#ok ok done

[inkandpaintsnowleopard]

Sorry for dying (<- stuff I would genuinely say irl) have some old-ish drawings of my minion-rabbit AU that nobody cares about but me

Long rambly explanations for those last five under the cut:

Ok so like there are minions that appear ONLY in old promotional artwork and NEVER anywhere else. They would not, could not even, exist naturally in-universe, at least with the original design constraints. Here I present this fandom page screenshot

And the original images for three of them (Fox appears in both images)

Now, are these images official? Who the hell knows, that second one looks AI generated as hell, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to make characters out of these weirdos

I would also like to note these other two images:

I really want someone to let me into wherever Illumination keeps their minion jpegs ‘cause Jesus Christ my brain can’t comprehend this probably-super-simple thing

So Spooky Month fandom: y’know hiest-4738’s OC Keb? Love that dude, his origin trips me out beyond reason. I’m kinda thinking of these minions the same way I think about Keb; here are some mysterious lost media-lookin dudes, let’s make them characters. I use all minion names that the fandom wiki gives, because regardless of how accurate it is, what else am I gonna do

My current headcannons are that these guys are some of the very earliest clones, when Gru still wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, resulting in him making strange and unnatural minions. I think Harold is more or less a modified Kevin clone (due to that second image), Fox is a sort of mix of a short and tall minion, and Harley is a modified one-eye minion clone (with his “model” later being reused for Ralph once Gru had full control over minion genetics)

And then there’s that guy from the CONCEPT art:

(Ok but like how interesting is minion concept art like look what we could’ve had in a D-Sides timeline)

And I would like to think that that’s Harold on the end there

So for this dude, I’ve decided that since he literally comes from the concept art, he’s the first clone that Gru ever made (I believe in the clone theory with all my goddamn heart, it’s not theory it’s fact). He wasn’t a clone of any minion in particular, with Gru creating him simply to see if he could. I might retcon all this if I decide to make characters out of even earlier concept art, but that’s my idea for now

This makes no sense to anyone but me, feel free to ask about it

[sapphicscience]

idk thinking about how sometimes you have to show up for people you aren't that close to, because sometimes you're just the person who's there. sometimes you invite a new friend to a party and end up having to sit with them through a panic attack. sometimes you run into an acquaintance on their worst day and they need to talk about what happened. sometimes someone is crying in a stairwell and you're the only one around to ask if they're okay. and none of this is "trauma dumping" or whatever the fuck it's just being there for people because you're the one in the room with them.

[starrysharks]

ghanaian miku

[sidras-tak]

Accessibility takes too goddamn fucking long.

My brother was paralyzed in October 2023. We got him home from the hospital (in Texas, when we live in Iowa) in a clunky old hospital chair. He hated it. He was scared and angry and in pain and his life had just changed forever and he couldn’t do anything for himself in that wheelchair. His first goal (aside from learning how to transfer) was to get a wheelchair. My family was lucky enough to afford one so we thought it would be easy enough. Nope.

We couldn’t buy him a wheelchair. He needed a prescription. For a wheelchair. A doctor had to examine him and declare him in need of a wheelchair. It wasn’t good enough that he had scans and tests showing tumors cutting off his spinal cord. He needed his primary care doctor to examine him during a physical and write a prescription. He was making 2-4 transfers a day, tops. He had no energy to get to a doctor. Home health was in and out every day. He had no time to get to a doctor. He didn’t get a prescription for almost a month. Then it had to go through insurance.

We asked if we could skip insurance and just buy a wheelchair for him. Nope. They wouldn’t sell us one, not even at full sticker price. It needed to be approved by Medicare. We ordered a wheelchair, a nice one, a good shade of green, sporty, small. It would let him move around the house. He would be able to cook, to reach drawers and get stuff from the fridge and brush his teeth and put his contacts in at a sink. We were told it would take awhile, maybe two months. Silently we all hoped he would be around to see two more months.

He went on hospice care on a Saturday in March. On Monday, I was calling his friends to come see him before he died. I got a call on his phone. It was the wheelchair company. They were about to order his wheelchair, she said, but there was an issue with insurance— had he stopped being covered by Medicare? Well, yes. When he started hospice care, he got kicked off Medicare. The very nice woman I talked to told me to call her if he resumed Medicare coverage so she could order his wheelchair. He died less than 12 hours later.

We ordered that chair for him in early December. Medicare didn’t approve the order until March. He was dead before they got around to it. He wanted that fucking wheelchair so badly. The only reason he had any semblance of independence and any quality of life for the last five months of his life was because the wheelchair company lent him an old beater chair, a very used model of the chair he ordered. If I could go back and change one thing about his end-of-life, I would get him his dream wheelchair. He told me again and again he couldn’t wait to get it, so that he could feel like a person again. He made the best of what he had with that old beater chair, but it still makes me mad to this day. He was paralyzed. He needed a chair that afforded him dignity. We had the money for it. And yet, we were left waiting for five months, for a chair that wouldn’t even get ordered until the day he died.

