#but you used what you had in the camera

[kodachrome-net]

Village Theater, Chicago, 1990

[patrickztump]

patrick stump appreciation post: feat. pete – 13/∞

[collophora]

Happy may the fourth have a 4 minutes animatic about Crosshair and Omega bounding over sniping stuff.

[crybaby-bkg]

Bakugou who makes it a habit of FaceTiming you out of the blue because he’s horny. Your friend group and his own have had to bear witness entirely too many times to answering the phone and he’s exposed somehow—they always just wanna say hi, ask him how his recent mission is going. They learn after enough times, that when he FaceTimes you out of the blue, to steer clear of your phone until you give them the okay. there’s just been too many times with you answering and then screaming to the top of your lungs as you clutch the phone to your chest and tell him that there are people around.

but does that stop him? of course not, the little whore. he’ll call you after he’s gotten out the shower, so his body is still wet and glistening. he’ll call you while he’s away in some other country, with his dick in the camera and a pout on his lips because he misses your stupid face. he’ll call when he’s this close to orgasming, because seeing you will always push him over the edge.

he calls you one day while you’re working at home, typing away at your computer, your phone propped up beside you. you answer without looking at him, smiling, asking how everything’s going so far and it’s not until you look up, when you gasp.

“Katsuki!” You yell, a little giggle tearing through your words in surprise. “What if someone was around? Again?” You ask him, but it’s hard to remember why you’re this upset when he looks so pretty in front of you. He grunts, still jerking his cock as he sits on the edge of the bed, his phone propped up on what you believe a nightstand, as you can see the way his stomach curls in from how raggedly he breathed.

“You’re alone, right?” He asks in a huff, eyebrows screwing up as he takes in your wide eyes and slightly gaping mouth as you stare at his form. You nod absentmindedly, already feeling your inner thighs starting to get slick, shifting a little in your seat.

“Show me a tit, or something. I miss you.” Bakugou mutters, eyebrows pinched as he twists his wrist over his tip before he slides back down his shaft.

“When don’t you wanna see my tits?” You tease him, but oblige, lifting your shirt, eyes rolling slightly at the downright filthy noise that leaves his mouth at the sight. You don’t even have to play with them, just sit them on display and he’s already so quick to burst all over himself.

You take it a step further though, pushing back in your chair until he can see most of your body where you sit, slipping out of your bottoms and underwear until you’re on display for him. You put your knees to your chest before settling back, thighs on either side of the arms as you spread yourself, smiling at him all the while.

“So fuckin’—shit!” He sounds damn near strangled as he cums all over himself, eyes squeezed shut as he jerks at his cock. you can’t help but laugh when you hear the crackling of his quirk going off, watch how the sheets beside him char and start to smoke in his intensity. He’s always so easy, you think to yourself with a little laugh as you began to get dressed, and you love it.

[fjordfolk]

considering finally upgrading the photo situation. been looking at new lenses, but not sure how much sense it makes to invest in more advanced optics for a 12yo camera that i'm constantly squabbling with, so. one of these days, maybe.

[crystalpallette]

happy (late) sig day!

I was in the mood to draw some formalwear, or as close to formalwear as the puyo style gets lmao, and of course sig has got to have some sort of bug motif. so butterfly wings it is! the day may be eight minutes over but in my heart every day is sig day. god bless

[good-beanswrites]

A drabble for an anon asking about the prisoners watching their music videos! This is focused on specifically Mikoto’s initial shock at seeing MeMe for the first time, but just know that Double comes with a whole new set of shocks as he truly listens to John for the first time ;-;

Mikoto was no criminal. 

He didn’t know how to break into locked rooms, or hack into complex prison security systems. He figured there was no way in hell he’d be able to see these so-called incriminating videos that the Warden was recording, and had resolved himself to an eternity of wondering what they could be. He was shocked when he didn’t need to do a single thing to gain access to them – Es simply adjusted the computer monitor and told him he could hit play when (and if) he wished. Then they left the room.

“A-are you sure?” he called, but they were already gone.

Mikoto blinked at the screen. It showed a stretched version of his apartment couch, near his bathroom wall, broken to reveal sky above. He thought he could spot his tarot cards at the bottom of the frame. Had Milgram broken into his home to film this? 

He scoffed, and hit play.

Distorted guitar started up. He flinched as his own face appeared for a moment – looking directly into the camera and making a wild expression he would never have made if someone was recording. His body tensed up more as he heard his own voice start to sing lyrics he’d never spoken before in his life. He wasn’t even a good singer, and here he was sounding like a professional. 

There were plenty of ways to accomplish all of this, of course. Software could mimic one’s voice, making him say anything these crazy reality hosts wanted. A team could easily add some digital effects to a stunt double and match his appearance perfectly. Knowing that didn’t make the experience any less unsettling.

He watched himself commit a nasty murder. He watched himself return home bloodied. But it was all ridiculous. How could Milgram even claim that this was him? He’d never raised a hand to anyone in his life. Were the other prisoners’ videos as outlandish as this one?

