#molotov cocktail tattoo

[callmeblake]

Close ups of Frank's leg tattoos from this set

[mvffinhamster]

ttrpgs fuck you up

everyone says “try out dnd”, including me but dude believe me, dnd fucks you up, ttrpgs fuck you up

there’s this person in your head and you can only scream about them to the other five idiots with their own little guys in their heads

and sometimes you can’t even scream at them because first you have to reveal the backstory you came up with and you don’t want to do that immediately

ttrpgs fuck you up because they make you daydream about your little guy and what happened with them AND YOU CAN’T STOP THE THOUGHTS

try out dnd (or any other ttrpg), they say… but what they don’t say is that it’s all emotional damage

and the worst part of it is that you enjoy every fucking minute of that emotional damage

ttrpgs fuck you up.

[shatterdome-underscore]

Ngl I got a sunflower tattoo a few years before into the spiderverse came out so I half expected across the spiderverse to have an unexpected significant relation to one of my other tattoos. Objectively you could make some very tenuous connections though so I'm good until the next movie comes out

[enigmalynne]

Supernatural Survival: The Last Hunt

Title – Supernatural Survival: The Last Hunt Pairings – Cannon Word Count – 6,782 Warnings – violence, monsters from The Last of Us AND Supernatural, shooting and Molotov cocktail throwing, cursing. JAcklesverseBingo Prompt – Parallel Universe AU

Summary: Sam and Dean find themselves in the middle of the apocalypse—an apocalypse riddled with cordyceps and monsters they have never had to battle before. While searching for items that could help make some weapons, they run into someone who knows what hunting used to mean. She takes them under her wing, bringing them home to Jackson.

The building was in ruins, left for nature to take back after the world fell apart. The floors were filled with holes where rotted wood gave way, and broken furniture and windows littered the rooms the brothers crawled through. Sam and Dean moved carefully through the silence, kicking up dust and mold from time to time despite their planned steps. 

“This is disgusting,” Dean muttered, going through the drawers of a worn desk in search of anything they could use.  

“You know the deal, Dean. We search everything we come across,” Sam said quietly, his hand resting on the rifle across his chest. He kept his head on a swivel for anything that might come their way. Dean closed the drawer harder than he meant to. 

“This place is picked over already. We’re wasting our time,” Dean said in a frustrated huff. The packs on their back carried everything they currently owned, so they’d have to make do with what they had.  Sam glared at his older brother, his narrowed eyes being the only part of his face showing as the scarf he had covered his nose and mouth. 

“Keep looking anyway,” he grunted. Dean mocked his little brother before looking through the rest of the desk drawers, finding nothing. He kicked the desk in frustration, causing birds to squawk and fly away. Sam turned to glare at Dean and was about to lecture him for his tantrum.

It was that moment of distraction that caused them trouble. One moment, they were searching through old furniture for rags and things they could use as weapons, and the next moment, they were fighting with a clicker that came out of nowhere, pinning Dean down and biting mere inches away from his face. Its claws were ripping into his skin, tearing deeper as he tried to push it away from him. He had jumped into its path when he realized it was headed toward Sam, refusing to let the creature take his brother from him. 

“Stay back,” Dean growled, desperately trying to reach the machete hanging from his hip. Sam had aimed with his rifle, waiting for a clear shot to take the zombie out. Suddenly, a screech was heard behind him, and Sam swiftly spun on his feet as another clicker approached them. Without hesitation, he shot twice at the creature’s head. It dropped dead immediately. 

Dean finally got a leg up and could kick the clicker away from him, and once he had a little space between them, he pulled his machete up. With a few quick slices, the head of the zombie rolled in one direction while the body fell away. Sam spun with his gun held high to his brother with narrowed eyes. Dean looked up at Sam, panting heavily, his eyes hard and cold. Seeing his brother standing, he lowered the end toward the floor.

“You get bit?” Sam asked, pulling his scarf down. Dean shook his head. 

“No,” he answered, wiping sweat from his face. Sam’s eyes narrowed slightly. 

“You know the drill, man,” he said quietly. Dean looked over at his brother and frowned, and after a pause, he nodded. He pulled his pack off his back and dropped it at his feet before tugging his shirt away from his chest and neck. Sam stepped closer and studied his brother’s body. There were scratches on his chest that were clearly claw marks, but other than that, his skin was bite-free. Sam nodded with relief, lowering his weapon completely. Dean nodded before buttoning his shirt back up. 

“You’re lucky those scratches didn’t go through the tattoo,” Sam muttered distractedly, looking down at the now-dead clickers.

“Never thought I’d say this, but I miss when we hunted ghosts instead of these motherfuckers,” Dean muttered, bending over to pick up his pack. Sam chuckled lightly. 

“At least our hunting skills come in handy,” he replied, looking back at his brother. “Nice use of the machete there.” 

Dean tipped his head in thanks. “I miss the bunker,” he sighed. 

“Me, too,” Sam said. “If we could make it back there, establish some way to grow our food, and get clean water, it could be a fortress against all this shit,” Sam said with a shake of his head. 

“I know we could do it,” Dean agreed, hiking his bag comfortably on his back. Suddenly, a series of loud screeches echoed around them, then gunshots. The brothers turned their heads toward the open hole in the floor, eyes narrowed and guns drawn; as soon as they reached the edge, a woman lept and tried to pull herself up. Dean made his way over to her and grabbed her arm, hauling her up as Sam started shooting at the clicker that rounded on her. 

As soon as she got her balance, she turned and started to fire into the floor below. Once the screeching stopped, the woman paused and stared into the hole while breathing heavily. Her light-colored eyes glanced at the two men before staring down into the hole; Sam kept his rifle pointed into the hole, and Dean had his handgun pointed at her. The three then stood there, silent. Waiting.

The woman’s eyes lifted to the men after a minute of silence. Dean noted she was young, far younger than anyone out alone should be. They stared at each other for a long moment, hearing nothing but the birds outside and a few crickets scattered around the building. 

“You, uh… You hear anything?” the woman whispered timidly. Sam and Dean glanced at each other, then shook their heads. Finally, after a tense moment, she dropped her arm and stepped back. She placed her hands on her knees to draw air into her lungs, the adrenaline giving way to anxiety.

“Okay… good,” she muttered, looking between the men before her. She then noticed the two dead clickers nearby, eyes widening. “Oh, shit. Did you take those down?”

“Yeah, a little bit before you showed up. And you are?” Dean asked, his gun still trained on the young woman.

She looked over at Dean, startled when she realized he had a gun on her. She opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by a scratching of static and a mumbling voice. The woman took what looked like a toy walkie-talkie out of her back pocket, making the voice slightly more precise. 

“Where the hell are you, Casey?” the voice asked irritably. “I heard gunshots. Are you okay? I swear if you are dead, I’m going to kill you myself.”

“I’m fine, Y/N,” the woman – Casey – said into the ancient walkie-talkie. “I ran into trouble but found some help taking down the clickers. This building isn’t as clear as we thought it was.” 

“Raiders?” the scratchy voice asked. 

“Raiders wouldn’t have saved my life.” 

“Famous last words. Get your ass up here.” 

“On my way,” Casey said with a smirk, clicking the walkie-talkie off. She looked over at the brothers and slipped it back into her pocket. 

“I’m Casey, and that was Y/N,” she said, tilting her head away from where they were standing. “I’m going to assume you aren’t going to kill me. If that’s true, then… Come on. We know a way out of here that’s a fuck ton safer than going back down through that.” Casey turned, walking down a hallway and stepping over the dead clickers. Dean moves to follow, but before he gets far, Sam stops him. 

“The hell, Dean?” 

“Well, I’m not gonna stay here,” Dean said. 

“So, you want to follow a complete fucking stranger to God knows where?” Sam asked incredulously. 

“The other option is to go back down there. I don’t want to do that. Do you?” Dean asked with a raised brow. Sam scoffed at his brother but followed when Dean walked after Casey. 

By the time they reached Y/N, the brothers had found several things they could use for makeshift weapons: more rags, scissors and broken pieces of metal, some rope, and a few old glass containers. On the other hand, Casey was collecting things like pens and pencils, notepads, journals, and some clothing. 

Y/N was folding what looked to be clothing into a duffle bag. She heard shuffling and was pointing a gun at the three before they even turned the corner. Casey started to whistle before turning the corner, her hands up in surrender. The brothers followed a few steps behind, their hands on their weapons. Y/N relaxed when she saw Casey walking toward her but immediately returned to the defense when she spotted the brothers. 

“Who the fuck are you two?” Y/N growled, her gun back up, and pointed at the brothers as she stood. 

“Put your gun down, and let’s talk about this,” Sam said calmly, his rifle pointed at her.

Y/N cocked an eyebrow. “I think not,” she muttered under her breath. 

