Text
Kim’dael was so real for that sneaky little peck on Janai’s cheek.
HOWEVER-
girl.
she is E N G A G E D
you just stole her away from her fiancée
don’t give her that gay little face
#the dragon prince#the dragon prince season 5#kim’dael#bloodmoon huntress#lgbtq#this gay little woman istg#why is she like this#shes hot though#i support women’s wrongs
56 notes
·
View notes
Text
filipina miku!! my mom helped me with her outfit ^_^
#THIS TOOK ME FOREVER RAAHHHH#i had help from my mom with stuff like the parts of the traje de mestiza which is the outfit shes wearing#this trend looks so much fun and i wanted to join in.. im first gen canadian though so ive never been to the philippines and only#know thru stories of my parents growing up. im proud of my heritage but there are some things i didnt grow up with that#make me feel disconnected from my culture. so it was nice to talk to my mom abt it and ask for her help with this :3#the pleated tapis is meant to resemble her skirt.. i had no way of adding her stockings but i noticed the piano key design#so i used that for the saya. the bandana is meant to resemble her hairties and shes wearing bakya wooden slippers with embroidery#i kinda wanted to add the panuelo to resemble her tie as a finishing touch but i forgor ;w; just imagine it i guess#my mom really likes this. shes a little confused abt the blue hair and i had to explain her hair is like that but she thinks shes pretty#originally i wanted her holding the woven pamaypay and fanning herself because ITS HOT ITS 25 FUCKING DEGREES TODAY#but i couldnt get the pose right so i settled for this. i wanna draw her and brazilian miku high fiving ill do that tmrw#my art#myart#hatsune miku#miku worldwide#philippines#vocaloid#miku
63K notes
·
View notes
Text
MDZS x Brazil (1985)
(Yes. Real movie dialogue)
#poorly drawn mdzs#mdzs#MDZS AU#lan wangji#wei wuxian#Backstory to this is 'we recently watched Brazil (1985) and this scene make us lose our minds.'#Brazil (1985) is best described as 'The Monty Python Crew does an adaptation of George Orwell's 1984 (1949).' Because it is.#And let me just say. I think it is the perfect adaptation. Somehow this film manages to be one of the best dystopia satires out there#While also being a genuine critique of capitalism and burocracy.#Plus the practical effects and set design were outstanding.#The 'romance' in this movie was definitely also a satire.#It is unbelievably wacky. I'm dead serious when I say this comic is beat for beat something that happens in the film#Guy who told this women *nothing* about the peril she's in form the government tells her he (legally) killed her.#She responds by saying “Care for a little necrophilia?” with NO ROMANTIC LEAD UP.#THE MUSIC SWELLS. HE TEARS OFF HIS JACKET AND DIVES INTO THE BED. SCENE END.#Jill Leyton has incredible range as a hot butch and hot femme. Was the line bizarre? Yes. She can pull it off though.#We paused and watched it back a few times. I wasn't intending to make a crossover this obscure but honestly...#It's...it's too good of a fit to pass up. Wei Wuxian *would* say that...
