#AND SHES IN THE MIDDLE OF EVERYBODY

[dailydoseofshoko]

Shoko in the new Jujutsu Kaisen Season 2 Opening 「King Gnu - SPECIALZ」

[neonshrike]

Tagged by @jamessunderlandgf for this fun little game!

Jasmine, Daniel, The Mechanist Brenna, Lucille, Penny Jade, Agatha, Luris Sam, Soleil, Tristan

Blank below:

Tag List (check my pinned to join!): @captastra @socially-awkward-skeleton @tommyarashikage @shellibisshe @risingsh0t @inafieldofdaisies @rainwingmarvel7 @the-lastcall @spaceratprodigy @teamhawkeye @confidentandgood @cloudofbutterflies92 @cptcassian @thedeadthree @shegetsburned @bokatan @derelictheretic

[crystalpallette]

get you a girl who can give you everything

this started a long long time ago when I made a joke about how sega should put ringo in more dresses, and then my friend reminded me that oh yeah!! I can do that instead!!! and then one thing led to another and we joked about punk ringo and I drew that too. using ringo like a dressup doll is so cathartic it's kinda crazy

some bonuses (original designs, timelapse) under the cut bc I like these designs!! I might do some more with them!! please disregard the band poster in the first second of the timelapse that's something else!!!

[pettyprocrastination]

Mutt

Summary: After an ambush, Soap learns to trust the newest member of the 141

Pairing: Johnny Soap Mactavish x Fem!Werewolf!MC (call sign is Mutt)

warnings: vague description of violence and injuries. 

word count: 800

thank you to: @captainsamwlsn @thesadvampire @humanransome-note @joel-mlller and @luxuryberzatto @madhyanas @littleferal and @djarin-junk for helping me with this story and rattle off in your ears about Mutt! I love you all so very very much <3

_______

     “What are you?” 

     It was a valid question given the circumstances. 

     Soap could hardly count himself as conscious at that moment. It was a wave, pulling him back and forth until he was able to force his head to the surface, gasping for air and able to just barely look at his surroundings before he was pulled under again. 

     “Does it matter?” 

     It was dark out. He remembered it being dusk when they set out on their mission, the sun slowly setting in the horizon as Price told them to radio in at any issue and meet at their rendezvous point as soon at possible. 

     Fuck. 

     He broke the surface once more to notice that he wasn’t moving, but swaying side to side. Each step that crunches the ground is not his, but the blood drip, drip, dripping down, leaving a foreboding trail of their journey, is.

     Your shoulder digs into the crevice of his chest with each movement. 

     “Yer carryin’ me, Mutt.” 

     “I am.” 

     You never spoke much. Johnny had equated you to Simon in that way, quiet and foreboding. Your actions spoke where your voice rasped in the shadows. Tucked in the corner booth of a pub when the others went to celebrate a job well done. The loyal guard dog, waiting on its haunches for an order. 

     He was the one who would move to you first. Setting a beer in front of you before sliding into the seat across from you with a tap of his knuckles on the polished table. His knee would bump yours every time. You’d never complain. 

     “Big scary bastards, the both of you.” 

     But then you’d give him a grin, a flash of your crooked canines so fast it was gone when he blinked. 

     “Well it’s a damn good thing you talk enough for all of us then.” 

     Jonathan Mactavish was only a stone’s throw from 215 pounds but you carried him without complaint. The swaying with each step made his head spin and looking up was too much work for him to trust himself not to vomit. He let his eyes drop and stare at the ground, watching you take one step after another in a steady rhythm like an infant listening to their mother’s heartbeat. Through the darkness, he’s able to make out the shadowed shape of your feet in the night.

     “You’ve got no shoes on, Mutt.” 

     “Feels better this way.” 

     He can’t see much. Even if it weren’t for the blood loss and what he’s going to safely assume is a grade two concussion, it’s far too dark out for his surroundings to be seen as anything more than vague shapes and textures he can almost make heads or tails of.

     Your eyes are focused on the trail ahead, already accustomed to the darkness in a way he’d never seen anybody else without night vision goggles or a Mag-light. 

     “Tried to reach Price but the comms are busted. You got your bell rung pretty bad back there but-” You shifted your grip on his body and he felt something sharp press against his ankle, a gentle warning that mouthed at the skin of his Achilles's tendon. “We're only a few miles away from the rendezvous point. Think you can keep it together until we get there?”

