#island packs

[prplocks]

♡☆♡ island packs

reblog if you save ▪︎

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[gotham-snark]

Damian's had a rough time lately 😨 go hurt some bad guys with your dad

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Leader of the Pack 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: On a night out at the bar, you're promoted from wing woman to main star.

Characters: James Conrad, short!reader

Note: it’s hump dayyyy.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"Go grab us a pool table," Martyna demands as she leans on the bar. 

"Oh, sure," you turn to search the bar. There's only one table and it's taken. You frown. "Someone's already on it." 

"So what? Go put a stack of quarters on it," she says, "I can't. I gotta get my drink." 

"Right, er," you teeter on your feet and look back at the table, one man lining up his shot as the other watches, his thick hands around his cue.  

The shooter snaps the stick and the clack of balls is sharp and strong. You near nervously, pulling out change as you keep just outside their perimeter as the second man considers his turn with a suck of his teeth. Where he's burly, with a shaggy dark beard, and faded ball cap, the other man has blonde hair and is lithe. They are both tall, though the slimmer man has at least an inch on the other. 

You step forward as the man aims from the other corner. You set down four quarters in a stack, just enough to feed the table for another round. The thicker man pauses as he pulls back the cue and narrows his eyes. 

"Eh, you're gonna mess me up," he barks. 

"Oh, sorry," you recoil and fold your hands over your chest, "I was only..." 

You quiet as he grumbles and shakes his head, eyes pinpointing on the felt. You shake your head and back up as the other man tisks. 

"Syverson, don't have to be so rude, the lady is merely claiming her turn," the slender man intones, just a foot from you as he twirls the cue, it's butt set to the floor. "Don't fret over my companion," he girds in his peculiar accent, "he's a sore loser." 

"Heh, what's that about..." the other man hits the cue ball and sends a striped one into the pocket, "losing?" 

You're quiet, nodding as you try to think of the proper response. No one's ever called you a lady. Most people don't notice you. It's why Martyna prefers you as her wing woman, you keep her company until she finds someone fun. 

"Rather, you set me up finely," the first man retorts. 

You cross your arms protectively and back up, making sure you're out of the broader man as he stalks around to place his next shot. His friend watches calmly, unbothered as he knocks another ball in, then lines up for the third. That one's a miss. 

"Shit," the man in the ball cap stands straight and sends you a look. You're not even close to the trim. 

"Oh, don't even try to blame her," the blond reprimands, "that's not very valiant, is it?" 

"Whatever," the other grumbles as he plants his feet and watches the other. 

The slimmer man puts his first shot easily in the corner, the next he sends two balls into opposite pockets, and the next sees him with only the eight ball left to sink. His opponent huffs and shakes his head. You rock back and forth, you hope he wins if only to clear the table. 

"Finally," Martyna nudges you as she comes up beside you, "they didn't have Corona, you believe that?" 

"Oh, that's crummy," you say, watching the mam measure his shot. 

"Mmph, I know you don't give a crap," she scoffs, "why didn't you grab a ginger ale?" 

"I'm fine, just had that iced coffee," you shrug. 

She hums again. She knows you don't drink, that this isn't your scene, that you're not exactly a social butterfly, so why does she act so disappointed. She invited you. It's always her idea, never yours. You just go along, otherwise you'd have nothing to do and no friends.  

"Kinda cute," she leans over to whisper, "look at his shoulders..." 

You lower your brow as your cheeks burn. You hadn't really thought of that. Then, you wonder, which one she's talking about. They both have nice shoulders and muscular arms. 

They're strangers! You shouldn't think of that. You uncross your arms and once more clasp your hands together. 

The man finally shoots, calling left pocket. He calls it true. The ball rolls in and his buddy sighs and swears. 

"Nice," Martyna pops her lips off her bottle of flavoured vodka, "our turn." 

She steps and grabs the quarters. The bearded man tilts his head at her and fixes his camouflage cap. His cheek dimples as the other man rounds the table and pats his shoulder, "better luck next time, chap." 

"Isn't luck," the burly one utters and rolls his eyes, "hustler..." 

"And yet you keep falling for it," the other snickers, "come on, I'll buy you a celebratory pint, eh?" The blond turns and strides toward you. "Miss, you're up." 

He offers the cue and your lashes flick. You couldn't see his eyes before. They're so blue. You gulp and accept the wooden stick. 

"Thank you," you squeak. 