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
#bystay#staysource#createskz#stray kids#skz#bang chan#bangchan#mine:gifs#i mean some had a crush on kim others in shego....#i for sure didnt hvae a crush on shego.. i just though she was hot lmfaoo
810 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tara Maclay + Outfits (Season 4)
#btvsedit#btvs#buffythevampireslayeredit#buffy the vampire slayer#creations#tara maclay#taramaclayedit#BTVSOutfits#it's tara time babey!#hot take? i think tara's s4 hair is my favorite. i adore the blonde ombre on her#i like it way better than the honey brunette she has in s5/6#also the length i love too.#and the zigzag part. though i think the hair is good even without the part. the part is just fun.#wardrobe wise i really like her this season as well. i love the college aesthetic of like sweatshirt and graphic tees idk it suits her#one thing about s4 tara? she will not take those 2 necklaces off
628 notes
·
View notes
Text
just some ivy league kids trying to figure out necromancy
#the overall plot is pretty cool i just hate the characters now. they're cute though hi#they need sooo much revamping. or maybe i just explode this universe and move on to the next we'll see#anyway yeah the fourth pic that's evelyn she's dead and she was super obsessed w the occult and she's very manipulative and bad#that's her twin sister hazel in pic 5 they hated each other. she did not murder her. but should she have been allowed to i mean who's to sa#also HIIII LIAM MY VERY BELOVED (he's the first one <33 my oldest oc <33)#he basically grew up with me. my friend once said he's like my imaginary friend now that's what i call him djskfljds#while now i'm more like let's try to make characters that look like real people not barbie dolls#i do appreciate 13 yr old me just saying yeah liam's just like a hot sexy supermodel with zero imperfections. he's 6 foot 7#the others are evelyn’s friends liam just transferred here though. but HE’S trying to do necromancy for his cousin ppl think he killed#ffkldjflkdfds#ts4#ts4 cas#the sims 4
527 notes
·
View notes
Text
it's marinacht-ober. time for bad end
#my art#splatoon#marinacht#marina ida#acht mizuta#order reigns supreme time to get gay#smth smth marina would be happy to give acht a world that is kinder and unchanging. where nobody has to leave them behind like she did#nobody has to be left wanting and everything is in its proper place forever#as tempting as it sound I know acht wouldnt want that though. I think truthfully theyre a more team chaos person.#I mean have you heard their music? seen the way they dress?? their rebellious streak in the army???#being outcasted and left alone was terrible. but being with marina means nothing if shes not herself. <3#..but like. becoming marina's brainwashed order DJ.....? kinda hot
340 notes
·
View notes
Text
okay so imagine this: you’re on holiday in crete and see an absolute rascal of a man chatting to himself and jump off a cliff
#finished this animatic and it’s kinda? i’m disappointed in myself but will get there#i like athena though she’s hot#digital art#animation#animatic#epic the musical#epic wisdom saga#athena#odysseus#calypso’s island#digital drawing#artist on tumblr
384 notes
·
View notes
Text
it's immensely funny to me how andrew lloyd webber read this passage from the book and was like yeah the journey down to the phantom's lair is this really breathtaking magical gondola ride where christine is just captivated by the strange and fantastical beauty of it all (see below)
when in the novel they're both like in a rowboat in the dark with christine scared out of her mind and confused as hell while erik is paddling like he's out for an extreme day of fishing and just staring christine down for the entire duration of the journey without blinking once . like mind you his eyes quite literally GLOW in the DARK and he's just fucking staring into her soul and silently rowing and probably not even breathing like
#AND IT'S SOMEHOW STILL HOT#i always forget that by this point in the book there's no “i am your angel of music / come to me angel of music” like in the musical#like she has no idea who this mf kidnapping her is and when she says “who are you where is the voice” he's just like 🙄#and when she DOES find out that *he's* the voice and he's been pretending to be an angel sent by her dead father for 3 months#it's when he's just set her down in his sitting room that's filled with a bunch of stupid pretentious flowers#and he's like “don't be afraid you're in no danger” despite the fact that she's been taken FIVE STORIES BENEATH THE OPERA against her will#by the guy who's been manipulating and lying to her through the goddamn walls#ohhhhhhhh and then fans have the audacity to get mad at christine for trying to snatch his mask like THIS MF ABDUCTED HER????#(still love him though <3)#(his morals are questionable but so is my interest in men😍)#phantom of the opera#poto#poto shitpost
858 notes
·
View notes
Text
Retirement Party
Chapter 4 - Runaway
<<First Chapter - < Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >
Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Dubcon, Plus-sized reader, female reader, Poorly thought out action sequences, Guns, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me. No promises for future chapters though I might even tell y'all her name.
~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above
You wake in the morning with your nose buried in a thick patch of chest hair, and strong arms around you. Your legs are hooked around one of his thick thighs, and something hard digs into your stomach. You start to inch away, but his arms tighten, and his hips cant against you, a thick, sleepy groan rumbling in his chest. It would be a nice way to wake up, if not for the circumstances. It’s been ages since you slept beside another person, let alone someone that feels as comfortable as John does.
“John,” you say softly. You don’t want to fully wake him up, just get him to let you go. “John, please let me go.”
He hums, one hand sliding to your waist, and then down to your hip, pulling you closer, grinding you against his thigh. You squeak in protest, becoming aware that you’re already wet, like you’ve been unconsciously humping his leg in your sleep for some time. You push your slightly freer top half away a little, so you can look at him. He’s still sleeping, a little frown on his face as he’s pulled unwillingly toward consciousness. He really is handsome, especially like this, all his defences down, grumbling like a hibernating bear.
