#Someone put a gun to my head to actually get me drawing

[i-suc-at-art]

HAHAHAHAH IM SO NORMAL ABOUT THISSS

hear me out, animatic, 3 parter, for 2 of the videos, all to TØP music

“I uncovered minecraft’s greatest secret”- Backslide

“I broke into minecraft’s most secure Prison”- Vignette

Idk if there will be others but when i first listened to the album i literally had visions of them in SAD-ist animation style to the songs.. SO maybe one day this will happen im not making promises bc I AM NOT an animator, and im in school rn soooooo ahhahahaha

[bonsiii-art]

*point out my water gun at you* this's a robbery ¯¯̿̿¯̿̿'̿̿̿̿̿̿̿'̿̿'̿̿̿̿̿'̿̿̿)͇̿̿)̿̿̿̿'̿̿̿̿̿̿\̵͇̿̿\=(⌐▀͡ʖ▀)=o/̵͇̿̿/'̿̿¯̿̿¯̿̿

I dmand all your cute Longan HCs or else.../j

Took a while to answer this one bc I wanted to illustrate some of my ideas! I thank you for asking me uwu

Has a natural, booming voice. Doesn't need to try at all to make themselves heard over a raging storm. Also, rarely blinks as part of their intimidation towards others. Towards someone they care about, Longan will naturally blink more and even make an effort to speak more softly to them.

Big thing in my artworks of them is that they're super tall compared to regular cookies. This, of course, gives them a larger stride when walking. They won't slow down, even for their precious weak one. Though, they'll look over their shoulder now and then to watch them struggle to keep up; it's amusing to them :P

DEF NOT THE PERFECT PARTNER. Even if they gain a companion, they'll still be fixated on their goals. If their weak one's interests lie in anything cookiekind-related, Longan will be completely tuned out of it. EVENTUALLY, they'll try to see what all the fuss is about. Just to learn and form their own opinions about it.

Something angsty- if their weak one is a normal cookie and not a dragon, their mortality will become a constant thought in Longan's mind. They'll get more and more attached over time but in turn, put up a stronger aloof front. They have the power to bring back the era of dragons, but they can't bring back a cookie once they're gone... ...unless they can preserve them in some way. cutely petrifies their beloved into stone.-

You know the two NPCs in one of the stages of the Longan Palace Map, Longan Shaman and Longan Lancer? I imagine they would be bit more friendlier towards their master's new partner. :> At least one of the two would be assigned to them to watch over them when Longan's busy. Which means plenty of time to get acquainted!

After looking at their sprites a lot when drawing, I believe that Longan is able to move the spines on their back freely, as those are the most flexible of their horn structure. TBH, I think Longan is almost freakishly flexible, overall. In addition to stretching in any position with ease like a cat, they can also turn their head almost 180 degrees, just for the added creepy effect.

More on the cat thing actually, Longan absolutely does the eye thing where their pupils get wide when they see something they like. Also, purring- *gets shoved off stage*-

Has a tail similar-looking to their dragon form's. They just like having it hidden under their robes, since it tends to show more of their emotional state than they like.

I've been drawing the ears on charas more often and I think that compared to the rest of the dragons, Longan's would be pointy but slightly on the droopy side.

[blushingreid]

Temporary Parents

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N: hi bbs, it’s been so so long & I’m sorry :( Here’s a longer fic that’s been in the drafts for YEARS NOW LMAOOOOO (disclaimer: this was written before my like 3 yr hiatus, no proof read, just straight posted for y'alls enjoyment) Giving some type of dad vibes I think might've been a request, but enjoy & slide me some feedback ! <3

Gun drawn, Spencer cautiously entered the house and into the child’s bedroom. Y/n followed closely behind, her gun out, ready for any outcome. Hearing a shuffle coming from the closet, y/n grasped Spencer’s bicep to get his attention before silently signaling to the closet. Spencer slowly approached the closet and whipped the door open.

“FBI! Put your hands up!”

Regret instantly hit Spencer as he holstered his gun when he saw a crying child crawl out of the closet. It was Jayden, Jordan Richard’s five-year-old son. 

Y/n holstered her gun and approached him, arms outstretched. “Hey there, you don’t have to be scared anymore, we’re the good guys,” she quietly explained as she motioned for Jayden to come closer to her.

He hesitated and looked between y/n and Spencer before running into y/n’s arms. After they left the house, Y/n brought him to the ambulance in the driveway to get checked out, while the team talked about the next steps.

They had been called to a small town in Virginia to investigate a series of families murdered with the same m.o. The team had gone to arrest the unsub, Jordan Richard, well the person they originally thought was the unsub. What they didn’t expect was for the alleged unsub and his family to have been the next victims. This meant the real unsub was still out there and the team was back to square one.

The only miracle was that the unsub had gotten sloppy and overconfident that he had just assumed that “missing” Jayden must’ve been sleeping over someone else’s house. Now this child would be the unsub’s demise.

Y/n was about to go join the team when Jayden grabbed her hand, silently pleading for her not to leave them. She gave him a small smile and sat down next to him in the ambulance.

“He’s lucky. There are no signs of any physical abuse,” the EMT said while placing a small band-aid on Jayden’s finger.

“Y/l/n, we need to take Jayden to headquarters and see if he can remember anything that can help us,” Hotch said before getting into one of the SUVs.

Y/n explained to Jayden the plan to head back to headquarters for the day. He didn’t seem to entirely understand the plan, except that he would get to spend the day with y/n, so he nodded and followed her into the SUV.

When they finally arrived at the bullpen, y/n led Jayden into one of the lounges. JJ came in to drop off some drawing supplies and snacks to help him feel more comfortable. The two of them spent the rest of the day attempting to get Jayden to open up about anything he might remember from last night. To everyone’s disappointment, Jayden was still too traumatized and only responded with nods and shakes of his head. Penelope had tried to find out if Jayden has any other family near, but she couldn’t find any. The social worker permitted Jayden to stay with y/n and Spencer, given that he’s a key witness and potentially still in danger. Actually, he wouldn’t let go of y/n’s leg when the social worker tried to take him for the night, so the social worker permitted him to stay with them until the case was solved. 

Once the three of them arrived at Spencer and y/n’s shared apartment, Spencer quickly went to childproof the guest bedroom. After tucking him in, y/n slid into bed next to Spencer, his arms instantly wrapping around her. 

“You know you always wanted kids,... so here you go,” y/n joked.

“I guess you could say this is our trial period for parenting,” Spencer laughed and placed a kiss goodnight to y/n’s forehead.

The multiple late nights and early mornings for this case, had tired them out so much that soon they were bother knocked out for the night. So knocked out, that neither felt Jayden crawl into bed with them. 

The next morning, y/n rolled over in bed to find that it was empty. She didn’t plan to leave her comfortable bed, until she heard Spencer scream. Running out of bed, she stopped once she saw Spencer covered in some type of food, Jayden no where to be seen. 

“Spence what happened to you?” Y/n laughed, walking into the kitchen.

“JAYDEN THREW HIS YOGURT AT ME!”

“What’d you do to get him to do that?” She teased, looking around the apartment for Jayden. Y/n eventually found him watching tv in the guest room.

“Absolutely nothing. All I did was join him at the table and the next thing I knew he launched his yogurt at me. This is my favorite sweater too,” Spencer pouted, trying to wipe off the yogurt.

“It could be because the first time you met, you had a gun pointed at him. He could still feel threatened by you,” y/n sighed before grabbing Spencer a new shirt.

“By the end of this case, I swear to you, Jayden and I are gonna be best friends,” Spencer promised. 

Y/n didn’t doubt it one bit. She knew Spencer would be the best dad in the world. 

The next two days had gone quick, Spencer and y/n stayed with Jayden to keep him safe and were there once he was comfortable enough to give them more information about that night. 

Y/n had left Spencer and Jayden alone in the apartment, while her and Emily checked out some leads. She hoped, the two of them wouldn’t tear apart the apartment by the time she got back. They’d seemed to be getting along together the past two days.

After checking out the leads, y/n headed back to her apartment to check on Spencer and Jayden before heading back to headquarters. She mentally braced herself for whatever she would be walking into as she unlocked the apartment door. To her surprise, she heard Jayden and Spencer laughing together. As she entered the apartment, she saw Spencer and Jayden running and ducking behind furniture with nerf guns. She giggled at the scene in front of her.

Suddenly, she was hit in the forehead by a foam dart. Y/n looked in the direction the dart came from to see a guilty Spencer emerge from behind the kitchen counter.

“Sorry love, I thought you were Jayden,” Spencer said as he jogged to the door to greet her with a kiss.

“I see you two have been keeping yourselves entertained,” y/n laughed as she went to go sit on the couch. Spencer followed, wrapping an arm around her. 

Jayden finally emerged from their bedroom, nerf gun in one hand and a piece of paper in his other. He ran and jumped onto the couch in between Spencer and y/n. Y/n examined the paper Jayden had handed her. It seemed to be a drawing of a logo.

“This looks familiar Spence, like a company logo,” y/n said as she handed the drawing to him.

“T-th-the scary m-man,” Jayden said, pointing to a mean stick figure he’d drawn on the bottom corner of the paper.

“Is this how you know the man who hurt your family?” Y/n softly asked. Jayden quickly nodded his head before jumping off the couch and running into the other room.

“This might just be what we need to finally catch the unsub,” y/n exclaimed as she gave Spencer a quick kiss and ran out the door to tell the team.

Spencer wanted to be there with y/n and the rest of the team when they went to go arrest the unsub, but he knew he had to stay and keep Jayden safe. A small part of him was actually happy he stayed, that way he’d be able to spend more time with Jayden before a foster family takes him.

“Ok kid, how do we convince my wife to start trying for our own kid?”

[even-disco-baby]

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Hello again, gendarme.” He smiles at you— not from his usual post, but from one of the cafeteria tables. A small sketchbook is laid out in front of him, along with some odd gray sticks.

ENCYCLOPEDIA — Compressed graphite. Not quite as bold or blendable as charcoal, but certainly less messy.

EMPATHY — Garte will appreciate it.

“I’d like to talk about the case again.”

“You moved! I didn’t know you could do that.”

“What are you drawing?”

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “That’s the question, isn’t it?” His smile turns a little rueful. “I found one of my old sketchbooks and thought I’d like to fill the last few empty pages, but I’m finding myself a little… uninspired.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION — The accursed artist’s block. Staring down an empty page only for it to stare back, mocking you.

EMPATHY — He is unsure of himself. He said this was an old sketchbook. Maybe he’s afraid of drawing something new beside his old work and seeing that nothing has changed.

“Ah, yes. Artist’s block. I know it well. In fact, I don’t know when the last time that I actually *made* any art was.”

“You could draw the cafeteria.”

“You could draw one of the other diners.”

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “A life drawing exercise, huh? And who would you pick as a subject, gendarme?”

“I don’t know. You’re the artist.”

“Maybe Garte? The skua could be a fun challenge.”

“You should draw the guy with the wig and sunglasses over there. He looks pretty funny.”

“Lena! She’d probably love to model for you. It would take her mind off things.”

“Kim, how about you pose for him?”

[Suggestion - Medium 10] “Why not me?”

KIM KITSURAGI — “No.”

He has nothing more to say on the matter.