But then, a switch. 

The song shifted to a new melody. He appeared to wake up from his couch, and suddenly Mikoto got the sense that this was him.

He was struck with how familiar this new segment sounded. It simultaneously felt like a favorite song he must have played on loop not too long ago, and one that he’d never heard before. As it played, each new note and lyric felt right on the tip of his tongue. 

It ended as quickly as it began. The song returned to the heavy-metal-murder aesthetic it had started with, and once again he felt like he was watching a cheap copy of himself onscreen. He watched another murder, a shower scene (had the warden seen all that? How embarrassing…) and then he turned to his bathroom mirror.

At the same time as his musical counterpart, Mikoto leapt backwards in horror. 

His eyes remained glued to the screen. His hand flew up to grab the lower half of his face. It was fake, he told himself. AI and CGI and all that. It was fake. It had to be. 

Something deep inside of him said “no. That’s real. That’s me.”

Something else deep inside of him echoed the sentiment.

The video was less than four minutes of music, but by the end he was panting and tugging at his hair as if he’d endured hours of prison torture. He burst out of the room. He sucked in breath after breath. The melodies still played in his mind, lines repeating in his memory as he tried to put as much distance between himself and that little television screen.

He found the others in the common room. They gave him a knowing look, but somehow he knew his experience had been very different from their own. Es approached him.

They studied his expression for a moment. Thankfully, they didn’t ask anything stupid, like “how did it go?” or “what did you think?” 

Instead, they just told him, “if you ever want to watch it again, just let me know, I can get it set up for you.”

He would want to see it again. Of course, it would be better, then. He would take a moment to calm down. He’d watch it later and everything would be okay. He’d have a clearer mind. He’d pick out all the little camera tricks they used to make it. He’d be sure it was a fake, and laugh about how ridiculous he was being now. 

Of course. Of course. 

He nodded to Es, unable to produce any words. Es left him.

The rules in this prison never made any sense, but in this case, he was grateful. He wouldn’t need to figure out any snooping or hacking to get access to the video again. After all, he was no criminal.

… he wasn’t, was he?

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

What’s your favorite bit of lore? Or favorite holiday/festival in genshin they’re pretty neat

i'm absolutely biased towards lantern rite tbh

as for bit of lore, i'm not really sure. i feel like 'bit of lore' is really weird to define, bc ultimately most lore is all connected into bigger pictures. obviously i'm partial towards liyue lore in general, but as for a specific little bit...

probably still the possibility that zhongli is partial to archery.

[robo-dino-puppy]

horizontober 2023 | 22: weave

[dumbbullet]

The voices won this round gamers.

wish me luck this is gonna take a while.

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

consider the time from sitting down with food, eating and getting up from the table or just what ever you consider the beginning and end of dinner. can be your now family or childhood family if they're different.

[derpinette]

i hated airpods & phones with those big fugly cameras in the back when they were announced as a concept & i hate them even more each time i see that hideousness in person

[crossbackpoke-check]

Substance, Shadow, and Spirit [remixed, abridged] by Tao Yuanming

[fallout-fucker]

Crows Of The Commonwealth

I was on CrowTok and it made me come up with an idea.

So, obviously a lot of the crows in the Commonwealth are made by the Institute, though I personally like to believe that there are still a lot of crows that are regular ones, too.

Crows are an incredibly smart species of bird, which makes sense as to why they're the ones the Institute use. To my memory, I don't think there are any other birds in the game. Again, I'd like to headcanon that they're not the only ones left but if only a few species of birds managed to survive the bombs and the aftermath, I wouldn't put it past crows to be one of those species due to that intelligence.

Crows are known for recognising people, which also works in favour of the Institute as to why they'd choose them specifically. If you are able to tell the difference between individual crows, you'll be less likely to question if a specific one if following you if you are aware they likely recognise you.

However, they're also known to bring gifts and trinkets if treated right, or actually attack people who don't. And they remember faces. I don't get the impression that the Institute treats them too kindly if they don't even consider Gen 3 Synths as people, who are literally created with technology and human biology/DNA.

If we imagine that the Institute Crows work like Synths do, then that means that they are also able to become independent like Synths can. We know they have the level of intelligence, more so than another species of bird, to perhaps reach that level of independence. That's exactly why the Institute picked them. Wouldn't it be ironic if that became part of the Institute's downfall.

So imagine a Sole Survivor, fresh out of the Vault, scared and cold on their first few nights. Hungry, tired, likely sick, grieving. Alone. They have Dogmeat. They have themselves. A few strangers they saved. Nothing else.

They're trying their best one night to settle. They've only been unfrozen for a few days by now, but have yet to leave Sanctuary. They chose to stay for a couple days to prepare for their long journey ahead, and rebuild their home so they had somewhere to go back to. Preston has taught them basics self defence and survival, Sturges has helped them temporarily fix the holes in their walls. They're not close to these strangers yet, but there's a small comfort in knowing there's still people, and people nearby to run to if anything not friendly comes knocking on their door.