Martyna chuckles and grabs the triangle frame from the slot and sets it out. The blond leads away his second, the man with the beard sending a glance at Martyna as she loads the quarters to release the balls. You wait for her to set up, standing back with the cue in hand. You can still feel the warmth of its previous holder's grip. 

Martyna swigs from her bottle and sets it back on the trim. She fluffs her black curls and makes a pouty face. She's not doing that for you. 

You glance behind her, those men are watching. The blond nods cordially and returns his attention to the bar. The beard one continues to leer in Martyna's direction. You spin back. 

"You wanna break?" You ask. 

"Sure, whatevs," she turns to the table. 

You wait patiently as she scatters the balls. She sinks two solids. She's always been better at this than you. You don't mind losing. It doesn't make much of a difference. 

She sinks two more before your turn comes. You regret not grabbing a soda as you mouth grows dry. Martyna is sure to loudly tell you about this guy she works with and how much he wants her. You just humour her with smiles and mhmms. It isn't you she wants to hear her. You know her tricks. 

You sink a stripe, then a solid. Back to Martyna. You aren't very good at the game. Your arm's are too short. Maybe if you could get on the table you'd have a chance but that's not proper. 

She narrows the solids down to two plus the eight ball. You try your hand again. Scratch. But she misses her shot and you get another go. You sink two before you're done. Still, you're behind. 

She empties her bottle, a dramatic gulp that extends her whole body. She outshines you in all aspects; her hair, her looks, her height, her clothes... 

She wiggles her but as she bends to clean up. One ball, then two, then she lines up for the final blow. The eight. She calls the corner. She bounces it easily into the pocket and squees and hops, her shirt doing little to contain her amped up excitement. 

You lean the cue against your arm and give a clap, "good job, Mart," you say. Genuinely. It was fun enough.  

"Aw, you did good," she preens, "how about a rematch? Got any more change?" 

"Ahem," a voice interrupts as you grab your purse. The jangle of change comes from behind you and a shadow steps forward, "perhaps you might want to make it interesting? Fancy a round of pairs?" 

You glance over at the man with blond hair and lilted accent. Well, you look at his sleeve and follow it up. His profile is well-forged. If you had a type, he might be it. You never considered many men, they never considered you either. 

"Pairs?" Martyna toys with proposal coyly and eyes the bearded man as he comes up beside his friend, "I guess it makes sense. But girls vs boys?" 

"No fun," the blond agrees, "we might mix it up, eh?" He grins, "James," he touches his chest, "this is--" 

"Sy," the other man, who you called Syverson, speaks up, "ladies." 

"Martyna," your friend rolls out. 

You offer your name in a pitchy stammer. You already feel like the odd one out. The tension is thick enough to choke you. 

"Sy, fetch us some cues," James demands, "I'll claim a partner," he looks over at you, "do you mind?" 

"Oh, er, yeah, but um, I'm not very good," you say, certain he must have been able to see as much from across the room. 

"I'm certain we'll work fabulously together," he assures. 

"Here," Sy returns with two sticks, nearly jabbing the James with the spare.  

You cling to your cue and fidget. You have no idea what to do now. Someone has to begin. 

"I'll break," Sy insists. 

"Of course, loser's first," James quips. 

He gets an arch of the thick brow in return before Sy bends to aim between two fingers. You dig your nail into the wood of the cue in your hand. James sidles closer, crowding you as you catch a hint of something citrus. 

Sy bends and pulls back the cue. He hits the ball and sends it zooming fast enough to crack the triangle on the other end. The stripes and solids scatter, bouncing all around. James chuckles and leans towards you. 

“You’ll see he’s about strength, he doesn’t realise the significance of precision,” he intones, “I can show you. It isn’t about how hard you hit but the exact angle,” he tilts his hand to demonstrate as the balls still but non fall into the pockets. “Ladies first.” 

You don’t move right away. At first, you don’t get his meaning. You lift the cue and approach the table. You look around. It’s your choice; stripes or solids. Whatever you can get, as usual. 

That number four is hovering right at the side pocket. It’s an easy score. You’ll take it. 

You position yourself, overly aware of your audience. It feels like the whole bare is watching. You blow out your breath and set your sights. You pull back and snap forward. The cue ball wobbles in its path but hits true, knocking the four into the hole. 

It isn’t exactly precise. You stand straight and let out and oomph as your back meets an unexpected wall. James brings his arms up and puts his hands around yours. His proximity is suffocating. 