“Aw, why not? You’d make a great model!”

Let it go.

KIM KITSURAGI — “I do not get paid to model for portraits. I get paid to solve murders. Such as the one we came here to investigate. Several days ago. Which has not been solved yet, for some mysterious reason.”

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — In case you couldn’t tell, that was sarcasm.

“Come on, Kim. You’re the perfect subject! A true man of the people. And there’s this sort of radiance about you… I can see the portrait already, just looking at you. Really clearly, actually.”

Maybe don’t say that. He’s just not gonna get it.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He shrugs. “Sorry, gendarme. It’s not right to use someone’s image without permission, you know? Maybe some other time.”

KIM KITSURAGI — “No.” And then, a little awkwardly, “But thank you.”

“I don’t know. You’re the artist.”

“How about Garte? Though, you’d have to draw the skua, too…”

“You should draw the guy with the wig and sunglasses over there. He looks pretty funny.”

“Lena! She’d probably love to model for you. It would take her mind off things.”

“Kim, how about you pose for him?”

[Suggestion - Medium 10] “Why not me?”

CHECK SUCCESS

YOU — “Why not me?”

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He considers you with some amusement, but still, he does consider. “You’re not too busy?”

“On second thought, you’re right, I have some work to do right now. Another time, maybe?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant sighs audibly.

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — What did I *just* say?

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He chuckles to himself, apparently quite tickled by the little comedy act you two are making of yourselves. “Beautiful. Why not? Have a seat. I’ll try not to keep you too long.”

KIM KITSURAGI — “Much appreciated,” he says drily.

YOU — [Take a seat.]

SAVOIR FAIRE — Time to strike a pose. Let’s go with something cool. Something that really captures what you’re all about.

ENDURANCE — But make sure it’s something that you’ll be able to hold comfortably.

Wink and shoot him your signature finger guns.

Look at him with big sad eyes like a shamed puppy.

Look thoughtfully into the middle distance, as if contemplating your own future masterpiece.

Stare straight at him with eyes that have seen how this world will end.

Hold your head up high. With *honor.*

Just sit and act natural. No need to put on airs.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He looks you up and down, thumbing his bottom lip. His eyes look brighter and more alert than you have ever seen them. And then, he picks up his graphite and begins to work.

His eyes dart between you and the page, his hand sweeping across the page in bold, practiced strokes. All traces of his earlier hesitation have vanished.

VOLITION — Sometimes, a little push is all we need.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — Every now and then, he pauses to look up at you, and it’s almost unnerving to be the subject of whatever calculations are going on behind his eyes. He holds out his graphite, squinting just slightly.

VISUAL CALCULUS — This is called sighting. He’s roughly measuring the relative proportions of your figure and checking them against his sketch.

KIM KITSURAGI — Even the lieutenant is watching now, interested in spite of himself.

“Are portraits your specialty?”

“Have you been drawing anything for school lately?”

Better not distract him.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Hmm…” He ponders this for a moment, not looking up from his work. “Not exactly. I’m more interested in the graphic arts than this sort of thing. But it’s best to build a strong foundation before branching out, you know?”

YOU — “Graphic arts? Like what?”

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Printmaking.” A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he speaks, seemingly without him even noticing. “Monotype, especially.”

ENCYCLOPEDIA — Monotype is a printmaking technique that is singular from other techniques, in that it produces only *one* unique print, rather than an edition of multiple prints.

YOU — What, really? What’s the point of printing it, then?

ENCYCLOPEDIA — I don’t know. I didn’t invent it.

“Why monotype? Wouldn’t a different technique be more… practical?”

“I see.” [Drop the subject.]

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He shrugs slightly, smudging a bit of graphite with a bare finger. “Depends on how you define practical, I suppose. If I had my own studio, and I was selling my prints, then maybe. But we make do with what we have, gendarme.”

EMPATHY — And what he has is very little.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Besides, I think monotype has its charms.”

The young man does not elaborate, instead focusing on the work at hand. He picks up an eraser that has been shaved down to a point for fine detail work, and begins on what are likely the finishing touches.

EMPATHY — He has already talked at uncharacteristic length about this. It’s making him a little uncomfortable.

SAVOIR FAIRE — He doesn’t like to share too much about himself because it makes him feel *uncool.* He prefers to maintain an air of mystery.

RHETORIC — It’s safer, too, that way. He’s learned that passion exists to be exploited. False promises and admiration are the offerings of Sunday friends.

“If you say so.” [Back off.]

“What kind of charms?” [Press on.]

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — His eyes flit back to you, sizing you up now in a different way. And then he looks back down at the page with a quiet bre ath.

“Well, it doesn’t take as much time or labor as other methods. Or expensive tools, or dangerous chemicals. Just paper, a plate, ink, and something to apply it with. And I can use the same plate over and over again, even use it to create different layers for the same print.”

RHETORIC — In other words, it’s cheap and can be done from home. An attractive option.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “And with monotype, it’s not so hard to go back and change your mind. You can start over as many times as you’d like, right up until the moment you lay the page on the plate.”

INLAND EMPIRE — That really does sound attractive. To be able to wipe the slate clean, over and over again…

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “There aren’t as many limits on what kind of textures you can create, too. Brushstrokes and fingerprints… They can really come out beautiful.”

His brow creases a little, and he picks his graphite back up to rework a particular area.

DRAMA — He’s still holding out on you, sire. Too self-conscious to admit what he really likes about the medium.

YOU — Which is what?

EMPATHY — Fragility.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — An image which is only complete after being mirrored and translated, never to be recreated except as a ghostly afterimage. An exercise in surrendering to chance. What will be, will be. And then the moment will pass, and it will be time to start the next piece.

VOLITION — This man knows disappointment intimately. It is his closest companion. He has learned to make peace with it. He passes the time with his Sunday friends, lays his paper on the plate and hopes, despite himself, for the best.

YOU — Is that… a good thing?

VOLITION — …It’s hard to say. But we make do with what we have.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “There.” The young man sits up straight, and it’s only now that you realize just how close he brought himself to his work.

DRAMA — His face may not betray him, but the body does not lie. He was having *fun,* my liege.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “All done.” He tears the page from his book and holds it out to you with a small smile.

ITEM GAINED: Portrait of a Disco Holdover

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Hope I didn’t keep you too long.”

KIM KITSURAGI — “Don’t worry about it,” Kim says, rather resignedly.

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — If you’d declined, the lieutenant thinks, my partner would have just found some other way to get sidetracked.

KIM KITSURAGI — Still, he cannot stop himself from glancing at the portrait over your shoulder.

PORTRAIT OF A DISCO HOLDOVER — It’s you! Unfortunately. Not even the most masterful hand could make the Expression less unsettling to look at. Your posture is poor, your face is swollen and blotchy, your hair is thinning, your clothes are shabby and out of place… I could go on.

Oh god, you could?

Please don’t.

PORTRAIT OF A DISCO HOLDOVER — But, you know… it’s nice. The smoker’s technique is bold and rather lovely, broad strokes of graphite intersecting in just the right places to create surprising depths. Somehow, even though it’s you… it’s not hideous.

EMPATHY — Because you’re seeing yourself through another person’s eyes.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — There is an odd tenderness to the portrait. Something amusing in your grimace, a touch of sympathy in your hunched shoulders. With the eraser, he has lifted small spots of pigment from your face, as if it were illuminated by flecks of light from the karaoke disco ball.

There are no disco lights tonight, but still, he sees them when he looks at you. Your moment has passed, but it left quite the impression. A ghost print, superimposed over you.

“Not bad, but the bicep girth is off. Right, Kim?”

“Oh god, is that really what I look like?”

“Hmm. It’s okay, but you should consider a backup career plan.”

“Whoa, you’re amazing! Can you draw me again, but this time in the costume from the cover of Man from Hjelmdall and the Devil Woman? And like, with a really cool warhammer? And Queen Lydiaana standing in the background, all like, ‘boohoo, where will I ever find another man like Ha— I mean, the Man from Hjelmdall?’”

“Beautiful.”

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — His smile climbs up into the corners of his eyes, warming his entire countenance.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — If you were to capture a portrait of him in this moment, it would be beautiful, too.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the annihilation

lilac, chapter eighteen

a/n: this chapter is very short, but on the bright side i am posting the next chapter next saturday.

summary: “I swear to god I’ll fucking do it! If I can’t have her, no one can.”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, angst, lumberjack AU, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, kidnapping, crying, violence, murder, blood and gore

word count: 516

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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There were blood splatters across Frank’s skin and even though the clothes he wore were as dark as the night sky on the other side of the tall windows, you could still tell that they were soaked. However, if it was his own or someone else’s, that you could not decipher as Preston’s knife threatened to pierce your jugular vein. 

“Drop the knife!”  

Pressing the sharp blade just deep enough to draw a drop of your blood, Preston warned, “don’t get any closer!”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” Frank rumbled, “easy, easy!”

“You want me to put it down?” Preston’s laboured breaths fanned across your tear-stained cheek, “you first.”

Seeing Frank’s left eye twitch lightly, he grunted, “just let her go.” 

“I swear to god I’ll fucking do it!” Preston roared, causing you to let out a shuttering shriek in his hold, “if I can’t have her, no one can.”

The muscles in Frank’s jaw jumped and danced a moment before he finally said, “okay, alright,” keeping his voice clear and steady as he complied, lowering his pistol to the floor, “here,” and then held his hands up in the air, at the height of his head.  

What transpired next happened in a blur.

As soon as the knife slowly began to lower from your throat, in a split second, Frank had whipped out another gun, hidden and tugged away at the small of his back, and shot point blank.

Preston’s body flopped back onto the bed, staining the already crimson sheets with his gore. 

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even breathe. You just stood there, violently shaking, as your unfocused stare hazily noticed Frank tug his weapon away before stepping closer. 

When he got near enough, you didn’t so much embrace him, but actually fell into his arms. A brutal tidal wave of emotions tumbled over you as you let out a grave sob, your arms still uncontrollably trembled down along your sides as his strong ones enclosed around you like a warm woollen blanket. 

As your aching tears stained his shirt, brazenly mixing and mingling with whatever else tainted the dark fabric, you didn’t care one bit if it marked you as well. Eventually, as he cradled your quivering frame close, your right hand found your other in a desperate attempt at ridding yourself of the shiny band that burdened your ring finger.

But as your shaky efforts jaggedly went on without success, words frenziedly crawled their way out of your throat, “g–, g-get–… get it off me… get it off me, get it off me, get it off me!” and he swiftly moved to triumphantly slip it off and toss it to the floor, his own digits not in shock like yours were. 

You sucked in a large gulp of oxygen as soon as he pulled it off. Like you’d been drowning and this was your first breath of fresh air. 

