorgeous dark hair. His chocolate eyes bore into you as if you’re the only one in this bar.

His attention on you alone has your knees weak and you wonder maybe you suddenly turned into jello.

Your mystery man lifts his beer up to you, a silent ‘cheers’ and then takes a sip.

Just watching him take a swig of his beer has you dizzy. So you readily snatch up the shot, toast it back to him and down it.

The alcohol burns, but you’re surprised it’s your favorite liquor of choice. You can’t help but cough up wildly and the bartender snickers at your reaction. It’s been too long since you’ve had a shot and you’re thankful to chase the stinging sensation down with your mixed drink.

“Hey!” Maria’s voice calls out and her bright smile greets you as she slides through the packed crowd.

“Hope you didn’t think I forgot about you.” She laughs warmly. She grabs her beer and slides a tip to the bartender.

But then her eyes notice the empty glass.

“Oh? You took a shot without me?” She teases.

You tell her someone bought it for you and her eyebrows fly up fast in eager surprise.

“Oh?” Even her tone is warmly excited. “You get a good look at who your mystery shot buyer is?”

You turn your attention towards the end of the bar, right where he should be. Except your mystery man has vanished.

A bit of disappointment trickles in.

“I did, but guess he took off.” You tell Maria a bit low.

“Well, his loss then. Come on! Let’s head back to our table-”

“S’cuse me…”

A smooth deep and accented drawl, direct and firm enough cuts through the commotion politely cutting in on Maria.

Just as fast, there’s suddenly a deep warmth behind your back. The presence is broad, warm, and smells of the beautiful hint of a sandalwood cologne.

“If you don’t mind, I think I might steal this pretty gem for myself.” The accent seems thicker now and melts off his voice like sin.

He’s talking about you.

Maria smiles wildly entertained while her eyes flicker between you and your mystery man.

Silently you stare back and with pleading eyes you mentally communicate that yes you want to stay, yes it’s okay for her to head back.

“Alrighty then, see you two later.” She says grabbing her beer and gives you one last amused look before heading back to the table.

Your heart races so loud in your ears you don’t even notice the upset yells at a bad call given by the refs.

“…Howdy…”

The voice purrs, absolutely dances against the noise of the bar and beckons to you, your personal siren’s song.

Turning around the shadow of the mystery man falls over you. He stares down with those obsidian pool eyes as his lips turn into a boyish grin.

“I’m Joel. S’nice to meet you.”

You think about all the songs that sing about Texas beauty and how they all must have actually been speaking of this man.

Joel extends his hand out to you and the simple pure southern gentleman introduction has excitement bubbling in you like you’re a champagne bottle about to pop.

Your lips fight back a disbelieved smile as you introduce yourself and shake his hand.

It’s larger than yours, warm and beautifully callous that speaks of hard work. Joel leans closer to you and you can’t help but slide more towards him as well.

“I like your shirt.” His fingers playfully tugs at the bottom edge of your shirt.

“Thanks,” you take a sip of your drink to gain more courage. “A friend of mine let me wear it.”

Joel laughs. It’s warm, touches his face and sounds like it settles in his chest.

“A friend huh?” His voice grows even more amused.

You simply hum a nod as you take another sip of your drink. Your body hums with so many wonderful emotions like a jenga tower trying to hold onto its form on a moving table.

“That friend of yours a boyfriend?” Joel asks, a dark drawl sticky as molasses and trapping you to him.

You can’t help but shake your head no. The taste of your drink momentarily settles you.

“Pretty thing like you single? Ain’t that a shame.” Joel comments with a low rumble and all the ease you had gathered floats away.

Your eyes flicker back to Joel. But your focus goes between his stunning eyes and his lips. You don’t miss the way his eyes gloss over, become hooded with a hazy desire. How much it intensifies his gorgeous features makes your stomach flutter.

The game must have quieted down or maybe you’re just this focused on this man.

He moves to whisper in your ear.

“So…Wanna find a nice quiet spot to chat? Get to know each other better?” His lips softly graze your ear and an electric current runs up your spine.

“Yeah.” You mutter back now tipsy off Joel’s presence.

The moment you agree, Joel’s hand slips towards your waist and draws you to his side. He quickly slams down plenty of bills on the counter to cover for the drinks and tip. Your poor drink and his are forgotten.

Now Joel shifts into a man focused.

