#got real lazy doing that
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heck park
i got really inspired all of sudden and i just wanted to draw them so i just did
give me all ur money rigth now or the damienplush gets it
#south park#south park au#southpark#south park art#artists on tumblr#lazy art#got real lazy doing that#pip pirrup#hellpark#sp au#hell park#hellpark pip
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đ àŁȘË ÖŽÖ¶Öžđđ: sexual content ahead, husband!bale!batman, fem!reader on top, riding, some dirty talk, soft sex, not my best writing but fr fr donât come for me im just trying to post things okay? ahhhhhhh đđ€đ» maybe some typos đ i oughta be ashamed of myself fr fr đđđ€đ»đ€đ» âËâčâĄ
âËâč⥠đđđđđ đđđđđ; eccentric billionaire, former eligible bachelor, orphan boy, son, rich playboy.
Labels. These were all just labels Bruce never particularly cared for nor paid attention to, monickers used to try and simplify who he really was so he could be easier understood. Labels used to better classify him because rich men like him supposedly didnât have depth or purpose beyond what the media claimed him to have.
They were just labels, words that barely scratched the surface of who he really was.
Bruce had been called many things in his life, too many awful and offensive things he had quickly learned not to pay attention to. Caring gave them meaning, he was told so early on, caring gave them significance. Now, he really couldnât care less.
Throughout the course of his life, throughout all the tragedy and grief, Bruce had learned to ignore it all; the names, the judgments, the looks, the labels. His indifference had become second nature, an innate response to anybody trying to provoke him.
He didnât really have a choice anyway. There were too many people praying on his downfall since his birth, too many people biting at the fruits of his labor to see if they were ripe enough for the taking. Selfish, greedy, money hungry men desperate for his demise.
Sharks lurking in untamed depths ready to snatch him up if he swam too far, hiding in the black shores with their sharp teeth bared and beady eyes hungry.
Despite what many people believed, Bruce didnât have it so easy in the sense of work and spirit. When you were rich like he was, famous like he was, as powerful as he was, everyone believed you couldnât possibly be burdened by anything.
That he was too spoiled by the grandness of life that it had gradually bled into a lack of work ethic, that it was his last name that gave him any status at all, that it was his reputation that gave him everything he had without him having to ask for it.
He had the money to fix any problem, the influence to hide any scandal, the face to get him out of any situation he needed to get out of.
He was CEO of Wayne Enterprises for gods sake, son to Thomas Wayne, a man that was great and beloved all in his own right. Yes, people had doubted Bruceâs ability to lead, to run a business after so long of being away from it, but then he came back and proved them all wrong as he usually did.
Being someone so honorably renowned in Gotham City, someone that carried the Wayne name at that, it came with its own barrel of familial obligation and responsibility outside of his own personal commitments. He couldnât disappoint anyone, could never fathom disappointing his late father.
Working by day a normal man with a bullet on his back, a price on his head to any hungry buisness man willing to do whatever it took to get to the top. Then working by night as Batman with the bruises and scars to show for it. Someone every criminal and lowlife in Gotham City wanted dead.
Batman, not so much a label as he was a separate being entirely. It was Bruce, but he couldnât find any similarities between the polite buisness man wearing a suit by day and the other man wearing a blood stained mask by night. One was forced to coerce with society in the manner of business and passive aggressive smiles, another undertaking the grueling task of removing the grime from it.
Bruce Wayne was all expensive cologne and hand shake deals, money hungry tabloids and self absorbed white collars. It was a life always on display, always the center of attention, always everyone elseâs focus.
Batman was purely mystery and intrigue. Hidden from sight yet found in every shadow, heard in the trembled whisper of every breath. No one knew who he was yet he had somehow gotten all of their attention. Everyone eager to know who was behind the mask but no one ready to answer for why he existed in the first place.
The only similarities they shared were the cause for conspiracy. Whether it was Bruce or Batman they stole every headline â always someone trying to figure them out, bring their true identity to light and spread more moral quandary about whether they were right or wrong for every choice they made.
Pure opposite lives he juggled in the same two hands.
No, he did not have it easy. Always more enemies than friends and more snakes than family. Every hour, every minute, every second he spent left exposed there was always someone right behind him ready to push him if he faltered.
He had to be careful; always be passive and nice, diplomatic and respectful to those he knew wanted him gone, to the people who wanted his seat at the head of the table and the money in his bank. Bruce had to be the CEO his father wanted him to be, the one he was destined to be, the one etched into his history before he was even born.
He had a reputation to uphold, a legacy to live, a job to do.
But no, it was not always easy.
Being rich and handsome like he was did have its downsides, as meager as they may seem to less fortunate individuals. Many people hated Bruce Wayne just for those simple, superficial things alone. His looks, his status, his job he was so rightfully given. Apparently this made him an asshole, arrogant, narcissist.
It was looks of hatred and envy from men heâd never even met, women heâd abandoned after a steamy two hour hookup (not that he did those anymore but women loved to hold a grudge), businessmen who cursed him to hell and back for his amount of wealth and fame he had no control over.
He didnât care about these people anyway. These rambunctious, single minded people who preyed on the weak and ate the hopeless. They were all self centered, arrogant, narcissistic. Self absorbed scum unwilling to put in the hard work necessary to be as successful as he was.
On the opposite side of the spectrum, Bruce was often regarded as someone lonely, someone lost, someone desolate and pitiful. He was a coward, hiding in his soulless black mansion under thick piles of money ever since the fatal death of his parents. So sad, an orphan, just depressing.