“Y/N, no! They saved my life,” Casey shouted, trying to stop her from shooting them. Y/N glanced at the girl. “They got me away from a clicker and even killed it. They killed two on their own.”

“And that makes them friendlies?” Y/N snapped quietly. Sam side-stepped while the two argued, moving to give him a better advantage. “Don’t even think about it, or I will drop you where you stand.” 

“You aren’t fast enough,” Dean said, cocking his gun. 

“Okay, okay… let’s all just take a breath here,” Casey said with a frown. Y/N shifted toward her. That movement caused Dean to notice something familiar on her arm.

“Wait!” Dean shouted, causing both Y/N and Sam to freeze. “Show me your forearm.” 

“What?” Y/N asked incredulously. He did not just ask to see…

“Show me your arm,” he asked again, speaking slower. Y/N stared at him for a long moment before using one hand to shove the sleeve up on the arm holding the gun, exposing the anti-possession tattoo inked just near the crease of her elbow. Dean looked at it, pressing his lips in a thin line. He glanced at Sam quickly before he returned his gaze to Y/N. 

In sync, like the brothers always are, they reached up to the collar of their shirts and pulled them aside, exposing their chests. There, in black ink, were identical tattoos. This caused Y/N’s expression to slacken in surprise as she cursed.

“What are you guys? Are you part of the same cult or something?” Casey asked, confusion coloring her tone. Y/N stood up straight, her arms dropping to her sides. She studied the brothers while they studied her. 

“Something like that,” she said softly. Y/N pulled a silver flask from her back pocket and held it up for the two men to see. “Why don’t you humor me?” she said as she tossed it at Dean, who caught the silver item with one hand. Sam looked over at his brother, watching as Dean turned it over and looked at the etchings on the front. His brow raised as he ran his thumb over the runes. 

“I applaud your rune choices, but I do wonder just how holy your water is,” he said, opening the bottle and taking a quick swig. Dean handed the flask to Sam, who also took a sip before closing it and tossing it back to her. She caught it one-handed, a harsh smirk dancing across her lips as she raised her brows at him, slipping it back into her pocket. Dean pulled out a silver blade from its hiding spot behind his back. He flung it at her with a flick of his wrist, having it land in the old wood near her feet. Y/N didn’t react, keeping her eyes on him. 

“Let’s see if you can handle a real test,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Y/N nodded at him once, reached over, grasped the handle of the silver blade, and tugged it out of the wood. Her eyes dropped to look over the blade, eyeing its intricate engraving before carefully slicing a bit of her forearm open. Dean watched and glanced at Sam, who nodded when she didn’t react. Y/N flung the knife back at the brothers, the blade ending up in the wall between them. Dean scoffed as he pulled it out and returned it to its hiding place on his body. 

Y/N’s entire attitude changed, with surprise and a bit of longing in her voice. “I haven’t seen another hunter in almost 20 years. I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Dean. This is Sam,” Dean said, sliding his weapon back into its holster at his back. Sam waved slightly at her, his expression much more open and friendly. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, a smile playing on her lips. 

“Winchester? Should have known you two would have survived,” she muttered with a shake of her head. 

“You’ve heard of us?” Sam asked. Y/N scoffed, sliding her gun into the waistband of her worn jeans. 

“Anyone in the business has heard of you guys,” she said, then pointed to the ground beneath her feet, a severe expression on her face. “You guys didn’t have anything to do with this apocalypse, did you?” The brothers bitch-faced the woman before sharing a glance. They went about their way, looking over the room and gathering supplies they could use while Y/N spoke to Casey.

“I’ve picked up as much as I could find on the top five floors. Add your items into the bag, and we’ll get out of here,” she said. Casey nodded, kneeling to add her scavenged items to the duffle bag. “We can check out those houses we passed back to the bus and see if anything is left behind.” A loud crash echoed distantly, followed by a screech. All four turned and lifted their weapons toward the sound, standing frozen in their places. Silence settled over them again, but Y/N wasn’t willing to wait and see what would happen next. 

“We gotta get out of here,” she muttered, her eyes watching for anything that moves. 

“You got an exit in mind?” Dean asked. Y/N and Casey glanced at each other, and Y/N tilted her head toward the back of the floor toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that were giving them light to see.

“Casey, take point,” Y/N said quietly, her eyes unmoving. Casey nodded as she lifted one of the duffle bags at their feet. Once it was secure across her body, she slowly walked toward the back of the room, her gun still in her hands. 

“Sammy, go,” Dean muttered as he glanced behind them. 

“Dean,” Sam warned. 

“I’m right behind you,” he said. Sam frowned but followed Casey, watching Dean follow him. Y/N covered the back of their line with the second duffle bag over her shoulder. When Sam caught up with Casey, he saw a hole in the wall leading to a balcony. Casey was dropping her duffle bag over the side to the ground three floors below. She then propped open a slab in the metal to reveal what was left of a hidden staircase. She then dropped Y/N’s bag over the side once the group was together. One by one, the foursome made their way down to the ground. Y/N glanced up at the building once her feet hit the grass.

“This way,” Y/N muttered, picking up one of the duffle bags tossed down and throwing the strap across her body. She began leading them away from the building and into shadows cast by the overgrowth of trees, their bodies disappearing into the brush. 

There was an unspoken agreement that the four would stick together, and they walked through the brush silently. After a while, the four paired off in their walking. Sam walked with Casey; Dean walked with Y/N. The silence proved too much for the younger pair, and soon they started chatting. The muted voices were almost peaceful to listen to as they walked, the older pair keeping an eye out for danger. A twig snap had the two older ones turning and raising weapons, listening to the sounds of nature surrounding them for signs of danger. 

It wasn’t until they saw a rabbit scampering by that they relaxed. 

“Never a dull moment,” Y/N muttered, causing Dean to chuckle. 

“I can’t tell you the last time I let my guard down,” he said quietly, shaking his head. The two started walking again. Y/N glanced at him. “At least before all this clicker shit happened, I felt like I could get a few hours’ of peaceful sleep at night.” 

“The only way I slept out here was in a hammock chair I found in an abandoned Home Depot back in the day, hung up in the branches of a tree off the ground at least a hundred feet,” Y/N said. “Most uncomfortable way to sleep, but I wasn’t gonna stay on the ground for nothing.” 

“Sammy and I would take turns staying up at night, keeping watch and the fire burning. It never felt like a restful sleep, though. Always woke up tired no matter how long I was out,” he explained. 

“Like you never rested in the first place?” Y/N asked, looking over at the older brother. He glanced at her before answering. 

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“I’d rather hunt a house full of vampires while on my period in cut-off shorts than deal with this shit. At least with vampires, I know what to expect. It feels like every time we turn around, we’re learning something new about these cordyceps and whatnot,” Y/N muttered with a shake of her head. Dean smirked.

“It’s been a few years since I took out anything that wasn’t human or cordyceps driven. I figured all the evil in the world has up and vanished given how humanity has all but destroyed itself,” Dean said. 

A few hours later, the four walked out of the woods and up to a neighborhood filled with rundown houses that were most likely beautiful once upon a time. Now, with rotted wood and overgrown lawns, they simply looked like how the rest of the world did: abandoned and left for Mother Nature to recall as her own.  With a sigh, Y/N paused and looked at the group.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m exhausted,” Y/N said tiredly. “Let’s head to the safe house. We’ll clear it and make camp for the night.”

“I think we left behind some canned food last time we were there. It’s not anything gourmet, but fifteen-year-old canned peaches and some Chef Boyardee sounds pretty damn good to me right now,” Casey said, leading the way. 

“Man, you found peaches?” Sam asked, jogging to catch up with the younger woman. 

“Canned peaches. I’m not promising the best-tasting fruit here,” Casey smiled. 

“We can dig through more of the houses around here while we are here; we might find some good stuff while we’re at it,” Y/N said as she looked over the overgrown streets. “I don’t think anyone has been through those houses in the back. Who knows what we’ll find.”

“Okay. We did the houses on that side of the street when we came here last week,” Casey said, pointing to the houses on the left. “That means we still need to search these houses over here on the right.” 

“Anyone in these homes right now?” Sam asked, looking back at Y/N as she eyed the homes. She shook her head sadly. 

“This was one of the areas FEDRA came through early when they started the quarantine zones back in the day. These places were abandoned early, and being that it’s a random neighborhood in the middle of nowhere, no one has been here in years,” she explained. “Unless someone was passing through and thought to search the homes, we should be lucky to find some more canned food at least.”

“We’ll split up into twos and hit a few houses before heading to your safehouse for the night. How’s that sound?” Dean asked. Y/N looked over at him and shrugged. 

“Sounds good to me. We can pull some stuff from the homes for you guys too, make some more comfortable bedding options and maybe even some clothes,” she replied. They spent the next few hours going through some of the homes and finding some canned food, a comforter, three musty pillows, a few t-shirts, and a worn pair of sweatpants. All in all, it was a good haul. The four had green beans and carrots with their Chef Boyardee and peaches that night.