Squaring up his shoulders, he stands taller as he takes the lead. His broad shoulders become a guiding force, keeping you close to him. His hand intertwines with yours while he navigates you among the crowds.

His larger hand suddenly squeezes yours, a reassuring pressure that draws you closer to him. Moving through the tables against the crowds, you arrive at the outdoor patio where the early night air clears your mind.

Joel continues guiding you to a smaller area where the bathrooms are outside by the patio. You stand before the family restroom that holds the sweet title of “cowpokes” on it. Opening the door, Joel leads you inside. You take in the slightly larger yet still small rustic bathroom that glows under the murky amber light.

The door locks behind you and you turn around to find Joel staring you down with hunger brewing in his smokey eyes.

That’s all you can focus on before you get caught up in a dizzying whirlwind.

Hastily Joel rushes forward to pin you against the wall. His body firm and large presses so deliciously against you. Before your eyes can even soak in the close sight of him, he sweeps in and kiss you with a ravenous fierceness that steals your breath.

He quickly consumes you.

Joel faintly tastes of beer and something intoxicatingly uniquely him. While his hand moves to hold your face, his tongue licks into your mouth, diving in, almost trying to get drunk off you. You can’t help but draw him closer to you as much as you can. You want your nails to dig into him the same way he’s burning under your skin and seeping into your core

His hips begin to grind against you with an eased pace and you moan into his mouth. You want more, need more.

“Oh baby.” Joel groans out and sounds like sticky delicious sin.

Suddenly the loudest cheers leak into the bathroom.

So fierce in their excitement it echos into the room and freezes you and Joel immediately.

He sighs against your lips.

“We must‘ve scored.” Joel mutters.

“Are you upset you didn’t see it?” You ask gently and kiss his lips soft as the heat begins to settle.

“Nah. I’m aimin’ to score here myself.” He grins and the line has you laughing. Your face goes to rest against his as you continue to snicker. The prickle of his beard gently scratching against your skin feels wonderful.

“Darlin’ you’re killin’ me. I wanted to sound slick.” Joel sighs again, sounding deflated now.

“You did...sort of.” You smile.

“Forgive me,” He smirks and turns to press another soft kiss against your lips. “Been outta practice for a while.”

“You aren’t too bad, cowboy. You managed to get me in here.” You hum amused while your fingers run against his jaw, through his scruffy wonderful beard.

Joel chuckles and it dances within his chest, resonating through him.

“You’re the only one I want in here.” He mutters.

You and him share a few more soft slow eased kisses that are rushed, almost shy now.

With one last kiss, a deeply melting one that now makes you ache to keep him here, Joel pulls away. You hold yourself back from pouting.

But, you’re now rewarded with the sight of Joel fully before you. The dim amber light paints him like something pulled from a sunset dream, an aged handsome man so sweet with his furrowed concentrated eyes.

You watch Joel pat around his jean pockets and suddenly your eyes go wide.

“Joel Miller if you lost them-”

“Calm down!” He huffs cutting you off while he rapidly digs into his deep jeans pocket. He yanks something out in his grasp.

He smoothly slides closer back to you and holds out his palm where two wedding rings sit waiting.

His and yours.

Your heart melts out of your chest seeing them and your ring finger itches for its missing piece. You grab Joel’s ring, leaving him yours and move to slide his back onto his hand.

In the same manner, Joel slides your wedding band back onto its rightful place. The memory of when you did this at your actual wedding faintly flutters in and settles warm in your heart’s chamber.

Joel draws your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles.

This man, your husband - you yank him towards you again to kiss him.

It’s a kiss that’s like coming home, of sweetness and cultivated bliss reuniting together again.

“Wanna see that bartender try flirtin’ with ya now with that ring on your finger.” Your grumpy husband grumbles adorably.

You bark a laugh. “Oh please, he was being nice for the tip and you know it.”

“Uh huh.” Joel dryly huffs as he stares at you unamused.

“Hey he was nice. He even liked my shirt.” You reply back.

“My shirt.” Joel clarifies strongly. “That’s my shirt.”

You roll your eyes playful.

He is right though. The shirt is his. Your husband is a superstitious football fan. And ever since you wore his shirt and Texas won, Joel used his beautiful brown eyes as weapons to get you to wear his shirt every game since then.