     Claws. You had claws. 

     Through the nausea rolling through his body and the lights dancing behind his eyes, Soap could feel the fog begin to clear from his head. A flash of orders rising from his memory like the vision returning after a flash grenade. 

     He remembered seeing you charge through the muzzle flash and smoke like a vision. Uniform stained with the viscera of your enemies so dark he didn’t recognize you at first. The moment you came toward him he was raising his gun until he heard you speak.

     “You know me, Johnny.” 

     But he didn’t. Not really. 

     When he looked at you there was no familiarity or trust. He knew the color of your eyes and the curl of your lips in a snarl but nothing else. Not your name or family nor the reason you joined. 

     In the darkness, moonlight glinted against your eyes and he found himself thinking of the coyotes in Las Almas that watched him and his team from the shadows, pacing with a choir of chattering yips and howls in the darkness, waiting for the proper time to pounce.  

     He’d never admit it but there was a pause, when his hand held the barrel of his gun steady at your head.  Just as long as the width of the shallow breath trapped in his lungs, a split second where his pointer finger twitches, where the voice in his head urges him on. 

     “You never answered my question.”

     He knows nothing of you except that the blood in your mouth was spilled for him. 

     “I’m your teammate. That ought to be enough for you.” 

     It would have to be. 

[eegnm]

so hard to choose one but here’s my OC, Akshara

A little about her- she’s 16, she loves languages and wants to be an English teacher, loves the colors coral and aqua, likes fish (like looking at them and learning about them, not eating them), loves to wear cute earrings

Showing off her jellyfish earrings

[barblaz-arts]

Just wanted to give you a shout-out and say that I adore short-haired middle-age Enid. You did a fabulous job with her design.

Thanks! Thinking about it, i probably had the idea to give her shorter hair bcuz of the protag of The Fabled Warrior

(just with more floof ofc. I can never draw enid without the floof)

[lab-gr0wn-lambs]

Tbh saying that people hate the 13th doctor 'just because she's a woman' is a really bad-faith stupid take. You can enjoy 13. But if you make a point like that it's actually you who's dismissive and making it about gender.

[mashmouths]

kill the judgmental mom that lives in your head or at least evict her

[gregoftom]

i hate gay people at halloween what do you mean you’re tom and greg from the hit show suck session

[a-room-of-my-own]

I just saw what Judith Butler said last Friday… and I mean… I did not expect anything from her and still I’m disappointed

I’m not disappointed because she’s been a fraud for 30 years and I don’t even know why people are paying attention to her opinions. She’s like an insufferable 1st year college student who thinks she can lecture people about the meaning of life because she read 2 French theory books she barely understood (they’re barely understandable anyway like anyone telling me they completely got it is most probably a poseur but I digress).

Like go back making fan art about Gilles Deleuze.

[derpinette]

i need a girl to be tomboys with soon. or i will Die

[sesamestreep]

Din Djarin, 30

30. was it worth it? (from this list) further adventures in that modern au with anti-social baseball cap wearing single dad din djarin because i have no idea what's happening on the show anymore, let's doooo this

Once Din pulls into the driveway, he cuts the engine and sends up a tentative prayer to the universe that the sound is not enough to wake Grogu up. The kid is zonked out in his booster seat in the back, clutching the stuffed animal Din had won him at the fair—at the booth where you shoot a target with a water pistol to make it move, of course, because his aim is still worth writing home about after all these years—and seemingly unbothered by the sudden quiet. Din breathes a sigh of relief and then shifts his focus to the daunting task of trying to get this kid out of his seat, up two flights of stairs, and into the apartment without somehow waking him. It's not going to be easy.

With another sigh, Din opens the door and keeps it there with his foot as he digs around in the center console for his phone and his wallet before pulling the keys out of the ignition. Belatedly, he sees the golden light pouring from the open garage door and realizes Cal must be working in there still. Before Din can properly catch up, Cal is already outside and on his way over.

"I'll uh," Din says, as he gets out, gesturing back at the car, "I'll get this out of your way in a few, I just gotta get the kid upstairs first."

Cal shakes his head, already smiling. "No rush," he says, easily. "We're not going anywhere. And besides, you're always up early anyway. Do it in the morning."

"I don't want to block you all in, if you need to—"

"Like I said, we're not going anywhere. It's fine."

"Well—”

"I'll ask Merrin, if it'll make you feel better! But she will definitely also say it's fine."