They're picking at a 200 year old box of stale cereal, not able to stomach the taste just yet. In the end, they end up leaving it in a bowl for Dogmeat to have, preferring to sleep, hunger be damned. They sleep on the floor that used to hold the dinning table, not ready to sleep in the now-too-empty bedrooms.

By morning, their sleep is interrupted. Not by the cold October air that their thin, makeshift blanket- That doubles as their coat during the day- barley keeps away. Not by the sunlight that seeps in by the broken shards of class where the window used to be. Not by drops of rain that fall through the cracks in the ceiling. Not even by Dogmeat licking then awake, like he did yesterday morning. This time it's the sound of pecking and squawking that has Sole prying their eyes open.

A small group of grows picking at the bowl of cereal. They must've gotten in through what once was the window, or literally any of the holes of missing metal panels scattered throughout the building. Sole barely has it in them to care. They know they shouldn't waste food that could've gone to them or their new furry friend, but they truly cannot bring it in them to mind. They wonder if the birds have a hard time finding food, too, and decide it might not be a waste at all.

They sit up. A few of the crows fly up onto the windowsill at their movements, one stays enjoying their breakfast, unfazed. Sole waits, sitting still until the birds realise they have no intention of harming them. They glide back down onto the floor, going back to eating.

After a few moments, the crow that stayed perks his head up, neck twitching into an angle that lets him look at Sole. He hops over, stopping just before he reaches their lap. Sole raises their hand, thumb and index finger moving slowly until they land on its neck. His feathers bristle under Sole's pets, his feet dancing happily beneath him. The other crows finish their breakfast. Salem, Sole decides to call him, joins his friends who hop back onto the windowsill. They fly off. He turns his head to the side, a beady eye looking at Sole again. He squawks at them before flying off to join the others.

Sole spends the rest of their day taking metal panels from some of the completely collapsed houses to fix the holes in their walls. They're able to find paint at the old Red Rocket down the road when looking for more equipped tools. Repainting isn't exactly their priority right now, just making sure the house will be fit to stand against the weather, and for when it gets colder in the next few months. The paint will be useful when they get to the stage of being able to consider making it look presentable, however. Unfortunately, the only paintbrush they find is snapped in half. They toss it in frustration. Less so because of the brush itself, and more so because Sole has a lot of anger built up from the events of the last few days that they have no other outlet for.

They end up going home when the sun starts to set, having avoided the empty tomb of memories for as long as possible. It wasn't safe to be out so close to dark.

When they set down their tolls by the door, something on the kitchen counter catches their eye.

Upon inspection, they realise it's an intact paintbrush.

Their confusion lasts barely five seconds, as they hear a familiar squawk. Hoping on the windowsill is Salem. His eyes study Sole. He's waiting. Sole smiles, pulling open the duffle bag they'd taken on their supply run. They pull out two wild mutfruits, which they'd harvested from bushes near the station. Sole cuts them into smaller pieces, before tossing them gently into the grass of their back garden from the car porch. Salem glides to the pieces, now satisfied in knowing that Sole approved of and appreciated his gift. Sole looks up to the trees that border their garden where other crows have started to also descend from to join in on the food offering. Apparently, there's a lot more in this group than what Sole had assumed from the smaller one earlier. About twenty feathered creatures dance about on branches decorated by orange and brown leaves or nibble at the mutfruit in the grass.

Salem flies over once he's had his fill, taking a seat on Sole's shoulder. His friends also begin hopping over gradually, and Sole ends up sitting down to welcome them and pet their small heads. Dogmeat also seems to love the attention, or perhaps just the warmth that radiates from Sole's body as he curls up next to them. Every so often, one of them drops a trinket into Sole's lap as they snuggle into them. A random screw, some gears, even some bottlecaps. Bits and bobs that a few days ago, Sole would've considered mostly junk, even if they'd still been appreciative, but everything now is useful. They even drop a few things by Dogmeat's snout, who sniffs them, tail wagging. Sole doesn't think Salem appreciates the happy licks Dogmeat gives him, though.

Regardless, Sole breathes out slowly, deeply, as they take in the sunset and birdsong before them. It's the first time they've honestly felt any peace since leaving that godforsaken Vault.

Sole makes a mental note to redesign the kitchen window when they get around to fixing it so that it'll be able to open widely. They also begin thinking about designs for birdhouses, feeders, and small fountains.

It's safe to say Sole feels slightly better than they did when they went to bed last night.

They feel less alone.

For some reason, as Salem nestles into their lap, against their stomach, a small pressure builds in their gut. They can't quite shake the instinct, the thought that comes with it. The feeling that Salem feels less alone now, too.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[fobnsfwdoodles]

MMMM YUMMMY love ur somnophilia stuff

Thank you 🥺👉👈 you're gonna love the update it just got then!!!