“Come on, curious to see what the score is.” With one last sweet kiss, Joel leads you back out into the evening air.

Hand in hand with him, you find your way to Tommy and Maria. Both of them brighten up at the sight of you and Joel.

“Hey! Look at that! You’re a married man again!” Tommy cries happily and you laugh. Joel, after sliding your chair in for you, rolls his eyes now while you and Maria snicker to each other.

“Bet it was fun while it lasted.” Maria grins.

“Eh.” You shrug but the truth tugs at your lips amused.

A few nights ago, when you and Joel had come up with this idea of going to the bar without the rings, pretending to not know each other, you worried for a split moment that you’d enjoy the freedom.

You worried you would realize how much you missed and enjoyed the playful banter, the flirting and pull that comes with being single. But instead you simply found your way back to Joel.

The excitement of seeing him, of having that same sensation rush through you like it did when you first met him, was nostalgically addictive for a moment.

However, you instead soak in the comfort of sitting beside Joel because it feels like coming home. While being single for another moment again was fun, you want to find Joel in every lifetime, find him as your husband in every universe.

The bar suddenly breaks into wild excitement. Joel as well cheers so loud. You turn to the game and find Texas intercepted a pass.

Now you go to check your phone and find both your daughters thankfully are doing fine. Sarah even sent you a photo text of her and Ellie at the classmate’s birthday party they’re both at. There’s a lightness that settles into your bones seeing them and having their father, your husband, beside you.

Joel and Tommy, as if they’re ESPN announcers in deep analysis, dive back into how Texas needs to sharpen up their offensive line. It’s adorable. It makes you fall in love even more with him.

Maria goes to ask Tommy something about the game and Joel leans towards you.

“You happy to be married again?” His voice drops soft and low. You catch the hint of true curiosity and almost hesitation residing under his tone.

“Of course. It’s my luckiest day all over again.” You truthfully tell him with a warm grin.

“Yeah?” He mutters tenderly as his eyes flicker to your lips again. “Make sure you share some of that luck with the team alright?”

You playfully nudge his arm and Joel smirks. You love him like this, light and teasing.

Joel drops a kiss to the side of your head.

“Don’t worry baby, this is my lucky day too. Goin’ home with the most gorgeous person here and I’m married to her.”

You could say the same thing. You’re leaving with the most handsome man and knowing you’re married to him? You feel honored, proud, and grateful.

Even when he starts yelling at the quarterback as if the poor guy can hear him.

“I could throw a better pass than that!” He argues upset.

You’re not as big of a fan as Joel, but Texas holds a place in your heart forever. It intertwined you and him in its own unique way.

Back when you were dating Joel patiently explained the game, so gently spoke to you without any judgment when you asked questions you were sure would make any other seasoned fan mock you or get annoyed. But not your Joel.

The first big moment you met Ellie and Sarah it was over at his place during a Texas game.

You experienced how wildly invested Ellie got, just like Joel, and how amused Sarah got seeing her dad and sister scream at the tv. From that point - all the days, the games, laughs and moments cultivated into a path that has led you to this moment, to this bar.

And now, here you are.

You love Joel’s love for the game, for the sport. You love how it’s connected you to him.

“Honey, you okay?” The voice of your husband pulls you from your thoughts, like a call home.

You turn to find Joel intently looking at you, your sweetheart provider. You can’t help but grin and nod.

“Yup, just thinking about the handsome stranger I met earlier. Hope he asks for my number.” You tell him.

Joel breaks into a chuckle that touches his earth eyes.

“Between you and me, he’d be a fool if he didn’t.” His hand now slides to yours, his thumb even begins to twist and fiddle with your wedding ring, a sweet habit of his.

You snort amused at how effortlessly he can play along with you.

Before you can tease him again or even wander back into your thoughts, the crowd roars to life with shouts. All eyes including yours snap to the game.

Texas just intercepted the ball and the play breathes life into the bar, into your husband who claps loud and proud.

It’s a great energy to see the end of the second quarter and the start of the halftime.

Suddenly, Joel’s hand begins softly trailing against your thigh. Warm and almost eased, the slow movement ignites a blooming desire in your chest.

Joel easily laughs with Tommy about the game. His eyes stay on his brother. Yet Joel’s hand slides now confidently deeper into the inside of your thigh. Your throat tightens and heat now begins to soak between your thighs, almost daring him to touch you.