That was hushed whispers behind his back and somber stares, awkward, harrowing smiles from coworkers and the front pages of newspapers. Bruce Wayne back from hiding after all this time⊠living on his fatherâs name⊠will he fail or carry on the legacy of the great Wayne fortune⊠yada yada yada.
Just more words. Pointless and purposeless, written to appease the swill of Gotham with no real substance behind them. Gossip, false news, attention grabbing headlines that were purely speculation.
However, as much as he hated labels â more so his â whatever names he got called behind his back, Bruce couldnât find it in sensible reason to argue that they werenât pieces of who he really was. Fabrics of his character torn out thread by thread and poked and needled at by societies curious hands.
They were just pieces, stretched and torn so far from the truth but yet the original strings were still there, hanging on in remembrance of what he truly was chaotically intertwined in the lies and deception of what people thought him to be. Too shredded to be properly understood but still thriving in the undercurrents of whatever he was now being labeled as and people were now foolishly believing him to be.
Yes, they were just labels. But labels that were not so far from factual truths.
However again, none of those words mattered to him as much as this did, as much as the one label that he truly cared about.
Husband.
Your husband.
The only title he held in the same esteem as Batman and Wayne Enterprises CEO, perhaps even higher. It was one of the only labels that carried a semblance of true meaning, one he didnât shy from.
Husband. It was the only honorific that mattered to him, one of the only sentiments that made him feel actual pride in who he was. Husband was something real, concrete, not some anonymous opinion in a paper or a cruel murmur in a hallway.
It was the label that pierced him through and through especially in moments like this, moments when your hips were rolling deeply on top of his and he was buried balls deep inside your warmth.
He couldnât think about anything in this moment. Nothing and everything at the same time as your finger nails, freshly manicured and glittering, gripped into his shoulder blades as you rolled your hips once again.
Bruce winced pleasantly, jaw clenching as his head leaned back into the softness of his black silken pillows. Brown hair frazzled and stringy, his smooth skin alight with a soft, lovesick glow.
You rolled your hips once more in a soft soothing motion, nothing too rough and nothing too fast; the evening had called for something more sensual in the delicacy of Bruceâs touch and the softness of his words just an hour prior.
âOh BruceâŠâ You sighed dreamily, hands pressing into his bulky arms as he sighed out a trembled breath from his nose.
Your thighs tightened around his waist, his heavy hands squeezing your hips but not as to pressure you, only to keep you connected to him at the hilt so he was never too far out of you.
âThatâs good, sweetheart, get it just like that⊠mmhmm.â Bruce swallowed heavily, voice low and raw as his eyebrows furrowed over darkened hazel eyes. Fingers thrumming on your skin as you pulsed around him, wetness seeping out of your full entrance and gliding down his length until it could leave a memorable darkened patch on the sheets.
You whined quietly, voice high pitched and greedy as the length of him filled you up and pressed into every soft wall surrounding him. He was always thick, always perfect, always felt so fucking good it made your muscles tense and spasm.
You rolled your body in that delectable way he liked once more, barely moving yet every part of him felt the sparks of pleasure thrum through his skin and make his thighs lock up.
Bruce groaned hotly at the action, eyes flickering down to the wet mess of where your pussy was sucking him in. It was messy, glistening, shared arousal in white strings of mutual attraction. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass from where it sat perched on his strong thighs.
âMm, fuck, honey.â Bruce breathed out gruffly more to himself than you when the sight of your wetness smeared all over him made his heart spike.
You didnât respond, chin down to your chest and eyes closed as you focused on the pleasure in your own lower regions, the fullness and heaviness that filled you up and refused to part.
âOhhh, feels so good-â You gasped as a heavy spurt of pure pleasure sparked up your tummy, hole clenching around him tightly as an obscene gush of wetness leaked down his cock and onto his thighs.
Bruce licked his dry lips, eyes staring up at you heatedly; at the tightness of your shut eyes, the sweet moans gasping out of parted lips â lips, lips that were glossy and plush from all the needy kisses you shared with him just a mere moments ago.
He was enraptured by you, by your naked physique all soft and sweaty on top of him but he didnât care. You were just so beautiful, pussy so perfect wrapped around him, squeezing his cock so good it made his mind fog up with indescribable pleasure.
âYes, sweetheart, god, yesssâŠâ Bruce agreed huskily, his head resting back on his pillow once more as you bucked your hips. His thighs tensed, toes curled, a grunt sounding in his throat as his hips rose to further dig himself inside you.
He couldnât help it; like a soul to a light he sought you out, your warmth and tightness so snug and comforting around him he didnât ever want to be apart from you.
You whimpered at the intrusion, nails digging into his skin in a painful sting that Bruce was too fucked out to really notice.
He swallowed hazily below you, eyes closing then opening to look down at the way your pussy molded into one with his hard cock as you rocked gently against him. Deep inside you where he was meant to be, stomach and pelvis and thick thighs soaked with your gushing arousal.
Fire shooting down his legs and tummy with every soft bounce back down on him, illicit wet noises sounding in the room with every desperate grind.
He loved that sound, your wetness mashing with his thick base. But not nearly as much as your melodic sounds gasping out every so often because his cock made you feel that good.
His mouth was terribly dry from his own grunts and moans, handsome face and muscular chest flushed pink, the air so so hot he could feel his own dark hair sticking to the dew on his fevered head.
His hands, big and clammy, dug into the soft fat of your hips to help you dig into him in that way you both liked, the one that had you both gasping hotly into each others mouths as you leaned down to give him another sloppy kiss.