“Don’t wake up,” you tell him, as if it’ll make any difference. “I just have to pee.”
One of his blue eyes cracks open, a little unfocused. “You comin’ back?” His voice is rough from sleep, rasping like sandpaper.
“Sure,” you say, even though you have no intention of doing so. Your body seems as eager as his is for something you’re sure is dangerous. Maybe he smells good, like tobacco, warm, boozy spices and something undeniably male, and maybe he feels warm and solid against you, but you don’t want to encourage this. You just want to enough space to clear your head. His admissions last night still have you spooked, John’s words not tempered by a night of surprisingly good sleep. “I’ll just be a minute.”
He loosens his hold on you enough that you can wiggle free, his eyes opening a little more so he can watch you slip out of bed. He rolls over onto his back, and starts snoring gently before you’ve even made it to the bedroom door. You take the opportunity to snag one of the bags stacked in front of the closet and your purse off the dresser and bring both to the bathroom with you. You’re not sure what’s in the bag, but you know the larger suitcase has things from your closet in it, so you’re hoping this one has more from your dresser.
You get dressed, glad that most of your underthings and a comfortable pair of jeans and a thick sweater are inside and pack your toothbrush and makeup bag into the larger one, and creep downstairs carefully. One of them is snoring gently on the couch, but otherwise, the house is silent. You carefully fish a set of keys off the hooks by the door and sneak outside. You don’t know where any of your shoes are except the red heels, so you just leave in your sock feet, and pile your things into the pick-up truck. You’ll drive it into town and leave it there, buy a ticket on a train or a bus, and get the hell back home.
It sucks to have to leave everything you own, beyond the clothes in the one bag and the contents of your purse, but maybe you can call the cops— Well. Probably not. Better to just start over anywhere else. You have digital copies of a few pictures of your parents, and that’s better than nothing, even if their wedding album is sitting on a shelf in John’s living room, along with all the family photos that your parents took of you and them while you were growing up. Your mother’s sketchbooks too, and her camera, and your dad’s guitar.
You bite your lip, holding back tears, and start the truck.
No sense mourning things. The memories are in your head and your heart, not trapped in the pages of books or twisted into the strings of the guitar. You don’t need them.
You haven’t driven in a long time, and the truck, unfortunately, is a manual, which you haven’t driven in even longer, but you manage to pull away from the house without revving the engine too hard, and pick up speed once you get to the road, only just remembering to hit the clutch with your left foot before you change gears. You’d feel pretty pathetic if you only made it to the road before stalling out the pickup.
You’re not sure which way town is, but you figure the road has to lead somewhere no matter which way you choose, so you navigate blindly, turning onto a bigger road a little ways down the gravel one that leads to John’s house. Bigger road means more people, although the hour is still so early that there’s no one around yet. The sun is barely up, and it’s still shadowy in the woods on either side of the road. The woods give way to fields suddenly, the sun making a too-bright debut, shining right into your eyes. You flip down the visor and adjust the rear-view mirror, wincing when you see a blue car a ways behind you, approaching fast.
You didn’t notice the car when you were leaving— It must have been parked behind the bigger van that they’d used to move all your things— but it looks sporty and fast, and judging by the way it closes the gap, there’s no question that it’s them. You push the truck harder, squinting against the light, heart hammering. The car’s engine roars, loud enough that you can hear it over the blood rushing in your ears, and pulls into the lane beside you. Gaz motions for you to pull over from the passenger seat.
You slow up enough that they pull ahead a little, and you yank your steering wheel to the side and stomp down on the gas and the clutch, shifting into third gear and nailing the side of the car, shattering a tail light and making it spin, stopping just shy of the ditch.
For a moment, you’re still close enough to see the shock on their faces, but you’re moving fast and leave them in the dust, at least momentarily. It won’t take them long to recover and catch up again, and if they hit you with the same maneuver, there’s no way you’ll be able to get the truck under control. There’s not enough weight in the bed of the truck to compensate, and you’ll wind up in the ditch for certain.
Funny, how it comes back to you. Learning to drive along mountain roads way outside Aberdeen, either in your dad’s little car or your mom’s old truck (usually the car, which was the easier one to drive. Your dad was the safer driver too, the better parent to learn from), and you can almost imagine your mother in the passenger seat, laughing her head off at the insane circumstances, encouraging you to throw caution to the wind, to get a feel for the road under the wheels and the way the old truck handled. She always laughed when she was under stress, but it’s comforting to think of. Your mum would never let a couple of thick-headed military assholes get the better of her.