Then a collection of happy cheers burst in the bar and steals all the attention.

All the tables nearby including yours turn to find a group of ladies. One of them currently grabs the cowboy hat off a taller man who grins so warmly down at her. She laughs loudly after doing what had to have been a wild shot.

The guy orders her, and her friends, another round causing them to squeal loud and excited again. Maria leans back to talk to Tommy and so you too lean closer to your own husband.

“Maybe I should pretend to be single again.” You tell Joel. “To see if I’ll get free shots and attention like that.”

Not that you’d want any of that. You just enjoy teasing your sweet grumpy husband from time to time.

“Nope.” Joel says with an unwavering sharpness. “You ain’t going anywhere without that ring Mrs. Miller.”

His words are rather light, almost playful, but you catch the underlying possessive simmering. It ignites an even stronger warmth beneath your skin.

“And who says you don’t get free shots? I’ll buy you as many as ya want.” Joel adds and his clipped almost ruffled voice has you laughing.

But as you settle, your thoughts wander. The smell of Joel so close, the mixture of his faint cologne and the detergent you use to wash his clothes, brings back the sensation of having that smell surround you when you were in the restroom with him.

It makes you ache.

Your hand now softly wanders to rub his warm broad chest. A low rumble comes from him, an awareness of your presence as you drape against him now. Maria and Tommy thankfully have begun to make fast friends with the couple sitting beside your table.

Your face leans to rest against Joel’s and the slick honey like desire you felt earlier creeps over you once more. It urges you to be bold.

“Wanna go mess around before halftime is over?” You offer soft and low, only for his ears.

Joel peers over to you, his eyes now smoldering coals.

“You wanna?” He mutters back.

Your answer comes as a soft kiss you place against his cheek. However, your hand now begins to slide up his thigh just like he did to you earlier.

Joel loudly clears his throat and sits up fast which untangles you from him. Immediately he yanks out his wallet to slam his card on the table.

Tommy and Maria now blink back at the sudden action.

“Order anything y'all want. We gotta grab somethin’ from the truck.” Joel lies effortlessly.

But Maria knows as she grins knowingly while embarrassment instead rises in you.

And apparently her husband isn’t as easily fooled either.

“Yeah yeah! Get outta here ya horn dogs!”

Joel barks a sharp ‘hey!’ at his younger brother’s crudeness while you can only laugh against him. Tommy simply makes obnoxious kissy faces while Maria snickers besides him. Unable to endure anymore teasing Joel playfully calls Tommy a piece of shit and with that you wave a quick and thankful to Tommy and Maria.

Joel once again leads the way to the entrance.

The two of you now stay stuck together closer than earlier. An almost giddy frenzy now keeps you both hyper aware of the other. His hands keep you so firmly close to him.

The giddiness you had earlier while pretending to be single with Joel is nothing compared to this. This feeling swirling in you comes from knowing you get to sneak away with your husband. It has you floating, only tied to this world by Joel keeping you steady and protected.

Around you, small chatter about the game hangs in the air.

Texas might not win. But as you slide closer to Joel, a unique shade of triumph washes over you.

Your good man, your wonderful husband.

He is your victory and champion.

Your victory lap and your welcome home party all at once.

And when he kisses you wildly against the side of his truck…you think he might also be your sneaky devilish opponent as his hand already starts to slip under your, no his shirt.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[tawaifeddiediaz]

you know, after watching day 3 of the democratic national convention, i need to say something, especially to other muslims like me.

most of the muslim communities that i'm a part of have chosen to vote uncommitted, or independent, or sometimes, even trump. they refuse to give their vote to kamala harris and tim walz, because of the way the us has handled the war in gaza, and how they have been careless with acknowledging palestinian lives lost, how it was american bombs and american tax money that went towards funding this genocide. it's fucked up, and it's wrong, and there shouldn't be any debate on that.

and i am 100% in support of that anger. i am 100% in support of forcing america to stop funding this genocide. no one wants to keep seeing palestinian lives suffer. no one is free until we're all free, and i believe that to my very core.

my only concern is that where this anger is being placed, from 1 year to 11 weeks before the presidential election, is so scary. because the reality of the situation is that america has a bipartisan outlook. whoever gets the presidency is either democrat or republican. and every vote that doesn't go towards democracy (i.e. voting for kamala harris) inadvertently goes towards trump's big plan of project 2025, which is basically dictatorship. Even voting uncommitted, even voting independent. we cannot afford to elect trump for a second term, and voting anything other than democrat draws that line way too close, especially in swing states like michigan, pennsylvania, wisconsin, georgia.

