#i mind my business eh?

[dexslaboratorie]

an old silly jimmy/gord comic, i think jimmy scraping up rubber bands is funny to think about

-

follow me on twitch! i draw there, i play games there, im silly there!!!

[randomtextxx]

i know i haven't been active as much lately

please accept this eepy mind as an apology

[digglesgiggles]

wdym guys i'm a complete purist that hates any form of creativity that doesn't fit my standards and i'm totally dating my partner so i can enforce my standards onto them

[act-iv]

thinking thoughts about suzerain cast as tarot cards...

[museofvoid]

i think... i just finished chapter two of my fanfic :0

tho i won't post it tonight, it's pretty late and i'll probably wanna have a quick look at it tomorrow. also not at home right now so might actually have to wait until thursday to post

[forcedhesitation]

this undeniably has to be one of the worst opinions I've seen about this season. like out of the plentiful failures season 4 had... you really couldn't choose one to talk about? max's mental health was one of the only things that I felt season 4 handled pretty damn well.

I do think it could have been better written, yes. the ending of her arc in season 4 was....insulting at best.

but overall? the show does a great job of addressing that max actually hated billy (she literally fucking admits to wishing for his death) and that her grief is more complicated than just missing a person. because she wasn't missing a person! she was ultimately glad billy was gone. but even in death, he torments her.

she watched a person she grew up with be brutally murdered by some fleshy abomination, RIGHT in front of her. her shitbag step father bailed on her and her mother after billy died, forcing them to move to the trailer park. her mother abuses alcohol and is never home because she's always working so they can afford to live in the trailer park. her friend group has been split in two by the byers moving away, which took el away from her too. she doesn't know how to reach out to lucas, deep down doesn't feel she deserves his love & concern, despite lucas' best efforts (vecna literally taunts her with lucas turning on her at the final confrontation). she wished so badly to have someone like steve in billy, but she knows that billy would never be that person. he was the complete opposite & she can't just have steve in his place. she mourns the brother she never had. she is devastated by the way billy still hurts her, even after he's gone.

she's what. fourteen??? when this all happens?

like the death of an abuser is never so simple as "hooray! I am so very joyous now that the source of my pain is gone!" the damage an abuser inflicts on you is not some cut to the skin that can be healed and one day forgotten. it's so much more tortuous than that. especially for a child.

[necrotic-nephilim]

Fandom: DCU (Comics) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Helena Bertinelli/Dick Grayson Characters: Dick Grayson, Helena Bertinelli Additional Tags: Omega Dick Week (DCU), Omega Dick Grayson, Alpha Helena Bertinelli, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Religion Kink, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Catholicism, Cunnilingus, Praise Kink, Body Worship, Femdom, Timeline What Timeline, Gentle Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Aphrodisiacs Summary: Helena does what should be a simple and easy mission with Dick. But when they both get hit with an aphrodisiac that only targets omegas, Helena learns interesting things about Dick and helps him through the worst of it. - Omega Dick Week 2024 - Day 5: Hidden Designation | Heat During A Mission

[125storejuice]

Okay small rant time !!!!

[fluxweeed]

yes I agree that you’re implicitly required to rec a fic you’re involved in which is why it HURTS WHEN PEOPLE DONT like oof. you said yes to work on it but then you didn’t like it that much hey. obviously I’d rather that than people rec something they don’t actually like, I’m not saying it should be disingenuous, it just hurts you know? ouch

nahhh i don't think ppl should feel obligated to do marketing for a fic they've already put time and energy into helping the writer with!

[rodismancave]

how was your relationship with ratchet like before the Lost Light?

Didn't really exist, honestly. Saw 'im sometimes inbetween missions, but it was mostly other medics workin' on me. He's always been pretty busy with the Big Guys, or whatever.

He does act like he's known me forever, probably just from those short times we were stationed together. I was never one for making friends with the others in high command. I don't really count the time on Earth as "time for getting to know Ratchet", cuz we were all in deep shit and I got most of my entertainment from hangin' with Drift. Wasn't bothered with gettin' acquainted with another one of Op's situationships.