“Just because we’re in the middle of the apocalypse doesn’t mean clickers are the only things we need to worry about,” Y/N snarked. 

“When’s the last time you hunted anything that wasn’t riddled with cordyceps?” Dean asked, disdain dripping from his voice. Y/N shot him a glare from the corner of her eye as the four trudged through the woods. 

“When was the last time we did?” Sam muttered under his breath, dodging the elbow his older brother tried to shove into his side. Casey laughed lightly at the antics while Y/N smirked at the brothers as they climbed through the trees. 

“You’d be amazed at what needs killing, even now,” Y/N said. “While I haven’t actively hunted anything demonic in quite a while, I’ve been known to do quite a few salt and burn’s along the way. Even now, people need to be put to rest.” 

Sam shot Dean a look and a smirk as if to say, ‘I told you so,’ which earned him an eye roll in return. 

“Do I want to know what you guys are talking about?” Casey asked lightly, causing all three of them to answer in the negative. They were quiet after that, hiking through overgrown grass and ferns between tall trees that had taken back what was rightfully theirs a thousand years ago.

They had been walking for a couple of hours when it happened. The sun dipped low, throwing a beautiful sunset across the sky when a low growl echoed off the trees surrounding them. They froze in their spots, each looking out to locate the owner of the sound. 

“What the hell was that?” Casey asked with apparent fear in her voice. 

“That doesn’t sound like infected,” Dean muttered, slowly pulling his handgun from his thigh holster. Sam shook his head slightly, looking at their surroundings more carefully as he pulled his gun. 

“It isn’t human either,” Sam said quietly. Y/N hushed them both, listening more intently to their surroundings. It had gone oddly quiet, the sounds of birds and crickets disappearing completely. Another growl echoed, this time louder and closer. All four heads swung in the direction it was coming from. 

“We have a predator among us,” Y/N whispered. Dean and Sam glanced at each other before returning to studying their surroundings. 

“I don’t understand what is going on,” Casey said, her gun in her hand and her wide eyes scanning the woods around her. 

“Just stay between us, and you’ll be fine,” Y/N quietly told her. On instinct, the three hunters formed a protective triangle around the younger girl. Suddenly, rustling and heavy breathing disturbed the absolute silence. A guttural sound echoed close by them. The location of the sounds made them feel like they were surrounded.

“Behind,” Sam muttered, causing Dean to glance behind them. There it stood, in all its glory. The skeletal form of a wendigo, tall and skinny with razor-sharp teeth on display in its open mouth. Black beady eyes narrowed on the foursome. Its claws wiggled as if preparing to attack at any moment.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean whispered harshly. The thing screeched a violent scream that caused all of them to stumble back a few steps, pointing the weapons out, knowing they wouldn’t do anything about it. 

“What were you saying about hunting during the apocalypse?” Y/N asked sarcastically to hide the fear in her voice. 

“Run! Now!” Dean said, firing three rounds at the monster in front of them. Sam grabbed Casey’s hand before turning and running as fast as they could. Y/N fired a couple of rounds before she turned and ran, Dean following quickly behind her. The wendigo charged them, a violent roar escaping him that echoed off the trees. It barreled them down quickly, knocking into Dean and throwing him off his feet. 

“Dean!” Sam shouted, turning back to see him. Y/N stopped and looked behind her as well. 

“I’m fine! Keep going!” they heard him yell. The three turned around to start running again, only to come face-to-face with the monster. Y/N screamed in fright, causing him to toss her aside. Its claws tore her skin open, leaving behind scratches across her side. She landed against a tree and fell into a pile of ferns. 

“Y/N!!” Casey screamed as Sam pulled up his rifle and shot it in the face twice to distract it. It shrieked and backed off. 

“That wasn’t very nice,” Y/N groaned as Dean approached her. 

“C’mon, we gotta move,” he said, trying to help her. She nodded her head but moved slowly. Sam darted over to where they were, his weapon raised and ready to fire when the wendigo showed its face again. However, the familiar screeches they heard weren’t from their monster. All four of them glanced at each other with genuine fear.

“This can’t be happening,” Sam muttered as he turned his head, looking for the clickers. The girls grabbed the brothers and yanked them down into the ferns, hiding them from sight. 

“Be silent,” Casey whispered almost silently. With racing hearts and fear running through them, they watched as the clickers moved right by them. The wendigo growled somewhere nearby, causing Dean to stiffen. Y/N put her hand on his arm as a warning. The clickers turned and screeched, looking for the monster who had made so much noise, and it wasn’t moments later that they discovered their prey. The trees then erupted with the growls from the wendigo and the screeching from the clickers as the fight began. 

They stood from their hiding spot and watched dumbfounded as the wendigo fought the clickers. Clawed hands were everywhere, and blood and chunks of skin were flung in different directions as each monster attacked the other, shredding each other to bits.

“Alright, now I’ve seen everything,” Dean muttered, pulling a scoffing laugh from Sam. Y/N pulled a half-filled bottle of alcohol and a torn piece of fabric out of her pack. She poured some liquid on the fabric before stuffing it into the bottle in a makeshift Molotov and holding it in front of her.  

“Gimme a light,” she muttered to Dean. He looked at the bottle in her hands and smirked before digging a lighter out of his pocket. Y/N kept her eyes on the fighting monsters before her as Dean carefully lit the damp rag hanging from the top of the bottle. Once the fire was intense, Y/N reared back and threw the bottle. 

Smashing glass gave way to a quiet woosh of alcohol catching on fire as it fell on the wendigo, clickers, and foliage nearby. Pain-filled cries filled the darkening sky as the flame quickly ate up the dead skin of the monsters, the loud sounds drawing the few other clickers that were nearby. Soon, they were also engulfed in flame. 

Y/N smirked as she looked over at the brothers. Dean was smiling widely as he watched the monsters burn to the ground. He shared a glance with Sam, and the brothers looked relaxed for the first time in Y/N’s presence. Y/N and Casey shared a glance before watching more of the fire burn.

“Isn’t that Dina?” Y/N questioned the next day, squinting as they approached the bus. Casey turned to look in the direction Y/N was pointing, then jumped excitedly. 

“It is Dina!” she exclaimed, then shouted with all her might. “Dina!!” Her voice echoed down the street of abandoned buildings and broken roads. The three other people winced as they heard it. The woman riding the horse in the distance turned around to look their way, and the noise that could only be recognized as infected started heading their way.

“Casey!” Dean growled at her, pulling out his handgun. Y/N shook her head as she walked forward, bending down to pick up what looked like what used to be a baseball bat as she did. As she stood up, she swung the bat upward, connecting with the head of a runner headed her way. The blood and bone splattered across her went ignored as she turned to swing again at the one coming right behind him. 

“I’m sorry!” Casey shouted as she pulled up the rifle handed to her by Y/N miles ago. Sam was picking off infected from farther away, backing up a little to avoid hitting his partners in the fight. Dean shot a runner that was headed for her twice in the head before kicking another one in front of him. 

“Duck!” he heard Sam’s voice shout, causing Dean to drop to one knee. Above him, he heard a small explosion and looked up just in time to see a body collapse behind him. Dean holstered his gun and pulled out his machete, hacking his way through two runners who started to come toward him. A loud screech caught his attention, and he noticed Y/N had a clicker coming up behind her. Before he could shout a warning, he watched as she grabbed a runner and turned with him, shoving him into the clicker. The clicker grabbed him and bit into his neck, giving her time to pull a weapon and fire on them both. 

Impressive, he thought. The fight carried on for what felt like hours but was only fifteen minutes. Dina and Ellie, who were nearby, came to their rescue, firing their guns into the heads of the runners as they rode closer. 

“I thought someone cleared this area,” Y/N panted, looking at Dina. She shrugged.

“It was last week. Who knows where these guys came from? We’ll have to talk to Tommy about it, though,” Dina said, with Ellie nodding. Just then, Jessie rode up to see them standing among several dead runners. 

“Uh, things okay?” he asked, concerned. He eyed the brothers suspiciously before looking at Casey. 

“Hey, Jessie,” she said with a wide smile. The three adults in the group rolled their eyes and turned to check on each other while the two lovebirds took a moment to get reacquainted. Dean and Sam looked each other over, ensuring no bites were visible, while Y/N chatted with Dina and Ellie for a moment. 

“Uh, hey, Y/N?” Casey started. 

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead.” 

“Thank you so much! I promise we’ll meet up in Jackson so I can help clean the clothing we found.” 

“Go on, get out of here.” 

  Y/N took the duffle bag that she was carrying from her before Jessie helped get Casey on his horse. The four twenty-somethings turned and wandered off to finish their rounds as Y/N watched them with a sarcastic smirk. Once they were out of sight, she turned and looked at the brothers who were watching the scene in front of them with barely disguised amusement. Sam reached ahead, took the extra bag Y/N was carrying, and slung it over one shoulder. 