yes, there are many issues that we wish joe biden would handle better. there are many ways that the democratic party has fucked up beyond repair. there are many ways the democratic party has refused to acknowledge the pain of people affected by their military people throughout the years, and we've been seeing it for years. this is not a new thing. this did not start on october 7th. we see it during pretty much every administration.

however, voting for your candidate should never be based on a singular issue. no political candidate is ever going to check every single box. and its so unfortunate that we have to always take the "lesser of two evils" approach when nominating our president, but that's the reality of the situation at this very moment. there are many other rights to be considered that are at stake this election, all of which trump is trying to remove. abortion bans, women's rights, healthcare, social security, climate change, to name a few.

(and, somehow, there's a belief that trump will lead to a ceasefire deal where biden-harris didn't? let me tell you that is never going to happen.)

does this mean we just stop protesting or pressuring? absolutely not. you NEVER stop, because if our votes are the ones that put the candidate in their position of power, then we expect results. we expect them to work towards what they promised. and we can't let up on reaching out to our local county offices and our state governors and escalating these issues further until someone takes notice and does something about them. we don't elect them and just leave them to do what they want. we keep them accountable. use that anger i was talking about.

but it also means not having tunnel vision. the election in november could very well mean the end of democracy if kamala harris doesn't win. this post is not me all giggly-happy over the democratic party, because trust me, i have my fair share of issues with them as well. this post isn't to tell you what to do, because i can't force you to vote blue. i can't force the community i'm in to change their minds about toss-up votes. but what i can do is put down plainly what's at stake this election. and that is, very simply, our right to choose everything.

so if you are eligible to vote and haven't registered, please do. if you haven't voted before because "what's the point", please see above what the point is. a handful of votes is enough to flip the outcome of an election, especially with the electoral college.

and if you're still on the fence on whether to vote for kamala or trump, hopefully this post gives a little bit more perspective in the most streamlined way i could manage without bogging you down with statistics and numbers.

the choice is yours.

[thatstomorrowsproblem]

DPxDC A Boy and His Pit Demon

Danny 

The world was green, green, green. Green beans, bean soup, Soup Time. Soupy, soupy Soup Time. 

Would Soup Time hurt now? 

Most things hurt now, because he was broken, broken, broken, but not the green. Green, green, green. 

Green isle, green sky, green eye, green soup. 

He paused. 

Green, green soup. He liked green, and he liked soup, but maybe he didn’t like green soup. 

“No eggs, just soup. I am not Sam, I am not.” He giggled quietly at the thought of amethyst eyes encircled with black and purple paint and approached the lake of green. 

It smelled like Soup had been left out in the sun to rot.

“Hot rot, hot rot.”  

He laid a clawed hand over his icy chest. Food was mean. Sometimes, food fought back. 

Food fights, fighting food, union fight, fighting Soup? Hot-rot green soup. 

He was so hungry, but hot was bad.  

Ice core, hot sore, hot-rot soup. 

He was already so broken, broken, broken, and green was good. 

The hot-rot soup was hot, and he was ice, but it wasn’t fighting back, and it might be nice. 

What did he have to lose? Lost friends, lost home, lost mind, lost all, found Soup. 

He liked green. 

He hummed happily before diving headfirst into a pit of rancid, fetid ectoplasm leaving the Infinite Realms behind. 

Damian 

Damian was nine years old, but that wouldn’t stop him from being the best the League had ever seen. 

He was almost there already, of course. 

He’d even won a fight against his mother once.  

Of course, Damian had set many traps on the battlefield in advance, but it was only proper to use every tool that one had on hand. 

Damian moved smoothly through his training stances, clearing his mind of all thoughts except executing his actions flawlessly. 

He had perfected them years ago, of course. He was not a baby, and he’d been practicing with the blade since he was four. It was important to keep all of your weapons, sharp, however, and ones own skills are the most valuable weapons. 

He often practiced near his grandfather’s pools.  

It was a place where few had permission to go unless accompanying his grandfather, after all, and the soft green glow was pleasant to be near. 