[noxianwilled]

katarina really doesn't want children. she wants the du couteau name to die. talon could still have kids and pass on the name to them I suppose (cass seems. unable to) but on her part she's intent on letting the family name die. after she's reinstated as part of the du couteau guild and their head, this doesn't change. the guild will live on even if the family doesn't, and it'll have as its next head someone who proves they're fit for the job and have the right purpose, regardless of their origins.

in spite of that, I think she'd end up looking after kids really easily. she doesn't want to birth them, but she certainly has a soft spot for children, especially the ones in dangerous situations and/or who are dangerous themselves. it's definitely because when she was a young girl definitely capable of keeping herself safe, she still wanted someone to have looked after her - she wanted someone to care. and i think she'd be unable not to care for kids in situations like that.

it's not to say she'd be good at it, or that she has time to be around a lot (which is why babies are certainly something else entirely). she is busy with a very dangerous job and she's often traveling, and bringing a child along is likely to prove troublesome. but at the same time, i feel she'd have the resources to ensure a child receives proper education and care while she's out and be caring enough to be around whenever she could. but yeah this would absolutely only happen with the kids no one wants because they're too dangerous or troublesome.

[stormcried]

Is it just me or is either tumblr fucking up or am I losing a lot more followers then usual?

[freakova]

Got made redundant champs

[inbabylontheywept]

so i left the mormon church as a teenager (15ish? 16?), but stayed in attendance until i was 20. i was pretty up front about the whole deciding-it-wasnt-true process with my bishop, who frankly took it really well, but it wasnt like i pulled all 150 ward members aside and had a heart to heart with them. anyway, i didnt believe, so at 19 i didnt go on a mission, and while some people in the ward were totally fine with that, others werent. and there was one woman in her late 50s who pulled me aside one day to interrogate me why i hadnt gone on a mission.

"the duty of every young man" she said.

and the thing is, im autistic. and a lot of people assume that when youre autistic, your social skills just arent very good. but thats not exactly true. your Be Polite skills are kind of eh, and they tend to stay that way, but as a sort of survival mechanism your Be Rude skills become amazing simply because you get put in tons of situations where your choices are to Function or Be Polite. and no one can choose Be Polite forever. the world demands function, it merely encourages politeness.

anyway, it can really catch neurotypicals by surprise, because hey, heres this kind of awkward, graceless guy, who stumbles over his words a lot and is very apologetic. hes probably a huge pushover. but i'm only like that when we're playing The Polite Game, because i am frankly kind of bad at it. but when its time to play The Rude Game, i go fucking ham and asking about the not-going-on-a-mission thing is Super Rude. so i said:

"sister hadlock... they wont let me go because i lit-er-ally cannot stop sucking dicks. i dont know why, its just so, so hard."

*dramatic pause*

"also - its very difficult to stop."

anyway, it almost killed her. i think she'd expected to just kind of steamroll me for the entire conversation, but the answer crushed her soul. instead of continuing her interrogation she made a noise like a horse drowning in a bog and left.

to add insult to injury, she went to the bishop after that, thinking he'd chew me out for being an ass, but instead he chewed her out for not minding her own business. then she went to my parents after that, who basically went "yeah, babylon was pretty rude. but youre also pretty rude. what are you, mad that he's better at it than you?"

i really loved that ward.

[freakingpeepseverywhere]

alright, ok.. imma say this hot take one time Reblog: oh you like it! neat! Like: oh you like it! neat!

like you honestly think i'm gonna burst into tears if someone even so much as blips that little heart? psh, i don't care! if they like it, they like it!!

and no, i'm not saying everyone's being sensitive about it, i completely understand the importance of reblogging, but i'm sure there are some out there who also don't care about someone just liking their posts, so go ahead and tap that heart! i won't care!! and if you reblog it afterwards, that's cool too!

i don't care as much as anyone would expect me to.

[shotmrmiller]

kinktober: cockwarming (john price x reader x simon in underground fighter au)

You're no fan of real-time violence.

Movies can never replicate its visceral reality— the sharp metallic tang that clings to the air, mingled with salt and the bitter stench of the swill these local colors call beer. Even worse is having to be the one to patch Simon up with trembling, blood-slick fingers and your molars sunk into the thick of your tongue to keep your lunch where it belongs.