“C’mon. The bus is over here.”

The sun was setting on their third day together when the old school bus appeared. 

“This is yours?” Sam asked, eyeing the school bus critically. Y/N smiled slightly. 

“Yep,” she replied tiredly. 

“And it runs?” Dean asked, surprised, coloring his tone as he looked it over. Y/N unlocked the padlock she had on the door and shoved it open so they could board.  

“Took me three years to figure out how to get the power the solar panels on the roof provide to run the engine. I took the batteries from an old Tesla and put it in the bus, making it easier,” Y/N said. Dean looked at her, impressed. “Make yourselves at home.” 

Sam and Dean shared a look before climbing the bus, startled when they saw the inside. Shelves and crates to hold things she collected along the way lined one side of the bus. On the opposite side were a few mattresses with blankets and pillows. A small shelf held cooking items like the kind you would camp with. Y/N even put in what looked like those cubbies kindergartners used to keep their stuff behind the driver’s seat. 

“Wow,” Sam muttered as they walked onto the bus. 

“Feel free to get comfy. I’ve got some lanterns back there, matches to light them nearby. We’ll get moving in the morning,” Y/N said, letting Dean pass her. “I’ll take the first watch.”

Twenty minutes later, Sam was fast asleep on a mattress at the back of the bus. Y/N was sitting in the driver’s seat, a rifle in her hands, as she watched out the window. However, Dean seemed too wired to rest and instead was browsing the collections of items she had shelved.

“So, why are you collecting all this random shit?” Dean asked, flipping through a stack of books on one of the shelves bolted to the side of the bus. Y/N turned her head to look at what Dean was looking at, resting her head on the butt of the rifle. 

“The place I live in now is a commune. We share everything and pitch in where we can do whatever needs to be done. The problem is that resources get thin quickly, and sometimes we need more. Of everything,” she explained. “And I kind of hate being in one place for a long period after living the hunter lifestyle.” 

“I hear that,” Dean said with a smirk, facing her with a book. He flips through the pages as he walks to the front of the bus to sit on the couch across from her. 

“Well, I head out every other month or so to find things people need,” she explained. “You’d be amazed at what people leave behind when they rush to get out, and when you are trying to rebuild a home, you need everything. Dishes to eat off, clothing to wear, books for entertainment…”

“And you just go out, find this stuff, and bring it back?” Dean asked. Y/N shrugged. 

“I used to travel around the states in a 1969 Mustang, painted the prettiest blue you’d ever seen. The longest I’d ever stayed in one spot was three weeks. And that was because of a pretty bad concussion and three broken ribs. The idea of settling down isn’t appealing to me,” Y/N said.

“What were you hunting? That busted you up?” Dean asked, book forgotten. 

“A rakshasa. I was hunting alone, which I know better than to do, but you do what you have to when people are dying,” she said with a wince. Dean nodded. “What about you? I’d love to hear some of those famous Winchester stories.” 

Dean just smiled.

A loud whistle could be heard as the bus approached the large gate. 

“Hey! Y/N’s back! Someone go get Maria and Tommy!” a voice shouted. Sam and Dean looked out the front window and watched as the gate slowly opened. Y/N pulled the bus in and parked it just inside the gate. She heaved a heavy sigh before opening the door.

A commotion happened as soon as they walked off the bus. Weapons were pointed in their direction, voices were raised, and threats were thrown; Y/N stood in front of the brothers with her arms in surrender as the brothers stood defensively.

“I don’t fucking think so, Tommy! They’re with me!” she shouted back at the pseudo-leader of the commune. 

“You can’t just bring random people into Jackson! You put all of us at risk,” someone shouted. 

“You know me well enough to know I wouldn’t bring just anyone in here,” Y/N answered.

“How do we know these people are safe?” another shouted.

“Get your fucking gun out of my face!” Dean growled at someone.

“Shut up and let me handle this,” Y/N bit out at him. 

“Looks like you’re causing some trouble, Y/N,” Joel said, standing back with a smirk. Y/N shot him a glare.

“Y/N, what the hell are you thinking,” Tommy asked, walking up to her, a gun in his hand pointed at the men behind her. 

“I thought I could bring a couple of friends with me back home without the terror squad bearing down on us,” she snapped at him. When one of the men shouting at her stepped up to make a move on them, Y/N turned to face him. “Try it, and I’ll knock you the fuck out, Aaron.” 

“Calm down; they are just defensive because you brought strangers into their home,” Maria said, walking up next to Tommy. “Put your gun down, Tommy, you aren’t helping the situation.” 

“Maria, these are my guys,” Y/N said with a look. 

“What do you mean, your guys?” she asked. 

Y/N rolled up her sleeve to show her tattoo. Sam saw her do that and pulled his shirt aside to show his, elbowing Dean in the process. While rolling his eyes, Dean pulled his shirt aside and showed his tattoo. Maria’s eyes widened, then moved to stand before the trio. 

“They are welcome here, and anyone who has a problem with it can speak to me directly,” Maria announced to the growing crowd. Maria turned to look at Y/N, glanced at the bus, and frowned. “Where’s Casey?” 

“She stayed behind with Jesse and the girls to help on patrol,” Y/N said. Maria smirked. 

“Help on patrol or mess around with Jesse?” 

“We haven’t showered in weeks, Maria. Let him have at it if that’s what he wants to fool around with.”

There was humor in their eyes as they turned to see Tommy and Sam talking while Joel and Dean seemed to be sizing each other up. The rest of the crowd dispersed after giving Sam and Dean the once-over. No one went into the bus for the things she found; they all knew once she cleaned up and washed everything, they would be dispersed appropriately: books would go to the library, food to the dining hall, games, and recreation goods to the main entrance, and everything else to the storefront she ran so people can pick through what they need. In another month or so, she would head out in another direction to find more items to bring back to Jackson to help families settle in with a list of requests from people looking for specifics if she could see them. 

“Would you guys be willing to stay with Y/N until we can find you a place to live?” Maria asked Sam. 

“uh…” Sam stuttered, glancing at Dean.

“Yeah, they’re with me,” Y/N said. 

“Okay. We’ll get you some clean clothes. I’m sure she’s got some your size, but they most likely need to be washed. Whatever else you need, we’ll get that together too. Get cleaned up, and get some sleep. We’ll get together later and talk,” Maria said, smiling. 

“I get the first shower,” Y/N said. “You boys will most likely use up the hot water.”

“You’ve got hot water?” Dean asked, longing to color his voice. Y/N smiled gently at him, recognizing they had no idea what they were brought into. 

“We’ve got electricity here,” she said calmly. “So, we have hot water. We also have shampoo, soap, hot food, and many other comforts. It’s not like it used to be before the outbreak, but it's closer to home than any QZ ever was.” 

Dean looked at Sam with emotion in his eyes, grabbing the back of his neck tightly. Sam stared at his brother with teary eyes and a shaky smile. Y/N glanced at Maria, who was smiling at the boys. 

“We made it, Sammy,” Dean said quietly. 

“C’mon. Let’s go to my place and get settled,” Y/N said, climbing back on the bus. As Sam and Dean climbed on, Y/N smiled at them. “Oh, and boys? Welcome to Jackson.” 

[statementlou]

So I see folks pointing out that Louis' circle A tattoo is more likely an aesthetic choice than an announcement of a political commitment to anarchism, and saying basically that that maybe makes him a bit of a poser and I mean- I GUESS. But I don't like to look at things that way and I don't think it's useful. As I see it the subversive sexiness of the symbols of resistance have ALWAYS been gateways for people who are drawn to the struggle in vague ways and that's GOOD. Aligning yourself with those values is good no matter the reason, in my book, especially given the wretched options available out there, but also the journey doesn't necessarily stop there. Gatekeeping queerness victimizes people who are just trying things out and starting to discover that it may run deeper than just trying on a new look who should instead be welcomed and helped along their path, and I fail to see how gatekeeping political affiliations is any different (plus how counterproductive to actual movement building is that?)

ANYWAY. What I really want to say about Louis is that while I KNOW that Louis is probably not secretly a theory reading anti-state communalist anarchist, I think that actually Louis' optimism and idealism (and his unwavering commitment to allying himself with the working class and embracing those roots) are a perfect fit for the philosophy and always have been. I know that anarchism is mostly understood as being about throwing molotov cocktails and fighting the state (and the allure of its symbols are that they signify this, a terrific aesthetic for him to choose to sign on with in my book), but that's honestly largely cartoonish stereotyping that comes directly from anti-anarchist state propaganda. That resistance is necessary in this hellscape of oppression we live in and is super important, but in its heart anarchism is only about the state in that the state and capitalism currently stands in the way of its goals. The whole point of anarchism is that it's NOT about the state! It's about being able to imagine something better than a state, it's about how we live and about how we SHOULD live, it's about HOPE and picturing something utopian and something free of the ways capitalism pits us against one another! What could be more Louis than that?