It could be dangerous, of course, but Damian was not so foolish as to risk falling in while healthy. 

A sound caught Damian’s attention, breaking him out of his fluid routine. 

His head whipped towards the Lazarus Waters which had begin to froth and bubble violently. 

Damian had never seen such a reaction before, but he’d heard from others what it meant. 

Rarely, perhaps once every five decades or so, a demon would rise from the pits. 

There was nothing even the best trained assassin could do against them. 

They were strong, fast, unkillable, and the only thing you could do if one set its sights on you was pray for a quick death. 

Damian straightened his spine and squared his shoulders, readying his blade. If he were to die, he would do so with his pride and strength in place. 

He only had to wait a few moments before a nightmarish head rose from the boiling pool. 

It was blacker than night, seeming to suck the luminescence from the waters around it. Its eyes were slitted, with sclera the same toxic green as the pool’s waters. Its mouth was a nightmare of serrated fangs bared in the parody of a smile. 

Damian raised his chin defiantly to death. “You do not belong here. These are my grandfather’s pools.” 

The demon’s head tilted far past what any human would be capable of, and it let out a low, static-filled hiss. “Hungry, hungry. Play, play?” 

Damian gritted his teeth. He had never heard of a pit demon ever speaking before, and the thought of it wanting to play with its food before it ate him brought him nothing but anger. 

If he were to die, he was going to do so with dignity. 

Damian sniffed. “No. One does not play with their food.” 

The creature let out another awful sound like lightning or a windstorm before its gruesome maw stretched even wider. “Fight food.” 

Damian took a deep breath before he let it our slowly and pointed his sword at the creature. “Then let us fight.” 

The creature rose slowly from the water, revealing a small, thin body, but Damian knew that size mattered little when it came to the power of a pit demon.  

It was almost human in the same way that his mother could be called almost nice. 

It had a head, a body, two arms, and two legs. 

However, its limbs were too long. Each of its hands had five skeletal fingers each ending in a razor-sharp blade. Its thin legs had an extra joint, and its stance hurt Damian’s spine just to look at as it floated above the pool dripping toxic water that could kill or poison the living. 

“Fight,” it growled in a voice filled with the cackle of a broken League communicator. 

It did not try and dodge or evade as it spend towards him, claws outstretched, and Damian thought he might get at least one good hit in before he died. 

Damian’s blow struck true, right at the demon’s center of mass, but it didn’t slow its momentum in the slightest, and Damian barely had time to get out of its reach before its claws could impale him. 

He spun quickly, keeping the creature in his sights as it turned on the ground, back arching like a cat about to pounce. 

There was no wound where Damian’s blade had struck, only smooth black skin, darker than night. 

Damian growled. 

It was still playing with him. Still making a fool of Damian, even in his last moments of life. 

Damian shrieked, darting forward and aiming a blade at the pit demon’s heels. 

If he could injure it somewhere delicate, maybe it would retreat back into the waters. 

The monster laughed, unnaturally twisting its legs out of reach and back into the air without a thought for the limitations of gravity or basic anatomy. 

Damian pivoted, slicing upwards at the beast’s exposed face, but the being only caught the sword in its bare hand. 

Damian had a solid grip on his sword. 

One of the first things he’d learned, mastered before the age of five, was how to keep a firm grip on his weapon while maintaining enough flexibility for rapid movement. 

The moment the creature wrapped his hand around the weapon, however, it was as if his favorite blade was as insubstantial as a cloud, and it went through Damian’s hand in an instant. 

The demon laughed its monstrous laugh again, tossing the beautifully forged custom blade behind itself as if it were a common stick. 

Damian knew he would die from the second he’d seen the pit demon emerge, but it was worse to know how insignificant of a threat he posed. 

With a flick of his wrist, he unsheathed and threw a poisoned dagger at the creature. It whizzed between its eyes, and the creature turned its sharp smile to watch the blade sail away. 

It wasn’t fair! 

The creature dropped to the ground in front of Damian, assuming the deplorable fighting stance of a seasoned street brawler, and Damian brought his own fists up at the ready. 

If this monster was going to toy with him like a cat with a mouse, if it liked to play with its food, Damian would be sure to win at least one game. 

The pit demon was even smaller on the ground, barely reaching Damian’s own chest, and Damian grinned savagely. 

He never got the chance to fight someone smaller than himself. 