The car is catching up again, so you floor it and smash through a fence gate into a muddy field, where the car won’t handle as well, and speed your way across the stubbly remains of wheat, already harvested. The car follows, and, predictably, struggles, the low frame too close to the muck, bumping unhappily over the soft, uneven ground.
Laughter bubbles up in your chest, relieving some of the built-up anxiety. You smash through a segment of the fence on the other side and yank the truck back onto the road, giggling when the truck fishtails a bit, mud slicking the tires on the pavement. There’s so much adrenaline coursing through your system that you feel like you might be sick the moment you let any of this catch up with you. So you keep driving, and pray that it doesn’t.
The car gets close again when you reach another wooded section of road. Through the rearview mirror you can see Gaz pop out of the window, gun drawn, but you don’t hear the crack when it fires, you only feel the impact when the bullet strikes one of the rear tires. You shriek, slamming on the breaks as the truck spins out of your control and off the road, slamming into a tree head on.
The lurch forward as the airbags deploy, your body hitting them hard, knocking all the air out of your lungs as you’re slapped back into he seat. The seat belt bites into your shoulder painfully. You unbuckle yourself quickly, ears ringing too loudly for you to hear the screeching tires of the pursuit car. You fall to the ground when you try to get out, head spinning.
You stumble into the trees, still blinking away double vision. If you can find a good spot to hide— Maybe you can double back and take the car while they chase you blindly through the trees. You cast about, feeling every rapidly forming bruise, wishing desperately that you had shoes, and dive into the underbrush, scooting forward on your belly, brambles catching in your hair as you curl up, out of sight.
“Please come out, doll,” you hear Gaz call out, boots crunching through the woods, closer than you would like. “It’s okay, we’re not mad. Just come out and we’ll take you home, yeah?”
Johnny is yelling further off, his voice incomprehensible but sing-song, mocking. Gaz moves further into the woods. You wait until his voice grows a little more distant before you drag yourself back out, sweater streaked with mud, leaves in your hair, and quickly sneak back to the road. The car is still running, the driver door left open. You breathe a sigh of relief.
“There you are, bird.”
You scream. A gloved hand drops over your mouth, cutting off the sound, and an arm loops around your waist, picking you right up off your feet.
Fuck.
"Look what you did, bird. Wrecked up Price's truck. 'E's not goin' to be 'appy about that." He turns so you can see the slightly smoking truck, the front half of it crumpled beyond repair.
You shake your head until he pulls his hand away from your mouth. "Its not my fault I crashed. Gaz shot the tire out. I wasn't even going to steal it, just leave it in town once I'd gotten to a bus stop."
He hums. You hear the slight crackle of a radio. "Got 'er, lads. Come back to the car."
"Rog."
"Aye."
Ghost shoves you into the back seat. "Stay put," he says sternly. "You're already banged up, don't want to 'ave to tackle you."
You sigh, all the fight leaving you. You feel awful, bruised and shaken up and trembling, and you do nothing but watch as Ghost gathers your things from the truck and puts them in the boot of the car. You slump back in the seat, inspecting the scratches on your hands idly. Your head hurts, and your shoulder aches, and you feel a bit like you've been stepped on, but nothing feels broken, just bruised and tender. You got lucky.
Well, not lucky. There's very little about any of this that counts as luck. Especially considering the look on Johnny's face when he jogs out of the trees. At first he looks stormy, but he grins when he sees you and opens the back door to crawl onto the seat and on top of you.
"Steamin Jesus, where'd ye learn ta drive like tha'?" He asks. "Didnae ken ye were a racer."
"Outside Aberdeen," you reply. Your ribs hurt. Soap’s weight makes every little ache more acute.
"Price isn't gonna be happy about his truck," Gaz says, tossing himself into the driver's seat. "What were you thinking, doll? You could've been hurt."
"You didn't have to shoot the tire." You try to push Soap off, but he wraps himself around you, a bit tight, but bearably so. You’re trembling, and he’s trying to help, in a thoroughly unhelpful way. "I was just trying to get home."