"I need you and you need me and I love that" is as beautiful a way of talking about the cornerstone of anarchism that is mutual aid as any long winded essay I've read (even if what he meant was contextually different), and I think when he talks again and again about how special the space fans have made around him is he is expressing an intuitive understanding of the importance of autonomous zones, places and moments outside of the shitty life imposed on us by the system (also a huge part of anarchist thought). Maybe I'm just being an optimist but I think that Louis DOES understand that caring for people and wanting self-determination and freedom for all and allying himself with the working class involves a certain amount of resistance to and positioning yourself in opposition to the state. Thinking the symbols of smashing that state are cool isn't meaningless; it's a CHOICE. There are other cool symbols out there and I just happen to think that feeling a resonance with certain ones is something in and of itself, even if at this moment he does not choose to start a fight with the media about it all.

[liamthemailman]

♠️♥️House of Cards♣️♦️

♦️Jack of Diamonds♦️

Private Kyle 'Jack' Harper's Bio

- Information -

Name : Kyle Harper

Codename : Jack

Status : Alive

Rank : Private

Citizenship : American

Bit of a wild card, no?

- Physical Profile -

Height: 5'7 feet

Gender : ? [he/her/they]

Age : 21 years old

Blood type: AB Pos

Eye color: Light Brown

Hair color: Light Blond

Tattoos : Right forearm

Additional Notes : Ear piercings to be removed as ordered

- Personality -

Jack is easily the most outgoing person in any room. He seems to always have energy despite having gone through rigorous training or having just returned from a week long operation. It's easy for Jack to spread this positive influence among his friends but people can find Jack annoying when his energy is misplaced.

Jack is cocky. She thinks she's hot shit. While she is performing quite well for her little experience, Jack is far from the best. Jack lives by the motto of 'Fake it till you make it'.

In addition to their cocky behavior, Jack is not the easiest recruit to deal with. Jack does follow orders when required of them, but that is about as far as they would go. Jack is purposefully leaving in their piercings or generally being a bit of a brat, all trivial matters, and giving his superiors headaches.

This however, does not stop Jack from being the most loyal recruit to his team. Jack always has an eye out for her fellow soldiers, even helping out her superiors when their hour of need arises. Jack always tries to make it even with anyone who's helped them.

- Skill Set -

Weapon(s) : Jack relies on questionable gadgets to help him out in fights, ranging from dummy grenades to dupe his enemies to flat out thermal weapons like Molotov cocktails. Now, Jack isn't able to use fire in battle, so he turns to bombs.

Combat Style : The skills Jack picked up are skills taught to her by her mentor(s). This means he's learning marksmanship and close combat.

Specialized skill : While Jack has no solid specialized skill as of yet, they have a really good pair of legs, being able to outrun and outjump nearly everyone.

- Background -

Jack had always known he wanted to protect the community. That and she really didn't see herself at a boring job till she retires. Originally, Jack had planned on becoming a firefighter, but soon Jack learned that her passion lied with fires, not putting them out. So, Jack opted for the military when he reached of age right after his family relocated to Britain.

In the military however, Jack found themselves in a less than desirable situation of being underestimated. For being so short and unfamiliar with the local customs. Jack vowed not to let this weigh him down, using is as fuel to pass selection.

Jack's loud persona soon caught the attention of a certain Lieutenant Ace. Jack doesn't understand that Ace saw a bit of his past self in them. Causing trouble and diving head first into problems without a second thought. Jack continued to train under Ace until he was told that she had been recommended into joining Task Force Cards. Jack would grow attached to Ace, thinking of him as a good friend and lowkey father figure to herself.

There, Jack met King. King doubted him from the get-go, but seeing it was Ace who insisted that Jack is a strapping young man with lots of potential to grow into a good soldier, Jack was them welcomed into the team. King would then learn that Jack was reckless, needlessly loud and outright rebellious. They both keep it barely civil, but don't interact outside of work.

Jack met Queen right after meeting King. King had assigned Queen to mentor Jack, not knowing Ace was already guiding Jack in his own ways. Jack takes in stride, weighing out that the two had valuable skills they could pick up. Despite Queen obviously trying to straighten out Jack, he didn't get shaped according to her norm. Jack didn't find himself liking Queen, but she was loyal to her despite it all.

- Additional Information -

Jack carries around a rope everywhere, being able to utilize this piece of material in many scenarios. Jack is looking to use it in fights after seeing the use of the Punjab Lasso in Phantom of the Opera. Though, Jack doesn't like to admit they found inspiration for it through theatre

Jack doesn't bother to hide his love for fire. Jack would carry at least one source of fire on himself, be it a lighter or a box of matches. Jack also makes her own bombs, building for a more fiery reaction when set off. Her goal is to one day be able to roast an enemy with fire instead of a bomb. Just your local arsonist fighting against the Geneva convention.

Jack is the easiest person, and often the go-to for companionship. Jack cracks the best jokes and laughs at his own lame jokes and funny shenanigans. Jack smiling widely is also very cute, which says even more when all their teeth are jagged and sharp. Jack is also the recruit the called Ace's smile weird. She stands by what she says.

- Favourites -

Drink: Monster Mango Loco

Food: Strawberry Cake

Animal: Jackrabbits

Hobby: Going for jogs or walks along the beach, collecting lighters

Weather: Sunny beaches and clear blue skies

Song: Bad Boy - Yung Bae, bbno$, Billy Marchiafave

Colour: Neon pink

Flower: White Rose

Moodboard :

[livwritesstuff]

i wanted to post this moment that i had ended up cutting out of this for the sake of brevity, because it’s just so soft and sweet and i didn’t want it to sit around collecting dust 

“Steve,” Eddie says, his voice rough from sleep finally breaking the calm quiet of early morning, “Would it weird you out if I got a tattoo for you?”

Steve furrows his eyebrows, still half-asleep himself and perfectly content to stay that way, wrapped in Eddie’s arms and relishing in the way he’s dragging his fingertips along the bare skin of Steve’s waist.

“Dude, we haven’t even been dating for two months.”

“Okay, but you also saved my entire fuckin’ life — and not even in a metaphor way. Like, you are actually the reason I didn’t bleed out in the Upside Down. I’d wanna get a tattoo for you whether we were together or not.”

“Oh.”

Every once in a while, like in this very moment, Steve remembers that he saved Eddie’s life. He knows it should probably resonate with him as a bigger deal than it actually does, but there was just so much life-saving during those three weeks in March of 1986 that it doesn’t ring as significant as maybe it should.

Like how he knows Eddie deciding to sacrifice himself to those bats actually ended up saving both Eddie and Dustin from getting caught in the fissure that obliterated Eddie’s trailer as it started it’s calamitous path across Hawkins. Like how Murray, of all people, and some flamethrower had saved a whole handful of them — in Russia and Vecna’s trance and the Upside Down — and like how Steve, Robin, and Nancy and their Molotov cocktails and sawed-off shotgun (and some pretty impeccable timing) had saved Max’s life in the end.

(And all of that is from just ten minutes out of four years’ worth of weird connections and freaky coincidences they still stumble onto to this day).

But, technically speaking, Steve did save Eddie when he chose to haul him out of the Upside Down, when he'd ripped his own shirt in two and demanded Nancy help him bind all the spots where Eddie's insides were dangerously close to spilling out, when he’d hammered on the doors of Eddie's terrified neighbors until he got himself a set of car keys, when he'd sped all the way to Hawkins Memorial and proclaimed Hippocratic oath before any staff could even determine who was bleeding out in their lobby.

Life is weird.

Steve’s is, anyways.

“Well…” he continues, “I mean, what would you get? Because if it’s something stupid like my face or my name in that dumb tattoo font — no way.”

“Have you no faith in my creative vision, dude?” Eddie replies, propping himself up enough for Steve to see the incredulous look on his face, “Obviously I would not get your face. A masterpiece like that can’t ever truly be done justice by—”

Steve smacks his bare shoulder.

“Honestly, I don't really know yet. I just know that I wanna do it at some point if it’s cool with you.”

It is cool with Steve, is the thing. Everything about Eddie is cool with Steve, cool in a way that feels like something he wants to spend forever with, but they haven’t even hit the two-month mark on their relationship yet, and his tendency to fall too hard too fast has messed things up before, so for now there are some things he keeps to himself.

(Although Eddie is asking about getting a goddamn tattoo for him, a permanent piece of ink etched into his skin forever, so maybe Steve doesn’t need to be quite so worried. Still, he isn’t sure and he really doesn’t want this to get messed up).