In a quick movement, Damian darted forward, aiming a blow at the demon’s shoulder. 

Damian wasn’t sure what surprised him more, the fact that his attack had landed, or the fact that the creature hadn’t moved a single centimeter from the force. 

Damian ignored the stinging in his fist and decided to count it as a win. He’d never heard of anyone ever landing even a glancing blow against a pit demon, not even when a dozen of Grandfather’s best had been fighting one together. 

The demon threw a half-trained punch at Damian, and he stepped to the side to grab its wrist, hoping he could use the momentum against it and throw it to the ground, but his hand passed through the creatures arm as if it wasn’t there at all. 

With the distraction, Damian almost didn’t notice its other hand whipping out, and Damian could do nothing as the monster hit his diaphragm with enough force to knock the air from his lungs and send him tumbling backward to the ground. 

He heaved in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for the killing blow to land. 

He had fought well and landed a hit against the untouchable. 

A soft weight settled against his chest, and Damian’s eyes flew open. 

The pit demon had settled on top of his chest. “Brave, brave, boy. Fights well, so young. Good fight.” 

Damian shuttered at the being's sharp fangs so close to him, but tried to take pride in knowing that even a true pit demon thought him a worthy fighter. 

His mother and grandfather might never know, but Damian knew that he had done his position as Heir to the Demon proud. 

The creature moved its face toward Damian’s exposed throat, and he prayed for a swift death. 

The creature nuzzled the underside of his chin before growing limp and beginning to hum softly. 

Damian froze in confusion. 

The pit demon’s mass shifted, black body becoming almost like a liquid as it pooled around his neck and over his chest. “Good boy, good fight, like boy.” 

Damian knew he shouldn’t provoke the pit demon. He knew that. However, he had already played the monster’s game and wouldn’t sit passively until it decided it was ready. 

That was one indignity too far. 

“Are you not going to eat me now?” 

“Eat!” The pit demon screeched, purring hum coming to a sudden stop. “Fight food, fight boy, eat food, like boy. Boy fight, I fight, like boy, eat soup.” 

Damian swallowed. The pit demon spoke English, and Damian was fluent in the language. He was not as sure that the pit demon was fluent, however, with how little sense it was making. 

“In return for sparing my life, you would like soup?” Damian tried, furrowing his eyebrows. 

A hand reemerged from the black mass that was the pit demon, and a clawed finger pointed at the Lazarus Waters. “Ate Soup, green Soup. Sam I am not.” 

Damian didn’t know how not being named Samuel was related to drinking Lazarus Waters, but that was irrelevant to the small, absurd hope rising in his chest. “You are satiated after consuming my grandfather’s… soup, and you have no plans on eating me?” 

The demon wheezed out another crackling laugh and patted his cheek. “Funny boy, funny soup, like boy, keep boy.” 

Its sharp hand melted back into its body, and it resumed purring. 

Damian’s mind raced at the implications. 

He had fought a pit demon, he had landed a blow and impressed the creature, and it seemed that it planned on staying. 

Damian had– He had been the first to impress a demon with his fighting prowess, and he seemed to have won its loyalty. 

He had always known he was destined for greatness, of course, but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined this as a possibility. 

Damian laid a hand carefully on top of the purring monster on his chest. “If you are not Samuel, then what may I call you?” 

The demon rumbled and hummed, pressing itself into Damian’s hand. “I am P4NT0M, I am Dan, I am not Dan. I am Phantom. I am Danny.” 

Damian wrinkled his nose. Most of those names were unacceptable, but he supposed that he could make due. “Phantom, then. Welcome to Nanda Parbat. I am Damian al Ghul, grandson of Ra's al Ghul.” 

The creature purred more loudly, and Damian ran a hand along the monster’s cold brow. 

Damian grinned and sat up, cradling the black purring mass against his chest. 

He was Damian al Ghul, first of the League of Assassins to ever earn the respect of a Pit Demon. 

He would also be the first to tame a pit demon. 

[jeeaark]

Even if he had a little dance with the Take-Over-The-World side of things, GG is still a Good Squid.

and we loves him anyway.

*Throws love and affection (Platonic) and support at GG.*

Deep inside, even Emps missed Silly Good Greygold.

Who needs to build an empire for squid enrichment when Squid Bud can spend all that brain power trying to figure out their enigmatic friend. Spoilers: They never do.