"That's the wrong way. Your home's with Price now." Ghost gets into the other front seat, and Gaz reverses back out onto the road.
You sigh, leaning your head against the window, watching the countryside flash by. It takes an embarrassingly short time to get back to John's house. You didn't get as far as you would have liked, hardly got anywhere at all. Your eyes prickle with tears, but you don't want to cry in front of them. You want to go back to bed, maybe back in time to the morning. You would have been wiser just to curl up next to John again.
Soap drags you from the car, hands a bit rough on your bruises, and pulls you back to the house. John rushes out, worry creasing his face, blue eyes sweeping over you and turning furious. "What happened?" he barks, not at you, but at his men.
"Bird was makin' a run for it," Ghost says.
"Wrecked your truck," Gaz adds.
"That's not my fault!" you protest. "You shot at me!" You glare at him, frustrated tears overflowing down your cheeks. It’s like they have no idea what kind of stress they’ve put you through.
"Woah, woah, c'mere, doll." John pulls you against his chest, wrapping strong arms around you, stilling some of the tremble in your limbs. "You broken?"
You shake your head, leaning into him, gripping his t-shirt tightly. You breathe in raggedly, trying to steady yourself.
"Lads. Why did you shoot at her?"
"Trying to stop the truck."
"She's a civilian you muppets. I take it that the truck's in no shape to drive, or you would've brought it back. You could have killed her." He pets a hand over your head, plucking out a few leaves. "You should’ve let her go."
"She stole your truck!" Soap protests.
"So what? It's wrecked now anyway, innit?" The silence behind you speaks volumes. "Alright, doll, why don't you go get cleaned up? " he murmurs against the top of your head. "I need to talk to the lads, and what I have to say is not fit for a lady's ears."
He gently ushers you into the house and closes the door firmly behind you. You trudge upstairs, feeling utterly pathetic, and lock yourself into the bathroom. Still sniffling, you comb sticks and leaves out of your hair with your fingers and put yourself into a hot shower, where you give yourself the freedom to cry your eyes out, hoping that the sound of water drowns your stifled sobs.
The house is quiet when you shut off the shower and dry yourself off. You wrap the shirt you'd slept in around you and poke your head out into the hallway. John is right there, holding out a bundle of clothes. "Here, sweetheart," he says softly, like he's worried a sharp word will set you off again. He must have heard everything. "I sent the boys to deal with the truck and that tail light, so it's just us. Just come on downstairs when you're ready."
You open the door wide enough to accept the clothes, and he turns to leave again, content to leave anything else to be said when you make it downstairs.
He'd obviously taken his cue from what you'd been wearing already, because he gives you a sweater and jeans again, comfortable worn in things. You go downstairs carefully, every joint and muscle in your body aching, even after the shower.
"How do you take your coffee?" he asks. "Or do you prefer tea?"
"Coffee, please. I can make it. I'd feel better if I did, honestly." You skirt around him to the cupboard where you'd seen Gaz take mugs out, recognizing your own nestled among John's mismatched ones. You put milk and sugar in your favourite mug, and pour in coffee, stirring it throroughly. The clink of the spoon is loud, and so is the pan he sets on the stove top.
"Eggs and toast okay?" He asks.
"Um, yeah. That would be nice. Over easy?"
"Yes ma'am." He looks at you over his shoulder while butter melts in the pan, blue eyes all worry. "Did I say something to you last night? Maybe the sort of thing that made you feel like you needed to steal a truck and run as fast as you could away from here?"
"Um. Yes." You hold onto the mug with both hands. "Some stuff about wanting to start a family. With me."
His ears turn pink. "I see."
"I suppose this is where you tell me it was just the whiskey talking, right?" you ask hopefully. You like him, even if it’s ill-advised, maybe even dangerous to do so.
"Wish I could."
Your stomach twists. “Oh.”
John turns around fully, guilt and sadness written all over his handsome face. He steps closer and touches your arm gently. “I’m so sorry about what my boys have put you through, sweetheart. None of this has been right.” He sighs, brushing a few tendrils of still-wet hair away from your face, studying you, those intense blue eyes focused on you intently. “But there’s something special about you, doll. I really do want to keep you forever. Not if you’re scared, and not if you feel forced— It’s just, the thought of you leavin' and never wanting to speak to me again is— I don’t want that.”
You swallow nervously. “This is just really overwhelming.”