You couldnât quite get it right though, too distracted by the feel of him so deep inside you that your lips stuttered on his. Moving messily against him as you whined into his mouth once more, the tip of his cock so high up inside you it almost hurt.
He was always so big, so round and tall that the stretch alone always seemed to ache pleasurably with every short thrust he made inside you.
âThatâs good, sweetheart⊠thatâs it⊠just how you know I like itâŠâ
Bruce breathed heavily against your lips from where you were leaned on top of him, naked breasts mashed to his chiseled chest and hands gripping onto the headboard now.
You needed something sturdy, something unbreakable to tether you back to him when you felt the pleasure making you float too far.
His breath was hot against your sore lips, mingled with your low moans and spoken just above the subtle creaks of the bed; sounding every time you moved above him in a sensually quickened pace that had your toes curling and thighs tensing.
âSo beautiful, sweetheart, so goodâŠâ
Bruce couldnât help but compliment you even in the most nasty of times, voice clenched yet breathy, spoken through hot breaths and pressed teeth as your wetness dripped down his length once more.
You moaned sweetly at his doting words, his voice cracked and low in that gravelly salacious tone you loved so much.
You clenched around him in response, his fingers tightening on you as he let out a handsome groan from the feeling. You watched as his head sunk into the pillow beneath him, eyes clenched shut and a heavy grunt leaving his chest.
The sight was attractive, seeing him so wrecked from just a few simple back and forth motions you were carefully orchestrating.
You felt a wave of stinging pleasure spike up your thighs and down your legs, up your tummy and into your head until your whole body was tingling. Your eyes brimming with unshed tears as sweat prickled at your skin and your legs burned from sitting for so long.
You didnât care about the pain, too drunk on the sensations of his thickness rubbing inside the most intimate part of you, your hips rolling in desperate circular motions so he was never completely apart from you. You liked keeping him inside as much as possible, to feel that fullness and that dull burn to remind you of just how big he was.
Bruce loved it too, resting inside your warmth, comfortable, letting you take him however you wanted in whatever way you needed. He was always a giver, always a good husband when you needed him to be.
âF-fuck, Bruce, you feel so good.â You gasped wantonly, voice quiet yet fragmented, needy and breathless as your nails dug into his skin.
âYeah, honey? It feels good?â Bruce replied just as quietly, being sure to thrust up into you just a little bit harder so youâd gasp some more for him.
It was lewd, lovely, his dirty words spoken onto your quivering lips and his meaty hands gripping your thighs to help aid in your eager movements.
It felt so good, so right, being there with him in the darkness of his room with only the sound of your shared panting and moans filling the silence.
It was hot and perfect; his hands on your thighs gripping hard enough to show you he doesnât want you to stop, your mouths ever so often pecking together in a sweet kiss you couldnât continue, fond gazes in darkened irises.
âFeels so good, Bruce, I canâtââ You whimpered out all cutely, sliding up from his chest until you were sitting straight up once more. You could feel him shift inside of you, hardness still prominent and throbbing. He pressed against your walls, invading every nerve point as your clit rubbed against his naval in the new position.
Bruce gripped the flesh of your ass between his hands, helping your soft rocking motions against him as he spoke, âYes you can, pretty girl, you always do for me. Youâre doing so good, sweetheart, you have no ideaâŠâ
The praise made you smile brokenly. Your skin so hot it felt burning yet every grind against your husbands hard cock made your legs go numb. You whined and bucked above him as a tightness started to stretch in your tummy.
âAlways for you, babyâŠâ You managed to mumble shakily, lovingly, hands sliding over the abs on his stomach as you sat back on his lap so not a single inch of him wasnât inside you.
Bruce clenched his jaw at that, hands digging into your hips as he thrust his own up to meet your soft grinds. Sparks, electricity, all of the cliche metaphors for how good he was feeling shooting down his cock and into his legs as his knees tensed up.
He felt lightheaded yet completely grounded, here to his mattress. Floating in the skies yet simultaneously stuck on earth with you, his gorgeous wife who always made him feel sane and normal.
Your hair was tangled around your shoulders and falling over your flushed cheeks as you stared down at him with a fond glimmer in your eyes, bright and burning under the lust so boldly wanting.
The stretch of him inside you was so good, his gravelly moans so good, the way he was making you feel so so good.
You exhaled as you settled your weight down on his pelvis, pussy sore yet eager as you squeezed around him once more. Love struck eyes looking down at him passionately as the moon cascaded a light gray glow behind you.
Bruce felt the air escape his lungs, lips parted as he stared up at you in utter devotion; you were so beautiful, so sweet, felt so fucking good around him he couldnât even think straight. Brain numb and thoughtless, only you and your perfect pussy, you, you, you.
You took a moment to stare back at him. Unspoken love was whispered in the shadows of your eyes bright and glittering as your movements picked up into polite, subtle bounces that had Bruce digging his hands into you, breathy sounds escaping his lips.
âAh, BruceâŠâ You mumbled weakly, voice soft and needy as you tossed your head back and moved your hips up and down so his cock was hitting that sweet spot inside you he usually loved to tease.
âSuch a good job, sweetheart, so beautiful like thisâŠâ Bruce spoke huskily, staring at your heaving breasts as they jiggled and beckoned him forth, beautiful and pure as you rode him to high heaven in your most organic form.
You hummed into a delicate moan, a smile quirked on your lips at his praise as you felt his hands slowly start crawling up the exposed expanse of your waist.
Warm and big and tender as they moved up, up, gentle fingers tracing over your ribcage as your flesh prickled at the touch. He was delicate, always intent on your pleasure over his as he admired your form above him, the feel of your skin under his textured hands that had hurt so many.