So when Simon sends you Price's way with a firm palm on your arse and his spit still warm on your lips, you're grateful. He'll keep ya busy.

You're not counting his blood money, if that's what he was thinking.

"Course not, love," Price says, the rings on his thick fingers glinting under the dim light overhead as he opens the door to his office. It smells of worn leather, polished wood, and layered on top is the heady aroma of tobacco, rich, unmistakable. (You will not stay if he lights one of those puppies up. You like your lungs how they are.)

"Tha's wha' the bill counter is for." You can feel the warmth of his palm seeping through your clothes— a steady presence at the base of your spine, guiding you forward with a subtle push.

You'd expected him to let you pluck a book off the well-stocked shelf that's been beckoning you since you laid eyes on it and curl up on his couch with a blanket draped over your shoulders. Maybe even chat you up with small talk, ask about your week, school/job, and how you were adjusting to this new life.

Not with his broad front curling around your back, breath warming the shell of your ear, while you stare at the smooth, raised skin on his knuckles— which is less furry than the rest of him— in hopes that you don't fall apart around the thick of his cock. He's got a hand flat on the desk, small finger slanting to the side probably from where it healed wrong, and the other's signing off paperwork you couldn't even try to understand with a clear mind, much less one that's spinning from the sheer want for friction, relief.

Your arse pulses hot from where he'd reprimanded you earlier for squirming too much.

"Quite obedient. Simon's taught ya well." He hisses when you tighten up involuntarily, indignation cutting through the sluggish heat you've been burning in at his remark. Obedient. Taught. As if you're some kind of lap dog, yipping and rolling over for a treat. (Or in this case, a cock.)

"Easy, love. Jus' a joke." The hand he'd had on the desk comes to squeeze at the meat of your ribs, a small gesture, before weaving down to your cunt, fingers spreading, feeling how well split you are around his length, lips spread wide. "I'd hate f'you to turn my own guard dog against me, eh?" His apology comes in jerky little circles, smearing slick over your neglected clit, coarse hair of your mons coated milky white.

Each stroke of his fingers only bows your spine, winding it like one would a key on the back of a doll, your muscles coiling with tension, bodily response not your own after being denied release for god knows how long.

The sharp tap on the door goes completely unnoticed by you, but not Price. His pace remains steady, continuous, as Simon walks in through the door with crimson peppered on his cream wifebeater.

"John." Through bleary eyes, you see Simon settle in the chair across from you both, legs long, knuckles angry red and swollen as he palms himself over his denim. "Gaz may or may not 'ave goaded Soap into a fight."

Price's hand stops abruptly, desperation clogging your throat, the coil beneath your navel cranked so tight you might just scream. His voice rattles you from behind. "And?"

Simon's got his jeans bunched to his knees now, cock resting heavy atop his thighs, quads' ridges shifting as he gets comfortable. He might just be a tad bigger than what you've got sitting snugly against the plug of your womb.

"They're tumblin' outside, among civil folk. I doubt gettin' 'em out will be as painless this time 'round."

Price snarls and you find yourself empty, straddling Simon's hips, your inner thighs burning at the width. "Bloody fuckin'—," the sound of his belt buckle peters off soon after he walks out the door.

Your hands can feel Simon's shoulders flexing as he runs a fist up his length, eyes heavy lidded and focused on the creamy slick dampening your curls. His cock sits long on your stomach.

"'ave a seat, then." Amusement curls his lip, usual pink scar on his lip stretched silver. Your knees don't reach the cushion he's on properly, so you place your feet right above his own for leverage, legs folded tight.

His fingers dimple your waist as you lower yourself onto him, breath rushing out of your lungs as he fills you, aching, burning, a stretch you'll never really get used to, the pinch deep in your core causing discomfort to clump your lashes together until you're flush against him.

"Sit real pretty now. Gotta wait f'r Price t'give me my earnin's."

You're gonna rip his ear off with your teeth if you don't get to come soon.

"Claws in," he mutters, thumbing your pebbled nipple through your shirt. "Won't be too long."

(It was too long but worth every bloody second in the end.)