“I know. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have let this happen. Soap really could have just given you my number.” The smile he gives you is hopeful, and you can’t help but return it, just a little. “Now go sit down, doll. Let me take care of breakfast, hm?”
You nod and move to the table, sitting where you can watch him, and peek out the window too. The car is gone, but the van is still there for the moment, sitting idly to the side. You consider making another run for it, but your aching limbs protest even the thought. There’s not enough fight in you, and you’re not even sure you want to fight John, not the way you do the other three. His only crime has been wanting you to stay, and being a bit overzealous about it. You can’t be mad at him for that, can you? It isn’t really his fault.
Well, it might be his fault, in a roundabout way. He trained them, taught them how to ruthlessly pursue an objective. It’s just not his fault they can’t keep it from coming home with them. That’s a clear failure of whoever does their mental health assessments.
You sip your coffee and watch John crack eggs into a pan. He keeps glancing at you, and his smile flickers on a little longer each time that he catches you looking back, until he doesn’t stop smiling, and just looks happy, glad to have you there, even if you’re just keeping a silent vigil on the other side of the room.
It's not like you have anywhere to go. It'll take days at least to feel like you haven't just been in a car crash, and days more to locate everything to pack it back up. So long as you don't have to share a bed with John again, you think you could live with this, for at least a week. It can't be that terrible, so long as the others leave you alone. You rather hope they just leave. If you asked, would John send them away?
"John," you say as he sets a plate with buttered toast and a couple of eggs on it in front of you, and sets a couple tablets of paracetamol beside your plate. "If I stay… Will they be staying too?"
"I'm going to have them leave this afternoon. That alright with you? We can go for a walk to the neighbours while they pack up, if you're up for it. Maybe dr-- Well, not drive." He sets his own plate down and sits next to you, handing you a knife and a fork. “Have to get that sorted out. But the neighbours-- Rob and Melissa-- Their dog just had puppies a few weeks ago. Do you like dogs?”
You nod, breaking the yolks of one of the eggs with a corner of toast. "My parents had a dog when I was growing up. Some kind of German shepherd cross. Best boy. His name was Rob Roy, because he was a wee outlaw. Mam found him digging in the trash and--" you stop and give John a baleful look. "Sorry. That was more than you were asking."
"No, that's the most you've said at once this whole time. I'd listen to you talk all day, doll. Don't ever apologize."
"Sorry I-- Oh, shit, sorry--" you press your fingers to your mouth, cutting yourself off. "Force of habit."
"I'd like to see you lose that one. You have nothin' to apologize for. Not one damn thing, and especially not talking. I think you have the prettiest voice I've ever heard."
You roll your eyes, but you can't help smiling. "You're just saying that."
He touches your arm lightly. "You don't know me too well yet, doll, but I never just say anything."
Yet hangs in the air, heavy and deliberate. He wants you to know him, wants you to stay with him, wants you to like him. Even if it makes no sense, the offer is tempting. It's been a long time since you've let someone get close— You've had the occasional fling, and the odd reunion with an ex that you’d stayed friends with, but grief is like a canyon you can't bear to cross. What if you love someone and you lose them, the way you lost your parents? How could you live with that all over again?
Still, there's something that feels like warm sunlight in his smile, and you can't help but incline toward him, slowly but surely reaching for the light. No one can live in the shade forever. There’s no nobility in suffering.
So you let yourself talk, at least a little. And he listens, hanging on to your words like they're precious, gazing at you with something unfurling in his expression that you can't name. You're almost afraid to try.
Image Credits: Banner
Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune
#Retirement Party#Chapter 4 - Runaway#Whoops forgor to do this earlier#sorry friends I shouldn't make self-imposed deadlines I know the guy that sets em and he's a pushover#Doll girl you are doomed do not let that man give you the big hopeful blue eyes he is TROUBLE#Seriously though what is WRONG with these guys they are not making good decisions even a little#dark fic#cod mw fanfiction#john price x reader#OC: Doll#x reader#Sorry she's become more of a character and it's harder to deny her personhood for the x reader bit#so hopefully you can just enjoy being Doll for a hot minute
416 notes
·
View notes
Text
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅
#some everyday/hot/cold weather outfits (not in that order)#I was trying to find my simstyle and ended up with her <3#she's def not anything special in terms of simstyle but I tried a bunch of new ways of making sims so! for me it's new#she has so many other outfits because I went crazy dressing her up but I didn't wanna be obnoxious by posting ~15 fits lol#the 1st hair is by aladdin-the-simmer it's called jordyn hair (I think) & it's so beautiful get it now!!!!#going to search for some new eyes for her because even though I really love these eyes idk there's something missing#and some new jewellery (clearly)#simblr#ts4#my sims#my style is really basic I know .. ;-;#sim: chiara
211 notes
·
View notes
Note
What is your Hogwarts house?