You trusted him, your husband, enough to see you like this. Trusted him enough to have you like this, to allow his bloodstained hands to wash over you like he himself was something pure and untainted, bestowing him your presence like a merciful deity to their promised worshipper.
You bit your lip as his palms enveloped the fat of your breasts into them, molded perfectly into his larger hands as he squeezed and admired them in a fashion so familiar for him; he always loved your breasts, enamored with the softness and weight of them in his greedy hands.
You stared down at him with a heated tenderness, the look of a wife irrevocably in love with their husband as he stared up at you with the same fervor.
When he was here, with you, there were no labels, no obligations and no judgments. With you he was just yours, another body made of flesh and blood and bone melded to yours in the conjunction of where his body ended and yours began.
He was no one but he was your everything, hands on skin and lips on collarbones, sweat amongst sweat and heady moans breathed in the gasps of kisses shared between two lovesick spouses.
In this space, in this moment, with you on top of him and his hands all over you any remnants of shame and Wayne inspired obligation was vacant. All he needed to do was sit and let you take him, sit there and be of use when you wanted to use him.
He was a good husband, the best husband to you, his perfect and lovely wife who never addressed him as anything more than yours. He wasnât this, he wasnât that, he was just everything and more in the confines of silken sheets under the safety of his mansion.
No cameras, no gossip, no press and no watchful eyes. Serene, tranquil, just you and him and the great love you shared that transcended any label or common sense humanity could fathom.
Yes, he was Bruce Wayne. Eccentric billionaire, former eligible bachelor, orphan boy, son, rich playboy. But those things did not define him, did not set his reality in stone so easily as your love did. He was all those things but he was so much more.
You never judged him, looked at him as anything more than the most important thing. You regarded him with love no matter his past, his present, and hopefully and most likely your shared future.
You didnât care for labels or surface value lies like everyone else did. You ripped him at his seams, tore him apart to see what was inside and he was ever so grateful for it, for that loving animosity that bared his soul to yours. You were straightforward, heart to heart or nothing at all because then what was the point?
There was no purpose without pain, without pleasure, without love. You suffered, you loved, and you were most definitely bringing him pleasure. All blunt and raw emotions too passionate and loud to ever try and hide or make lies about. No secrets, no deception, no labels.
This night, every night just like this one â nights spent in your arms deep inside where he needed to be most, were nights where his mind was bare and he was just yours. Nights when he didnât have to put up a face or make up a lie or tell a tall tale.
He was Bruce, he was yours, he was just this. And most importantly, he was just your husband. The only label that really mattered and the only one he ever really cared about. âËâčâĄ
tagging , @little-miss-chaoss , @ghostslillady , @boobaeri , @prayingal
#đŻê· đđđđđ ïŸ â Ìšâč#tw: not my best writing but Iâm just trying to make things okay đđ«¶đ»#tw: not as good as my actual fics but IDC ITS GOOD ENOUGH AHHHHH#I havenât written smut in a minute#I could do better AHHHHHHH NOOOOO#I got so lazy in the end sowwy#I got REAL lazy writing the smut im NOT gonna lie đââïžđââïžđââïž#christian bale x reader#bale batman#bale!batman#bale!bruce wayne#bale!batman x reader#Batman x reader#Bruce Wayne x reader#dc fandom#dc fic#batman fanfic#batman oneshot#batman imagine#Christian bale#batman begins#aesthetic#dc drabbles
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#considered posting this to my 'main' for a second but then realized i just post most ship art here so it goes here.#now the real question should i use the main tags or stick to a ship tag. but i think the tags might be empty anyway so dont mind if i do#my art#monarch a trois#dr. girlfriend#henchman 21#the monarch#dr mrs the monarch#uhhhh#venture bros#vbros#ask to tag#im new here i have no idea what tags to use đ«Ą#i mainly just wanted to draw them all together cause yknow. they could be a thing#so yeah this is ship art but take it however you want#ALSO i got very lazy with the clothes and coloring i honestly just wanted to do a pose like this and then didnt really want to think abt#the clothes and then when it came to coloring i considered leaving them in all black but it was hard to see them then#so i added a tiny bit of color after having this sit in my files for over a week#i want to draw them more but i have no ideas at all im just imagining them having like movie nights whenever they can nd stuff#i loved how domestic the show got to depict them being somehow. injecting the scenes where theyre in their kitchen into my bloodstream#but now that sheila isnt a part of the villain trio its like ough... leaving the boys home alone in their r/malelivingspace#garys s7 room đ#also i cropped this cause i could not be bothered to draw shoes. i actually drew them for dr gf and monarch but i gave up on garys#<- has not drawn shoes in months because of liking cartoon animals that dont wear them
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A gentle breeze spills
Through this gold-drenched dream,
Light as love on leaves
#FUCK I PUT MY OTHER ACCOUNT'S URL AGAIN#ok well im too lazy to fix that.. yall know thatse me fr...#sleepy.art#genshin impact#genshin#kaedehara kazuha#genshin impact wanderer#genshin impact fanart#kazuscara#kazukuzu#â my wanderer is named kuzuki :)#genshin impact scaramouche#scaramouche#kaedehara kazuha x scaramouche#I MISSED THEM SOOOOOOOOOO MUCH#i was just going to do a lil background study of a chasm shot i got from the photography event#but it wasnt turning out right. and then i just thought hm. what if kazuscara.#and i was so real for that
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a wahoo girl in a wahoo world