As you let yourself crash back into his arms, the paralysing emotions pummelling you to shreds, Frank’s soft whisper found your ear, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you…”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[possessesnightshift]

regarding the beautiful bisexual italian man who allegedly is responsible for the uhc shooting...

look, i totally get the impulse to obsess over this random guy and turn him into some kind of a working class hero. we're all desperate to root for someone who can take direct action against healthcare tycoons who make our lives so much harder.

but lately i've noticed a shift in the gravity of this discourse away from "why the hell did a man need to die to get pharmacies to stop rejecting all my claims?" and more towards "i want to hear the cute italian twunk moaning and gagging on it..." and like...

i do get it. not only is he just a very clearly attractive man (despite all the media trying in vain to find the worst pictures of him to show), but he has a grab bag of random personality traits that manage to make a lot of people relate to them, even if the claims are dubious at best

he was an avid reader, he was an elon musk follower, he went to an ivy league, he was a chronic poster, he had anxiety, he was a stemcel, he was bisexual, he had mein kampf on his goodreads list, he wanted a white girl to go bug on his dick...

all of these things combined are enough to make this man fascinating to almost anyone. some of them even make him sympathetic to a lot of people (even if stuff like the bi thing is most likely unfounded)

but i want to make something absolutely clear.

this is not. about. luigi mangione...

hell this isn't about ANY suspect that could be the perpetrator (we do not KNOW if luigi mangione can be found guilty until an actual jury goes into deliberation. otherwise we're just putting our blind faith into the nypd which is definitely sketchy, even if the evidence does seem to indicate it's him thus far...)

no this is about one man and one man only:

Brian. Motherfucking. Thompson.

even if this act had been done by some unglamorous 60 year-old trailer trash person instead of a fit, attractive 26 year-old, this shooting is still not about him or his politics or whether he should or shoudln't face justice

no this is about the fact that brian thompson was valuable enough to his company to be a multi-millionaire, but not so valuable that the meeting he missed due to his execution had to be postponed. not so valuable that his position wasn't filled in a matter of days.

this is about the fact that the unceremonious death of an "innocent" man was a better policy in terms of increasing people's access to health coverage than anything the democrats or the republicans advocated for in the past decade. it's the fact that brian thompson's death apparently hurt people very little and helped people a lot.

it didn't have to be this way.

they made it this precarious on purpose because they assumed they could get away with it.

gun to my head? i personally think luigi mangione doesn't deserve to see jail time even if he is guilty. daniel penny executed a black homeless man and he doesn't have to go to prison. kyle rittenhouse is a free man. meanwhile marcellus williams was proven innocent and executed anyway for the crime of not murdering anyone. you can't convince me there are no murders the state wouldn't just unconditionally support if it's in their class interest. if that's the way it is, we deserve to allow this man his "legal kill" that serves us in our defense against the violence of the capital class.

but even if he goes down, even if they make an example out of him, it does not matter.

because this story is not about the killer.

it is about the man who was killed...

and the question of why he had to die for our healthcare needs to be properly addressed...

enjoy the memes for this brief moment in time. but once the glamor and intrigue dies away and we can stop drawing horny fanart of the alleged shooter, we need to circle back to talking about brian thompson. he needs to be the centerpiece of this story. his actions. his ruthless drive to turn a profit. the community of billionaires looking out for themselves. THAT is what this should be about...

we are brushing up against severe disempowerment in the new trump administration. we CANNOT fumble this opportunity for class solidarity...

get it all out of your systems

and turn right back around and demand to know whether these ceo monsters are planning on rejecting our claims the moment this story has faded into the background

[kisskiss-slashslash]

Slashers when their S/O is crying

Jason Voorhees

Jason first notices how eerily quiet it is when he comes home to the little shack you both live in. Normally you come out to greet him as soon as you hear him come in, so he is pretty alarmed.

He finds you sitting next to your bed, wrapped up in blankets and with reddened eyes.

His immediate reaction is anger; not at you but at who- or whatever caused you to be in this state. He kneels down in front of you and cups your face with both hands to make you look at him. You give him a shakey smile.

“Oh, hi, Jason. I didn’t hear you come home.” You pull the blankets around you even tighter. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. Just having a really bad brain day, that’s all.”

He sits down next to you and pulls you onto his lap, so you can curl up against him. And he will not let you go until you’re feeling better.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy doesn’t mind you sleeping more than usual, after all, the more you sleep, the more time he gets with you. But even he notices that the time you spend sleeping is getting pretty excessive. And even worse, when you pop up in his realm, you look like a complete mess. Your eyes are red, you walk around like a zombie and are obviously dealing with a very stubborn runny nose.

“Who do I need to kill?”, he asks, all business. He isn’t really the type to offer emotional support but he is always quick to offer practical help. If that practical help is murder, at least, and really, isn’t it always?

“I just had a shitty day at work”, you reply lamely.

“Every day has been a shitty day at work for the past month or so.”

“Yeah…”

He remains quiet for a short moment. “So who do I need to kill? A coworker? Your boss?”

“You can’t solve every problem with murder, Fred.”

“I disagree.”

“Of course you do.”

“I mean”, he continues. “It’s usually not my style to go after adults, but I would make an exception if they’re messing with you. I could make it look like and accident, or a sudden heart attack in their sleep, or-”

“Fred”, you interrupt him, finding the familiar feeling of a giggle bubbling up in your chest. That son of a gun actually managed to help you forget your stress for a bit. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself.”

Vincent Sinclair

He somehow got it in his head that secretly drawing you would be a fantastic idea. It would be the drawing-version of candid shots. Capture you at your most natural, when you think that nobody else is watching.

What he did not expect, however, was to find you curled up on the couch, quietly sobbing to yourself.

He drops the sketchbook and pen onto the nearest table and sits down next to you.

You flinch. “Oh… Vincent.” You wipe at your eyes. “It’s nothing, don’t worry, it’s just…” You swallow the lump in your throat. “I…I was helping Lester with the roadkill pit, and we came across a deer that had just been hit, and it was still alive, and…” Your voice dies in your throat. “The poor thing looked so scared.”

Odd, really, how you could see humans die, and even help their killers, but seeing an animal in such a pitiful state is too much for you. “I don’t think Lester is gonna let me help him again anytime soon.”

Vincent lets you lean on him and gently rubs your shoulders and back to soothe you, until your sniffles slowly die down and you doze off in his arms.

Brahms Heelshire

He sees you crying through the crack in the walls, and immediately feels his protective instinct flare up. Who hurt you? Hell, who COULD hurt you? You hardly ever left the house. Had someone said something to you over the phone? Had you gotten a letter than upset you?

He says your name, in his child-like voice, which gets your attention. “Please stop crying. I don’t like it when you cry.”

You straighten up and put on a brave face. “It’s alright, Brahms, I’m fine.” You go quiet for a moment. “Brahms, you never took any letters or phonecalls meant for me, did you?”

“No”, he replies honestly. He had toyed with the idea to isolate you like that, of course, but in the end, even Brahms’ selfishness had limits.

Your eyes fill with tears once again. “Not once have any of my family or friends tried to contact me, ever since I arrived here. Do they not care about me?”

Brahms is quiet. What is he supposed to say to that? “Then…. if your family and friends don’t care about you, then I will care about you extra hard to make up for it.”

You wipe the tears away again and find yourself smiling.

Oh Brahms… Never change.

Bubba Sawyer

Unless you have been raised that way, like the Sawyers were, the ethical implications of eating human meat do occasionally catch up to you. And then you find yourself bent over the toilet, or a bucket, sobbing in between bouts of noisy vomiting.

You only notice Bubba when he starts stroking your head, and smearing the blood on his hand all over your hair in the process.

You try to somehow regain your composure, while Bubba helps you up and urges you to the nearest chair. The fact that that chair is made of human bones and decorated with even more human bones however doesn’t really help matters.

When you show no sign of calming down, Bubba panics a little. He looks around, trying to think of a way to make you feel better. Then he rushes out of the room. After a few seconds, you hear clucking, and Bubba comes back, trailing feathers and bedding from the chicken room behind him, and with his favourite chicken cradled in his arms. He carefully places the animal on your lap, urging you to hold onto it.

The chicken, quite used to being held and handled, is warm and soft. You run your fingers over its feathers, chuckling softly when it idly pecks at the sleeves of your shirt.

“Thank you, Bubsy”, you say. “Didn’t think that cuddling with a chicken was what I needed, yet here I am.” After a moment of silence, you add:”...Can you keep stroking my hair? That was nice, too.”

Bubba, of course, happily obliges.

[suzukiblu]

Day seven of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Kon zips up to Tim, puts the little clay goat in his hands with a quick "hold this," because he is clearly not aware of how the oils on people's hands can damage this kind of thing or concerned about how magic or cursed it may or may not be, and deals with the panicked thieves. Tim shakes the sleeves of his jacket down over his hands to hold the goat more carefully and watches attentively as Kon tosses them all into a pile and then ties them up with a combination of TTK and velvet divider ropes. Tim would not typically use velvet divider ropes as restraints, but imagines that choice probably works better with telekinetic reinforcement behind it.

Actually, it definitely does, because Kon just whapped Lisa upside the back of the head with a loose end of the heavy velvet divider rope when she started trying to squirm free. 

"Ow!" she yells indignantly. 

"How's that whole 'the idol will protect us!' thing going for you now?" Kon asks curiously. 

"You don't know the shape of its blessing!" Mark snarls, attempting to kick him. The effort is futile and pathetic and also pretty stupid, since if he actually managed to hit Kon he'd probably just break his foot on him, but whatever, not Tim's problem. 

"The shape of its blessing is a cute goat and a jail cell," Kon says. 

"We should probably find a staff member to take this, on that note," Tim says, glancing around for one. There's got to be somebody. The guards are an option, he guesses, once Kon gets around to untying them. But he definitely should not still be holding this goat, even with his sleeves tucked over his hands and him being as careful as he reasonably can about it. 

Seriously. Somewhere a museum curator is crying and doesn't even know why. 

"Oh, sure," Kon says. The guards' restraints all simultaneously fall off. Unfortunately, none of them happen to be wearing gloves or have sleeves as long as Tim's, so that's going to be an issue. 

"Thanks," Tim says anyway.

"Eh, it was nothing," Kon replies with a shrug. "Literally, this whole situation was nothing. Like, this situation was the opposite of a situation. Nothing even happened." 

And then Tim just . . . has an idea, almost. Or at least the nucleus of one. 

"You did save my life, actually," he points out, making his tone politely appreciative but also carefully casual. 

"No offense, but I save a lot of people's lives, that doesn't really stick out in my day-to-day activities," Kon says. 

"I don't know, it stuck out a bit for me," Tim says, and Kon laughs. 

"Okay, fair," he says, flashing him a grin. "You're not actually hurt or anything, right? Eardrum didn't rupture when the gun went off?" 

"Doubt it," Tim says. Frankly he's unspeakably lucky that it didn't, but Kon's TTK probably did block at least some of the sound. 

He really didn't know Kon could use it like this, to be honest. Kon cracks out his TTK every chance he gets and brags the whole time he does, obviously, but Tim's never seen him manipulate it quite this way. 

It occurs to him to wonder if that means it's a new trick, or if Kon just always wraps up hostages or threatened civilians in his aura like that and just never mentions it. It seems likelier it'd be a new trick, considering literally everything he knows about Kon and his desperate and unsubtle need for validation and attention, but Kon was so unshakeably confident in the move–and not in a brash or blustering way, but in an obvious, matter-of-fact certainty. Like he'd done it a thousand times and it hadn't failed him yet. 

Tim should definitely figure out a way to follow up on that later. 

"Cool," Kon says, then looks around the gallery again. Tim feels oddly bereft without his immediate focus. 

Stupid, stupid inadvisable crush. Ugh. Bats don't want to be the center of anyone's attention unless they're deliberately drawing fire away from someone else. Tim definitely doesn't want to be the center of anyone's attention. 