“You’ve got an easy in on the five,” he advises, guiding you to bend with him as he directs your stick. “Loose,” he wiggles your front hand and squeezes your back hand. “Keep it like this, not too high.” 

He holds you like that for a moment then draws back. He steps to the side and crosses his arms. You focus on the ball, your skin speckling with heat. His scent lingers, perhaps a touch of orange in his cologne. You keep your hold loose and grip tight the butt of the cue. You shoot and the white ball clacks off the red solid, sending it neatly into the corner. 

Martyna giggles and you look up. She’s not laughing at you. Sy is muttering something to her. You blink and stands straight, glancing over at James. You understand what this is but you’re the placeholder, the wing woman, you just keep the friend busy while she has her fun. You know how this ends. 

“You’ve got another go,” James says. 

You nod dumbly and face the table again. You search for your best hope and shift around to the other side. You nearly cross your eyes in your efforts to bounce the ball from one wall into the opposite pocket. You just miss. You cringe and back away. 

Your gaze meets James’ as you find him watching you still. Martyna moves to line up her shot, giggling over her shoulder as she does. As you edge away from her, that man’s eyes follow you. They’re so blue. So, intense. 

You look at the tip of the cue and tap your thumb to the side. You’re in your head. He’s not really staring. When you peek up again, he hasn’t looked away. Not even as you hear the balls hit. He winks and your chest pounds in disbelief.

This can’t be real. 

[merchant-wizard-and-jerry]

“Shop is open”

1 - Moon stone - 20 currency

2 - Red marble - 50 currency

3 - Lottery - 15 currency

4 - King and crown’s TCG - 5 currency

5 - Power armor ‘left arm’ - 50 currency

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"Wizard Essentials"

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Staff - wooden - 4 currency

Orb - glass - 8 currency

Robes - red/blue/purple - 1 currency per robe

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"Consumables"

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1 - Mana potion - 10 currency

2 - healing tablet - 10 currency

3 - energy tablet - 10 currency

4 - healing tablet - 10 currency

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"Salt"

@bi-gender-sorcerer

@damnable-druid

[jetdotnet]

Hello to all 5 club penguin fans 🐧

i haven’t posted in a while so hello again friends ^^ hope you’ve all been well

thanks as always to @realjonahofficial for the help with the alt text, please go check out their art it’s awesome!!! they know so much about accessibility and i always appreciate the help!!!!

[anachronistic-falsehood]

team bolas' victim complex makes sooooo much sense from like a character standpoint and it drives me crazy. i don't think they ever left day one. i think in their heads, they're still burning themselves in that bonfire. half their players were inactive, they had a clear pvp disadvantage, and they kept getting killed by other teams. it was them against the world on day one. their only solace was each other when they felt helpless and they're carrying that with them to drive them forward. they still call themselves victims because if they win, then it's a pleasant surprise, and if they lose, that's just how it is with team bolas, right? it's better to have no hope at all in the first place than to feel the crushing weight of having your hopes dashed.

day one was hell. their friends killed them repeatedly without mercy, they had barely anything while other teams built their bases, and they were bottom of the leaderboard. they've come to expect tragedy, even after their multiple victories, after they've come to regard one another as family, after they've worked so, so hard to be one of the last teams standing and actually made it. they never left that bonfire.

[6-atlas-6]

Wtf is up with all the racism in the redacted fandom rn?

Anyways David is chamorro, Vincent is Korean, Avior is black, the entire damn crew is black, Milo is Hispanic, Camelopardalis is black, and Alexis is half Pacific islander because I said so

And guess what? Character designs are up to YOUR interpretation! Characters do not have canon races.

Anyways everyone drop their poc redacted headcanons because scrolling through them is fun :D

[bitzymouse]

Rookie asks the most important question.

[buglaur]

[petracozbi]

I'm finally came around to do my own Trolls HC list-thing (most are Branch related cuz he's my favourite):

Branch has almost perfectly trained senses from living and surviving on his own in the wilderness; he's got a very sensitive nose and he can easily hear the smallest movements even if they're fairly far away, etc.