#emu otori#project sekai#pjsk#prsk#ignore the tone of the ena i posted the other day. this s emu territory. Kyaa with me. Shalalalaaa#court mandated emu#the court in question? ME...!#birthday mandated emu actually#i havent open splat3 in literally a month sorry LAWLLLLL#My cringeflop cat is cuddled up to my side with her belly up and its taking all of my willpower#not to shove my hand into her belly because itll make her mad as fuuuck and she'll wake up#BUT SHES SOOOO CUTE. ok goodnight ^_^#OOH MY GOD MY TABLET PEN THAT I BROKE OPEN AND MELTED BACK THE WIRES TOGETHER ON ISNDOING ITS THING AGAIN#it wont recognize the pen skmetimes. UHGGGG SOLDERING IT WAS A PAIN IN THE ASSSSS I HAD TO DO IT WITH A SCREWDRIVER AND A CANDLE. FAWK OFF#huion FAAACK you and your tablet pens that break at a stiff gust of wind. I know i got this like 6 years ago but still. IT SHOULD WORK#this is so lazy injust wanted to try 800 brushes and draw emu ok. I CAN DO WHATI WANT!!#ok thats all my grievances goodnight for real#emu my scp creature very very true
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#im lazy as hell#4 boxes in i lost my mind hahaha#megastar#im rewatching g1#ill draw better latee trust me#i just need to learn how to draw#hes supposed to be kissing the gun i uhhhh couldnt portray that so take my word for it#maccadam#transformers#anyways how yall nerds doing? i found my megatron figurine that survived getting ran over by a car. hes on my desk now.#anyways on the topic of g1 WTF IS WRONG WITH THESE TWO????#you ever see some shit like damn i hope you two die together#they give me secondhand cringe. head in hands i cant be near these deranged mfs#5 years ago ppl tried to pressure me away from this ship lmao#megatron#starscream#dawg im being ran through by my workload.#wanna hear another very real problem i have? so im a starscream fan since i was like 7. always a ss fan#and one time when i was a teen my mom accidentally ran over my megatron toy with her car so i begged my parents for a model kit#ss was out of stock for years so i got tc. i bought that for $24 and it was all chill#recently i was thinking i want the entire dumbass squad. all 3. i checked the price#$58??? MINIMUM???? AVG PRICE IS 70???? for HIM???#so what i need yall to do is i need a recs so i can infiltrate hasbro and character assassinate ss so bad the merch price drops back to $30#for the small cost of 20 rec letters i promise to destroy the franchise. how about it? then we can all get merch for better prices. cool!#or we can start a gofund me and raise millions so i can become an investor and tell them to lower prices from outside the club#maybe i should email the board. some shit like hey i was planning on having kids but i cant if the toys cost as much as the hospital bill#can you lower the prices so i can buy my future kids toys so i can indoctrinate them like my dad indoctrinated me to become a lifelong fan#sincerely. two generations of TF fans (your franchise isnt that old yet and i hope my kids can afford to be the third gen)
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spending my first day back at work playing rearranging furniture simulator for 6 hours instead of my actual job and leaving the building with 19 unread emails
#LOVE this game. somehow got 10k steps running around moving chairs#fake lazy bitches didnât know what to do when they see a real work avoider like me
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day 20: collar leash
#the real reason rem mercâd him#im doing it off and on now iâŠ. i got lazyâŠ.#dnkinktober#misa amane#l lawliet
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we would sell anything just to buy who we're not // we kill our way to heaven
taglist (opt in/out)
@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @hibernationsuit, @stars-of-the-heart;
@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;
@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;
@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree
#tew#art#art:nathan#nuclearocs#nuclearart#ok so 1st of all: i'm sorry. no i'm not. yes i am. no#2nd of all: do not look at ruvik's scarring for too long i got lazy somewhere along the way#3rd of all: this piece takes place YEARS after the conclusion of both games. i have my own imaginary tew3 AND tew4. don't worry about it#4th of all: the way i see it is that eventually ruben's own appearance starts overwriting leslie's so he looks mostly like himself again#(just with hair and eyebrows and eyelashes. thanks leslie)#5th of all: yes i gave him a hearing aid the boy has survived a barn fire and part of his ear got burned away. it makes sense. to me#6th of all: yes i gave him pretty princess eyelashes and beautiful brown doe eyes and a nose bump. i will die on this hill#7th of all: when i designed nathan all those years back i did not even think about the color symbolism going on with his hair#which is now enhanced by the white patches in his eyebrow and eyelashes too. but yeah that's there now. much to think about!#and in this piece it's also in the clothing i gave them. didn't think about that either that just kinda happened. anyway#thank you for tuning in today i know i'm insane about these guys but like what can you do. sorry. bye#no wait hold on one more thing i made ruben taller than canon so he can hover over nathan like some victorian era skinny twinkish ghoul#not that nathan isn't a ghoul but. actually nathan is more ghoulish his base skin color is paler than ruben's. ok bye for real now#if you read all of that we will have a soft and bright late spring wedding with easily digestible food
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constantly thinking about that one episode where kuusuke builds an elderly woman an entire robo-suit instead of just changing a lightbulb.
this makes me think tbh. imagine kuusuke as a kid js creating extravagant machines to avoid doing chores, just like how kusuo uses his abilities.
"Kuu, honey can you bring groceries in?"
"hol up mum, im sending my drone out now."
#kuusuke being a lazy genius canon#he js gives those vibes idk#kuusuke being dramatic about having to do literally anything is so real#he's got the spirit#kurumi watching as kuusuke sends out a humongous drone through his window after being told to do any chore: đ§#does this even make sense or am i tweaking#kusuke saiki#kuusuke saiki#saiki kuusuke#saiki kusuke
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decisions
prompt: forced choice
whumpee: illya kuryakin
fandom: the man from uncle
hi this one got a bit longer than intended but such is. it's pre-ship and features a bit of whump for napoleon as well. hope you like!
