#pieces of jameson

[lyrakanefanatic]

when im in a “who can be obsessed with something more” competition but my opponent is lyra’s inner dialogue about grayson’s hands

[kusakichan15]

The Canonical Six 💚✨

[starrynightsxo]

me to eve laughlin:

[clarissaweasley-10]

IDK WHY BUT WHENEVER I READ THIS LINE I IMAGINE GRAYSON HAWTHORNE IN ALL HIS HAWTHORNE GLORY CROUCHING DOWN LIKE A FROG, LEAPING TOWARDS ACACIA😭😭

[employee052]

ik this isnt tsp, but harry is basically my narrator just put into a different story and ive worked on this all day as a piece for my portfolio skdjfhksjdfhc

my boys, yasuo and harry, for my still WIP webcomic, route 23 @route23-webcomic

this is them at a bit of a timeskip from the end of the comic. yasuos finally on testosterone, harry finally retired but still writes on occasion, and the two are back in the world of route 23 and yasuos getting ready to propose

[ratatatastic]

theres something inherently cruel about asking a man about "pieces that get left behind by vets" when said vet has already moved onto another team

"he was an unreal add for our team he was just the right piece we needed and for me to be able to sit next to him in the locker room and play with him... hes thinking all the time how to be better he wants to help teammates, help linemates... just works so hard"

Training Camp 24 | 9.24.24 (x)

Miami Herald | 6.1.24 (x)

"it was just so much fun to hear stories" lol were these the stories you were talking about lundy

[secondary-objective-active]

I miss my puppet boy fr

Unedited version under the cut!!

[jjstein2]

listening to him talk during a meeting 🩵

[mechazushi]

Don't ask how my brain came up with this...

Kafka as Spiderman and Hoshina as J. Jonah. Jameson and they're in a secret relationship with Hoshina knowing who Spiderman is. Which leads to a whole different interpretation of menace.

Hoshina: That Kaijuman is a menace!

Kafka(as Kaijuman and outside Hoshina's office window.): You're just mad because I made you cum first last night!

Hoshina: *whips around and tries to launch a coffee mug through the open window at his Kaiju/spider lover* *Kafka catches it and webs it to the high ceiling of his office, just out of reach before he swings away.*

Hoshina: KAIJUMAAAAN!

[ashtonisvibing]

jameson's probably killed someone

was it on purpose? was it accidental?

i dunno but he probably used a gun to do so

[l1z4rdm34t]

RAHHH ART DUMP!!!

The final version of

“The Keeper of Souls”

Progress pics and outfit designing

New WIP!!

[lyrakanefanatic]

no way this bitch wished his daughter a happy birthday and then went ahead and shot himself ☠️☠️☠️

like damn you saw her maybe twice in your life and you decide to pick the one time she’s over, her BIRTHDAY, as the day you wanna sh00t yourself. thomas thomas is not thomas thomasing. 😪

even tho im saying this, im lowkey so excited to find out what happened to him and what kind of person he is. he may not be that great since he barely ever visited his own daughter, but then again he may have visited before when she was younger (like when she was 1 or 2), or when lyra’s mother and he were still together, and lyra just didn’t remember. im not gonna jump to conclusions and immediately accuse him of being a bad person, but then again jlb likes making bad fathers so idk 💀💀

i want to see thomas (i love the fact that im calling him thomas even tho that’s defo not his acc name ☠️) and tobias’ relationship and what that was like, because i feel like they were rather close. (in a mentor/mentee kind of way) who knows, maybe thomas was even close with toby and them (colin, david, yadayada)

maybe he struck out the wrong deal with tobias or they got into a terrible disagreement, and thomas found out a vital piece of information that could sink tobias’ entire empire to the ground. maybe tobias threatened his family (maybe with financial problems, but if this were to occur, i’d guess tobias would threaten to harm them. he’s very cruel to those who aren’t family.) so badly that thomas had no choice but to end his life so the secret would die with him. and maybe the riddle has something to do with the secret as one last “eff you” to tobias?? idk but it’s the theory im sticking with until we find out what happened with thomas thomas.

(btw im getting this from somebody who said that calla in spanish (because i think thomas and lyra are latino) meant “quiet” or “be quiet” so i tend to think that thomas shooting himself was the result of tobias forcing him to keep his mouth shut. even if that means taking the secret to the grave. (literally. ☠️))

[cryingpariah]

Pulitzer was one of Oda’s inspirations for Big News Morgans trust me he literally last week when we facetimed!

