#shot in grayscale

[camleecomics]

Joe Kovacs

#joe kovacs #shot put #sports #track and field #fan art #grayscale

[mistercrazyvillain]

#art #digital art #digitalart #digital drawing #clip studio paint #head shot #pfp #profile picture art #ocs #originalcharacter #original character #black and white #grayscale #greyscale #fantasy #medieval fantasy #illustration #digital illustration #choker necklace #cel shaded

[cursed-coat-of-homosexuality]

Okay so uhhh... visions came upon me and this was the result lol

Based on this absolute atrocity (affectionate... kind of)

[ID: A fourteen panel comic done in grayscale based on a Twitter thread from David Jenkins.

First panel: Neil Gaiman is surrounded by a crowd of fans, a bright spotlight is shining on top of him. One of the fans points a microphone in his direction and says "Mr. Gaiman! How would describe season two using only three words?"

Second panel: A close up shot of Neil, he smiles and says "Uhh... I'd say it's quiet, gentle, and romantic". "Romantic" is written in a flourished cursive font. There are little floating red hearts surrounding him.

Third panel: A shot of the crowd of fans saying "Awww" in unison, there are little hearts floating around. They find it adorable.

Fourth panel: A black screen titled "At David Jenkins' Twitter"

Fith panel: David Jenkins is sitting in table far away from the point of view, at the center of the image, a spotlight is shining on top of him. There is a crowd of fans forming a semi-circle around him, they are squished against one another, stoping at the little fence that is surrounding the table . A fan standing near the front says " I LOVE U... three words to describe season 2?"

Sixth panel: A close up shot of David Jenkins, he is sitting with both elbows proped up on the table, supporting his head with his hands. The harsh light is shining in on him, he looks serious and solemn. His head is tilted down but his eyes are looking directly at the camera, the whites of his eyes make a stark contrast against his shadowed figure. He says " Fucking sweet...".

Seventh panel: The shot is arranged in the same way as in fifth panel. David Jenkins is far away, sitting at his table , the fans are surrouding him in a semi-circle. The fan near the front replies "Give us one more word David"

Eight panel: A huge shock wave tilts the crowd back. All lights are out, except for the spotlight shining in on David Jenkins. David's arms are unnaturally elongated in a spider-like way, fiercely gripping the table with both hands.

Ninth panel: David lauches into the crowd. The point of view remains the same, but now his head is extremely close up the camera. He emphatically says "FUCKING"

Tenth panel: The scene is seen from the side, now we can see that David still remains sitting at his table, but his neck is extended in a long unnatural arch. He is directly looking at the fan from before, his head on top of them. The fan still has the microphone poiting in David's direction. A new spotlight is shining in on both of them. David says, "SWEET"

Eleventh panel: A close up shot of the crowd. The camera lies a little ways below David's head, only the bottom of it is visible. We see that the fan with the microphone is crouched and almost completely tilted back. The fan is looking directly at Jenkins. The crowd continues squished together, watching intently with shocked faces. David continues, saying "YOU"

Thirteenth panel: The shot is arranged in the same way as in the previous panel. David continues, saying "SLUTS". The letters are written in an emboldened font. The crowd is completely shocked, but also weirdly flattered, all of them are blushing.

Fourteenth panel: David Jenkins goes back to sitting at his table, in a movement similar to a metal spring coiling up again after being streched out. He is sitting far away from the camera, at the center of the image. The fans forming a semi-circle around him. They continue blushing, with some assorted murmurs of bafflement as in "oh my god", "dude what" and "why". /END ID]

#long neck david shall haunt me for eternity now #I don't regret creating him though #but he will also definetely appear in my nightmares #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #our flag mean death s2 #david jenkins #ofmd meme #neil gaiman #good omens 2

[tragedy-for-sale]

I'm never getting over how sick he looks

It's a very dull looking scene, almost grayscale. That choice shows you just how sickening this mission is to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan is hunched over, head between his knees. He looks physically sick. Everyone looks to him, he can say 'no,' but how could he possibly deny them? His life is the Jedi, and in the pursuit of peace he's asked to do something he cannot but a Jedi Master can, without question, Obi-Wan Kenobi can and he must.

