#small requests ✧

[llocket]

✧ 　computer window pngs

f2u! reblogs very appreciated! ↳ self indulgent, suggested by @melodyy-mel!!

mwaheheh..

[bet-on-me-13]

Danny has to work off his Sentence

So! Danny isn't the King of the Infinite Realms. And he is not above the Law.

Sure, he has many friends in high places, and he did defeat the King in single combat, but that doesn't mean he is above the Law in the way The King would be.

And unfortunately for him, Walkers Laws do actually have some backing.

Not all of them. Some are just laws he placed over his Lair and surrounding Territory, which he is really nitpicky about, but the Big ones he touts are the Laws of the entire Zone set by the First King. Don't Tresspass on Lairs without an official challenge, don't End a Realms Being without permission, Don't bring Humans into the Zone without permission, etc.

And Danny has broken quite a few of them, meaning Walker is entirely in his rights to put him away for a few Thousand Years. Thankfully, there is an alternative.

Since Danny wasn't wanted for any major crimes, Walker offered a different path for him. Danny was still one of the Strongest Ghosts in the Zone, and as the Portal was technically his Grave he had full authority to use it however he liked, so if he ran a couple of errands for Walker, he could consider his Sentence served.

All he has to do was round up a few of the Trouble Makers that had escaped his grasp by virtue of being in the Living Realm, and he would forgive his previous crimes.

So, Danny took him up on the offer. It was better than being constantly hounded by Walkers Guards. The fact that he could beat them easily was moot, it was extremely annoying and he wanted it to stop.

So he was given his First list of targets, and went on his way.

Ra's "The Demons Head" Al Ghul, for Tresspassing on Ghost Zone Waste Dumping Grounds

Solomon Grundy, for continued use of copyrighted poem, requested by copyright holder post mortem

Vandal Savage, for failure to notify the proper authorities about his absence on the day of his intended death

Jack "The Joker" Napier, Special Request by 1000+ Ghosts for purposes of Vengeance, Torture, and general Catharsis.

...interesting list...maybe he should have this through a bit more...

[basalting]

after jasons death bruce "accidentally" slips harvey a crowbar while hes in arkham and kisses his cheek and says, voice soft and colder than ice, "make him hurt for me honey"

it takes 6 guards to sedate and drag two face off the joker the next time two face sees him and for the rest of their lives as soon as harvey sees the joker he goes after him like a rabid dog.

[shrimparts-blog888]

I will not elaborate ✨️

[lylahammar]

i'd love to see you draw rin!

I went way further with this one than I meant to but I had fun :3 Rin is a cutie!!

[postracehair]

a small request

max verstappen x reader | 2k

even world champions deserve love letters. after missing the mexico gp, you're determined to see max have a good weekend in brazil. maybe all it takes is a handwritten note.

cw: fem!reader, being in love, softness, a track-side kiss, love letters. and google translate, sorry to any dutch speakers.

a/n: was this inspired by that video from austin? yeah, it was! sue me! also, written/posted before the gp, so. no race details <3 xx

__

You miss race weekend in Mexico. It happens. You can't be there every weekend, much as you'd like to be. You're even more peeved about it after, considering you quite like Carlos and wish you had seen him earn what very well might be his last win with Ferrari. But you're mostly upset because Max, though he won't say so, could probably have used your support.

Years of experience have him calm, cool, and collected despite the team troubles. Flippant, some headlines say. Mad Max, others. But you know he's probably just tired. Tired of the media, of the FIA, of the churning conflict between him and Lando -- something you all knew was coming someday, but maybe not so suddenly. The longest season ever continues to drag and drag and drag.

"Twenty seconds was...Christ, Max," you say. You know what happened, of course. You watched what you could, saw the sharp moves around the corner and heard the radios. It never gets easier, watching him take risks like that. Usually, everyone else backs off, but McLaren can see victory on the horizon and won't let it go. You can't blame them, either of them, you just wish it was all a bit less tense.

"I know," he says, voice raspy over the connection. "I -- well, you know how I feel about it. Don't want to say anything in case the FIA is tapping my phone."

You laugh into your hand so you don't disturb the other people in the airline lounge, not entirely used to places like this, still. Max has told you over and over that it's absurd for you to spend your own money when you're coming to see him all over the world. When you told him you moved things around so you could come to Brazil, he booked you the nicest ticket, per usual.

