#if you think of another lmk!!

[laughingphoenixleader]

you know what? why not. I wanna write Christmas fanfic!! so if you want a fic, send me a Christmas tradition and/or Christmas song :D characters in the tags!!

[imissthestarswhenicry]

whos he texting?🤨

[ibblescribbles]

TRASH 🚮 Speedpaint | Alt under cut:

[kugisakiss]

oshi no ko parody AU

I only read the first couple of chapters but I had fun thinking about this for a bit until I remembered that shinichi is completely tone deaf which makes everything about this so ooc I immediately stopped thinking about it

some extras:

[starflungwaddledee]

kirbytober 2023 11 + 13 + 17: another dimension + ancient + knight [ prev || next ]

wings.jpg the comic

scene from an AU where something happened and you hope it was a miracle, but probably not!

[nerdgraphicsdotcom]

Type O Negative Stamps!!

the last stamp is me realizing theres no october rust 20th anniversary edition vinyls under $100 and on amazon...

[thedeadthree]

-ˋˏ .·:·. ⊱ 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐋𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐛𝐲 @pavus — day one: 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

— 𝐈𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐑 . 𝐕𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈 𝐃𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀 . 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐒. 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐒.

— 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (mutuals can opt in/out via 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 <3):

@loriane-elmuerto, @carrionsflower, @auricfog, @girliefailure, @sunsofdawn

@risingsh0t, @griffin-wood, @lilywatt, @full---ofstarlight, @grapecaseschoices

@tommyarashikage, @shadowsofrose, @shadowglens, @weisshaupts, @queennymeria

@deadrlngers, @d-esmond, @courtana, @gothimp, @wlwaerith

@unholymilf, @aezyrraeshh, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @shellibisshe, @florbelles

@celticwoman, @neonshrike, @cloudofbutterflies92, @adelaidedrubman, @carlosoliveiraa

@pinkfey, @spookyrares, @yharnams, @aceghosts, @confidentandgood

@theelderhazelnut, @leviiackrman, @ellierenae, @anoras, @lavampira

@dialdrunk, @full---ofstarlight, @imogenkol

[robo-dino-puppy]

horizon forbidden west | scorpion!

[good-beanswrites]

Where is Milgram?

I'm working on a fic, and I know a few of the theories about Milgram's actual building/location that have been passed around, but could you reblog with/send me your ideas on how the prison is physically set up in relation to the world? I want to write something encompassing a range of possibilities, not just my own headcanons. Any kind of theory -- with or without evidence, with or without every little detail worked out, just whatever you've been picturing or would like to see when the project ends :3

(Even if my fic doesn't pan out, I'll post the collection of theories I get for anyone else's research purposes👍)

[askblueandviolet]

life is meaningless by gold bye*disappears in a puff of smoke*

MASTER POST

Asks Start 💙💜

Previous 💙💜

Next 💙💜

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 3 - Set up for failure

ESH AU LET'S GOOO

title: confinement

fandom: empires smp

cw: blood and injury

~

Jimmy bites his lip, sucks in a breath, then sidles into the vault.

It’s a tight squeeze—the Jingler had only opened the vault’s door the tiniest amount, and Jimmy hadn’t been brave enough to ask for him to open it any more. The pin holding his fishnet cape on almost pops free, and his mask gets stuck for a moment, but he manages to make it through and release his breath.

Behind the vault isn’t anything that he expects.

Behind the vault is a room that’s mostly empty, but for a pile of cardboard boxes and an old rocking chair. It looks more like a mostly-emptied storage unit than an actually vault; strange, for such a high-security building.

“What—what am I looking for?” he whispers into the walkie-talkie that the Jingler had given him.

A crackling voice speaks back to him. “Notebook.”

Jimmy glances around. His eyes land on the boxes in the corner and he heads toward them, digging through the boxes.

One of them has a worn yellow notebook, which he grabs, then heads back to the vault door.

The Jingler is waiting on the other side, hand outstretched. “Pass it through, Solidarity.”

“The Codfather,” Jimmy corrects, shoving his arm through the tiny gap. The Jingler takes the notebook, flips through a couple of pages.