Except, apparently, for Kon's. 

This incident report is going to be nothing but lies. Filthy, shameless lies.

[sweatinghoneybee]

I’m so happy this is finally finished! It took awhile to finish but i’m so happy!!

This is just a fanart of a headcanon i have of MC in a transformers fanfic i read in quotev where in the future she becomes a rebel against the senator council and goes threw out Cybertron graffitiing peace protests against the government and puts up hologram posters of facts and the lies that the council puts up to propagandize Cybertron’s population.

Honestly the hardest part on MC’s design is the shoulder and legs wheels cause i’ve never drawn transformers so i was racking my head on how to draw them. And also is it just me but why are transformers helms so hard to draw?!! Like i know it’s a helmet but just kept feeling like i just made them bald. But it’s so much fun trying to draw something that i’ve never tried before and so glad that there’s a concept art for the MC of the story in chapter 18 cause if there aren’t any i’m an absolute goner to draw this!!! And I mostly drew this in the Transformers animated style cause primus save me it would have took me ages of life to draw this in like prime or IDW style (to those who can transformers in that style, i bow to your superior skills cause most people would think that drawing detailed blocks are easy but PITS NOPE!!!)

And i gave little reference on the paint that’s inside the paint spray gun where the colors i referenced to the cover of the fanfic (and i also made MC holding a car spray gun to do her graffiti cause i kind of thought that no one in Cybertron have graffitied yet so for MC to do it in Cybertron like back in her life as a human she uses spray guns that are used to paint cars/alt modes in transformers. And if someone ask on why the spray gun is attached to a hose on MC’s bag thing, the black part of that bag is to storage paints so like the bags used by graffiti artists that i found and the red bottom part of the bag is an air compressor thing like it’s used in car spray gun but in a more portable size. And honestly not sure if i should call it bag cause, atleast in my headcanon on how MC made her handicraft bag, technically it’s just a metal box that MC found that she attaches a cut hose for the sling and maybe and old used air compressor she fixed cause if I remember correctly bags aren’t a thing in Transformers so i tried to incorporate that). And in the background is actually those colored beats like in videos where each music beats the video shows it as a reference to MC’s love of music (and the blue pink colors are not only referring to MC’s optics but also cause in the fanfic she has the power to open a portal to the void/shadow realm so i was referencing that). And the white lines on the edges of the drawing is a referencing to MC hacking and putting up hologram posters cause i thought that if MC is going to get the truth from the government she will need to be able to hack computer systems and such to get them. And it’s just a tiny detail but the curves inside of Nebula as she swirls behind MC where it’s sharp is a reference that she looks like flowing flames but I didn’t want it to be too obvious so i just decided to make her a flowing blob (cause i thought that that’s what she looks like in the solid world if MC isn’t in the void) shadow with slight sharp angles like how stylized fires look like. Also can someone tell me if there’s a device in Transformers to make hologram posters? Cause I wasn’t sure what it would look like so just made it look like a flat disc in MC’s right servo. And just a headcanon as well, MC’s will absolutely splatter herself with colorful paints as not only as protest against the government that tries to make her to convert to their ideals but also just as a fun self expression where while MC is covered it messy paints it’s also made her beautiful with her confidence on not being afraid to stand out and be different (tho i have a feeling that if Knockout saw her like that he’ll have a spark attack) kind of like a transformer’s version of tattoos and such. The feathers on MC’s helm i intentionally put rainbow colors on them cause i kind of thought that the feathers are holographic so every time MC moves her feathers reflects and changes color. And the reason why i made MC and Nebula surrounded with so many colors is sorta kind like a representation how went from just living by under the rules of Cybertron to taking charge in trying to help Cybertron by doing things that’s different by the standards there and giving color to the lives around her. And i made Nebula with wings as a little nod on her connection with Unicron and i just made her sparkly cause i thought it’ll be pretty hehe~ along with the mismatched mascaras that MC uses cause i just thought it adds abit of that rebellious allure especially since the colors that are used are the shade of the other optic’s color!

Honestly this is one of my favorite drawings i made! I’ve always loved those drawings where monochromatic colors being surrounded by like a rainbow bomb around them, so this drawing is definitely my absolute favorites!

X - X - X - X - X

And also if anyone is curious and wants to read the fanfic that i’ve been rambling above on the fanart i made here’s the link to the fic!

Please give some love to the author of this fic cause they’ve worked really hard to make this incredible well written fanfic that goes in depth on Transformers. And don’t forget to leave a heart on their fic! Like seriously go and give this a read! The plot hasn’t even gotten to the war part of the Transformers and it’s already so good! And to those who want a various x reader fic where the relationship goes deeper then just characters falling in love without context, this is a fic for you simping boos out there!

[noses-in-winter]

Jack of All Clits (f/f, nsfw, sneezy lesbian porn cranked up SUPER high)

idk what it is but lately I have been INCAPABLE of writing anything that didn't involve a curvy girl sneezing, receiving sapphic head, and climaxing within a few hundred words of each other. This fic just happens to have all of that! Piper's my horny and perpetually stoned bisexual dumbass and Tourm is @virarushi's hot thicc girlboss gnome OC who sneezes about everything and has not yet had her bi awakening! Tourm is 4'5 and Piper's 5'6 so that's fun. :) Here's some art of her because she's hot! Anyway, to summarize: This is a 2.5k word fic in which Piper's going down on Tourm while she sneezes. They're roommates in grad school and Piper prides herself on being able to deliver bi awakenings.

To reiterate: this is nsfw so please do not interact if you're underage!! just block me!! thanks!! okay enjoooyyyyy ty

(Also to my awesome friends who read this in Discord, I DID add a few more horny details, just sayyin...okay anyway tyyy)

Piper was pretty sure Tourm had never climaxed at the hands (or dick, or mouth, or any combo of those things) of another sentient being. Based on what Piper had learned about her new roommate so far (mostly from asking Alexander), college was the first chance Tourm had ever really had to be away from her family’s rigid expectations and watchful eye. The poor bitch hadn’t ever even had her boob squeezed before! And there was a lotta boob-squeezing real estate there!

Tourm’s lack of preconceived expectations made Piper’s job all the easier. Not that she didn’t like a challenge, of course. But, now she could put all her focus into just getting Tourm to--

“Haah--! F-Fuuuuuuucking Void, Pipes…”

--moan, even if it was not done with near the amount of volume that Piper had anticipated. She expected Tourm’s--

“Mmmhhmm--!” 

--sounds of pleasure to be just as loud and take-charge as her sounds of laughter, anger and annoyance. As Piper had quickly figured out, Tourm was not a throw her head back and cry out with every rock of her hips kind of girl. Would have been hot if she was! But Piper also liked Tourm’s brand of quivering through the arousal, letting out steady moans that evidently came right from the g-spot. That was…actually a lot hotter than the first option. Piper didn’t have to keep an ear out for anyone drawing closer to their room. She could just keep making Tourm squirm. 

“Mmmmhfhhh, fuck. Aah--!”

And, Christ, was it fun to make her squirm.

“Mmmn…MMhmm…Fuck,” Tourm exhaled audibly in a proper English accent that could rival Solara’s. Piper didn’t tease her about it the way she normally might. She simply focused on keeping this pelvis-rolling rhythm going. Piper would have commended Tourm for figuring out the desired beat of her drum, were her tongue not occupied with the shorter coed’s labia. With Tourm’s calves draped over Piper’s shoulders and her hips angled upward, Piper went down on her in a very literal sense. Coupled with two pillows beneath the small of Tourm's back to keep her sex elevated, it made quite the memorable impact. It was Piper's go-to move when someone neeeeeded a good mouthfucking the way Tourm did. Piper prided herself on being able to get hookups to forget aaaaall about sheltered upbringings and disappointed families with the use of her nuclear-powered tongue work. 

Piper’s eyes flickered over to her phone, propped up on Tourm’s bedside table. The stopwatch read: Six minutes and fifteen seconds…sixteen…seventeen…Shit! She was running out of time. Time to pull out the big guns.

Thus far, Piper had been using the tip of her tongue to tease at Tourm’s g-spot. As Tourm evidently grew closer and closer to completion, Piper opted to switch things up a bit. She eased her tongue in farther, just enough to rub the stud of her piercing against the roof of Tourm’s cunt. The warm skin of her g-spot was raised, more than already activated with sensitivity and arousal. Judging by the new way Tourm’s thighs trembled around Piper’s ears, the move felt just as good between her legs as she had hoped. 

Tourm breathed heavily, one hand gripping the blankets beneath her while the other had her fingers tangled in Piper’s hair. She continued to groove against her roommate’s tongue in whatever way she could. “ohhh--ohhhFUUuuuuck, Pi---hi-hhh--?”

Piper wasn’t exactly sure what set Tourm off. Most likely, it was just the fact that Tourm was a gnome that simply existed. No matter the cause of the evident irritation in her nose, the first snag of Tourm’s breath sounded confused, as if she hadn’t realized this was coming. Her voice went a touch high with desperation as her nostrils flared, and then rested again, and then repeated the process to the same beat that she panted in. 

Tourm was sure gearing up for one hell of a sneeze that didn’t seem like there was going to be any attempted cover in sight. Piper couldn’t blame her. She was sure that being eaten out was the only thought and feeling and need in Tourm’s head at the moment. 

Tourm’s budding sneezes had her breath seesawing on beat with Piper’s tongue work urging her into the mattress. Finally, Tourm’s whole cunt clenched around Piper’s tongue as she sneezed at last, a cute “hh’chisshiew!” that Piper was more than used to hearing, along with the seeeeveral that always followed. The release peppered her shirt, bare thighs aaaand Piper with the results. Piper made a little noise of surprise when Tourm, fingers still wound in her hair, wound up pushing her face further against her sex. Immediately, Tourm let out a congested little moan, pelvis rising without her control in an effort to receive more and more and more of Piper’s tongue as she geared up for the next sneeze.

 Piper was happy to keep up, but withdrew from Tourm’s sex for just a moment. “Bless you. Sneeze all you need, babes, okay? Just aim somewhere that’s not me,” she teased lightheartedly.

Tourm took in another fluttery sniffle with a dazed nod, unable to offer even half a joking response. She just barely managed to pull the collar of her oversized sleep shirt over her nose with clumsy fingers as she drew closer— 

“hhih!”

 — and closer--

 “h-hehh—!”

 —to sneezing again. 

“hhhh!’chzsshiew!”

After several moments spent in limbo, Tourm’s hips bucked with yet another sneeze. By the sounds of things, this one came with a deluge of mess that was contained to her shirt. She let out a congested exhale that immediately turned into another heady snag of her breath that led to Tourm sneezing twice more. “sszsschiew--adt’chzsschiew!”

Piper opted to take this opportunity to use her thumbs to ease up the delicate hood that protected Tourm’s clit. Piper dipped her head down to greet it with her lips.  “Good giiiiiirl,” she hummed, voice shifting into a little purr as she praised Tourm’s last-minute success of covering her nose as Piper had instructed. “Bless you…”

Tourm gave a close-mouthed little sound of pleasure that could certainly be described as a whimper. Piper couldn’t tell if that was simply out of the stimulation she had been experiencing for the past (one more glance at the stopwatch) seven minutes and thirty-four seconds, or if that praise had done something hot to her. That could be figured out later. Just a little over two minutes left for Piper to push Tourm over the edge of climax. She could so goddamn do this. 