The second shot, that's the face of resignation. He can't even speak, you can see he almost opens his mouth but all he can do is nod. This is where we see the line of duty and the individual. When challenged, Obi-Wan chooses the light, at the expense of himself, at the expense of those he loves.

He knows Anakin will never forgive because when challenged, Anakin doesn't choose the light, he chooses who he loves. And Obi-Wan cannot tell Anakin that choosing those you love isn't the correct choice.

This is the hero sacrificing you to save the world, this is Obi-Wan sacrificing himself, sacrificing Anakin for the greater good. But what's so good about letting your best friend think you've slipped away into death, mere feet from his grasp? Where's the good in watching someone you love die?

Obi-Wan remembers watching Qui-Gon's last breath leave his body, he never recovered. Where's the good in knowing all the pain your about to put your best friend through? The good in always seeing your ghost?

#he looks so distraught #I cannot handle how sad he looks #star wars #clone wars #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #the clone wars #Hardeen arc #harden angst

[macfrog]

psyche and cupid | one shot

happy valentine's, beautiful people. i love you with all of my heart. xx shoutout to @familyvideostevie for putting joel's slutty little thigh holster into my head and, well. yeah. pairing: jackson!joel miller x fem!reader summary: valentine's day with joel doesn't go to plan. warnings: part two never happened!!!!! abby who!!!, established relationship, cursing, half joel pov, unspecified age gap, hints to reader having a sliver of ptsd, jesse is alive and well because he is my prince and i said so, reader has dark pubic hair, masturbation, somnophilia (not discussed in this fic but she is a-ok with it) and therefore dubcon, sprinkle of praise kink, oral (f!receiving), someone comes in his underwear, these two goofballs are big in love word count: 5.5k

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It’s not in his nightstand.

Not hung over the newel post, either.

He said he left it on the kitchen counter yesterday, right after he got home; said he woke up this morning and it was gone. And then he muttered something of an accusation that someone had tidied it away and forgotten where, and that started a whole new argument.

You know what, Joel? You’re following his tall figure as it sways down the hallway, his strides longer and considerably smoother than your flurrying shadow in his wake. Maybe if you weren’t going out today, we wouldn’t be having this problem.

His chin tilts upward, salt and pepper scruff angled to the ceiling with a ha slung from his throat. Yeah, he tosses a glance over his shoulder, we’d just be havin’ it tomorrow, instead.

You scoff in response, stepping where his boots lift off from, following the heavy thud thud thud like a cat at his heels until he’s rounding the corner towards your bedroom.

You pass over the messy trail of your jeans and Joel’s pajama bottoms, your underwear and his leading in a trail to the unmade bed – sheets like a rippled wave painted golden by the dawn.

The two of you split off – Joel lifts the cotton and watches it float back down over the flat of your mattress. Nothing.

You take the closet – the squeal of metal on metal harsh in your sleepy ears as you shove the hanging clothes aside, swiping around at the floor. Also, unsurprisingly, nothing.

Deflated, you straighten, stars peppering your vision and a tatty sleepshirt pinched in your fingers. Led Zeppelin – some band Joel was into before everything went to shit. You’ve listened to him out on the porch before, plucking strings in time with the record wobbling on the turntable inside.

The collar torn, sleeves pecked with holes, print lost to the years and the dryer – but each time you drape it over your shoulders, he smiles and hums some song from a world you’ll never know.

It’s sweet, when you’re in the mood to be wooed.

Which, incidentally, is not right fucking now.

His eyes flit down to the peeling, grayscale image – and that same smile attempts to bloom on his lips. That’s cute, but it ain’t my holster, pretty bird.

His smirk dampens quickly when he looks back up, snuffed by your stony expression.

You whip the tee down to the foot of the bed. You are a piece of fuckin’ work sometimes, do you know that? you growl, storming by him for the en suite.

Joel’s rough hand slips around your wrist, tugging gently but letting you drag him through to the bathroom.

Just go, Joel, you groan, the chill of the room prickling goosebumps on your naked legs. Give  me some peace and quiet. ‘s not like I’m gonna be seein’ much of you today, anyways.