"Oh, ha, ha," you say. "Don't give them any ideas, Mr. Community Service." You sigh. "Do you need anything? Be honest."

"Aren't you at the airport already? Your flight should be leaving in --" A pause, like he's checking his watch -- "forty minutes."

You glance up at the departures screen. He's right, but you don't give it to him so easily. "Know my schedule, do you?"

"Well, I booked your ticket, so I should think so."

"Your assistant booked it, you mean."

He hums and you picture him in his hotel room, maybe at the window, looking over the city. "I know your flight information. Don't be silly."

"I mean it, Max," you say again. "Is there anything I can do to make the weekend better?" It's a bit of a useless question and you expect him to answer with a snarky get me a new car or apply for the position of steward.

But he doesn't. He clears his throat.

"I'm just glad you're coming," he says, softly. "I've missed you."

You never doubt how Max feels about you, but he must be pretty tired to admit it like this. He's all about actions, this man. Making sure you have what you need when you're at the track, arranging your travel, remembering your schedule. He shows you how much you matter, and that's more than enough. He never wants to make you feel bad for having a life beyond being his girlfriend. And this doesn't, not really. It just makes you ache, fills your chest with the hopeless affection you've felt for him for so long.

"I've missed you, too," you reply. "But I'd like to be useful."

"Oh, I can think of a few things, then," Max says, all of a sudden all cheek. Such a boy, sometimes. A boy in love.

You can't help but laugh, face hot. "Hush, you!"

He huffs. A few beats of silence, the comfortable, well-worn kind. Sometimes, when he's halfway across the world and up late on the sim, he'll call you just to hear you breathe.

"Max?"

"I -- do you remember what you did for my birthday?"

He'd wanted something small, quiet. There was a lot of work to be done with the team but three weekends off meant you had a little time to yourselves. A few days hardly leaving his place, a dinner with some of the guys, a cake you made yourself, hand-delivered in bed. Gifts for a very wealthy man are difficult, especially since Max doesn't seem to want much.

"Oh, the pillow with my face on it?"

Max laughs. The lounge loudspeaker announces that your flight is going to board soon, so you gather your things but keep your phone wedged next to your ear.

"No, the other thing," he says. He clears his throat and summons some of that World Champion courage. "The letter."

You'd written him a fairly long love letter, thinking it would be a nice thing to carry to the races you couldn't be at this fall. It was tempting to be embarrassed about it when you gave it to him the morning of his birthday, but his cheeks had gone pink and he'd buried his face in your neck.

"Oh, that," you say. The airport is busier outside the lounge and you push your case in the direction of your gate weaving between. people.

"You could write me another, maybe."

Max is direct. He is honest, at work and at home, but this surprises you a little.

"You do know I'm about to get on a plane to see you, right?"

He huffs, and you imagine his cheeks pink, eyes bright. "You asked!"

"I'll write you another love letter, Max Verstappen," you assure him. "I'll write you a hundred."

"One is a fine start," he says firmly. "You should be boarding soon, and I've got to go to the press conference. Text me when you've landed?"

"Of course," you reply, eyes rolling though he can't see. "I'll see you soon, okay? Love you."

"Love you, liefje."

On the plane, you tear out some pages from your journal. You'd prefer to have some nice stationery like what you wrote on for his birthday, but maybe this is more romantic, more real. Making do with that you've got because he asked.

In the last one, you told him your memories of when you first met. How your stomach swooped when you made him laugh, how his blue eyes wouldn't leave your dreams. In this one you tell him about when you first realized you loved him. How absurdly early you were sure, how badly you wanted to tell him for weeks. The way you remember every second of when you blurted it out -- his face, his smile. His voice in your ear, telling you over and over, geliefde, ik houd van je, zo veel. I love you, so much.

"You're working hard on that," someone says. You look up at your seatmate, a woman a few decades older than you with a heavy accent.

You feel a little like you've been caught doing something illicit, but you just smile at her. "For my boyfriend," you tell her. "A love letter."

She flattens her palm over heart and sighs. "How lovely," she coos. "I hope he takes care of you, too."

We take care of each other, you want to say. You could tell her about how he sends you postcards from every country he goes to after you told him you like to put them on your fridge. You could tell her how sometimes you text him during his streams to make him laugh on camera. How he remembers your favorites, how he saves you his special team gear, how he sends you flowers all the time. How he likes to sit on the couch, your toes under his thigh, fingers around your ankle. How you've been learning Dutch and how he patiently corrects your pronunciation. You could go on and on and on.