Tourm sniffled heavily with a murmur that probably had some intelligent meaning behind it, but only sounded like horny gibberish to Piper. The self-proclaimed master of orgasms didn’t ruminate on it long. Through the blond curls between Tourm’s legs, Piper took her clit fully between her lips to suck at. She wasn’t surprised by Tourm’s immediate gasp in response, or the needy buck of her pelvis. Tourm moaned through the fabric of her sleep shirt that she had less and less of a hold on as Piper rocked against her rhythmically with every sneeze…

“chissch!”

 And sneeze. 

“ischhoo!”

And a few more sneezes after that.

“iht’chisshiew! F-fucki’g shi--hihh!—kisschiew! hadt’DJISHiew!”

 Each time she geared up for a new sneeze, Tourm’s back arched up from the bed in a desperate squirm before making her buckle again in what looked like the world’s most effective ab workout. Those sneezes were rapidly starting to get away from her. 

“I’m…” Tourm trailed off, dropping her hand from its place of holding her sleep shirt. She instead used both hands to grip the blankets beneath her. Her shirt remained tented, held up only by her nose. That would be changing once she got a few more sneezes out, Piper was sure. Tourm was no longer capable of giving a fuck about a single thing other than her body’s powerful and simultaneous urges to climax and sneeze, sneeze and climax. “I’m g—gonna …hohhhh, fuuuuck….”

“Gonna what, babe?” Piper hummed during a brief pause in her stimulating efforts. “Cum? Or sneeze?”

Tourm gave one shallow nod, evidently an answer to both. Even though the bottom half of her face was covered by her sleep shirt, Piper could see that next sneeze coming from a mile away. Canted eyebrows, a shuddering inhale, the brief, sudden stillness of Tourm’s legs draped over Piper’s shoulders--

Haaaht--?!”

Oh, this was gonna be messy--

“CHIZSCCHhoo!”

Tourm sneezed. Productively, if the sudden splatter of wetness from the inside of her top gave any indication. Dampness bled through the cotton, turning the plain heather gray t-shirt into more of a slate color in several spots. Tourm snuffled and got a fistful of the shirt, drawing it up to scrub at her itchy nostrils. Piper could only see the underside of Tourm’s tits shifting, quivering along to the movement of the rest of her body, as well as the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. Piper didn’t bless her this time, simply choosing to hum as she tended to Tourm’s clit. This felt nice, apparently, judging by the shivering clench of Tourm’s thighs. Piper needed no further encouragement to keep humming and teasing and sucking until Tourm’s head pressed back into her pillow. The tip of her nose was perfectly perpendicular with the ceiling, reddened nostrils flaring as she came--

“OhhHHHHFFFffuuucuuuccckkkk….”

--hard with a shuddering moan that squeezed Piper’s ears between her thighs. Fuck yeah! She was so gonna win---

Nope. Ten minutes and twenty-eight seconds. Fuck! So close! Piper had nothing to complain about, though. That was fun. And hot. Super, actually fucking hot.

 Unable to properly tend to her clit anymore with how tightly Tourm’s thighs held her, Piper instead moved back down to Tourm’s labia. She delivered a few finalizing strokes with her tongue to Tourm’s heated sex as it pulsed rhythmically with the highs of orgasm. Tourm was quiet for several moments as she collected herself, save for heavy inhales and exhales, before she let out a little noise that sounded like a cross between a moan and a laugh once Piper’s tongue piercing massaged along her…shit, what was that part called? Her fourchette? Something French, Piper remembered, but she didn’t spend long on remembering the name. She simply continued with her tongue’s easy kneading of this evidently pleasurable (and ticklish) spot.

Tourm slowly untensed, legs remaining draped over Piper’s shoulders. Her hips continued to move lazily in response to the stimulation of her fourchette, but in a more relaxed way that suggested she was simply enjoying this little pleasure, even if she was still too sensitive to achieve orgasm again. She sniffled, palming the underside of her overstimulated nose. “Okay…Fuck. I gotta give it to you, Twintails. That…wasn’t bad,” Tourm chuckled, her accent slowly shifting back to that Cockney she always aimed for. She sniffled again, reaching for the box of Kleenex on the nightstand. She drew it closer to her, setting the box on the comforter as she plucked out several tissues. “Guess you’re--sdf! Good at more than just settin’ shit on fire and annoyin’ Moseley with me.” 

Tourm buried her nose into the tissues and delivered the first few seconds of a hardy blow before she was interrupted by another sneeze. Ope--and then two more. Piper gave Tourm’s sex one last parting little lick before easing back, wiping her mouth (and cheeks…and chin...and nose…Jesus, Tourm had been soaked) on her sleeve. She stood, easing Tourm’s legs down from their resting place on her shoulders to retrieve her phone from the nightstand.

 Tourm sniffled into her now-useless tissues, looking up at Piper with cracked, teary eyes. “I win?” she asked with a smirk that promptly collapsed into a sneezy snarl--

“adt'IZSSCHSHuh!”

-- that resulted in another heavy sneeze all down her shirt. Tourm grimaced, making a little noise of disgust as she moved to a sitting position and saw just how thoroughly peppered with sneezes both the inside and outside of her shirt were. “Eugh. Gross.” 

Piper snorted with a little smirk of her own as she started for Tourm’s dresser. “Bless y--”

“’chzsshiew!”

Piper gave an impressed whistle as she opened the top drawer, rifling through Tourm’s various shirts. She didn’t look at Tourm just yet, but it was audible in that grumbled snuffling that that sneeze hadn’t been pretty. Piper couldn’t help an amused little smile to herself as she picked out a new top for Tourm. She unfolded it, giving the garment only a brief look before shaking her head and beginning to fold it again. Way too tight for comfortable sleep. Piper did like this shirt, though. If her tits were half as impressive as Tourm’s, she would have been wearing it every other day. “Bless you, infinity. Get ‘em out, babe.” 

Tourm snorted ticklishly, knuckling at one nostril through her bundle of tissues. She blew her nose and actually managed to finish without being interrupted by a sneeze. “So?” she asked with an amused smirk in her voice. “I won, right?”

Piper rolled her eyes fondly, examining another shirt. Nope. Fabric was way too thin for a chilly April night like this. “Fiiiine. Yeah. Just by, like, twenty seconds, though. I’m sure I would have made it without those several sneezy disruptions, but I’m no sore loser.”

“Hah!” came Tourm’s little snicker. “You owe me fift--sdff! Ugh…F-fihh--hihh! I--”

Tourm sneezed behind Piper’s back, another productive sound that had her groaning again in the aftermath. Once Piper turned back around, a perfect sleep shirt in hand, Tourm was already pulling her messy top off. She removed her shirt the way a guy might, Piper noticed, pulling it up from the back. She wiped her nose with it before giving it a lazy toss to the carpet. Tourm leaned back slightly in bed, supporting herself with both hands as she sniffled. Piper, the slut she was, could do absolutely nothing but stare at the way the evidence of all of those sneezes just made Tourm’s tits shimmer in the lamplight. And then how they--

“Hhh--! hadt’DJISHiew!”

--bounced with another heady, uncovered sneeze that simply provided the same glitter-esque shine to her chest. She let out a stuffy exhale in the aftermath that sent a bolt of horny lightning down Piper’s spine. That…really had sounded like another moan, hadn’t it?

Damn it. She wanted to make her moan again. 

“Double or nothing.” 

Tourm looked at her with a cocked eyebrow, tits settling after that shivery sneeze. “Huh?” Piper didn’t even hand Tourm the new top, simply tossing it to a cluttered desk. She made her way back to Tourm’s bed and took her by the bicep with one hand lightly enough that Tourm could move away if she wasn’t into it. “Lemme try again,” she said, more of a command than a request. “Double or nothing if I can do it in eight.” 

Judging by Tourm’s expression, she very much was into this. Piper took this as a cue to ease her free hand to cup Tourm’s warm, damp tit. Tourm evidently couldn’t help a quivering little exhale, lashes fluttering as Piper thumbed her nipple. Just as Piper would expect her to, though, Tourm immediately shifted her look into one of cockiness rather than the evident need that was there.  “You’re on.”

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 27: All In The Same Basket

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

Thud.

The door shuts and footsteps approach me. Thomas hasn’t been home all night and I don’t think twice about what happened. That bloody bastard. Of course he slept with her! May isn’t enough so he’s desperate enough to have a married woman! Perdition surely waits for him now.

“Morning,” I greet lightly when he walks in, bitterness hidden beneath. “Have some eggs.”

He looks even happier now. If I feel awful it’s my fault alone. I’m the one chaining myself to this, not him. 

“Do you plan to tell May?”

It’s asked so simply yet held with so much emotion. Thomas doesn’t ask how I know. 

“I do. I won’t string her hopes out.”

“At least you have the decency to do that,” I mutter.

“Grace mentioned New York,” Thomas says and I can tell what he’s thinking. “Said something about the people in Brooklyn being less friendly than the others. Know anything about that?”

I huff and all but throw the frying pan into the dish water. “No offense Thomas, but I do not bring my work home with me. I do not want your problems following me to my home. I simply requested that she stayed away.”

Instead of yelling Thomas stays calm. “Grace doesn’t mean any harm.”

“I know. She’s a nice person. But after the lies she told, I don’t want that in my life. The only way I will let this business into my life is if you agree to partner with my father.”

Have a taste of your own medicine, Thomas Shelby. How do you like it when someone pretends to care only for profit? Only instead of extracting sexual pleasures I am acquiring benefits for my family.

“I see.” Now his voice changes to the cold tone I remember. “He needs business just as much as I.”

I shake my head. “Prohibition hasn’t done well for my family. Capone only trades with the Italians and hates the Irish with a passion. If you partner with my family it would help a lot.”

“He’ll do it.”

We both look to see Polly standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips.

“Oh really, Pol?”

“You make a deal with her or Verena gets a 20% cut,” his aunt orders.

My eyes widen and I wave my hands. “No. No. We don’t accept handouts. We just want to sell whiskey. Even if it’s slightly illegal.”

“So you shall,” Thomas announces, looking between both of us with annoyment. “When do we draw the contract, eh?”

“After the race,” Polly says.

Right. The race. Another derby day full of crowds, gambling, and drinking. Just like the stories of the Sheepshead races Uncle Steenstra talks about. If John plays his cards right then Arthur will be joining us.

I finish putting the finishing touches on my makeup and yell out the door. “Ready, Finn?” 

A scampering noise gets closer and closer and Finn all but crashes into my room. He hastily adjusts his coat and stands to attention.

“As always,” he pants. “Maybe this time you can actually see the race. Nice hat.”

A lovely addition, if I do say so myself. Who knew Polly had such nice hats hidden in her closet? “I thought I’d dress for the occasion. Where’s this race?”

“In Epsom. I promised John I’d escort you to the meeting so you know the plan.”

“Is Ada coming?” I ask as I follow him to the door.

“Yeah, but Tommy’s meeting with her. Said it’s private.”

Don’t be mad. She’s his sister. You just work here. Forget all about Thomas and enjoy yourself for once.