“Yep,” he nods shortly. “Thanks.”

Then he turns on his heel and leaves.

“Hey—hey, wait—”

As if by some stroke of bad luck (which, to be fair, Jimmy's used to), the door slams shut.

Come on.

Jimmy pounds on the inside of the door. “Wait! Let me out!” After no response, he frantically fumbles with the walkie-talkie. “Let me out! The door closed!”

“Hmm. We've been here too long.”

“Wh—?”

“But I'll call you an escort.”

Jimmy doesn't have time to ask what that means before sirens start blaring, the lights in the vault flashing red.

The walkie-talkie pops and fizzes out in his hand.

Jimmy groans, drops to sit on the ground and wait it out, abandoning the vault’s door. It won’t be long before this place is swarming with cops, and he’ll be the only person for them to find.

He really ought to get a frequent flier card for prison.

-

“Hope you like the new digs, Solidarity,” the prison warden says loudly, shoving Jimmy into a cell that seems more secure than normal. “We've been working on a specially-reinforced one, just for you.”

“It's the Codfather, now,” Jimmy tries.

“You've made a lot of people angry,” the warden continues, as if he hadn’t spoken. He locks the cell, grins at him through the barred window of the heavy door. “Some of the boys might come through to see you.”

“Oh. Oh, that's . . . great,” Jimmy says helplessly. “Maybe they could just . . . not?”

The warden doesn't dignify that with a response. He stalks away, leaving Jimmy alone in the cell.

Jimmy leans against the wall, slides down to the floor. He fidgets with the stiff navy jumpsuit they've given him, not quite long enough in the leg, then adjusts his Codfather mask.

This is going to be just wonderful. It’s not even been a month since he was last in this prison (they’d started building this very reinforced cell while he was here, that time), and he’d been hoping to avoid it for a little while longer.

Life always sucks significantly worse in prison.

He isn’t exactly separated from the other prisoners, but he isn’t exactly with them, either. His cell (reinforced and all) is in the same hall as the other cells. The difference between Jimmy and the others is that he’s in solitary confinement lite—he doesn’t get to leave for meals or exercise time, and his cell comes with a shower and a toilet in the corner. He isn’t meant to leave at any time.

The heavy metal door that never seems to be unlocked has a window at eye level, bars set into it a couple inches apart. There’s a little slot below it, just wide enough for a food tray. That window means that he can still interact with the other prisoners, unfortunately—or, rather, they can interact with him.

So the first day is a constant barrage of verbal abuse.

See, Jimmy may be a villain now, but he does his best to be kind about it. After all, none of this is his fault, not really. He can’t control his powers. He’s a villain because it’s convenient, not because he actually wants to be evil.

But everybody and their dog has a cousin’s friend who was injured by Solidarity’s powers, and Jimmy has to be yelled at about it.

“When they let you out of your little safehouse, I’ve got a couple friends waiting for you,” a big guy warns, his thick fingers wrapped around the bars of the window. “You won’t be able to walk when they’re done with you.”

“Creative,” Jimmy mutters.

“My mom lost her kneecap,” a redhead leers, spit flying from his cracked lips. “I think I oughta deliver her one of yours.”

That doesn’t sound very nice.

“My brother can’t eat tortilla chips anymore. I’ll spit in all your food.”

“Did you know I used to have two eyes? Wonder what you’d look like with zero.”

“I will break every one of your fingers and toes.”

And on and on and on.

It’s getting kind of boring, honestly. Every time he ends up in prison, he’s under fire from more and more prisoners, many with no real reason. He’s the cause that they unite over, because everybody has been inconvenienced by Solidarity in some way. They aren’t made to leave him alone, either—the guards may not participate in the harassment, but they don’t do anything to stop the threats. The guards don’t do much of anything when it comes to him, really.

He’s pretty sure he should be having solitary exercise time, but nobody lets him out. Whenever he asks (half-heartedly) to speak to a lawyer, nobody pays him any mind. His food is almost certainly contaminated, but when he speaks up about it, the guard tells him to eat it or starve.

