#fuckin BEAUTIFUL

[melvinthedepressedrobot]

salted licorice my beloved

[shownumetal]

there’s no better feeling than thinking you still have one more day of work left and then realizing u have the day off

[shadysidcrs]

let's bring back one-liners with huge gifs, not everything has to be an 800+ word deep dive into a character's feelings and thoughts about the cute guys who break their hearts maybe my characters have never had a thought in their lives, speak one line at a time and have pretty faces, maybe that's it!!!!!

[abysshearted]

Kaveh: "Your smile must be a black hole, nothing can escape its pull."

"my, you're the charmer aren't you? i can see why alhaitham complains, he can't appreciate true intellect."

[dragonanon]

This might be the greatest thing I’ve seen all week

hedgehog stew

[the-gay-cryptid]

Shout out to my theatre professor who made an assignment where I get to rant about how much I love Electra

[pigswithwings]

PRINTER?? or brick phones :3

hi its been like 4 months enjoy

[inbabylontheywept]

Soviet Birds.

The secret facility that I work in has holes in the ceiling. We don't know how to get them fixed.

We tried asking the government to fix it, once. We told them that the holes in the older parts of the facility had gotten large enough to fit birds through, and that birds were getting through, and that, perhaps, a Soviet Spy could fit through as well.

After all, it is well known that Soviet Spies and pigeons are approximately the same diameter.

Our hope was that that this vague and nonsensical threat would put a little fire under Uncle Sam's feet. If the fed couldn't be bothered to give a shit about the giant gaping holes in the roof of our facility, perhaps they could be persuaded to give a shit about... Soviet Spies.

This attempt at manipulation 100% blew up in our faces.

See, the government does not need to be persuaded to give a shit about Soviet Spies. It still wakes up most nights, drenched in cold sweat, terrified and confident that a Soviet Spy is hiding in their nightstand. If it sees a rock on the ground, it flips it over, pistol drawn, ready to shoot the Soviet Spy it fully expects to slither out from underneath. Which is to say: The government is crazy. So when we dropped those two words - inflitration risk - in the repair request, they came in guns-a-blazin'.

Does that mean that they fixed the roof? Of course not. Don't be stupid. No, instead of performing basic maintenance, they installed a state of the art alarm system throughout the facility - lasers, sonar, the works - and told us to always be on the guard. Because of the roof holes.

Then they left.

So now we had an extremely good alarm system... and birds. Which have combined in incredibly obvious and predictable ways to produce an unending fountain of problems.

For Example: About once a month, someone gets called in by the local airforce dispatch because AAAAAAAAAAA a Spy is in the Rad Lab! We're all gonna die! Except every time, it's a bird. And I get why we have to check, but every time, the dispatcher is panicked and the person going out has to be like listen, listen: It's a bird. It's always a bird. It's been a bird every month for the last fifteen years. It will be a bird next month. All this stress? Bad for your heart.

Second Example: Sometimes, birds get in while we're actually working. And when it's in the morning, you know, it's a nuisance, and it stops testing (we are not going to risk irradiating a bird) but it's not an all-hands-on-deck situation because it doesn't take ten hours to get a bird out. But surprisingly often, the bird gets in riiiiight at closing time, and in that situation, everyone goes feral because nobody can leave until the alarm is set, and we cannot set the alarm while the bird is there, because the bird would immediately trigger it and then we'd have to stay another 4 hours to confirm that it was not a Soviet Bird.

So in order to go home, everyone's top priority is Get That Bird. And we have a system for it.

Step 1: The test stands tend to be located in rooms with 30+ foot ceilings. We can't catch birds in places like that - so we have to lure the bird into the relatively low ceilinged (8 feet only) upper offices.

We do this by turning all the lights off in the test rooms, then putting floodlights by the exits. I don't know why this works - some kind of evolutionary brain fragment shared by both Bugs and Birds - but work it does. The birds almost always follow after the lights. From there, it’s just two guys moving the floodlight and a third guy to turn off the lights.

Step 2: Everyone else has been waiting for this step. There is this long stairway up from the basement level into the offices, and in the final stage, the floodlights are brought to the base of the stairwell to bring the bird up. At the top of the steps there will be a group of tennish people, waiting for the signal. The light guys will set up the final transfer, everyone will tense, and then, swish...a bird will flit up the stairs and into the offices.