[in-the-multiverse]

HotGuy is the bravest, sharpest, most handsomest hero in all of Hermit City. That’s what he’d tell you, anyway. Nobody can agree on what HotGuy is. A hero to some, villain to others. There’s a universal agreement he’s a wanna-be show off of some kind. Him and that pesky bird…

Scar is determined to win over the citys’ hearts (and charitable diamonds) so who better to face off against than King Cleo? With his charming smile, trusty bow, and sidekick CuteGuy, nothing can go wrong!

Coming soon to a theater near you /j

(but these are screenshot style pieces for what I imagine an animated hotguy movie would look like. More ramblings about this au below)

[trailer] / 1

King Cleo would IMMEDIATELY put them in their place like a teacher lecturing the entire class on how they’ve been misbehaving. But that’s no fun right away, so why not let them learn their lesson? >:)

HotGuy and CuteGuy are an iconic duo in Hermit City. King Cleo and Entropy (Cub) are another iconic duo. Whether each team is heroic or villainous depends on who you ask. Even the city residents are split on opinions

Except Bdubs. He runs a podcast spilling conspiracy theories and dragging almost every “hero” name into the mud (his attitude is very inspired by J. Jonah Jameson from Spiderman). He believes they’re menaces and should stay out of the city’s local problems because 9/10 they somehow make it worse. He’s very critical of these 4 in particular, and it doesn’t help that they all like to personally mess with him for the fun of it

Far off in the city outskirts, a living folktale hides in the forest. An amalgamation of creatures that make up one giant monster, and coming across their path is…certainly an experience. They speak in poetry and think out loud, peering deep into the soul of their visitor with just a few words. Sightings are few and far in between, but each interaction is memorable- to say the least. Their name is Joe Hills. A very close friend to King Cleo (but nobody else knows that)

And! an explanation to HotGuy’s mobility aid

With the best high-tech, Scar’s wheelchair can reshape into a mechanical griffin with the press of a button. It lets him take to the sky and hotguy targets! Griffins also have conflicting symbolism, which reflects his persona

Good and Evil. Light and Dark. They’re said to be harbingers of chaos. Mischief certainly seems to follow HotGuy wherever he goes. Be wary of his smirk

They’re also said to be gentle protectors. He shows up to help citizens and tiny creatures alike. With a voice so soothing, any trouble they face is wiped off like nothing (or, ends up feeling a little easier to handle)

Griffins are one of the most remarkable creatures in mythology, their stories told and twisted through generations, but how does the griffin tell his own story?

[probablyasocialecologist]

Disco Elysium's setting was formerly the site of a communist revolution that established the Commune of Revachol. It didn't last long. The Coalition of Nations brutally put the communists down, divided the city among themselves, and enforced a free market capitalist system. The results are depressingly apparent in Revachol's dilapidated district of Martinaise. "The literacy rate is around 45% west of the river," Joyce Messier, a negotiator sent to parley with Martinaise's striking union, tells our protagonist. "Fifty years of occupation have left these people in an *oblivion* of poverty." This state of affairs is overseen by the Moralist International, a union of centre-left and centre-right parties that professes to represent the cause of humanism, but whose primary concern is transparently the preservation of capitalist interest – a Coalition official happily tells us that "the Coalition is only looking out for *ze price stabilitié*", arguing that inflation in Revachol must be prevented, comparing it to a heart disease that could block the "normal circulation of the economy". The people of Revachol don't matter. Their suffering and oppression is only significant as a necessary symptom of the system functioning as intended.  The most biting aspect of this critique of capitalist exploitation can be found in the cynicism of those who represent Moralism, or at least, its interests. The aforementioned Joyce Messier is its perfect embodiment. She does not believe in the facade of humanity Moralism presents to the world, and is under no illusions about what it has done to the people of Martinaise. She tells you how bad things are, freely admitting that the pieces of legislation put in place by the Moralist Coalition to govern Revachol are there to keep "the city in a [...] laissez-faire stasis to the benefit of foreign capital". This corrosion of belief via cynicism, this depiction of a system that continues to operate unimpeded despite few believing in it, feels all too familiar.  This critique of liberal capitalism's hypocrisy, cynicism, exploitation and deep-rooted connections to colonialism, is particularly powerful in recognising the precarious position it finds itself in. It has reached a stasis that seems, paradoxically, both insurmountable, and on the verge of collapse. Moralism relies on this contradiction. It's unofficial motto, "for a moment, there was hope", underlines the degree to which its dominance depends on the preclusion of the idea that a better world is possible, that there is no alternative, echoing the End of History sentiment that created the (rapidly disintegrating) political consensus of our lived reality. Despite growing dissatisfaction with the status quo in the real world, it has, indeed, proved difficult to imagine an alternative. The oft-repeated phrase attributed to literary critic and political theorist Fredric Jameson, that is is easier to imagine the end of the world than it is the end of capitalism, has almost become a cliché. However, the mistake Joyce makes, and one that we should avoid, is to assume that this means an alternative won't emerge nonetheless.