"He does," you say instead.

__

The plane lands safely in Brazil, but the pilot tells you that there is no open gate and that you'll be sitting for a while. You text Max.

stuck on tarmac, will be later than expected! :(

He must be in media responsibilities still because he doesn't reply until you finally get off the plane.

go relax at the hotel. i'll see you for dinner!

You find your ride easy enough and take a deep breath. The letter you wrote on the plane feels heavy in your pocket, and you just want to see Max. To be near him again. To give him this small thing he asked for.

"Excuse me," you say to the driver. "Do you think we could go to the track, instead?"

You text Max's assistant to say you're headed there, hoping it's not too much of an inconvenience. You're told he's almost done, maybe an hour left, and when you arrive you're led to his driver rooms. His shit is everywhere, per usual. Max is quite neat except in here -- Carmen once told you that George is the same. Clothes strewn about, his race boots unlaced and left in the way, warm-up equipment in a pile. On the table are a few of his things -- his wallet, a notebook, some papers.

Wait a second. One of those papers looks...familiar. It's been folded in three, the envelope it came in nowhere to be seen. His name is scrawled on the blank side in your hand and when you tug it from the pile you can see that it's creased, the edges a little more worn than when you gave it to him a few months ago. Max Verstappen, three-time World Champion, actually carries around the love letter you wrote him. Brings it to the track. It's darling. You love him so much. You pull the new one from your pocket and set them side-by-side on the table where he'll find them.

You ask to be taken to the pit wall, please, so you can see whatever the drivers are doing on track. Some dedication, you're told. The timing ends up being perfect and you get there just as they're finishing. You lean on a gap in the barrier where, on Sunday, crew members will be holding timing signs as the drivers zip around the hot pavement. The crowd in the stands is loud, as always, and maybe you imagine it but it seems to get a little louder when you look out.

The guys are talking amongst themselves and a few of them wave at you. You spot Max as he turns away from Charles and you can't help but grin. His eyes meet yours under his cap and his entire face chances, softens, and he breaks into a jog. You lean out over the concrete ledge and meet him in a kiss that's more two smiles pressed together than anything else.

"This is a surprise," he says when he pulls away. Eyes sparkling, he shows no signs of rejoining the other drivers as they head to whatever their next thing is. Photos, probably.

"I missed you," you tell him. "I've left you something in your room."

"Oh?" He straightens the lanyard of your credentials with careful fingers.

You reach for him, palm on his cheek. His stubble tickles and he leans into it ever so slightly. It doesn't feel like there are thousands of eyes on you, not even a little.

"Yeah," you say. "As promised." Someone calls his name. "Go on, then. I'll be waiting."

He kisses you again, a quick brush of his lips on the corner of your mouth.

Later, you'll wake from your nap in the hotel room to those same kisses on your cheeks, your forehead. Max will gather you in his arms and tell you all the moments he almost told you he loved you, how he could hardly believe when you said it first. You'll tease him for how many times he's read that first letter and he'll cheekily say that's why he needs more. And you will write him more, you'll write him as many as he wants. As many as you can, for the rest of your lives.

But now, in front of thousands of screaming fans, he smiles at only you, boyish and pleased.

[gravitysoda]

refusing an impossible wish and settling for one last game of chess.

[sleepyeule]

Been awhile since I posted any oc stuff 💀

[polysucks]

Part 1 of @meemawdean’s incredible art requests!

meemawdean and I had discussed some of the cultural differences among the houses and the cultural differences they portray derived from their ancient roots. Specifically, I will die on the hill that the Starks are heavily indigenous peoples coded. If you’re somewhat familiar with my art, you’ve probably noticed that I have drawn the Stark children in a lot of indigenous inspired fashion, such as parkas, amauti, kamleikas and kuspuks! I’m really interested in exploring the cultural significance of dress, style and depiction of heritage in my art for the world of A Song of Ice And Fire, and am forever obsessed with the anthropological aspect of the peoples depicted in this series.

I was recently re-reading acok, and it was in one of Catelyn’s chapters where she spoke about nursing Robb. I found it really interesting, that (at least, from what I could recall) none of the the mothers whose perspectives we get to see the story through ever spoke about nursing their babes. It just made me think more and more about how intimate the northern peoples are in Westeros— specifically, the Starks. The Starks are affectionate with each other, they hug, they kiss, they laugh and are playful with one another, and they are constantly thinking of one another, while other family dynamics we have seen are a little more…dare I say, sterile.