Hail, traveler from the distant past; will you not take a moment to rest by my campfire, ere you continue your lonely sojourn into times long gone by? There is succor here, for you are weary; the late Bush era weighs hard upon the soul.
Don't get too comfy, though, because I have some terrible news for you about JK Rowling.
#if this question was a person#it would be able to rent a car#you could sell this question in a vintage store#this question is so old it probably doesn't really get TikTok#though it probably uses Snapchat adequately#to answer your question kinda it's a house I moved out of when JKR was revealed to be an unconscionably vile human being#hot take but did you guys know she straight up fucking sucks
220 notes
·
View notes
Text
can we talk about how none of the Titans have pupils
it’s such a minor thing but it really helps convey the sense that these are a different breed of god: more ancient, more primal, and more distant from humanity than their descendants. No coincidence either, I think, that their costumes look more Ancient Egyptian than Ancient Greek, Chronos’s especially.
Even their bodies seem less organic than those of the Olympians. Chronos looks like he’s made of black marble veined with gold, Selene’s cheekbones could cut glass, and Hecate’s abs are literally chiseled. They’re just as beautiful as the other gods, but they’re unsettling too.
(I’m also obsessed with the fact that the Titan of Time has a literal hourglass figure. Love that for him)
#hades 2#hades 2 spoilers#this game is peak character design#and not just because everyone’s stupid hot#though that certainly doesn’t hurt#chronos#hecate#selene#greek mythology#character design#jen zee#supergiant games#also I hope when we get selene’s sprite she’s as big as hecate
345 notes
·
View notes
Text
Prince Daemon at a stroke had captured the not-inconsiderable wealth of House Strong and a dozen valuable hostages, amongst them Ser Simon and his grandsons. The castle smallfolk became his captives as well, amongst them a wet nurse named Alys Rivers. Who was this woman? A serving wench who dabbled in potions and spells, says Munkun. A woods witch, claims Septon Eustace. A malign enchantress who bathed in the blood of virgins to preserve her youth.
Gayle Rankin as Alys Rivers HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 2.03 | "The Burning Mill"
#house of the dragon#hotdedit#gameofthronedaily#dailyhotdgifs#dailywomen#alys rivers#gayle rankin#hotd spoilers#she is HOT not m1lf though she is young#gifs#*
237 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bit early for summer
#arknights#frostnova#talulah artorius#dlarts#based on the reunion 4koma in the 123 manga#yelena wearing a hoodie to the beach i knew it#i didn't expect her to 'feel' hot though#i headcanon that she can't regulate her own temperature so she can't tell if she's overheating#she's just always cold and won't know if she's suffering from heat stroke or heat exhaustion
414 notes
·
View notes
Text
it’s finally time for paris n1 YIPEEEEEE!!! it’s our first eras tour date after a mini break AND since the release of the tortured poets department 😱 anything could happen…..so please leave your guesses for surprise songs in the tags / replies and i will be giving all of our winners a shoutout 😊 and psssssst as always if you have any guesses about things she might change up for this leg of tour those guesses are always welcome too
i’m going to guess that she adds a ttpd set to the setlist and that the surprise songs will be paris / so high school mashup and clara bow (??? feels like a mistake to not pull a guess from the anthology but this is what my gut is saying. or fresh out the slammer)
#hot take (maybe?) i’m not sensing any new outfits#i think the eras tour has become such a Brand that she doesn’t want to do this as much as we want her to#mine#taylor swift#surprise song game#this time zone is funny because i’ll be at WORK when she plays the surprise songs#jk i actually will probably be done by then….#it’s going to be a close call though so i won’t be active for the few hours leading up to it#it’s my last day ever 🥲🥲🥲#DO WE THINK SHES CONTINUING THE MASHUPS BTW?
158 notes
·
View notes