Napoleon wakes up and before he so much as opens his eyes he ascertains that heâs tied up, quite severely, to a chair which is bolted to the floor. His bindings are rope, scratchy and thick. At least his shoes are still on and there is no water surrounding his feet. Small victories.Â
He opens his eyes and discovers that heâs not alone.Â
Illyaâs sitting across from him, similarly tied up. Heâs sweaty from effort, but his bonds appear unaffected, and it is at this point that Napoleon realizes that theyâre not going to be getting out of this easily.Â
âAre you alright?â he asks, and Illya nods.Â
âYou?â
He nods as well. Wonders what fate holds for them, knows it can hardly be pleasant.Â
The man who enters the room just then is not someone Napoleon knows. Nor Illya, from the looks of it. He smiles, quite friendly, and Napoleon is put deeply on edge.Â
The man stands directly in front of him. âNice to finally meet you, Mr. Solo,â he says smoothly, which is another bad sign.Â
âNow. Letâs get straight into it. Left or right?â
âWhat?â This is decidedly not the sort of question heâd been expecting, and he canât make heads or tails of it. The manâs hands are loose, so heâs hardly hiding any kind of nasty surprise, and thereâs nothing in the room that makes this question make sense.Â
âYou heard me. Left or right?â
âIn regards to what, exactly?â
The man grins again. âJust choose.â
Napoleon shrugs as much as the bindings will allow. âLeft, I suppose.â
The man whistles sharply, and a door at the back of the room opens. Another man enters, looking considerably more physically imposing. So heâs got minions, Napoleon thinks. Great.Â
âHe wants the left,â reports the man in charge. His goon nods, slipping a length of metal pipe from out of his sleeve. Shit, Napoleon thinks, and braces himself for a hit.Â
Except it never comes. The minion, as Napoleon has already begun calling him, approaches Illya, and so suddenly that Napoleon cannot so much as cry out, he swings the pipe directly into Illyaâs left ankle.Â
Thereâs an audible crunching sound, and Illya lets out a sharp breath. Napoleon just stares at him, shocked.Â
âWhat the hell?â
âDonât speak unless I tell you to,â says the man in charge. His voice is flippant and yet belies an enormous amount of power.Â
Napoleon shuts up.Â
âNow then. Letâs let the real fun begin, shall we, Mr. Solo?â
âWhat do you want?â
Another unnervingly placid smile. âOnly to hurt you.â
âFunny way of doing that, hitting him instead of me.â
The smile widens. âOh, trust me. Youâll hurt plenty.â
Napoleon elects to ignore him, for the time being. He focuses instead on Illya, who is breathing heavily in the way he does when heâs trying to control a rather immense amount of pain. Iâm sorry, Napoleon thinks, as if Illya will hear. I didnât know that would happen.Â
âMy next question, Mr. Solo, is this: waterboarding, or whipping?â
Napoleon blinks. Doesnât answer. What the hell?
âI wonât repeat myself next time, and heâll just end up getting both. Choose, for his sake.â
âYouâre notâwhy not me?â
âIâm sure youâll work it out. Now choose.â
Napoleon locks eyes with Illya, who looks back, unflinching. He blinks once, very deliberately, and Napoleon speaks before he can question it.Â
âWaterboarding.â
He knows Illyaâs trained for this. They both have, in their time. This does absolutely nothing now. Napoleonâs heart beats wildly in his chest and thereâs a sense of rage threatening to consume him as the minion approaches Illya with a towel and a bucket.Â
Watching his partner be waterboarded is one of the most painful things that Napoleon has ever experienced. The way he fights, absolutely futilely, as the towel is placed over his face, as the water is poured over. The way his body thrashes against the restraints. The way he coughs and gasps when the towel is pulled away, only to be replaced mere seconds later.Â
Waterboarding is supposed to make the victim want to speak, to share every secret theyâve got, but at the moment Illya isnât so much as making a peep, while Napoleon feels like heâd spill everything he knows if theyâd only stop.Â
âStop!â he shouts, though he knows that they wonât listen.