Out in the street we see the cavalry has arrived and is waiting next to a covered truck. Along with John.

“Is Arthur meeting us there?” I ask.

“You tell me!” Arthur walks out from behind the truck, arms spread triumphantly.

My face breaks into a smile. “Arthur! You son-of-a-gun! How was prison?”

“Fucking Hell.”

Another man walks up and I recognize him from the horse sale Thomas took me to. A member of the Lees, I think. An odd man, wearing a patterned ascot.

“Johnny Doggs.” He tips his hat. “Ms. Steenstra. The boys and I must apologize for the last time you met us. Let it be known that today we’re all on the same side.”

Some of the Lees remove their hats while others give me friendly waves.

I give John a cheeky grin. “You told them to say that, didn’t you?”

The Shelby brother rolls his eyes. “They wanted to say sorry. Can we move on?”

“Here comes the boss,” Johnny points to someone behind me.

The handsome gangster struts towards us, cigarette in hand. Being surrounded by the Shelby brothers and Lees really helps distract from any previous emotions for him. It’s time to get my head in the game and be a valuable part of this team.

“There he is.” Thomas opens his arms and embraces his freed brother.

Arthur huffs. “You’re late.”

“I had business.”

“How the fuck did you get me out-a that?”

Thomas claps his shoulder. “I need you today, brother. Pulled some strings. You alright?”

Arthur’s frown is replaced with a grateful smirk. “I am now.”

“So he’s in charge now?” John asks.

“That’s right. And you two are in charge of him,” Thomas clarifies. Finn starts to object but gets cut off. “Finn, you don’t obey orders, you don’t come.” He turns to Johnny Doggs. “Will the Lees be there?”

“The Lees will be there, captain.”

Thomas squints. “Captain?”

“Aye, we promoted you. The boys decided you’re no longer like a sergeant major, fucking them fancy women and using those fancy words.”

I hide my laugh along with the rest of the men. This is hilarious! Thomas is getting joked on and I’m allowed to find it funny!

“Fine, but I’ll take it as a compliment,” Thomas complies. “Just don’t shoot me. Let’s go to the Derby, boys!”

He waves for them to jump in the truck but hesitates when he sees Finn helping me up.

“She’s coming too. I promised she could see a race,” John says.

He thinks for a second. “Very well. Stay in the back while we rally the others.”

Screw you, Thomas Shelby. I’m not waiting around for you to permit me to help. This American can’t be tamed by your charm.

“My God, this place is huge!” I marvel at the elaborate racetrack. “Where are the horses?”

“Over there.” Thomas points to a series of white tents. “You can come with me to see her, if you’d like.”

“Won’t say no to that!”

I don’t wait for him to catch up. This is what a real horse race is like? No wonder Thomas loves horses so much. He shows me to a tent and I spot May waiting inside next to a very sturdy speckled horse.

Thomas wastes no time and begins inspecting the animal. Brushing her coat and checking her eyes.

“Looks in fine shape. Hello hello hello. Kushti bok. Kushti bok, eh?” He murmurs to the horse. “Any troubles?” 

May, still with her arms crossed, shakes her head. “Not at all. Go, drink and enjoy the race. I’ll join later. It's fine, I’ll stay down here in the mud.”

Her words draw out a dose of sympathy from me. Oh, May. You got caught in this too. Unfortunately none of us will be the last to fall for him. We just need to pick up the pieces and move on-

Just then Thomas leans in and presses a kiss on her surprised lips. I take the time to wander off to the corner and inspect the other horses. After everything he still shows affection to any woman but me. And he- He left. He forgot I was even here.

“Sorry about that.” May walks over showing no hostility. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

I try to stay positive. “Hello, May. Lovely to see you again. Good news about the horse, I hope?”

She nods at the magnificent beast. “Grace’s Secret has done a wonderful job. She’s a very sturdy animal.”

Her words cause me to stop stroking her mane. “What’s the horse’s name?”

“Grace’s Secret.”

He’s still thinking about her. I can’t just say nothing. May deserves sympathy, rich or not.

“I’m sorry about…”

“About Thomas breaking off?” she fills in.

Quite witty. No wonder Thomas took to her. “Yes.”

May looks at me with an expression I can’t quite place. “I can see he treats you well. But you’re smart enough to keep him tamed. Keep up with that. You best get back to your party. I’ll be fine here.”

She waits for me to leave but I see no reason to. “No. They have their own business. I can stay here for company, if you wish.”

Her eyes soften at my kind gesture. “That’s gracious of you. Thanks.”

The announcer’s voice overhead says the race is about to begin. Where is the best spot to watch?  I look out and see Thomas standing on the steps with- With Grace. She came here. Of course she did. Wearing a nice pink dress with a matching hat. Looking how any woman wants to be with the man all women want.

“You alright?” May asks when she sees my pale face. “Thomas must be waiting-”

“He’s perfectly fine,” I grit my teeth. “He has plenty to occupy himself with.”

She sees where I’m looking. “It’s the other woman, isn’t it? The one sailing away?”

“One would think.”

Thomas leaves Grace at the bottom of the stairs and I spot Jerimiah sending Lizzie up to Thomas. That son-of-a-! He deals with literally any other woman. Anyone but me.

“He mentioned you once.”

May’s words shake me from my angry thoughts. “For what reasons?”

“Said you made him change his mind about Americans. About educated women. Personally I believe he thinks you’re too innocent for his business. Why stay?”

I keep watching Thomas until he disappears into a bar. “My father once said to me ‘Verena, life is too short to never take chances. With a little luck and the love of God, set your mind to do anything.’ After everything I’ve done here I can’t think of a place that would offer anything so… adventurous.”

May chuckles. “That’s Thomas, alright.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, the race will begin in four minutes. Please be upstanding for the pledge.”

Oh, alright. I’ll respect the pledge of the people who dominated my own country. Why is May not watching?

“You don’t want to watch the race?”

May sits down on a haybale and avoids my gaze. “She’ll do fine.”

“And they’re off!”

There they go! What powerful beasts. So graceful and yet they can decapitate you with one kick.

“Come on, girl. You can do it,” May mutters.

Something else catches my eye. It’s Lizzie again. Leading a stranger away to the barn. Why is she going with…? I thought she gave up being- That man is armed. Oh no.

I keep my eyes on her and start walking out of the tent. “May, I have to go stop something.”

Walking. Jogging. Sprinting! Have to get through this crowd! Where’s Thomas? Arthur? Anyone?

“John!” Thank God! “Have a spare gun?”

He gives me a funny look. “You know guns aren’t allowed. Who says I’ve got one?”

“Please!” I ask urgently.

He takes off his hat and pulls out a small pistol. “Use it wisely.”

I snatch the weapon and weave back into the sea of people. Lord, help me find her! I know we don't always see eye-to-eye but she can be a good person! Don’t let me be too late-!

“Get the fuck off me!” Lizzie shrieks.

I turn the corner and find the uniformed man shoving her against the wall, the wood slicing into her skin.

I cock the pistol. “Step aside. Now!”

A hand from behind pushes me aside and Thomas steps up with his own gun. “Russel!”

The gun clicks but no bullet fires. The man groping Lizzie ducks down and barrels into Thomas, knocking my gun away in the process. I rush to Lizzie’s side and help her stand. She’s reaching for something- 

“It’s ok, Lizzie,” I whisper. “Give me the gun-!”

She shoves me over and tries to fire it herself. It misfires again.

“Tommy!” Lizzie screeches when the man tries to push his own gun against Thomas’ head.

Bang!

But it’s not Thomas who drops dead. It’s the man called Russel. His brains are painted everywhere.

“Where were you?! Where the fuck were you?!” Lizzie rages hysterically and points the defective gun at Thomas.

Death. I just saw someone get murdered. Life taken. I know it’s not my fault but why do I still feel a fraction of the blame? Could I have stopped it, or did he deserve to die? 

“Just go. Go!” 

Lizzie pushes away and storms back to the bleachers. 

“You too, Verena!”

Thomas grabs my hand but I don’t budge right away. How can I? There’s a fresh corpse right across from me.

“Verena.” He kneels in front of me and makes me look at him. “Darling, it’s alright now. You’re safe-”

“It’s not my safety I’m concerned about. It’s him.” I point to the corpse. “I could’ve stopped him, and now he’s dead.”

“I killed him. Not you.” He rips the gun from my limp hand. “What the fuck were you thinking, Verena?!”

“I thought I was helping! I’m sorry my feeble reaction is too soft for you but I’m not a bloody criminal!”

“You’ve kept above water this long! What happened?”

I gawk at his arrogant face. “Oh, like you’ve never made a mistake! You don’t see me rubbing your bad choices in your face.”

We both know what I’m referring to. 

“Get back to the others,” Thomas orders, still glaring straight at me.

Fine. Very well. Fine! I’ll leave you to get killed or whatever bloody plan you’ve got!

I pivot and march through the muddy stalls back to the roaring crowd. By now the coppers have caught on to the gun violence and are swarming everywhere.

I hurry past the group of Peaky Blinders and Arthur leans in to whisper: “Better duck, Steentra. ‘S about to get messy. Tommy’s about to meet with Sabini.”

Someone walks up behind and I see it’s May, now wearing a beautiful red dress. She seems distracted and points to someone in the crowd. “Who is that?”

John looks over and recognizes who she’s pointing at. “Grace. Tommy’s old flame.”

“I see. Have you known her, Verena?”

My eyes sharpen. “Briefly. She’s the one I saw with him earlier.”

“So we are all part of Tom’s basket of women, are we?” May comments.

I nod towards the table where Lizzie’s hunched over. “Lizzie’s in it too.”

More cops brush past and in the chaos I hear May whisper: “At least he hasn’t broken your heart yet.”

The mention of it makes my blood run cold. “Don’t speak too soon.”

May considers something and gets past me. “I’m going to go talk with her.”

“You’ll play nice?” I joke.

“No hostilities, just an introduction.”

“She may not be so gentle.”

@meadows5

[c3ec3es-findings]

October 3rd -

My uncle has been trying to convince me to leave the shack every once in a while. Make friends, have fun, get into “trouble.” Ha! That’s easy for him to say! He doesn’t have to worry about the fact that he made a deal with a glowing nacho! BUT, more importantly, I put that code into my computer, and I found the answer. Sadly.

“THE GUY WHO WRITES CODES.”

That's it. That's all it was.

- “Burning calories and galaxies.” Very funny

- A bar code? I’m just gonna scan this real quick

“HEY NERD”

Why am I even surprised?

- “Bill Tells Bill All?”

- Kinda self centered of you to be interviewing yourself

- “He's been in your mind, but what's on his?” Hilarious.

He seems pretty keen on not being dead

- Apology video?

- Can “all powerful beings” really have pimples?

UGH! HE KEEPS POPPING UP!

- So, whenever someone draws a picture of a triangle with an eye… that's a doorway?

- The window in this attic is already a triangle, so maybe I don’t have to?

- Ok, here we go, list of Bill’s powers,

1. Mind Reading (Creepy)

2. Possession (Creepier)

3. Cipher-voyance (???)

4. Charisma (Yeah, sure)

5. Pyrokinesis (Ok, Uncle Soos should have a fire extinguisher somewhere, right?)

6. Looking Amazing In Formal Wear (I beg to differ)

7. Geometric Perfection (I’m not not even going to acknowledge that one)

- List of Bills… weaknesses? He wouldn’t really put a list of his weaknesses, right?