Poppy makes sure to at least make a little noise when approaching Branch, as to not catch him off guard, since he had a tendency to get lost in thought when he feels he's in a safe and secure space, and can lower his defences. Kismet does the same (they're found family to me idc)

In the beginning, the bros found it kind of annoying/confusing how Poppy would start getting louder and yell out Branch's name every time they were getting close to him, probably shrugging it off to her just being a very hyper and overexcited girlfriend. It wasn't until they got to experience first-hand how Branch reacted when they suddenly just touched him while deep in thought, and let's just say, after having their arm pinned behind their back and a sharpened stick held to their throat a few too many times, they learned to give a heads-up.

Branch needs glasses. He stopped wearing them after Rosiepuff got eaten to fully avoid any connection with Brozone and his boyband persona. He's not completely blind and can still get around, but he relies mostly on his other senses (which also got way more sharp because of that), and has to get up close to see things in detail.

A HC I think I shared before: Branch is freakishly strong, but doesn't look it at first glance - He's very much humbled the bros (especially JD and Bruce) with this fact, when they try to wrestle him into a headlock to give him a nookie or a Wet Willy (JD and Bruce) and he just won't budge (Kismet knows to not even try) or when they want to help him carry something and they almost collapse under they weight when he hands it to them.

Besides being his vehicle, Rhonda is also JD's (unofficial) therapy animal.

Clay can't swim. He never learned since he spent his entire life in either the trolltree or the abandon golfcourse. When Bruce learns this, he takes it upon himself to try and teach him, but to their shared frustration, they both (Clay and Bruce) discover that Clay is apparently deadly afraid of open waters.

Bruce also didn't know how to swim when he first left the trolltree. He got washed up on vacay Island, having been staying afloat by holding onto a branch. The vacationers taught him how to swim.

JD can cook circles around most trolls. He did most of the cooking back in the trolltree 'cuz Rosiepuff was a horrible cook (referencing her apparently rancid-tasting fluffleberry cake), he also taught (Sp)Bruce how to cook, but never got around to teach the others 'cuz they split up. Bruce later incorporated some of JD's recipes into the menu at the restaurant.

Branch's tastebuds are pretty hardened (some might say almost nonexistent), and trolls tend to assume it's from his survival years, where he'd just eat whatever as long as it was edible, didn't matter what it tasted like. In reality, it's mostly from solely eating Rosiepuff's cooking for like maybe a year or two after the band split up (yeah that's all it took to mess them tastebuds up for years after). Ofc in the beginning, he had to force himself to even put the food in his mouth, but he did it 'cuz he wanted to make his grandma happy.

Kismet was formed shortly after the bros left. It was Rosiepuff who encouraged Branch to socialize with other trollings around his age, since he became very closed off after the split (tho' I think he'd been a pretty shy and quiet kid to begin with (with the exception of when he performed as Bitty B))

Branch used to get bullied (more) for his greyness as a kid. Kismet would chase them off.

Although Branch is not as forgiving either, Kismet 100% holds a grudge for the bros leaving Branch - the Snackpack too, when they also learn what happened.

The bros are absolutely bewildered by the fact that Branch is dating the Queen, and that he'd probably one day be King. Branch himself gets very anxious when they mention this; just the thought of that much responsibility and being in the spotlight like that has him sweating.

Bruce's favorite way of annoying Branch is to tease him about his and Poppy's relationship, asking him when he can expect the wedding invitations and some nieces or nephews. In reality, it's probably Poppy that proposes in the future, with a long, romantic and heartfelt speech ofc (and yes, he cries).

That's all I got for now

[itsoddlyethereal]

"Being with you means I can be me. Silly, goofy me."

- Jin, LITG S8: Tempting Fate

(P.S. I made a Spotify playlist while painting this! It's titled "Take Me With You". You can listen to it if you want.)

[prplocks]

♡☆♡ island packs

reblog if you save ▪︎

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[theagentace]

they were THE friend group

[newyorkthegoldenage]

The Chiclet packing department at the American Chicle Company plant, Long Island City, 1923.

Photo: Underwood Archives/Getty Images

[prophecyofgray]

club penguin was a transgender website for transgender people & every motherfucker in that game had something lgbt going on. dot she/he/they bisexual. aunt arctic she/he lesbian. PH she/they lesbian trans woman. gary the gadget guy he/him gay trans man. rookie he/they gnc af gay transmasc. jpg he/him gay trans man. idk what the fuck cadence has going on and i don’t think they would want me to figure it out but either way i respect it. klutzy any pronouns bisexual. Any questions

[warmsol]

every time a new pack comes out, i want to play it so bad but i don’t because 150+ gb mod folder.. and then by the time i can play it im like eh, nevermind