[trainwreckgenerator]

my evening

[cordspaghetti]

“i don’t think we can use this one, guys. who exactly is the target audience supposed to be???”

[lokh]

DO YOU SEE MY VISION... DO YOU SEE WHAT THEY COULD BECOME

[mossmittens]

the judge every time someone presents evidence or asks a question or considers a possibility or has an objection

[macydraws]

exchange of blood.

[snarkspawn]

the devil you know

[its-emimi]

💙💙💙💙💙

[tooquirkytolose]

Don't Be Difficult

[madscientistreaction]

gulps . hi

[hinamie]

spins him around trying to understand the pink mop he calls hair

[whateveriwant]

Actually I'm not done talking about Mr. Simon Fucks-Himself-Stupid Riley just yet :(

I'm picturing a scenario where you, a civilian, are visiting your boyfriend at his base. Maybe you're there to deliver something, like a file he forgot at home or the lunch he said he didn't need. Either way, whatever your cover story for being there is, the end result is the same: you, on your back, knees up by your ears, sprawled across Simon's desk as he fucks you like his life depends on it.

Being a Lieutenant grants him the luxury of having a private office where he can engage in such extracurriculars, but that doesn't mean it's without some major risks – namely, prying ears that might be lurking in the hallway outside.

But being discreet shouldn't be an issue, should it? I mean, a man known infamously as “Ghost” should have no problem staying quiet, right?

Wrong.

Turns out, not only does that tight hole of yours reduce your boyfriend to a dumb, drooling mess, it makes him a dumb, drooling mess who can't keep his fucking mouth shut.

So while you have the wherewithal to clamp a hand over your lips to try muffling your lewd noises, Simon is out here moaning and groaning unabashedly like something sent forward in time from the Paleolithic. You could try asking him to cover his mouth, but it seems an impossible task; his hands are a little preoccupied with making sure he doesn't fuck you right over the edge of his desk.

While you don't want to stop, you also don't want to get caught, so you settle for urging him to keep it down. It's after a third softly gasped ‘N-Need to be qu-quiet, Si’ that your warning finally worms its way into his brain, and he acts in a way to appease you, just… not how you expect.

Swiftly, Simon removes his hold of your waist and brings one of his arms forward. He grabs for the center of his t-shirt, tugs the material up, and quickly stuffs the fabric into his mouth.

It only takes a split second for the action to happen, but immediately, you see how effective it is. The moment that standard, army-issued tee is captured between Simon's teeth, there's a drastic reduction of noise in the room.

Now, he can fuck into you with reckless abandon, and he snaps his hips forward with enough force to make your whole body ripple. Even as you pulse and constrict around him (sometimes inadvertently, sometimes not), the sounds that climb their way up Simon's throat are heavily dampened by his cotton gag.

It's as Simon begins the ascent to his peak that the cloth in his mouth really comes into play. As he pumps into you, he starts grunting lowly, gutturally, exhaling through his nostrils in quick, harsh bursts. It's a deep sound, animalistic in nature, like a bull huffing before it digs its heels into the dirt and charges.

His thrusts turn sloppier and sloppier the closer he nears his high, his hips propelled forward only by some basic hindbrain instinct. His lashes start to flutter, his eyes roll towards the back of their sockets, and when he cums, he throws his head back in a full-blown snarl.

Simon's a bit shaky on his feet after he climaxes in you, but he manages to pull out before he stumbles backwards, plopping down heavily into his chair. As you start cleaning yourself up, you see how he makes no attempt to move. He just sits there, completely brainless, pants around his ankles and t-shirt still tucked between his teeth. You have to walk over to him and purposefully tug on the shirt to get him to release it, and once it's freed, you see the damage that's been done.

In the center of Simon's shirt rests a big, blotchy wet spot, like he's tried to do his own slobbery take on the classic Rorschach test. The fabric's been wrinkled to all hell and there's a few imprints left behind from where his teeth had bitten down, and if you were to inspect the hem closely, you'd see where he popped a stitch or two in his ecstasy.

The sight of his mangled shirt has you tutting in disapproval. He can't walk out of his office looking like this, and he certainly can't forgo wearing a shirt altogether. What would the people around base say if they saw their normally put together Lieutenant looking so unkempt? You don't think he'd ever hear the end of it, nor would you for that matter.

In the meantime, as you wait for Simon's brains to un-liquify themselves, maybe you can scrounge up something else for him to wear. There's got to be something lying around here to help make him presentable once again. It's too bad as part of your cover you didn't think to bring an extra set of clothes to change into.

You'll have to remember for next time.

[arcanegifs]

Arcanegifs' Arcane Season 2 (2024) Character Poll Winner: Vi ↳ "Vi was strong because she was afraid. Her fear of losing us what made her fight so hard."