That’s a long winded way for me to say I think Lyanna would have been a very doting mother, affectionate and very hands-on with her son, insistent on not having a wet nurse, and very dedicated to the quiet bonding time she gets to nurse her son and nourish his body to grow. Imma end this post before I start crying lyanna no you know better than to fall for a man who uses purple shampoo

[hellsitegenetics]

man & girl go out to drive under moonlight. they stop at on at a side of road. he turn to his girl and say: "baby, i love you very much" "what is it honey?" "our car is broken down. i think the engine is broken, ill walk and get some more fuel." "ok. ill stay here and look after our stereo. there have been news report of steres being stolen." "good idea. keep the doors locked no matter what. i love you sweaty"

so the guy left to get full for the car. after two hours the girl say "where is my baby, he was supposed to be back by now". then the girl here a scratching sound and a voice say "LET ME IN"

the girl doesn't do it and then after a while she goes to sleep. the next morning she wakes up and finds her boyfriend still not there. she gets out to check and man door hand hook car door.

String identified:

a & g g t t gt. t t at at a a. t t g a a: "a, c" "at t ?" " ca . t t g , a a gt ." ". ta a at t. t a t t g t." "g a. t c att at. at"

t g t t gt t ca. at t t g a " a, a t ac ". t t g a catcg a a c a "T "

t g 't t a t at a g t . t t g a a t t t. gt t t cc a a a ca .

Closest match: Cloeon dipterum genome assembly, chromosome: 3 Common name: Small minnow mayfly

[assembletheimagines]

Warnings: 18+ to interact, choking, cream pie, f!reader , cum stuffed back in

Bucky's big hand wraps around your throat and gently squeezes.

And it's just enough to make your pussy clench around his cock, a new wave of slick gushing from between your thighs and soaking his dick.

It makes his smile curve into something dark and seductive. His strokes staying rough and deep as he keeps pressure around your throat. "Oh does the pretty girl like it when I choke her?" He hums and your gasps increase, eyes closing as he keeps hitting the soft spot inside you with each thrust.

"Please," you don't know if you're begging for more or what but your fingers dig into the arm that's connected to your throat. It keeps him right there and his eyes watch as yours roll back in pleasure.

The sounds of skin smacking against skin resonate in the room before a loud gasp falls from your lips and then you're shaking. "That's it," he coos but you're already gone.

Your thighs shake as your walls pulsate around his shaft. Your orgasm consuming you and leaving your mind blank. You soak his cock with your cum that it drips down to his balls and the groans he lets out ends in a growl.

He wants you like this always, his hips picking up speed, fucking you through your orgasm and chasing after his own. And fuck, you keep sucking him back in deeper, body begging for him to cum.

And he can't say no, getting a few more sloppy thrusts in before his cock twitches and makes him press in deeper. Filling you with his seed.

When it finally stops, his hand lets go of your throat, thumb softly stroking your skin. You whine as he slowly pulls out, but you're not empty for long. The fingers that were wrapped around your throat only a few moments ago, scoop his cum that's dripping from your pussy and stuffs it back in.

"Don't want you wasting anything."

[llocket]

✧ 　BEER graphics

f2u w/ credit, reblogs appreciated! ↳ self indulgent, suggested by @ibeatmywifeandkidsbeerlover123!! good in dark & light mode

Don't drink and drive kids

[azurechicken]

It is a good thing that the BG3 team is attentive and we get updates all the time, but where does it end? If they are going to continue changing stuff about the game per request, what will be there left of what they envisioned in the first place? Especially for character traits and dialogue, like making them kinder and more likeable, just because there were two more people asking for it and they happened to see it. I just don't want to see characters shift into generic ones just because of a need to respond to everyone's ideas

[inienil]

ice to meet you

[pokimoko]

hi!! if you'd be down i'd love to see an aromantic or genderfluid shark! any kind of shark but more specifically a thresher shark or leopard shark ^_^

*cradles shark gently* I just think they're neat.

[clanborn]

42 with leafpool pleasee 🙏

no worries you get leafpool since the song works :3

And everyone's looking for relief

The United States versus disbelief

Mothers cast tears on both sides of the aisle

Clear your throat and face the world

The verdict falls like bachelors for bad luck girls

Only breathing with the aid of denial

You’re Crashing, But You’re No Wave - Fall Out Boy