“Well,” he settles on saying, “Keep me updated, I guess.”

part 2, part 3

[mrapplethorn]

Artificers that don’t use tech

One of the classes of which it doesn’t always feel like it belongs in your (or the adventure’s) world is the Artificer. Its name does not imply that though, we all know the Artificer in Dungeons and Dragons is a person that combines steampunk-esque contraptions with the magic found in most D&D worlds. An Artificer should be, according to the word’s description, a trickster or an immoral craftsman of clever devices. Confining this description to a person that uses metal contraptions to cast spells feels a bit shallow, so here are a few ideas you can use to build your next Artificer.

Art by Kris Theorin (left) and Lily Abdullina (right)

The Gingerbread Man’s Baker

Battle Smith Artificer – Cook’s Utensils

Delirious Barnsforth started out as a simple cook, working for a local noble family. Wanting more out of life, he accidently poisoned the lord and lady of the house. He fled into the forest where he met a benevolent Hag. She gave him shelter and taught him the basics of spellcasting. Delirious showed some affinity for the arcane arts, but he lacked in creativity.

Only after he discovered that there was a way to combine spellcasting with cooking did he really become a force to be reckoned with. His first ‘Steel Defender’ was a blob of dough that he somehow managed to trap a fey spirit in. These days he is known for bringing to life the famous Gingerbread Man.

How to play him

If you have spent one second on the internet, you know there are people on there that love to correct everyone that says Frankenstein when they mean Frankenstein’s Monster. Likewise, Delirious also corrects anyone that calls him anything but The Gingerbread Man’s Baker.

Every spell Baker Barnsforth casts is somehow shaped like a cook’s utensil, food, or other items you’d find in a kitchen.

Delirious, as an Artificer with the Battle Smith subclass, has a steel defender, although his is not made of steel but of dough, and in the shape of his oh-so-famous Gingerbread Man.

Art by Marcin Kulesza (left) and Dan Dossantos (right)

The Tatted Artificer

Armorer Artificer – Painter’s Supplies

Born without a shred of magic in her bones, Diana Jones studied to become an archeologist. Her interests also lied with art and painting, tattooing in particular. So, when she stumbled upon a mysterious dark fluid within a buried temple her first thought was to test it on her skin.

How to play her

Every feature, feat, spell, and ability of the Tatted Artificer is represented by a tattoo on her body. As shown in the image the spell Shadow Blade could manifest as a set of removable scimitar tattoos on your characters back.

The armor she would need to wear to gain her subclass abilities has taken the form of tattoos also.

If you play in a campaign where money has a prominent place, You and your DM have to agree on some things. Armor is a big aspect of the Armorer Artificer. Something we just replaced with tattoos. The easiest step is to keep the cost of an armor improvement but let it technically be an added tattoo.

Art by Alejandro García

The Snake Oil Salesman

High Elf Alchemist Artificer

Smoke billows from their workshop. The Healer of Harkonen goes by many names. But most people know them as Dietrich the Knife-eared Snake oil Salesman. Tall tales of their past are whispered in taverns. They speak of an elf who brought down the destruction of an ancient city with their disease-spreading elixirs. What the stories leave out however is that this simple alchemist does not work alone. They and their twin have travelled the world, fought beasts, and harvested magical components. Now they run a shop that sells miracle potions, miracle in the fact that you will never truly know what happens when drinking them.

How to play them

Dietrich or their sibling do not contribute to a fight with their physical skills. Their spells take on the form of potions, salves, and other concoctions. A fireball for example could be akin to a Molotov Cocktail.

Art by Oleksandr Kozachenko (left) and Victor Titov (right)

The Woodsman

Plasmoid/Reborn Artillerist Artificer

Once a man, the creature now only known as the Woodsman, is a hulking green figure. Raised as an orphan in a Druid Circle, his past is not well documented. His abilities are druid-like but also very alien to them. The forest is his home and the object of his protection. When provoked he breaks of pieces of himself that can act on their own and can only be described as vinelike cannons.

How to play him

The Woodsman has a lot in common with the Oath of the Ancients Paladin, you could even use the tenets of this subclass to guide you in your actions.

The spells the Woodsman casts all thematically link back to his plant-based nature.

[somebodyssherlock-heterodyne]

HI i need ur bullet point ideas for the tattooed pete/cult priestess vespa/name reveal rabbit hole we’ve gone down on my desk in da morning (please the urge to write this is so trying i need the planning PLEASE)

OK so I don't have much other than what I already posted BUT

-Vespa became a cult leader when she was wasted between assassination jobs and saw a bunch of total randos basically lay siege to the local government building of the local shitty government with like, molotov cocktails and a riding lawnmower that had been modded into a tank. Vespa, who had until two hours ago worked for said shitty government and hated them even more as a result, helped them out, which counts as automatic inauguration into the cult of the Angel of Brahma. She lent her services as a medic to those injured, decided to also take a look at their sundry other sick/injured members, and realized that this cult not only overthrows local shitty governments, they also act as a safe haven slash underground railroad for anyone trying to get the hell out of dodge. She crashes on their couch and wakes up the next morning with a shit hangover, and a bunch of flowers on the coffee table next to her. The flowers are from a few refugees she'd helped out, who wouldn't have been able to leave the planet to reach the next outpost of the cult without her patching them up. Vespa is curious enough to ask, and discovers that the cult of revolutionaries who smuggle people out for only the price those people can actually afford to pay isn't, like, unified or anything. There's no central leadership, just the tenants of the Angel of Brahma as they were written by the cult's founder and the only known member to have met the Angel in person. Vespa is, on one hand, busy as shit, but also like. These branches of cult don't really have established communication or any centralized interplanetary leadership, or interplanetary members, and hey, she gets around, she can pass messages along. So Vespa ends up connecting the disparate groups together, and giving them some advice on how to establish good governments to replace the shitty ones, which turns into accidentally becoming the leader of a cult that spans several dozen solar systems and has a grudge against basically every government they've lived under. Vespa does some digging into the Angel, cause like, that's their beacon of hope, yknow? That's the symbol people turn to. She can do some research. She turns up fuck all, except that the Angel has to be a goddamn shape-shifter to have made it out of New Kinshasa and that they might actually straight up be a biblical angel cause she's struggling to come up with anything else that could've scared Brahma's whole government this shitless. There's also a lot of like. Prison breaks and thefts that happened right afterwards, that apparently were so ballsy and impossible that while the near destruction of New Kinshasa put the fear of God into the Brahmese government, this stuff is what cemented it. So she shares this with her fellows, not realizing she's written a sermon, and they ask for more so she digs up more and oops she's written the mythology of the Angel of Brahma.

Eventually the cultists formalize it and it's customary to have a faceless image of the Angel behind a little statue of their high priestess Vespa on your altar. Someone designs cult robes that double as riot gear for when you're toppling tyrants with molotov cocktails and modded riding lawnmowers, and puts some fancy embroidery on Vespa's, and then Vespa gets asked to lead a couple celebrations and that's when she realizes this is her life now.

-Peter’s tattoos coincide with him getting absolutely trashed in response to the first, second, and third anniversary of Mag's death, so he can't really make himself think about them long enough to book an appointment and get them removed. The cat whiskers were the first one, suggested by a random child he met on the street while wasted, who he allowed to draw cat whiskers and ears on him because they asked very politely if they could. Some jackass walked by and was like "that's so ugly I bet he'll wash it off as soon as you leave" and the child was visibly trying so hard not to cry so Peter, seventeen and wasted off his ass, said "bitch bet" and grabbed the kid's hand and they got to watch him get their drawing turned into a tattoo and they held his hand in case it hurt. This is the only tattoo Peter actually has a full memory of getting, and he doesn't remove it because 1 spite 2 that child was ADORABLE he can't betray them like that.

The mascara streaks he knows next to nothing about besides the fact that he wasn't wearing mascara when he went out to kill half the cells in his liver, so his best guess is that he decided he needed mascara tears for the vibes that night and his brain jumped to "get mascara tears tattooed on" instead of "apply mascara and continue crying".

The Aurinkay shipper one he is unfortunately perfectly able to extrapolate because it happened during the height of his fan boy phase when he was writing RPF about Vespa and Buddy and some BITCH had the audacity to tell him that nobody from Brahma could possibly ~understand them~ well enough for proper characterization (the worst thing they could have said to 19yo Peter Nureyev given that like five of his recent heists were in the name of finding out more details about their crimes so his fanfiction was as accurate as possible). Hence, well. Brahmese calligraphy. He went on to write his most popular fic to date afterwards though, to this day it's the standard by which all other Aurinkay RPF is judged.