Jimmy’s overly familiar with unsafe food, but he eats as much of it as he can. Food poisoning is unavoidable for him on a regular basis. It’s really not that different.

(Sometimes the guard sticks around to watch him eat, amusement in their eyes. At those times, Jimmy knows for sure that it’s contaminated, and he doesn’t want to know how.)

He’s supposed to go to his first hearing about a week after his arrest, but on his third day it gets postponed to a month away. The guards tell him so with unmistakable satisfaction, and Jimmy lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling.

Does it really matter? The courts will rule against him, no matter how good of a lawyer he gets. He’s Solidarity—er, the Codfather. He’s a villain. The villains never win.

Even when he was a hero, he knew he would be tried as a villain.

It’s the fourth day when his power decides to take action. It’s been in effect this whole time, of course—the shelf where his mattress is meant to lie has already collapsed, and the water will only run burning hot—but the fourth day changes things.

He just wishes it would have picked a better time.

It’s right when the last group is coming back from dinner that the hinges of his specially-reinforced metal door break. It makes a loud noise—the creak of the metal groans, then snap!

The steady stream of inmates slow to a stop, their chatter dying off.

There’s another long groan, slow-slow-slow—

The door shifts and clunks to the ground, hinges no longer holding it up.

Jimmy, sitting on his floor-mattress, lets his head tip against the wall as he lets out a long sigh.

It couldn’t have waited? A mere twenty minutes later and he would have been in the clear.

Jimmy doesn’t fight when they pull down the door and storm in.

He just lies on his bed and tries to cover his vital organs.

-

Despite their indifference, the guards manage to pull off the attackers and send them to their own cells before too much damage is done. Then they force Jimmy to his feet and frogmarch him to a normal barred cell in a different hallway. They toss him a bottle of water and a bucket and tell him to keep a low profile, and that he’ll be moved to a more secure prison in the morning.

Jimmy won’t need that.

He has a concussion, for sure. One man had kicked his head until his ears didn’t stop ringing. That makes his vision swim when he sits up, but he grits his teeth and forces himself to call out weakly for some first aid supplies.

The guards reluctantly provide, and Jimmy sets about taking care of his injuries. It’s really not too bad—he has the concussion, of course, and something that feels like his kidney is bruised internally, but the rest of it is your run-of-the-mill beating. Bruises and cuts all over, his entire body sore. The concussion is the worst of it, bad enough that he was barely able to walk when they brought him here. He should really get that checked by a doctor. Not that it’ll happen, but it should.

Jimmy knows well enough not to fall asleep with a head wound, so he kind of just rests on the floor of the cell, sitting up slumped against the wall, not confident enough to pull himself into the flat shelf-bed with the risk of falling. He presses a hand to his bruises whenever he starts to feel drowsy, and that wakes him right up.

The guards are on edge until around midnight, when they seem to relax a bit. The lights went out at ten, so most inmates have been asleep for a little while now. The two guards assigned to him start wandering away from Jimmy’s new cell now and then instead of constantly watching it, start laughing and joking a bit more.

“Hey! Solidarity!”

They poke a bit of fun at him in the early hours of the morning. Jimmy knows he must be a sight—covered in blood and shoddy bandages, his eyes unfocused and looking at nothing as he sits there on the floor.

He doesn’t respond.

“They hit his head pretty hard. Solidarity, you still alive?”

Jimmy blinks, very slowly. It hurts even just to blink.

“Hope they knocked the power out of him. Think he’ll be able to wash himself, or will they transport him like that?”

“Eckels said they’d take him in the morning. He probably won’t shower before then.”

“I’m not touching him.”

It doesn’t happen quite as slowly as it did with the reinforced door.

As the guards talk, one of the bars of the cell just . . . falls out. It clatters to the ground, making the three men jump, cursing.

Then another falls. And a third.

Well. That’s Jimmy’s cue.

Painfully, he pulls himself to his feet. He swallows back the taste of bile as his vision spins, rubs away some of the blood dripping from his split lip, and slowly, gingerly, limps out of the cell.

The guards stare at him. One of them, cautiously, reaches for his taser.