1. Synthesized Music (I think I saw a karaoke machine somewhere)

2. Tinfoil (What does this mean? Do I just put it in your face like garlic to a vampire?)

3. McGucket's Memory Gun (Again about that old scientist. Maybe he’d know what to do?)

4. No Physical Form (Wait, so, is this all in my head? Or is he trapped in this book?)

5. Quantum

GOD! STOP! POPPING! UP! I DIDN’T EVEN WANT TO READ THIS BOOK IN THE FIRST PLACE!

YES! CANCEL THE BOOK! I WOULD LOVE TO READ THE GREAT GATSBY INSTEAD! I LOVE GAY MEN IN THE 1920S!

Oh my God, is this actually The Great Gatsby?

I mean, I haven’t read it since I was a freshman but... sure, why not?

- How did a cosmic being get the rights to add almost a quarter of The Great Gatsby to his book?

- Gosh, I hate Tom…

STOP! POPPING! UP! I AM VERY JUMPY!

OK, nope, I need a break. Besides, I’m watching my baby cousin while my uncle and aunt are out. I’ll make more notes later. I may have sold my soul to a demon, I MAY HAVE, but I am NOT on his schedule. He’s the one trapped in the book. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.

[starandcloud]

42!Miles Headcannons

I am on a kick of Spiderverse, so Tumblr gets it-

Miles has separation anxiety with you, which got a lot worse when you started dating, him being the prowler and all

He cannot handle the sound of guns, it makes his anxiety race.

He'd never admit it but he genuinely likes your company, like he'll deny it then go out of his way to find stupid reasons to hang out with you. Which his mom plays into. Miles: Aye, Idiota. Come over. My mom misses you. Y/N: Ooookay? Rio, hugging Y/N: Y/N I've missed you, how've you been? Are you feeling okay? Have you been eating enough? Y/N, laughing: I'm okay Mrs. Morales, thank you for worrying about me though Miles: *Absolutely smitten by how you interact with his mom*

Leaves you gits randomly, like if he's out on a job with his uncle and he sees something he knows you'll like he'll swipe it (and leave money) and either leave it on your desk or put it on your window sill. You've yet to catch him

He HAS stopped and watched you sleep when he left you a gift, not in creepy way more like a "God... They're so perfect..." His eyes, hidden behind his lil mask, softened on you. He only left because the hallway light flicked on and he panicked. That was the loudest he had ever fled from somewhere, he didn't even close your window.

He is really artistic too, he has dozens of sketches of you in his sketchbook. You're his favorite thing to draw

Don't get me wrong, I'm a sucker for Miles wanting to kill someone for you. But he would only think it, he'd never actually act on those thoughts. He couldn't bear the weight of taking a life, even if it was for you. He's a vigilante, remember

As terrifying as he seems, Miles is a HUGE baby when it comes to getting hurt. He'll act like he's fine, but when he's with his Uncle or Mom he cries. Like ugly cries, he's a huge baby-

Has Trypanophobia (The Fear of Needles), hates the sight of them and cannot handle it when he has to get shots

When he cannot handle anything anymore he goes to his dad's Mural and just sits there, he doesn't talk or make any noise. He just sits against the brick, sometimes he cries, sometimes he doesn't but he's always there late at night so no one really sees him

He doesn't talk to anyone he actually has a crush on, like he's flirty as hell with everyone but the person he actually likes he's really blunt and distant. Like a dumbass

I can 100% see Miles being Omni, like he could like anyone as long as he's close to them

We all know Miles' sleep schedule is FUCKED, he's a Vigilante, he doesn't get to sleep much due to everything being at night. But he still gets good grades and sleeps when he can

This is literally one of his posts on Twitter and you CANNOT tell me otherwise-

He isn't really bothered by people who're taller than him, or people who are a few inches shorter. But if you're below his chin he's wary, he's heard enough from Ganke not to mess with people that short. "They have to climb to get things, I don't wanna mess with someone who climbs counters.

I can see him being taller than 1610!Miles, cause 1610!Miles is 5'8" so I can see 42!Miles being anywhere from 5'9 to 5'10". Like it's not a noticeable difference if you're not paying attention, ya know?

Miles does Photography, but it's more of a hobby. He doesn't plan on turning it into a career, but he does it when he's got the chance, his posts look like this

Bubbly_Rose and Vanilla.Coffee.Addict. Are both his mom, different accounts to support her son. Best mom 100%

Miles has dozens of playlists on spotify, most of which are for his friends and family.

Cat person but has a german shepard named Luna

Had dreads ONCE and decided he hated them, so he stuck to his braids

Miles can cook, really really well. His mom and him used to bond through cooking and now it's something he does when he's stressed or upset

Depending on how tired Miles is, is how he sleeps. If he's just a lil sleepy, his legs are kinda bent and his arms are by his head, HOWEVER, if it was after REALLY tiring job with his uncle he kinda just falls onto his bed and sleeps like that

He usually doesn't go to anyone for comfort and comforts himself unless it's really bad then he goes to his mom or (if he really REALLY trusts them) his significant other

Miles has a tendency to flinch/move away from any form of touch that's not from his mother. He gets pins and needles if he's not expecting a touch and it is almost painful, I wouldn't say he's touch-starved but with his mom working so much it's easy to see that he would be

The one thing that brings Miles' to tears is watching his mom work herself to the bone and never being able to take a break. It makes him so mad that he can't help her, without it being obvious, that it reduces him to tears

He cries when he's mad

He hates it when people go through his things or move them. He has everything in a place, everything has to be perfect. Major OCD when it comes to his room, it's his space and he wants it perfectly clean

Miles takes really good care of himself, he keeps himself in shape (outside of being the Prowler) and makes sure to eat and hydrate right

Miles. Is. A. Huge. Softie for little kids. He acts like he can't stand them but the minute he's flashed a toothy smile from a little kid, he can't help but smile back

He considers a few people who aren't family, his family like Ganke

His idea of "A Perfect Vacation" is going anywhere with his mom and Uncle. It could literally be a trip to his Paternal Grandmother's house, and as long as his mom isn't working he is perfectly content

Miles tends to bite his nails and chew on his lips when he's nervous

By FAR the strangest thing Miles has ever seen was one of his classmates straight up touching their eyeball, that happened when he was 13 and it still freaks him out

Miles accepts advice relatively well, he doesn't show it but he does

He hates most pictures, but there was a few that his version Gwen took of him.

He is horrible at talking to someone he's got a crush on, like worse than 1610!Miles ;-;

Miles wakes up before his mom, when she's home, and makes her breakfast, he eats, showers, and goes to school, comes home, does his homework, goes to his boxing class (curtesy of Uncle Aaron), and depending on the day either goes on a job or goes to sleep

He has a few scars on his face from one of the first few jobs he was on when he wasn't far enough away from a bomb when it went off

Ocra. He CANNOT with the texture of it.

He loves stormy weather, its relaxing to him

He loves Fall and winter, the crisp air makes him smile

As a way to waste time, he goes to the gym or draws

When Miles wakes up from a nightmare, he kinda just lays there until he puts his headphones on and falls asleep to whatever song he's listening to

Miles collects little doo-dads from the street, it gives him something to fidget with

Miles knows English, Spanish, and French. He had to take a second language class and he COULDN'T take Spanish, so he's relatively fluent in French

Miles is the type of person to give someone the tightest most affection hugs, like even if he's just friends with the person. Hugs are like "I love you"s for Miles, they're sparing things from him

If Miles had three wishes from a genie he'd wish for: 1. His mother to either be paid more or for her to work less 2. His city to have less issues 3. To talk to his dad again

CROSSOVER: Miles is a gryffindor, with a Kingfisher Patronus and an 11.25 in Applewood wand with Unicorn hair ((I don't support J.K. Rowling))

Miles saw you in his clothes once and it MELTED him, he physically leaned against the wall and smiled stupidly

If you don't typically wear glasses (despite needing them, like my dumbass) and you wear them around Miles. The first time he saw you in them, he was distracted enough he walked into a wall.

Miles will protest being called cheesy things likes "Babydoll", "Pumpkin" "Sweets", "Bubba", "Light of My Life", "Tater Tot" (this happened ONCE, "Sunshine", "Dumpling", "Bambie", and "Babyface". He genuinely loves it when you call him that. Specifically: Babydoll, Pumpkin, and Sunshine. He still likes the other ones but loves those more.

[puffyducks]

DCRC Week #8 (Part 1)

ODIN WEEK! ODIN WEEK! ODIN WEEK!!! It's PKNA #5: Portrait of the Hero as a Young Duck btw. Please enjoy my epic edit- I mean real panel I mean totally real screenshotted and unedited comic panel.

Also, I try to put spoilers for the comics I'm reading about as they happen in the story, but this time I couldn't help myself so beware of reading this if you haven't read the whole chapter yet.

I already have this panel saved in my folder, it's so iconic in my head. He wanna be Batman sooooo bad.

Gotta love these military guys opening fire like their lives depend on it and PK is just behind them making silly little jokes like :D

Wow this guy seems interesting I wonder what his opinions on AI art are

Gorgeous panel and some gorgeous one-point perspective here. Sorry for being an art student but we made a lot of drawings like this and it made me learn that drawing buildings makes me want to die. So this is even more impressive to me in that regard.

Lowkey cute asf for Odin to just put a whimsical little garden in place of where Ducklair tower used to be

Donald is so SAD it breaka my heart 💔 RIP Uno who is totally super dead 💔💔💔

Donald is SO SMALL. Shoutout to the PKNA writers for pushing the entire main Duckverse cast to the side so that they could create an all-new roster of characters that all fucking TOWER over Donald in height. Lyla, Angus, Xadhoom, Styvesant, soon to be Odin in like a few pages. If you need to know anything it's that Paperinik is a little SHRIMP and he is so tiny and small and the most specialest boy ever.

haha..... yeah..................

DEFEND UNO'S LEGACY DONALD!!!!! Also Lyla... okay and I guess Geena cause she's the ACTUAL robot he's defending-

This is the part where I look at the camera like it's an episode of The Office btw. If you know you know.

babygirl

OOOOH SHIT IT'S YA BOI!!! I forgot about him trying to meet Donald by just slamming his ship into theirs. Like I GUESS that's a surefire method to speak to someone...

Cheeky son of a-

GEENA YOU FUCKING NARC

Snitches get stitches Geena... (imagine a little text pops up on screen like in a video game and says "Geena will remember that")

Hmmmm where have I seen this shot before.... *flashback to issue #0.1 which I put a filter over to make sure you know it's a flashback to an earlier chapter*

oh right.

Crying over this shot they BOTH wanna be Batman man 😭 two dumdums that were made for each other

He's so cheeky I hate him (affectionate)

So obviously they bring up that Odin just means "One" (or Uno) but it's also worth pointing out what an Eidolon is. Eidolon is a Greek term, meaning "a spirit-image of a living or dead person; a shade or phantom look-alike of the human form" (at least according to Wikipedia).

"ODIN EIDOLON" LITERALLY TRANSLATES TO "UNO'S GHOST" I FUCKING HATE HIM. I'M SMASHING HIM WITH HAMMERS. AFFECTIONATELY.