It's like watching werewolves on a full moon. Before the bird cometh, we are engineers. Nerds. Pale and skinny things, trembling under the fluorescent lights. After the bird, we are beasts. Feral, gnawing things, glowing under the orange sunrise of the 70's halogen floodlights.

And like all beasts, we cannot help but give chase.

Step 3: The were-engineers begin the hunt. The goal at the start is not really to catch the bird - just exhaust it. So the pack simply does not relent. Because the stakes are going home on time, the group is basically given free reign to go anywhere in the building. If someone's door is open, and the bird goes inside, they're going to have to deal with ten sweaty panting maniacs leaping around their office. They don't get to say that they're busy, or remark on how all this movement is a terrible distraction. They are allowed to sit in silence during the chaos, and perhaps thank the war party for chasing the bird while they sat comfortably on their ass. This has been explained several times, and it will continue to be explained until cooperation is achieved.

Anyway.

The chase can go on for quite some time. Sometimes, the bird will get tired and find a crevice to hide in, where it can then be reached through standard cornered-bird catching techniques.

Other times, it will slow down enough that someone can actually yoink it out of the air. But this will go on until someone catches the bird and triggers Step 4.

Step 4: The Finale. This is the get-the-bird-out-of-the-building stage, and it requires someone to adopt a specific role: To Become the Sacrificial Vessel of Bird Removal.

This job is both coveted and feared. It's coveted, because holding a wild bird in one's hands is a precious thing. To feel how small, and fragile, and scared it is, only to free it from the building? That is what it's like to be a benevolent God. But the cost! Oh, the cost. The entire time the Vessel is in motion, the bird will be biting the hell out of their fingers. And I cannot emphasize enough just how painful bird bites are. Their entire face is a set of needle posed pliers, and they know tricks the even the cartels haven't figured out yet. So there's always a little hubbub about who shall be The Vessel while onlookers, stranded outside The Office of Bird Capture, can only look on. Quiet arguments and pleas are heard, little fragments of fear and pride and glory trickling out of room like the silver dust left behind in a bag of well shook quarters. The sound of concensus is silence, and the argument will go on until that's all that's left. And then, from the darkness of the final office, the chosen sacrifice will step forward: Hands gently cupped, tears streaming down their face, fingers trembling from the pain of the ongoing bird chomps.

And this scene is what organizes people. Not leadership, not truly. No one can think and coordinate a crowd while their fingers are being attacked with a combination nutcracker/ear piercer. But the crowd sees the suffering of their annointed, and it is driven to do everything poossible to make the process flow. People instinctively flair out, finding the fastest path outside. Doors are held open. Paths are cleared. Someone, somehow, always knows the way forward and can describe it to the sufferer. Left, left, forward. Corner closet. Yep, there's a hall in there. Forward. Two-hundred more feet man, you're doing great. Just hold it together a little longer. You're killing it.

Then the final door swings open, and the bird flees out into what remains of daylight. And yet, even here, the deed is not yet done. I cannot explain it in words, but the crowd that helped is never content until they can see and speak on the Bird Vessel's wounds. They all have to pull the fingers back and see what was given. Estimate the price: One day to get better - No, three - No, a week! Are you blind? Do you see that blood blister? -Yeah, that's not going away anytime soon - Damn, can you believe how feisty those things are? Like wolves without teeth.

(They cannot help but touch as they go. It has always been this way. Even Thomas was not content until he felt the wounds in Christ's hands.)

Only when the last of the helpers has seen, and commented, and commended, will the engineers scatter. It is their return from the underworld that announces to the sun living surface dwellers that they too can go home. (@somerunner tolja it needed to be a post.)

[kangals]

have definitely harped on this before but it really does just drive me absoluely insane when you see a dog breeder talking the big talk of "well i dont breed my dogs FOR DOG SHOWS because i dont BELIEVE in showing, dog shows are just BEAUTY PAGEANTS and mean NOTHING, i breed my dogs for WHAT MATTERS which means HEALTH and TEMPERAMENT and GREAT FAMILY PETS!!" and then you go to look at their dog for more info and it's the most poorly-structured off-type albino lilac double merle dog you've ever seen with zero titles and a single Embark panel as proof of health testing.

[isabelleadjani]

THE SECRET OF US (2024) Dir. Nay Saratswadee Wongsomphet│Episode 4

[dragonanon]

Nature is healing

There are new retro-90s-style Beanie Babies and they're amazing???