Merrin is Cal's—well, Din isn't sure if they're married or not. Cal doesn't wear a ring and Merrin wears dozens, so it's hard to tell. They're definitely a couple, because they do that seamless first person plural thing all the time when they talk about each other, but if they happen to refer to each other in the third person, they just use each other's names, rather than “my spouse” or “my partner”, except for the time Cal—perhaps accidentally—referred to her as "my Merrin" and she made a face and mimed punching him in the stomach for it. They live on the first floor and generally manage the property because they know the owner, which means Cal has all of his tools and his work bench in the garage for his various projects and Merrin tends to the garden out back, which grows a bunch of vegetables and strange plants that Din isn't convinced should be able to survive in this climate. He suspects she has a way with these things but has never bothered to ask about it.

"I'll take your word for it," Din says, reluctantly. "And I appreciate it."

"No problem," Cal replies. "Need any help?"

Din opens the door and starts unbuckling Grogu from his seat. "Uh, I think I'm alright, but thanks."

Cal leans slightly back, so as not to be in the way when Din gently lifts Grogu out of the car and tucks him over his shoulder. "Wow, you really tuckered him out, huh?"

"Yeah. We went to the fair, the, uh, Apple and Trout something or other...?"

Cal laughs. "Peach and Chowder Festival," he corrects. "I know it well."

"This is a strange town."

"I know that too. Looks like you did alright, though."

"Yeah," Din says, gingerly lifting the tail of the stuffed shark in acknowledgement. Another parent at the booth had claimed it was a knockoff of some famous trademarked shark but Din doesn't know about all that. He only knows it was the next best thing in Grogu's mind when there were no frog or lizard plushes to be won. "He's happy, at least."

Cal tips his head to the side, curiously. "You didn't enjoy yourself?"

"Ah, well, you know...crowds and lots of noise and kids all hopped up on sugar...that's not really my thing. But it's not about me, it's about him, so..."

"Yeah," Cal says, with a small smile. He puts a hand gently on Grogu's back. "Bet that makes it all worth it, huh?"

Din suddenly feels very stupid for never bothering to ask Cal or Merrin if they have kids. He’s never been great at that stuff, asking the right questions to really get to know people, and so he can only guess what their situation is. He thinks they're about his age, give or take a few years, and that means they're young enough that, if they had any children, he expects they'd still be living together, but he's not sure about that. They could have kids old enough to be living on their own, he supposes. And they've always been kind to Grogu, never once making a snide comment about him not talking much or needing his space sometimes, the way some other folks do. Sometimes, Cal will even let the kid hang out in the garage to watch him work, waving away Din's concerns about him being too much trouble by pointing to Beady, the cat that's almost always curled up around his neck or perched on his shoulder.

"If I can work with this one around," Cal's fond of saying, "your son's no bother."

Still, Din's not sure how exactly to ask that politely—if they have children of their own or not—especially if the answer is more complicated than a simple yes or no. And there is something complicated and sad about what Cal's expression is doing right now.

"Anyway," he says, cheerfully after a moment, and the expression is gone, tucked away somewhere. "I'll get out of your hair. Just wanted to offer some help if you needed it."

Din clears his throat, thinking about how his therapist is always talking about how he should get better at accepting the kindness other people offer him and also something about how his upbringing had convinced him there's some nobility in suffering needlessly. He probably can get Grogu inside and into bed without any assistance, but it would be easier with help. There had also been a discussion in therapy about depriving people of the satisfaction of showing their love for him by turning down their offers to be of service.

"Actually," he says, feeling foolishly nervous about something so small and seemingly easy, "if you could grab the door for me, that would be a huge help."

"Of course," Cal says, with an easy smile. "Happy to."

"And let’s just, uh, make sure we don't lose the shark,” Din says, as they make their way up the steps. “I don’t think I have it in me to win another one.”

[screamingmorton]

I still cant get over today. A fight happened at my school 2 times in a row in just one day. like damn???

[ishizizzle]

I'm convinced ONLY a Powerful Demon could love Phoebe because she's such a runner! Cole's only real choice to be with her came down to loving her harder

[tired-momfriend]

Protip: don't (accidentally) mix hydrogen peroxide and rubbing alcohol! It is not a fun time!

[pepprs]

drivers ed teacher is going down the participant list asking us what we would do with $65k. what the fuck is going on rn