[...]

In a world where everyone is encouraged to look out for themselves, Disco Elysium suggests we should remember the value of collectivity, camaraderie and community. The Deserter has forgotten that though the communism he identified with is dead, the values that brought people to its cause in search of a better world remain as valid as ever. Bleak as it is, those values exist in Martinaise. They exist in us. Their latent power has the potential to lead us towards better horizons. 

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: call it the magic of christmas

pairing: jameson hawthorne x avery grambs

synopsis: avery has to finish her work before her deadline (christmas day) but she’s not exactly being kind to herself about it… luckily she happens to have a hawthorne of a boyfriend who knows what to do

warnings:

a/n: dedicated to @wish-i-were-heather, merry christmas ❤️🤍💚🎄

taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @eternal--dream @shattered-glass-roses

Avery was on the brink tearing her hair out over this set of paperwork, the deadline was midnight and it was currently an hour until the clock struck that deadly hour. She thought she’d managed her time well, she’d thought she’d been prepared but everything had to come crashing down on Christmas Eve, of course.

“Heiress?” Jameson called, walking into the room. His eyebrows pinched in concern upon seeing Avery still at her desk, frantically signing and scribbling on pieces of paper, her impossible to do list not even half done.

“Give me half an hour,” she responded, knowing what he’s say before even said it. She didn’t even take her eyes off of the paper, “tops.”

“It’s Christmas, Ave,” he said gently, the green of his eyes whirring into a sea of worry.

“I have a paper to finish,” she shook her head sharply, her laser focus almost admirable, “and it’s not Christmas yet.”

“Put it down, heiress,” Jameson told her, leaning on her desk.

Avery still hadn’t looked up and continued to fill in one of the many blank boxes still left on the page, “it needs to be in by tomorrow,” she explained, a panic he wasn’t too used to hearing creeping up in the back of her throat.

“Put it down,” he repeated immediately.

This wasn’t Avery. Whatever this was, it was making her stressed and frustrated and anxious and Jameson couldn’t bear it. How dare anything make her feel that way.

“No,” she replied bluntly, before cursing her pen for running out.

“Are you even going to look at me or am I going to have to take my shirt off?” Jameson deadpanned, staring at her intently to see if she would even minority react to anything he was trying.

“I’m concentrating Jameson,” she snapped, ignoring the last comment as tempting as the offer was.

“Fine,” he sighed, “but you asked for this.”

Smoothly Jameson shed his shirt, tossing it behind him, exposing his toned upper body and scarred chest. He stood there, a Hawthorne smirk plastered on his lips. He played a betting game in his head: how long would Avery be able resist his little charade for?

“I’m not looking,” she sang, as if reading his mind.

His grin only widened, “but you want to.”

“Nope,” she said, over enunciating the ‘p’ so it popped as her eyes moved from left to right at lightning speed to skim the text in front of her.

“I can see you trying to sneak a glance,” Jameson smiled, observing her eyes lingering a little longer on the left side where he stood, each time she read.

“I’m trying to finish my work,” Avery scoffed, pushing a loose stand of her hair out of her face.

“Which you don’t need to be doing,” he said.

“Yes I do,” she replied, an uneven bitterness in her tone, “some of us have a sense of responsibility.”

As soon as the words left her lips she regretted them. She looked up to meet him eyes, guilt rippling across her features.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean that,” she rushed, pausing what she was doing.

“You’re stressed Avery,” Jameson told her softly, taking her face into the warm palms of his hands, “take a break.”

She shook her head and turned away, “I don’t need a break.”

“Are you really going to make me sing Hamilton shirtless now,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck, “because if that will get you away I will.”