Is that what this is about? His voice echoes in the morning blue, round in your ears as you hang your head over the sink. Pickin’ a fight ‘cause you’re pissed I’m goin’ out?

I didn’t start the fight, you protest. You’re the one who lost his holster.

Didn’t lose it… he mumbles, lips closing around the sentence when he catches your glare in the mirror. He crosses one ankle over the other, toe of his dusty boot on the cracked tile, and sighs. What do you want me to do, baby? I gotta do my job.

On Valentine’s Day? When I worked extra to get it off, and you can’t even get your brother to swap one shift?

Joel’s expression seems to stiffen, tense with a realization that you know, and now he knows, too – he should’ve had days ago. A weighty breath falls from his nostrils, admitting some kind of defeat, and then he’s wandering carefully over to you, two hands curved over your shoulders.

He lowers his forehead onto the nape of your neck, a slow breath which flutters the loose collar of the flannel you’re wearing and sweeps down your spine. I’m sorry, pretty bird. I didn’t know it meant that much to ya.

It doesn’t, you admit, adding, usually. I just thought we could have a day to ourselves, for once.

He’s nodding, sweep of his fringe tickling the slope of your skin. It’d be a lot more romantic than spendin’ it with Jesse, that’s for sure.

Your bodies fall together with a shared laugh, a bright and charming thing in the dull bathroom light. Joel kisses the soft cushion of your shoulder and hooks his chin over, beard grazing your skin.

I’ll be back before you know it. ‘n then we can do whatever the hell you got planned for us, hm?

He’s steady behind you when you lean back, turning to place a damp kiss to the hinge of his jaw. A reply, a plea – a promise.

In the echoing dripdripdrip from the faucet, Joel pulls apart from you, two fingers pinching the hem of your shirt to pull you back into the bedroom.

You wanna walk me to the gate? he asks, pulling the zipper on his jacket.

What about your holster?

He smiles. I’m sure I’ll survive without it. C’mon. Put some pants on.

February is bitter even by Jackson’s standards – a bite of ice in the air which numbs the tip of your nose and stings the helix of your ears. The chill slips a long, sharp finger down the collar of your – Joel’s jacket, and you wrap the baggy canvas tighter around yourself.

Told you to wear som’ thicker. Joel sighs, grip light around the strap of his shotgun. His elbow nudges into yours, a wide arm wraps around your shoulder and draws you flush against his side. Head on back if you’re cold, he says, rubbing until the friction warms your upper arm.

I’m fine, you lie, eyeing the line of horses up ahead. The eager crunch of their hooves in the frozen ground, the pinkish light on their backs from the sky flooded crimson overhead – a warning from the horizon, you think.

It seems to agitate the animals as much as it does you, their heavy heads tossing nervously, ears flicking and inky eyes blinking.

Jesse meets you by the paddock, slipping Joel the reins of his horse with a curt nod, before hoisting himself atop his own.

It bleats from your lips before you can hold it back. Be careful.

Your frozen fingers claw around the zipper of his coat, tugging it upwards until it brushes against his bottom lip. The weather gets bad, you turn back. Okay?

He’s nodding, paying half his attention to your words, the other half to the little crease between your brows. Sure could use my holster against the cold, baby, he mutters, smirk lifting his cheeks and folding similar creases at the corners of his eyes.

Your eyes narrow, palms landing flat against his strong chest. Home soon?

He hums a little laugh, lips ghosting across your temple as he shifts by. Home soon, he mutters, breath steaming against your cold skin, and he leads the mare off towards the gate.

There’s a lot about Joel you admire.

Each part of him like a pebble stolen on a hike; some more jagged, a little more weathered than others, some well-rounded and smooth to the touch. Each one turned and turned and turned between your fingers until you’re fluent in every pore and vein, then dropped into your pocket alongside the others you’ve collected.

Clacking against one another until you arrive home, coat heavier with the happy burden of how much you love him. The same weight you feel behind your ribcage when you think too much about it.

He takes good care of you – has done since you first happened across one another. As if hanging his hunting jacket over your frail body was a wing over your shoulders; as if, from then on, you would never make a single move again without your grizzly bear of a man making it first.