âShut up. Every time you speak without me telling you to, Iâll hurt him just that little bit more.â
To prove his point, the towel is replaced once more. Illya gasps for breath and it turns into a horrible coughing and spluttering as the waterâthe last of it, it looks likeâis once again poured over his face.Â
When the towel is removed this time, itâs placed neatly onto a table, and the bucket is set onto the floor. Napoleon observes these things out of the corner of his eye, the bulk of his attention focused on Illya's coughing, shivering body across from him.Â
When the coughing at last subsides, the man approaches Napoleon again. He is so angry he can barely hear the words spoken to him over the pounding of blood in his head.Â
âHammer or pliers?â
âLeave him. The fuck. Alone.â
âIâm afraid I canât do that. Iâd like to see you suffer a bit more, first.â
âIâm going to kill you.â
âBigger men than you have tried. Choose, or shall I remind you of the rules again?â
Brief eye contact with Illya, another single blink. Napoleon hopes to god heâs reading this right, that Illya isnât simply doing this coincidentally, that heâs at least allowing his partner the freedom to choose.Â
Choose. Right. He feels sick. Wishes, above all else, that it was him in Illyaâs position, making decisions about his own fate.Â
âHammer,â he says, and his voice sounds alien to his ears.Â
âI do hate to repeat a question, but needs must. Left or right?â
Another single blink.Â
âLeft.â
He doesnât want to watch. But he has to.Â
The hammer comes crashing down onto Illyaâs left hand and thereâs a sickening cracking noise and Illya makes this completely involuntary sound of pain and shock and Napoleon feels like his entire being is getting ripped in two.Â
âStomach or chest?â
The single blink again. Napoleon cannot wrench his attention away from the tear that travels its way down Illyaâs cheek.Â
That metal pipe makes a reappearance, slams into Illyaâs stomach. Thereâs a loud exhale as the air is forced out of Illyaâs lungs, and he gags harshly.Â
God, Napoleon is going to be sick. Heâs sitting here watching and making decisions and Illya is getting tortured and he canât do fucking anything about it.Â
He can feel blood trickling down his wrists from where heâs been straining against the ropes with every action taken against his partner. He focuses his attention on this infinitesimally small pain, hates himself for losing focus on Illya for even a second, butâ
He wants nothing more than to break free of these restraints and kill this guy. Brutally, if necessary.Â
âFingers or toes?â
He forces his attention back to Illya. Two blinks.Â
âToes.â
The minion places his entire weight onto Illyaâs left foot, the same one heâd previously smashed with the pipe, and Illya groans. Napoleon struggles harder against the ropes, without making it obvious what heâs doing.Â
When the minion at last steps off of Illyaâs foot, his partner is crying. Itâs involuntary, a pain response, and Napoleon knows this, and god, he understands. What the man had meant earlier, when heâd asked, why not me?
This is more painful than anything else they could do to him, by far.Â
âWhat you want?â Illya asks. Itâs the first time heâs spoken and his voice is wrecked, all small and shaky and wrong.Â
The minion steps back and to the left, faces Illya, and the man in charge gets up into his space. Theyâre not looking, and Napoleon fights frantically against the ropes in this window of opportunity.Â
âDonât speak.â Thereâs the sound of a slap, but Napoleon isnât paying attention. Heâs got the ropes off his wrists, and heâs untying the ones around his ankles as quickly as he can.Â
âOr else what?â Illya asks, and Napoleon knows heâs seen him, knows heâs doing what he needs to do so that they can get out of this.Â
Thereâs a dull thud and a wince.Â
âI suggest you donât try to find out.â
Heâs done it. The ropes are gone. He just has to get up, while their backs are still turnedâ
Theyâre turning back around. Fuck!
Thereâs no time to do anything, but then Illya says, âfuck you,â which takes Napoleon completely by surpriseâhe can count on one hand the number of times heâs heard Illya curse in Englishâand it takes the other men by surprise, too, because they both turn back around just before their eyes wouldâve landed on Napoleon.Â
The hammer is picked back up and just as itâs being brought down onto Illyaâs already destroyed hand, Napoleon flings himself out of the chair.Â
He tackles the minion first, not quite stopping the hammer but at least preventing it from doing maximum damage. He wrests the implement from its wielderâs grasp, smashes it into the manâs head. He goes limp immediately.
One down.Â
The other man, the mastermind of this horrific torture scheme, is standing above him with the metal pipe in his hands. He swings it down, and Napoleon just barely rolls out of the way. The pipe hits the body of the minion instead, adding insult to injury.Â
Napoleon leaps to his feet. The fight is harder than he wouldâve expected, given the relatively small size of his opponent and his apparent unwillingness to do any of the truly nasty work.Â
Still, he gets there in the end. He sacrifices himself to a couple strong hits from the pipe, but then the hammer connects with the manâs skull and this wave of pure anger and adrenaline overtakes him.Â
He loses himself for a second. And then Illyaâs saying, âitâs enough, Cowboy, stop,â and he opens his eyes and finds himself straddling a body which is only vaguely recognizable as Illyaâs torturer.Â
He drops the hammer to the ground with a deafening clatter and then gets to his feet. His hands are covered in blood and he can taste it in his mouth.Â
Heâs gone, is the first thing Napoleon thinks, untying Illya with trembling hands. He canât hurt him anymore. Illyaâs safe.Â
âIâm so sorry,â he says quietly, as he unties the ropes around Illyaâs ankles. âGod, Illya, Iâm so sorry.â
âYou did not hurt me,â Illya responds, wincing as Napoleon inadvertently brushes a hand against his injured ankle. âNo reason to apologize.â
âHe hurt you because of me.â
âNo, he did this because of him. Come, we should leave.â
Napoleon wants to argue. Wants to apologize for the rest of his life, wants Illya to yell at him and tell him to go to hell, wantsâ
He wants to hold onto Illya forever and protect him, even though he knows Illyaâs more than capable of protecting himself. He wants to be around Illya always, to threaten those that would come near him, try and harm him like they had today.Â
He doesnât know what he wants, in short, and his heart is still pounding and he feels dizzy with relief and guilt and about a million other things he can only guess at.Â
Their getaway is slow-going. Illya can barely walk on his destroyed ankle, although he does his best. They limp out of the building, Napoleon with the hammer in hand lest anyone else should come crawling out of the woodwork.
But they meet no one. The path to their car is mercifully short, and Napoleon drives them back to their safehouse with his hands clenched firmly around the wheel so that theyâll stop shaking.Â
âItâs okay,â Illya says, quiet and sudden, when theyâre about a mile away from their destination. âI knowâŠI know you will blame yourself about this. But you did not do anything. It is not your fault.â
Napoleon suddenly finds himself blinking back tears. Get it together, he tells himself. Itâs not you who was just tortured. At least not physically.Â
âI just sat there,â he all but whispers, after a beat. âThey were torturing you, and I just sat there and gave them directions.â
âThey made this decision. And you told them to do what I chose.â
âHe saidâhe said he was hurting you to hurt me.â
âAnd?â
âThat makes it my fault, Illya,â Napoleon says, and he canât quite stop his voice from breaking.