“I’m sure you could get Xander to duet with you,” she shrugged lightly.

He scrunched up his face, “he always steals the good bits.”

“Look,” Avery exhaled, “as much as I’d love to leave all of this, I can’t afford to, the deadline is tonight. Like tonight, tonight.”

“I get that,” he nodded gently, “really, believe me, I do, but this isn’t good for you.”

“I told you,” she said, “thirty more minutes, tops.”

“Who were you trying to convince there, you or me,” he asked with a witty smile.

“Shut up, you,” Avery grinned with a dopey love struck look in her eyes, “thirty minutes and I’m all yours.”

Jameson wiggled his eyebrows, “I like the sound of that.”

“You’re shameless,” she shook her head, laughing slightly.

“What can I say,” he shrugged, “I’m a Hawthorne.”

“That you are,” she murmured with a small smile, gazing up at him, “you’re distracting me now! You sly little-“

“Sorry, I’m going I’m going,” he said quickly, raising his hands above his head. Jameson began to walk out of the room when suddenly he spun on his heel and walked back, “but one thing before I leave…”

She hummed a response, too consumed back in her work to look back up again.

“Goodbye kiss?”

Avery sighed, putting her pen down, “I’m going to see you in thirty minutes.”

“Thirty whole minutes!” Jameson groaned, “you might as well just sacrifice me to the devil and let me boil in hell.”

“Well isn’t that tempting,” she said, standing up slowly and taking a few steps towards him, until her arms were around his neck and their faces were almost touching, “but I sort of want my Christmas present tomorrow so I guess I’ll keep you around.”

“Glad to know you’re still deeply in love with me, heiress,” Jameson smiled softly, all doe-eyed, with a sweet sarcasm.

“Who says I ever was,” Avery teased him, her fingertip drawing a spiral on the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his back.

He forged a wince at her comment, “you wound me.”

“Shame,” she whispered, slowly pressing her lips onto his.

Jameson melted into her, trailing his hands up her body and deep into her hair. He began to kiss her deeper, more hungrily and she almost immediately mirrored him. The taste, the feeling, the adrenaline. It was perfect, it was all perfect. They fell into a rhythm as they often did of kissing and breathing, lost in the taste of each other, their own overwhelming love and the scared moment.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, finishing it off, before swiftly knocking her off of her feet and throwing her over his shoulder. Before she even had time to process it Avery was already there.

She yelped, flailing around a little, “what are you doing?”

“Nothing much,” he shrugged, beginning to make his way towards the exit.

“Jameson,” she growled, “put me down.”

“Too late for that heiress,” he sighed, “you fell for my trap.”

“Trap?”

“Well with my naturally seductive qualities, great body and irresistible lips I managed to lure you right where I wanted you to throw you over my shoulder to remove you from this,” he explained as if it were some intricately designed plot that mad been created by a mastermind.

“So you manipulated me to stop me from working,” Avery deadpanned, feeling the blood rushing to her head and she hung limp upside down.

“You say manipulated, I say kindly wooed away from mentally damaging activities,” he replied, leaving the room completely.

“Mentally damaging?” she scoffed, “look Jamie, I love you but this isn’t funny, I’ve got serious work I need to do, it’s important.”

“Not as important as you,” he said softly.

“I appreciate your concern but I’m fine,” she replied, a little more firmness to her tone.

“You’ve been at the desk for eight hours,” he exclaimed “even Grayson wouldn’t be sane after that.”

Avery groaned, beginning to kick her legs in attempts to free herself, “Jameson I swear to you-“

“Come on heiress,” Jameson only laughed, “where’s your Christmas spirit?”

“Up my WOAH-“

Before she could finish her sentence Jameson had began to take off down the corridor, running. Avery squealed at the sudden change in pace, being shaken and upside down. Her head began to pound as she continued to try and free herself from his grasp.

“Put me down!”

“No can do!”

No matter how hard she tried, his hands were too firmly held onto her waist for her to even remotely wriggle her way out of them, much to her frustration.

“When I get down I am going to shave your head,” she yelled, “in your sleep!”

Jameson came to an abrupt halt, turning a little white.

“You wouldn’t,” he asked, in barely a whisper.

“I’ve already got the razor picked out,” Avery smirked as Xander walked around the corner.

He paused slowly taking in the scene, furrowed brows and inquisitive eyes.