[qu1etdays]

When in doubt. Contact your hypnotist and get dropped, put in your place, and then look at yourself.

As you look into the camera, admire how completely hypnotized you are and sinnkkkkkkiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnngggggg

📸: @upallweek

[staticespace]

what a great and accepting response, tumblr user pisshandkerchief /jk

*guy who has repressed every feeling he's ever had* yeah I'm just really good at rolling with the punches I guess haha

[meanyart]

"Do we have a deal?"

[seagulljail]

Begin ID - Black and white drawing of Kim Kitsuragi driving the Kineema seen from where the passenger seat would be. He sits with his head against the headrest, hands firmly grasping the control sticks. His expression is firm and stoic. You can see a shining dawn behind him peeking out from the sea. - End ID

early morning, on the way to Martinaise

[explorevenus]

haaay venus.. listen HEAR ME OUT TELL ME IF THIS MAKES SENSE

tw for sexual abuse/manipulation

okay so boom, puppy girl x older!leon an iconic duo but puppy baby is adopted by leon after she’s been sitting in a shelter

poor thing was part of some sorta recuse mission from a hybrid prostitution ring and that’s all she’s ever known,, but leon wouldn’t force her to anything but she’s so eager to show him how she loves and leon isn’t gonna deny her and is more than happy for her to show how she does that

quite on quite special thing she can do end quote

omg sorry if this is random but idk i was thinking i had to share

HIIIIII THANK U FOR SITTING PATIENTLY IN MY INBOX WHILE I SCRAPED MY BRAIN UP OFF THE FLOOR TO RESPOND TO THIS!!!!!!!!!!! the best asks are the ones that start w "hear me out" and "tw for manipulation" like HELLOOOO????? i am HERE!!!! and i got carried away soo this is basically a one-shot LOL

wc: 1.3k

tw for power imbalance, naive puppy girl reader, and precisely one instance of reader calling leon 'daddy'

so anyway ok i love this concept esp if u think of it being di!leon where he's kinda out of the woods as far as his alcoholism goes but he clearly still has some screws loose (esp after maria concussed the ever loving FUCK out of him at alcatraz) bc i think he's outwardly normal for the most part but...... only for the most part..

BUT LISTEN LISTEN I'M NOT SAYING HE'S EVIL OR ANYTHING JUST STAY WITH ME FOR A SEC HERE

so of course, leon being leon, he feels this intense need to protect you after you're rescued, because he saw firsthand the conditions you were living in, the inhumane expectations placed upon you, the lack of proper treatment, the way it all affected you. he never went into this with any kind of intention of taking advantage of you at all.

but you certainly don't make it easy for him.

you're so sweet, so grateful to him for saving you and giving you a good home with him, and you look at him like he hung the fucking moon. he's not coming home to an empty apartment anymore, he's coming home to an eager and excitable puppy girl clinging to his knees and smothering him in wet kisses and grinding her drooling cunt all over his boot.

the first time it happened, he barely knew how to react, because he was just so caught off-guard. he tutted at you and caught your attention with a sharp whistle, commanding you to heel, and you did, but not without a sorrowful whine and the most pouty expression he'd ever seen in someone's wide, pleading eyes, like you were starving and he'd just scolded you for daring a bite to eat.

it made him feel like a monster and he didn't know how to handle it. you were whining and asking him why, but he wasn't sure how to explain why. he wasn't sure how to explain to you that it just wasn't appropriate to do things like that without asking, because you'd only ever known doing things like that without asking, or being asked. he didn't want to continue that cycle with you, he didn't want to set the precedent that you owed him anything, especially not that you owed him anything like that.

but that didn't stop him from stroking his dick raw to the thought of you the first chance he got, pumping his cock in the shower with a hand over his mouth like a teenager trying not to get caught. it made him feel like a nasty old perv, but jesus christ, that warmth on your cheeks, the lack of focus in your eyes, the way your pink tongue fluttered out to wet your plush bottom lip... it was so wrong, but fuck, it made him so god damn hard, he couldn't help it.

it was the six-month anniversary of the day he brought you home that he finally, finally caved. he'd brought you your favorite dinner, showered you in new toys and treats and anything else your little heart desired, he even took you on a walk! by the end of the evening you were so giddy but so tuckered out, and leon was quite pleased with himself for spoiling you.