âIt is his fault,â Illya says, and thereâs the familiar sureness in his voice that has heretofore been missing. âHe wanted to hurt us. You did not make this decision.â
âButââ
âNo. Not your fault. I do not blame you, you cannot blame you.â
Napoleon does not know how to argue against this. Even though the guilt feels like it is going to eat him alive.Â
They arrive back at the safehouse, and he helps Illya through the door. Thereâs about a million things that they need to do. Tend to Illyaâs injuries. Contact Waverly. Pack and prepare for an evac.Â
Illya collapses immediately onto the couch. Heâs damp with water and sweat and blood, his hand is swelling something awful, and his ankle must be faring similarly. He looks absolutely exhausted and pained, and Napoleon is about to start bustling around, gathering ice and bandages and alcohol and cotton balls, but then Illya lightly taps the space beside him.Â
âSit with me?â he asks, and Napoleon thinks heâd do absolutely anything Illya asked of him right now.Â
He sits, looks at his partner. Illya is looking back at him, terribly vulnerable beneath the tiredness and hurt, and Napoleon feels himself begin to properly cry.Â
He shouldnât be crying. Heâs not even hurt, besides the scrapes around his wrists and the bruises from the pipe. But thereâs nothing for it and no way of stopping now that heâs started.Â
âNapoleon,â Illya begins, but Napoleon cuts him off.Â
âJustâI donât want to hurt you any more, but can Iâcan I touch you?â
It sounds pathetic and stupid but he just wants a physical reassurance that Illyaâs here, still alive despite the torture and not even upset with him, after everything. That protective feeling is back, hot in his chest.Â
âOkay.â
He carefully pulls Illya towards him, gentle as he can be, attentive to any indication of discomfort.Â
He doesnât get any. Quite the opposite, actually. Illya leans into him, warm and still trembling a bit, and Napoleon wraps an arm around him and just holds on.Â
thanks for reading! hope you liked <3
#whumptober2024#no.23#forced choice#fic#the man from uncle#torture#tied up#emotional whump#comfort#my writing#i say things#illya kuryakin#ough. still a bit sick and so mad about it.#also lazy about it and i need to not be. i got shit to do man! but instead i'm lying around rewatching slow horses lol#such is life. tomorrow i'll do real work. i must.
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It's been a while since I drew them
Foreugn Kidos
Really liked these stars bg
#south park#south park art#southpark#artists on tumblr#herbert pocket#estella havisham#pip south park#pip pirrup#south park pip#sp pip#sp pocket#sp estella#south park estella#south park pocket#foreign kids#krita#got real lazy doing that
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Color Study
#fear and hunger#enki ankarian#funger#got too lazy to do his chest piece its not real it cant hurt me
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(manticore's) endgame
#wizard101#wizard101 fandom#w101#w101 fandom#novus spoilers#the old one#manticore#sal art#i hate backgrounds btw. and shading. got REAL lazy with both#anyway. ahem. toxic old man yaoi AND chess symbolism are real#ya they both have rings :] dont read into it#ummm in the 2nd to last frame hes supporting the King and keeping it from falling. and then in the last one hes doing the same#Do You Understand. my visions#pushing my 'old one sucks at chess' agenda forever#also hyea last one looks a lot like a frame from life is confusing. idc. whatever#dont ask how the old one ended up in that position btw i wasnt thinking about the logistics of play#hes just REALLY bad at this game#this is supporsed to be romantic btw. of dubious sincerity but romantic nonetheless#chess is like gay sex. if you think about it#youre trying to 'mate' another man đ€š interesting
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mindless rambling in tags don't mind me
#not art post#rambling in tags because i can and its MY BLOG#anyway its about tdp *waits* ok for the three of you that actually care#someone retweeted one of my threads from 2019 after s2 dropped (imo the BEST tdp season) and i reread it#and tbh i am still right about viren's characterization#obviously canon changed some things but TO BE REAL..... i dont care what the writers say bc i had beef since s3#how am i supposed to believe any viren and callum parallels and callbacks when they..... havent talked since when?#and uhhh viren's demise lol i expected it but wow i am not happy with the lead up to it#more cool and eloquent people put it in better words on twitter and probably tumblr too idk i just say things and hope they make sense#anyway viren is still the very real traumatized angry severely depressed old man from s2... his life was just revealed to be so much worse#like damn. he was poor he was orphan he got divorced and then a stupid mirror started ruining his life even more#yes the mirror was the start of it why do you think aaravos revealed himself after viren's firey break down#aaravos went i can make him worse and ran with it#should viren go to prison? yeah i never once denied that lmao but god he and his family were really the ones to suffer in the show#at least viren is gone so i can just *plucks him out of the dirt and morphs him into my own oc* (im for real)#i got maybe more to say but this is long and im lazy and im not too smart so i will just move on#i will watch s7................................... i GUESS and if you find salt i will probably be there lol
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the coolest guy ever
#imma be real for a second. i got too lazy while coloring the digital version#the traditional version came first actually! it was drawn on watercolor paper and painted with acryllics and watercolors#added a few details with markers and pencils as well#traditional has always been easier for me and i actually prefer doing it but. i really wanted to see it digital as well#this was a gift for the lovely friend who got me into this series#ygo#yugioh#yugioh duel monsters#ygo fanart#yugioh fanart#yami yuugi#yami yugi#prachelley draws
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