“Shirtless brother,” he pointed to Jameson, “annoyed girlfriend over his shoulder. Nope, not gonna ask.”

“Xander! Wait!” she shouted after him.

He turned and came back.

“I need your help,” she said, gesturing to her situation.

“I think you’re in safe hands,” Xander replied, jerking his head towards Jameson’s arms wrapped around her leg, holding her into place.

“No, not safe hands,” she disagreed, “I want to get down but Jameson’s stubborn as it gets and he’s not letting me.”

“You’re up there for a good reason,” Jameson called.

“Shhhh you are not part of this conversation,” she replied smacking his back, “please help me Xand, I’ll do anything.”

Xander looked intrigued, his eyes sparkled at the word ‘anything’. Still he pondered the sentence for a long while before answering.

“You know, maybe Jameson is right,” he said slowly.

“Not you too!” she groaned letting her head fall limp, almost doll life.

“Don’t ask any of them for help,” Jameson smiled, “I’ve got them all onside.”

Xander looked at her apologetically, “we conducted mission: get-Avery-out-of-the-office as a team and we’re not going back on it now, sorry.”

“Xander, please,” she begged, “you gotta help me out here.”

He sighed, looking at her and from his expression she knew she was practically done for unless…

“You owe me still,” Avery said, she didn’t like holding things over people, especially not people that she loved but she really needed to finish her work.

Xander eyes widen, adding the the hold of guilt that was being drilled in Avery’s chest, “you said you wouldn’t bring that up!”

“Desperate times calls for desperate measures,” she winced, “sorry Xand.”

“If I do help and get you down…” he said slowly, “…will you stop working.”

“Yes,” she responded almost instantly, the lie rolling off of her tongue simply.

“Pinky swear,” Xander replied, extending his pinky finger towards the upside down Avery.

She sighed, giving him an apologetic look. She couldn’t break a pinky promise, so she wouldn’t make one she couldn’t keep.

“You just lied blatantly to my face,” Xander said dryly.

“Look I’m sorry Xand,” she rushed, “but this thing here is being impossible, it’s one page I have to finish and then I’m done.”

He shook his head, clutching his chest where his heart was, “take her away Jamie.”

“Xand no!” she yelled, kicking her legs.

“I can’t even look at you right now,” he said, shaking his head slowly, walking im the opposite direction from Jameson. Her one hope of escape. Gone.

Jameson laughed and carried on walking.

“This is not funny Jameson,” she groaned, burying her face into his back.

“I’m quite amused,” he replied.

“Well I’m glad one of us is having a good time,” she snapped, the sharpness in her voice foreign to him.

Slowly and carefully, he set her down on the floor, making sure to keep her arms to support her incase she got dizzy from being upside down for so long.

“I’m really stressed about this,” she told him, unwanted tears pricking in the corner of her eyes, “and it’s like you don’t get it, I don’t think you understand how I feel right now I’m so overwhelmed and-“

“It’s done,” Jameson interrupted her.

“What?”

“Alisa finalised everything exactly as you wanted it,” he explained cooly.

Her eyebrows pinched together as she titled her head to the side, “I don’t understand.”

“You needed to take a break,” he shrugged, “I got it sorted.”

“You’re joking,” she laughed, “right?”

“Call it the magic of Christmas,” he winked, brushing a chunk of hair away from her face to tuck in behind her ear.

“You are a meddler,” she said, trying to suppress her grin and failing.

He could only beam back, “you chose to date me.”

She smiled, staring at him for a moment. What did she do to get so lucky? To be able to look into those eyes every day, taste those lips, know every inch of that body. She did choose him, she knew as much, but she bloody knew why.

Still, Avery folded her arms over her chest and scrunched her nose up, “I’m still mad at you by the way.”

“Mad enough at me to have a heated make out session?” Jameson asked, with a suggestive glance towards the shut bedroom door.

“That’s a stretch,” Avery replied.

“Okay,” he shrugged, masking his disappointment, “what about a kiss then?”

“Hmmm,” she hummed, the sound a buzz in the back of her throat, “let me think.”

“I promise not to throw you over my shoulder,” he winked, making her laugh.

Slowly she took his face in her hands and kissed his nose first, making him chuckle. Then she closed her eyes and savoured his lips. So delicate, so natural, so surreal. The clock struck twelve, the chimes boomed across the house.

“Merry Christmas, Heiress,” he whispered against her lips.

“Merry Christmas Jameson.”