The weapon cracks apart, shards of plastic hitting the floor.

The guard lowers his hand back to his side. The other two don’t move, staring at Jimmy in some strange mixture of disbelief and irritation.

Jimmy sighs, winces when his whole body twinges. “Stuff still in the same place?” he rasps.

One of the guards nods.

Jimmy turns away and starts the long trek to the storage room. He doesn’t necessarily need any of it, but it would be nice to not be in the prison uniform.

He needs a really long nap after this one.

-

(Poultry Man shows up at his rented room and sighs at the sight of him, then shines a flashlight in his eyes and tells him not to get out of bed for the next five days. That’s about the extent of Poultry Man’s helpfulness, but he does buy him a loaf of bread and two jars of peanut butter.)

(It was a fairly average week, all told.)

[wundrousarts]

I discovered these paintings by James McNeill Whistler recently, Nocturne in Black and Gold: Falling Rocket (top) and Nocturne in Black and Gold: The Firewheel (bottom). I’m sharing them because they make me think of Nevermoor, as so many things do.

With paintings, a nocturne refers to the depiction of night. This is derived from the musical term, where a nocturne refers to a musical piece that is “inspired by, or evocative of, the night.” These both just come from the fact that “nocturne” essentially means “of the night”.

On a basic level, this just reminds me of Nevermoor by the aesthetics. The dreamy nighttime setting strikes me the most, but also the sparks of yellow fire that make me think of Wunder. Think of how many important scenes happen at night- Morrigan on Eventide, the Museum of Stolen Moments, and the Hollowpox in Courage Square. But the concept has me thinking, obviously, about the Wundrous Art of Nocturne. The only songs we know are Morrigan and Squall’s, who both chose nursery rhymes as their Nocture. Their choices make me think of lullabies, sung at night… and there’s lots to think about with that.

[waketoearth]

20 POSTERS FOR JUNGWON'S 20TH !!!

[dragondawdles]

forbidden pudding

[intotheelliwoods]

Collaborative 2AL Comic Calling and Info!

Oh BOY did this blow up...

Ive polished up dialogue and framing, in total there should be 30 panels, exactly the tumblr image limit haha! Everyone who is participating gets to draw a panel! I will message you the dialogue, and a general layout once I get everyone in! :) I look forward to this!

30/30 Participants [full!]

If you are interested in joining, please message me here on tumblr or Discord! [Discord would be preferred in the long run]

--------

-> Deadline for panels?

2 Weeks! Hoping everything can be ready to go to post by September 24th!

---

-> What style to use?

Your own! I would love it if you can have as much fun as you can making the panel! The more unique each panel is the better, I dont want to constrict anyones artistic ability outside dialogue, where characters are in a room, and a vague framing idea/expressions.

As for coloring, fully colored and digital would be preferred! Just blue blobs can also work! With the exception of 4 specific panels, flashback panels, in a black/white/red scheme to help differentiate what panel is a flashback, and what panel isnt. I will let you know if your panel is one of those specific 4!

---

-> How will posting and crediting work?

When the panels are all done, I will gather them up into a singular post on this blog. Below the comic itself in order of panels would be everyones @ to the blog they want credited, Multiple blogs can also be credited ofc (For example If you drew panel 3 you will be the third @ on the list)

You are also free to add a signature or @ to your blog in the panel art itself!

[piosplayhouse]

A lot of people on the mpreg survey have distinguished between mpreg (male pregnancy) and what I like to call mmpreg (monsterfucker male pregnancy) which has led to some fantastic discussions on egging. I think if you were to put mpreg on some sort of iceberg chart this would likely be the second layer, and then at the very bottom is whatever the hell happened in starving anonymous (bisexual man cannibalizes immortal man in order to birth hundreds of clones of the immortal man out of his own flesh, and then after he runs out and dies he and the immortal man survive by fusing their consciousnesses together into a jellyfish. somehow. and from the jellyfish they adopt a random ass abandoned child and give their powers to him so he also becomes immortal and can rebirth them temporarily in the same way as before. cannibalistic mpreg found family unbirthing)