-When Vespa asks them to make a stop so she can lead the high holy day of her cult, Peter registers nothing besides being glad for the amazing distraction from who's death day it is. They are halfway through the sermon, and Peter has been thinking 'wow this sounds a lot like that prison break I staged when I was eighteen' which turns into OH NO when Vespa finishes the introductory tale with 'today we praise the Angel of Brahma for freeing all those they have freed, from prisons of stone, prisons of law, prisons of fear, and prisons of oppression.' He spends the entire rest of Vespa's run through of myths/genuinely giving praise to this person who has inspired so many people convincing himself that hospitalizing himself so he can leave is not worth how pissed Vespa would be. Juno is holding his hand, face totally blank, trembling with what is absolutely repressed laughter. They get back to their room while Jet, Buddy, and Rita give Vespa all the compliments she can take, and Juno barely waits for the door to close before he's laughing too hard to stand. When he finds Peter’s folder of RPF fics he started working on after joining the Carte Blanche (a mix of rewrites now that he can be more on point with personalities and sequel fics that may or may not be slightly to the left accounts of their adventures on the Carte Blanche), Juno raises the very valid point that Peter has nothing to be ashamed of considering the sermons Vespa read last week.

-Vespa starts talking more openly about the Angel to the crew, both as "proofread this sermon" and, more rarely, as admiration for the symbol that she focused on during the darkest time of her life, one she might not have made it through that darkness without. Buddy starts looking into the Angel too, because she likes doing things for her wife. Rita's just curious about what kind of person you gotta be to make Vespa Illkay religious.

It's actually a job that has the crew finding out Peter’s from Brahma, given the necessity of someone who can read Brahmese calligraphy for this particular heist. Vespa asks if he wants to join the cult and he turns her down flat, immediately after the words are out of her mouth. Vespa, suspicious, asks him why not. Peter replies that it wouldn't feel right to do so, and the subject is dropped, though Vespa takes 'it wouldn't feel right' to mean 'I don't support what they stand for enough to fight for it' and she adds that as a point in favor of Peter’s origin being 'wealthy heir from the Outer Rim who got into crime for thrills, probably from New Kinshasa'.

This causes some tension, but no super major issues, until Rita's digging into the Angel turns up the name 'Peter Nureyev' and said Peter Nureyev has a fucking heart attack walking into the kitchen and hearing Rita say 'Mistah Nureyev', to which he unthinkingly responds 'when did Juno tell you my name?' And immediately drowns the whole kitchen in dead silence, because Juno is standing by the coffee maker about to ask where the hell Rita learned that cause it wasn't from him, Jet, Buddy, Vespa, and Rita were discussing the true name of the Angel of Brahma before those two walked in, and everyone is coming to several realizations in very quick succession.

When Peter can finally be coaxed out of where he's folded himself into the trunk of the Ruby 7, Buddy suggests they all sit down and talk, and that's when the call about the Brahmese government trying to hunt down Vespa's fellow cultists comes through.

Peter and Vespa, eerily enough, are operating on the exact same wavelength, that being 'you fucked around and now you're finding out' though Vespa is furious and Peter is mostly just bitter and tired and wishing he could've been done with this shit but NO the Brahmese government just HAD to be a dick again even after he'd gone through felony charges like a bucket list dissuading them from that. Fine. Fucking fine. They fucked around and now they're finding out.

So the Carte Blanche leads the Brahmese revolution to victory, with Juno being a BAMF to so public and epic a degree the cult names him the Sunlit Saintess, establishes a new government and a set of lovely houses that will await their retirement, huzzah the death laser system is dismantled even if the flight one is left intact, and hm. Resources are a problem.

Cue Carte Blanche stealing a truckload of crap from the nearest rich bastards, both necessities and not; art, fabric, food, supplies, jewelry, so on and so forth, both the stuff people need to survive and the stuff that helps people live. They make rather a lot of stops in that fashion- craft supplies, tools of various trades, the list is varied and longer than Peter is. With Brahma acting as a local haven for everyone fleeing a dictatorship, there's a big resurgence in culture and the Outer Rim finally has a planet with a solid government that weilds enough power and resources to actually have diplomatic relations with the Solar planets. Postwar diplomacy is actually going alright for the first time ever, basically.

Anyways at some point Juno buys Halloween costume angel wings for Peter to wear to their next stop on Brahma. He's still sleeping on the couch when they arrive. Rita asks Peter if he'll wear them with the halo she made and he can't fucking say no to her so he does, and now whenever they go to Brahma there are wings on the back of his outfit because Buddy does embroidery and is perfectly fine robbing the laundry basket.

The Jupeter wedding is hosted on Brahma, considered a wedding of their two major religious figures. It is lovely and epic. Vespa is basically the Brahmese Pope, which amuses her greatly. Please picture the Kanagawas/Valles Vicky/Alessandra Strong/Mick/Sasha reading the newspaper, oh Brahma's Angel and Saintess got married, huh- and then immediately spit out their coffee becuase IS THAT JUNO FUCKING STEEL. (Mick moves to Brahma and within the week he's everyone's favorite Solar boy who doesn't have a normal braincell in his skull. He starts designing churches for the cult. The worst part is that he's actually pretty good at it, so Juno just has to let him draw mosaics and frescoes and stained glass windows of him and Nureyev).

It is only after all of this that Buddy and Vespa find out about Peter’s face tattoos and the RPF folder. Vespa gleefully adds the RPF about the Carte Blanche crew to the mythology of the Angel and credits Peter in her sermon. He watches it from the living room of Chateau Blanche (the little secret port/fortress they park the Carte Blanche at when they stop by Brahma) and Juno snickers while Peter just buries his face in his hands and gives up. He's still in that position on the couch when Vespa comes home.

[pain-suffering-even]

headcanons: Sugimoto Reiji

content warning for murder and mentions of manipulation

Quick headcanons - 

Name: Sugimoto Reiji

Age: 31

Gender: Male

DOB/Place: October 28th, 2029 in Sendai, Japan

Rank/Type: S Rank Assassin

Guild/Occupation: Draw Sword Guild Vice Leader

Past Occupation(s): Student at Tokyo university

Skills:

Weapons: Dagger

Family: Kato Miyoko (mom) (alive)

Sugimoto Jiro (dad) (alive)

Core headcanons - 

Hidden talent: Good with the cello, guitar, and ukulele

Favorite food: Coconut cream cake

What motivates them: Feeling responsible for the guild and the team, wanting to please Matsumoto, his internal feelings of right and wrong which are questionable sometimes,

Treasured possession: The guitar he bought for himself when he was still in highschool

Deepest secret: Matsumoto asks him to kill members from other guilds if he worries they’re gaining too much power, and Reiji is too scared of him to say no 

Best/Worst thing to happen to them: Learning the guitar/Literally his entire hunter career save for the special S rank team he made

Random memories: Studying german, french, chinese, russian, and korean throughout college and annoying the shit out of his roommates when he’d stay up all night, riding his bike without hands down a hill one night and getting fucked up, stealing some money from the register to add to his paycheck so he could buy himself a guitar, getting a crush on the orchestra teacher when he was in middle school, sneaking off to the club in his emo phase and sticking out like a sore thumb but having the best day of his life as he got all sorts of drunk and high,

Best friend/Worst enemy: Goto Ryuji/Goto Ryuji

Good/Bad traits: Responsible, thoughtful, sensitive, polite, /Emotional, spiteful

Things they’ve done/like to do: Get up early and practice the guitar as his coffee is made, doing covers of the songs the team will listen to whenever they have to drive somewhere, visiting his old neighborhood, ride his bike at night, visit the music and instrument store near his neighborhood,

Personality type: “Consul” ESFJ-A (64% extraverted, 36% introverted; 36% intuitive, 64% observant; 22% thinking, 78% feeling; 93% judging, 7% prospecting; 71% assertive, 29% turbulent)

Nervous habit: Fiddling with his hair, chewing the inside of his cheek/lip,

Things they’re afraid of: Heights,

Things they want to accomplish: Getting Ryuji to open up about the red gate, training Ippei and Minoru to be better assassins, figure out where Ryuji stays when not at the dorms, figure out how to play chop suey on the piano or if it's even possible,

Additional headcanons -

He's terrible at baking since he doesn't follow the instructions

He really likes opals

Extremely emotional about a lot of things, but due to his position and job, he bottles it up inside - he's prone to bouts of irrationality because of this, but its rare and contained

He has a tattoo underneath his left ear of a Molotov cocktail - it was an impulse decision when he was younger, and he regrets it horribly. It's mostly hidden when his hair is down

Matsumoto has asked him to... take care of other guild members sometimes. Since he's an assassin and all. No one else in the guild knows, and Reiji would like to keep it that way

He wonders if he should’ve pursued his dream of being a singer rather than settling for hunter

Their Timeline -

Age 18: Reiji leaves for college (his emo phase begins)

3 years pass

Age 21: Reiji is confirmed S rank + joins the draw sword guild

Age 22: Reiji is upgraded to group leader

Age 23: Ryuji joins the guild

4 years pass

Age 27: Tokyo's Red Gate incident + Nishimura Oniyuri (the previous Draw Sword Guild leader) dies + Reiji becomes vice (Reiji’s emo phase comes to a forceful stop)

Age 28: Reiji creates the S rank team (Kenzo, Kanae, Tatsumi, Mari, and later, Akari)

Age 29: Atsushi, Kei, and Ippei join the S rank team

Age 30: Minoru joins the Draw Sword Guild

Age 31: now

[galaxia-art]

I posted 108 times in 2022

That's 70 more posts than 2021!