and you were quite pleased with him too.

you were snuggled up on the couch together watching a movie, your head in his lap, his fingers stroking lovingly through your hair, and all you could think about was how lucky you were. how grateful. leon was your whole world now, so kind and attentive and sweet to you after so many years of being used up and tossed aside like a tissue by a revolving door of scary people. you adored him, you loved him. and you really wanted to show it.

the last few times you'd tried, he hadn't been outwardly receptive, but you were hoping he'd keep up his streak of spoiling you today, because your mouth was already watering and your panties were just as wet.

so you pawed at the front of his jeans a little bit, nuzzling your head closer to the center of his lap. it didn't require a stroke of genius to understand what you were getting at, the implication clear as day, but the short time it took for him to decide how to handle this was enough for your attention to ramp up to a degree he could no longer ignore.

you were tugging at his fly with your teeth, little hands seeking out the button and the hem in tandem, and it was all he could do to clear his throat and tug gently at your hair to make you pause what you were doing to look at him. your pupils were wide like saucers.

"what'cha doin' down there, pretty puppy?" he asked casually-- despite the way his sex was starting to throb right now-- quirking a brow at you.

"playing," you grinned, chancing a light kitten lick to his navel, where his shirt had ridden up a touch. "saying 'thank you.'"

that response would have broken his heart if his heart wasn't currently so preoccupied with pumping all his blood to his dick, the delicate pass of your tongue along his happy trail making him shudder. "saying 'thank you?'"

"yeah," you moaned, nodding dumbly against his grip at your hair. "you're so nice to me, daddy, i love you so much... i jus' wanna say thank you..."

and for fuck's sake, how could he possibly say no to that? you were panting and whining and squirming all over him like you were in fucking heat, drooling all over the denim that restricted his growing interest, because you wanted this. you wanted him, you wanted to thank him and express your love for him in the only way you knew how. what sense did it make for him to continue denying you that, huh? on your half-gotcha-day, no less...

"fuck it," he grumbled to himself, head falling back so he could stare at the ceiling while he helped you yank his pants down, because quite honestly, he couldn't really look at himself right now.

but you? oh, you. you were so pretty as you draped to your knees between his spread legs and lapped at the underside of his dick, eyes rolling back and saliva dribbling down your chin, one hand sneaking down between your own legs to toy with your clit while you worked. he'd never seen someone so painfully turned on by servicing others, like it'd been beaten into your head from the dawn of time, and there was just no other mode of function for you.

you poor thing.

his calloused hand came down to grasp a handful of your hair, tugging at the space between your soft ears and just barely catching the way your tail swung haphazardly back-and-forth like a metronome of dead weight to the pace of your slurping and moaning. everything about this was so fucking obscene, he hadn't even finished yet and he already felt like he needed to take a shower, but then he just started thinking about fucking you in the shower, and that was the moment he knew he was done for.

there was no way in hell this would be a one-time thing with the way you were blowing him like the rent was due and loving every minute of it. he feared he just found his new favorite hobby.

"g-god, baby, fuck," he groaned, hips jerking forward to push himself that much deeper down your throat, and aside from a quiet whine of surprise, you seemed to adjust to it pretty quickly. "i... i don't even wanna know who taught you that, just... ngh... don't fucking stop..."

and you didn't. you couldn't, not until he'd reach his end and give you your treat. leon hadn't even noticed you'd flooded your panties with cum twice over already, the pads of your fingers still desperately circling your aching jewel, occasionally dipping further down to tease at your hole because it just felt so good to finally do this for him, to finally taste him as you'd dreamed of for so long, to tell him thank you.

his grip at your hair tightened, his hips shaking and rutting into your silky mouth, and at last, he erupted on your tongue with a long, deep groan. you were drinking him in so greedily that he nearly had to push you off, the overstimulation bringing him to the brink of his own control. but as soon as his hand switched from pulling you closer to nudging you back, you took the hint, and you pulled off of his cock with a wet sound.

you were both panting for breath now, but you looked like an adorable little mess with all that drool along your mouth and tears leaking from your eyes. more than anything, though, you looked sated, like you'd just had your first meal in weeks... so did he really have anything to feel guilty about?

"that's a good girl, sweetheart," he cooed breathlessly, scratching lazily behind your ears as you squished your cheek up against his inner thigh, preening. "such a good baby..."