Anyways to wrap up with some final thoughts-

Something that doesn't really get addressed in this comic (probably for plot reasons, it's not super relevant) is just how comforting it must be for Donald to travel to the future and see that the Evronian Empire is all but wiped out, a shell of its former self. Obviously timelines can still change, we saw that in Day of the Cold Sun, but it still must be nice to see that all the fighting he does is going to pay off in a big way.

Btw remember that bit in an earlier chapter about Uno finding Lyla attractive? Yeah well I should think so considering that YOU'RE THE ONE THAT BUILT HER- Okay well he's not the DESIGNER but still I think that connection is funny ok. I wonder if Uno scanned Odin's gun and was like "oh"

I like this comic, I think it's another really good one. I mean it's no Earthquake but still, between Day of the Cold Sun, Earthquake, and then this volume I feel like we've just had banger after banger after banger. I'm also super stoked to have Odin in the story now, even if thinking about Uno way outliving Donald and being excited to see him again after 200 years makes me really depressed if I think about it too hard. I'm happy that he got to escape the confines of Ducklair tower and even got a cunty green suit in the process though, good for him. Donald is REALLY gonna regret not accepting that explanation from Uno though, RIP 🙏 SUUURELY he'll figure it out one of these days guys. Like EVENTUALLY. Right???

[countrymusiclover]

3 - War Follows You

Part 4

Dr. Redheaded Neighbor

Tag list - send an ask to be added @annieradcliff

Who should Mallory have a friendship with besides Will? Let me know in the comments

“Stay put gang. Go search Maxon.” I held up my hand signaling for the rest of my team to stay back behind me. We were responsible for locating some hidden explosives that were supposed to be shipped out somewhere we weren’t sure of.

Maxon ran forward entering the house through the nearest window. “Easton, we’ve got visual.” One of my team members came over showing me a camera.

Maxon had a camera attached to the top of his vest and we could see everywhere he went. He went from one bedroom to another until he entered a basement showing us a wall lined up with boxes upon boxes of explosives. “He’s got’em. Move in.” I dropped my hand and our team made our way slowly into the house.

My boots banged on the stairs, and I was the last one to come down into the basement. “Easton! There’s foot traffic over here.”

“You think someone else has already came down here?” I asked my friend Antler.

Antler shakes his head no, brushing his fingers on the fresh footsteps hearing some movement behind some of the boxes. “Look at these markings. These are fresh just like our boots will be which means- “

“Someone else is down here.” I finished his train of thought.

I heard a women’s voice make a noise before a few of us draw out our firearms and aimed them in the direction. “Ah!”

“Come out with your hands up!” I called out while Maxon bared his teeth seeing a figure come around the corner.

The figure was a dark-skinned man all covered in different types of robed fabric. “You have no right to be down here. You are trust passing.” He held a woman against his chest with a gun to her head.

“Sir these explosives were stolen from a nearby US army base. They do not belong to you.” Antler explained to the man.

The guy pointed the gun at us, waving it around where I was nervous that it could go off at anytime. “You are the trust passers here. God will make you pay for what you did to my kids.”

“Ma’am, can you tell us what happened to your kids?” I asked her.

She winced beginning to cry before her husband shoved her onto the ground. “A bomb went off – destroyed our house – uh!”

“I will not let you take her from me. We shall be reunited with them in heaven.” The guy drew something out from behind his back, holding up a switch with a big red button and then I noticed the timer on the nearest explosion box.

Maxon started barking his head off bolting up the stairs when I hollered to my team. “Weapons hot. I repeat weapons hot!” I ran as fast as I could letting the rest of my team go up first hearing the ticking getting louder behind me.

I managed to get out of the door watching Maxon leap up into the low flying helicopter that had the rest of my team inside. “Mallory!” Antler called my name holding out a hand for me. I screamed barely grabbing his hand by the time the building blew up.

“No! I - I’m sorry.” I thrashed in the blankets of my bed throwing my arms and legs about. My chest was tightening, and I shot awake when I felt a hand touch my shoulder.

“Mallory – woah- “I heard someone say before I twisted the person’s wrist the opposite way where they winced in pain.

I drew my other hand into a fist trying to figure out who the intruder was and how he got inside my apartment. “Who the hell are you, intruder!”

“It’s me, Mal. Here look.” The guy used his other hand turning on the lamp that sat on my nightstand bringing light into my dark bedroom. I blinked my eyes adjusting to the light finally seeing who it actually was.

“Will.”

He nodded feeling my fingers loosen their grasp on his wrist. “Yeah, it’s me. You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry. I was just sleeping and then – I hurt you.” I reached for his wrist again tracing my thumb over the nails scars that I had dug into his skin.

He moved his wrist from my hand and instead intertwined my hand with his own. “You don’t have to apologize, Mal. Trust me when I say I have the chance of getting hurt much worse at the ED than I do with your nails digging into me.”

“I’m aware. I just feel bad about it.” I replied feeling the bed confuter shift when Maxon leaped up onto the bed and laid down on the other side of me. Will and I were very close, so I never wanted to hurt him in any way and he didn’t want to do anything to upset me.

Will left the bedroom and I heard him flip a switch on in the kitchen. Maxon laid his head in my lap and I slowly ran my fingers through his fur. I also could hear the microwave go on and off and it was a few minutes later he came back with a cup in his hand that he held out for me. “From what I’ve read it says that hot chocolate or coffee helps calm some people down and help your bawl movement too.”

“Will, I appreciate the concern. But I will be perfectly fine without that.” I shake my head no. He meant well but I could see his face shift into full on doctor mode like the drop of a hat. So, I doubt he’d let me decline his help now.

Will sits down at the edge of the bed seeing me pull my knees up close to my chest. “Mallory, this will help I promise. And I’m not leaving until you drink it.” He held out the warm mug again where I took it with a heavy sigh.

I sent him a glare raising the cup to my mouth sipping the liquid. The warm liquid went down my throat and I felt a warm feeling build in my stomach. My shoulders dropped in relief when I laid my back against the pillows behind me. “You’re a pretty good doctor to me, Halstead.”

“Thanks.” He smiled back at me. Silence fell between the three of us in the room, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. His gaze scanned over my face, and he held his gaze with mine pausing before he said another word. “Can I ask what the nightmare was about exactly?”

“Um.” I trailed off tapping my fingers on the red coffee cup.

He drew his question back till I shake my head no. “If it’s too emotional I understand if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“I can talk about it. It’s just – it happened on my first mission out.” I sucked in a breath closing my eyes thinking back on the day it happened. “We were supposed to be retrieving some explosives that were stolen from one of our old bases nearby. It was out in the dessert of Afghanistan. We got information from an informant that they believed the explosives were held up in a hut out in the dunes.”

Will nodded in response. “So, you and Maxon were assigned to locate the explosives for your unit.”

“Yes, and we successfully did find them. Except we didn’t expect that the guy who stole them would be there.” I blinked through some tears sitting the coffee cup down on the nightstand table. “When we found the guy inside the basement, he came around the corner and – he was a little shit for using his wife as a shield. They had lost their kids because another unit before us so they hated us coming in.”

Will touches my knee seeing that my chest was heaving up and down with some tears falling down my face. “You don’t have to tell me anymore if you don’t want to.”

“I’m alright, Will. Um – he didn’t care about her safety, so he threw her on the ground like dirt and pulled out a dedtinator. He pressed it without a second thought and we barely made it out alive.” Maxon made a whimpering noise when I wiped away tears. “Every time I – I close my eyes I see her face. I think how horrible of a life that was for her. And – I couldn’t do anything to stop him.”

Will scooted forward on the bed motioning for Maxon to switch to the other side of the bed. “Woah, woah, hey now. I’m right here.” He wrapped his arms around my shaking body seeing me getting more emotional about the nightmare.

“She’s dead because of me. She’s – I - she’s gone.” I began crying into the fabric of his shirt, clutching my fingers into the fabric.

He rested his chin on top of my head holding me as close to his embrace as possible. “You did everything you could. You hear me, Mallory. You did what you could.” I felt one of his hands raise up and gently ran through my hair attempting to calm me down.

“Will, how did you get into my apartment?” The thought popped into my head once I had stopped sobbing so much.

I lifted my head up slightly from his chest and he kept playing with my hair. “You gave me a key remember.” He chuckled lightly at me.

“Oh right – my bad.” I laid my head back down in his chest and he squeezed me against his warm embrace. We laid in the bed and Maxon laid down at our feet watching over me before I fell back to sleep. “Thank you for being here.”

Will kissed my hair watching me fall asleep before he fell asleep himself. “You’re welcome, Mal.”

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[saint-hymn]

Actually please do go on about what guns everyone would have/use 👀

ANON DONT ENABLE MY CRINGEEE NOOO

as a disclaimer i'm working off knowledge off the top of my head so they wont be like 100% accurate but then who else in the dsmp fandom is as insane as i am. also i'm only doing characters i'm a bit confident about because if the silent majority considers me mischaracterizing and genuinely cringe i will explode into shrapnel

also, this is excluding firearms that don't shoot bullets, because giving c!wil an RPG-7 is 1. too funny 2. actually accurate 3. he would have it in game given the chance but it's far less poetic

i'll probably add more as i get more confident pinning down each character's quirks, stay tuned

with that said,

c!Wilbur

as an alternative to "literally everything that launches explosives, honestly, have you seen the man?" and "he just throws a mortar round around for fun" a shotgun.

more specifically, a Winchester Model 97 -- famed for it's ability to literally "slamfire" or fire as fast as you can pump it. it's loud; every shot is a point made, 9 fuck-yous launched at 396 meters per second. it's a cloud of metal punching you in the face up close and personally. 5 rounds in the tube and 1 in the chamber, though, the proceeding violence is brief and explosive; don't throw away even a single shot

its solidly made, takes a beating, and most importantly: it's dangerous if you're not more than careful with it

c!Tommy

toms gets a DMR — a Designated Marksman Rifle, or "we just took this assault rifle (that's made for close- and medium-range combat) and put high hopes into it (be something for medium-long range combat, too short for proper sniper rifles and too long for regular assault rifles)

most of the time there aren't any big accurization modifications to it. you just slap a longer barrel and a scope on it. it's trying to fill some pretty large shoes better fit for a proper battle rifle. always needs to be something bigger than itself

specifically it's a DMR'd AR-10; reliable enough, could take a beating, well-known, well-rounded, and well-loved.

i have a headcanon that it'd have a piece of green cloth around its handguard for a better grip. its from tubbo.

c!Quackity

oh you've been waiting for this

that is a Colt Peacemaker (officially the Single Action Army) and it can be chambered in (fit) a lot of different calibers (bullet size) but i'm picking .45 ACP

it's engraved, of course it is. pearl grip. a status symbol and a symbol of power, more than anything

twice as loud and twice as shiny as god's own. every trigger pulled and crack is a sharp punctuation. precise, pinpoint bad day for whatever is on the wrong end of it. a true classic!

very much well loved honestly you ask someone to draw an old timey revolver and they'd probably draw the peacemaker's silly little hump (or a variation of Smith and Wesson's stuff, i don't judge)

Schlatt would probably have something like this. Quackity probably wrenched it off his dead body and re-engraved it to spit on the man one last time