101 posts created (94%)

7 posts reblogged (6%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@galaxia-art

@galaxia-prince

I tagged 103 of my posts in 2022

Only 5% of my posts had no tags

#doodles - 71 posts

#someone always cares - 60 posts

#sac - 56 posts

#id later - 52 posts

#doodle dump - 29 posts

#ocs - 21 posts

#dnd - 15 posts

#original characters - 9 posts

#furry - 6 posts

#trans - 6 posts

Longest Tag: 134 characters

#the reason these are all tagged for me to id later is that these are a couple years old and i just need to finally upload them already

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

See the full post

98 notes - Posted November 20, 2022

#4

[image description: two illustrations of different people with cat ears and tails, both in a circle filled with fire and with the words "catgirl arson" or "catboy arson" captioned above and below the circle in a yellow-orange gradient. The first image is the one titled catgirl arson and has a pale yellow-eyed girl with long straight black hair and a mischievous smug expression. she's holding a lit match between two fingers in one hand, and a unlit molotov cocktail in the other. she has tall pointy ears and a long thin tail both with a black and orange tortie pattern. she also has a dark pink collar with a gold tag with a pawprint imprint, and a pink tank top with blue pawprints, and black clawed nails. The second image titled catboy arson is of a boy with tan skin and dark brown fluffy hair sticking out wherever. he is grinning openly while he holds a lit lighter in one hand and an unlabelled pink aerosol can in the other. he also has cat ears and a tail, but with shorter ears and slightly fluffier tail than the catgirl and his fur is white. he also has a dark blue belled collar, and white shirt with blue sleeves and shirt collar, with pink paw prints on the blue areas. end id]

here i thought i already posted catboy arson to tumblr but apparently not! couldn't find it when i tried looking but i guess i uploaded it to instagram but not here. anyway in december 2020 i made catboy arson and yesterday I made catgirl arson. it's equality

anyway they're siblings and also trans

I also plan on making a third nonbinary sibling and i'm torn between titling that 'furry arson' or 'nyanbinary arson' because 'catperson arson' and 'catfolk arson' don't have the same ring

also! both catgirl and catboy arson are on my redbubble store!

catgirl arson here

catboy arson here

130 notes - Posted January 20, 2022

#3

See the full post

153 notes - Posted February 6, 2022

#2

[image description: a blue toned series of drawings titled “top 3 tattoo ideas for if i lose my nipples after top surgery”. the first is titled “This Is Not A Nipple”. it is a close up of the nipple area with the nipple being labelled “tattoo of a nipple” and words tattooed across the top of the scar “ce n’est pas un téton”.

the second is titled “my eyes are down here” and is of the torso of a chubby person with light skin, who has a double incision scar thats connected in the middle. where the nipples would be, instead are two styalised eye tattoos. the 3rd image is another close up titled “pizza but one of the peperonis is where the nipple should be and the crust is the scar”. pictured is exactly as the name suggests, and upside down pizza where the scar forms the crust and one of the peperoni slices looks like a nipple. end id]

before surgery i was indifferent to if i wanted to keep my nipples or not, so i drew this as a fun thought on what i would do if i lost them anyway.

if you are recovering from top surgery and look at your nipple and think 'oh fuck its going to fall off' then good news! they won't. that's just what a healing nipple looks like. trust me bro, i've been there.

i thought my scars would look like the middle one when i drew this but they ended up not connected in the middle and also higher and more noticable on the armpits. i did keep my nipples however. different size than they used to be but i never really cared about my nipple size anyway.

did end up getting this as a print for the art festival i did in september, and people did buy this one so im counting as a win! putting it on redbubble now, so if anyone still wants this as a print then it’ll be there. i really need to get around to opening that etsy huh.

999 notes - Posted October 31, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

[image description: a digital drawing of a rat holding a bar in its mouth, between rainbow text reading “GENDER IS A CAGE AND I’M THE RAT THAT CHEWED THROUGH THE BARS”. the rat has white and purple fur, with a long yellow tail, and black paws, ears, and eyes, matching the colours of the nonbinary pride flag. the bar in its mouth is also black. the rainbow text changes colour for each word, and the background is white. end id]

yee haw! been meaning to do this one for a while and left the sketch in my folders for like, a year? saw it the other day and was like alright why not do this one quick?

anyway heres a rat for all your nonbinary needs

1,256 notes - Posted July 22, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[isfeed]

'We are in the dark': Owner clueless on why suspects threw Molotov cocktails into tattoo shop in Liberty Village

The owner of a tattoo shop in Liberty Village says he doesn’t know why three suspects threw Molotov cocktails into his business last week. Source: CP24 'We are in the dark': Owner clueless on why suspects threw Molotov cocktails into tattoo shop in Liberty Village

[handsome-enemy-you-despise]

maybe I just want a tattoo with Molotov cocktail. maybe I just want that

[wineninconsistentices]

── 🫀:: 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌 ☠︵ . .

┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╮

▸ 关于我 . . . ❀︵︵ ↴

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 ▸

「 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 」

Spencer "Pen" Lamont

「 𝐀𝐆𝐄 」

27, June 4th, 1997.

「 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 」

Male

「 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒 」

He/Him

「 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒 」

Swedish m/41b, and meat tenderizer.

┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╮

▸ 关于我 . . . ❀︵︵ ↴

𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 「 𝐎𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 」 ▸

「 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 」

Pen's unfiltered and vulgar language is an integral part of his character, often causing him to come across as brash or disrespectful. However, in the context of the apocalypse, societal norms and concerns about politeness become trivial, making such behavior more tolerable. Pen embraces his penchant for using colorful language, never bothering to censor himself. His boisterous and blunt nature manifests in his tendency to speak loudly, crack jokes, and engage in playful banter. While some may find him obnoxious, Pen remains unbothered by their opinions.

Initially, Pen is likely to be reticent and reserved when meeting new people, choosing to remain quiet until he feels comfortable enough to express himself freely. Once at ease, he unleashes his unfiltered persona, speaking his mind without inhibition. However, Pen is susceptible to fatigue and mood swings, experiencing moments of exhaustion or boredom that can cause his demeanor to shift abruptly. One minute he may exude cheeriness and enthusiasm, and the next he might withdraw into a state of disinterest or irritability. Certain triggers have the power to instantaneously alter his mood, leading to unpredictable changes in his behavior.

「 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 」

6'0

「 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐒 」

None

「 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒 」

Pen had quite the reputation for his clumsiness before the apocalypse, constantly finding himself in the hospital for the most absurd reasons. He sported a couple of minuscule scars here and there, but the most noticeable ones were the burns on his torso. Those were the result of a mishap where he accidentally set himself on fire while messing around with a makeshift Molotov cocktail. You would think an experience like that would teach him a valuable lesson and dissuade him from any future foolishness, but he never seemed to learn. He just kept on engaging in reckless behavior, doing stupid stuff. If you look closely, a portion of his left ear has been severed, as if an attempt had been made to sever it entirely, yet only the bare minimum had been accomplished.

「 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐒 」

Insect related tattoos can be found on him, mainly spiders and moths. Which is ironic because he has a terrible fear of insects, especially spiders.

┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╮

▸ 关于我 . . . ❀︵︵ ↴

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀 「 𝐎𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 」 ▸

「 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐊 」

- Two cans of Mandarins, a beef jerky stick, a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey, a can of Arizona tea, and lastly a bag of lollipops.

「 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 」

Pen had recently made the move to America just before the onset of the apocalypse, leaving behind his hometown of Uppsala, Sweden, where he had spent his entire life. Prior to the move, Pen had predominantly worked as a bartender in various pubs, honing his mixology skills and enjoying the lively atmosphere.

Arriving in America, Pen found himself jobless, seeking employment that would offer financial stability and a comfortable lifestyle. However, fate had other plans in store. As the outbreak unfolded, plunging society into turmoil, Pen surprisingly took the upheaval in stride. Despite the collapse of civilization, he found an odd enjoyment in the chaos, discovering a certain thrill amidst the crumbling structures and disarrayed remnants of what once was.

「 𝐆𝐎𝐀𝐋𝐒 」

Wip

「 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 」

Will add later.

「 𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 」

Pansexual/Demiromantic

「 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄 」

Quality Time.

──────── *ೃ  ‍୨ the end. ୧ 🕯️

[sinandrepeat]

ig

[kpopmvarchive]

BIGBANG - FANTASTIC BABY M/V