Quiet about it, sure. Subtle. Opens the crook of his elbow for you to hook your wrist around as you wander through town together, and waits until you’re under the cover of nightfall or behind the close of your front door to do much else.

Asks with little more than a fleeting glance if you’re okay; a squeeze of your knee under the table in the dining hall. A conversation shared between closed lips and the meeting of his honey-flecked gaze, and yours. A language which lives and dies with the pair of you.

He’s guarded – and for all that he’s been through, you figure you can allow him that. Allow him his private peace. For all that he says without saying, all he does without making some big song and dance of it – there hasn’t been a second since you arrived here on the back of his horse, that you haven’t known he loves you.

It’s in him like it’s in you. A fever which broke at the first touch of his hand and yours, the first meeting of his warmth and your chill. Two opposites – cooling the painful sear in his heart, warming the barren frost in yours. Something sewn deep into your flesh, carved right through to the hollow of your bones.

And Jesus, if it doesn’t drive you fucking insane.

The front yard needs tidied up after winter, you notice, as you scuff your way up the path towards the porch. Once the last of the snow dries up, you two can get to repairing the damage done by the blizzards and the gales: fitting new shutters, planting new bulbs.

A cycle you’re still getting used to: the upkeep of a place called home. The strange feeling of having someone you call the same thing.

Your extra shifts at the stables and Joel’s long mornings out on the trails mean your home has gone neglected for a few days. Dishes and cutlery left in the sink, a pile of laundry slowly sprouting to new heights like a wild plant each time you cast a wary glance at it.

It’s not like you’ve much else to do, given Joel won’t be home for at least another couple hours. So you shuck off your jeans, letting the tail of his shirt dangle from your behind, and pick your way around each room – wiping counters and dusting corners, humming along to the crooning old records as they spin in the background.

Playing house at the end of the world. Pretending to listen for the tired exhale of a yellow school bus, mimicking the electrified babble of radio presenters between each track.

The bedroom is arguably the worst offender. Bedsheets used a few days too long, clothes strung across the floor – the relics of a late one at the Tipsy Bison. It’s no wonder you’re so fucking tired.

Echoes of stumbling footsteps and hushed, drunken giggles loop your ears, the groaning bedsprings and blunt thud of the headboard. You pluck the underwear and socks one by one, your body wincing around a satisfied ache still lingering, and shuffle over to the laundry hamper, lifting the lid to –

The dopey smile on your lips dissolves instantly. You gotta be fucking…

The buckle glints in the light, silver blinking up at you from its bed of dirty laundry. The tan strap coiled and neatly slung through its fastener; the pouch empty. Awkward and ashamed, lying there in front of you. Apologetic, almost.

Your eyes roll closed; a short, hot breath seeping past your lips. A silent promise embedding beneath your tongue to take him by the sleeve as soon as he crosses the threshold, force him to lift the lid himself. An I told you so already brewing in the pit of your stomach.

The holster’s actually pretty heavy when you lift it up in the light. Leather a little worn, stitching frayed where it should clip around his belt.

It’s the size and width of him: a thick, toned thigh slotted inside the loop of leather, fixed by fingers long void of feeling when he’s been riding to the outpost, chasing infected, plunging his knife deep into their necks.

Patrol was never your thing. Joel took you out just once – but there are cracks in your past which threaten to split you in two, it seems, the longer you spend outside the settlement walls. Phantoms which follow close behind in the form of snapping twigs, of the wind rustling in the trees overhead. Shadows living in your periphery with curled sneers and spits of filth.

You lasted twenty minutes, that first and only day, before Joel had your horses tied together and your body shelled in his own, taking you straight back home.

But the thought of this around his thigh, the thought of him adjusting it to the waistband of his jeans; his hand floating down to settle gently atop it when he’s listening for danger approaching, two fingers slipping into the trigger guard.

It…stirs something.

You pad over to the bathroom, hopping as you step into the strap. He wears it on his right leg, right? You pull it past your ankle, ball of your foot slamming clumsily back down on the tile.

Adjusting it to fit your thigh, you bunch the hem of his shirt in one fist and stare back at your reflection. Her nervous stance, hips swaying left to right as she peruses the figure opposite.

Who is she, this mirage – naked thigh decorated with her man’s leather, fingernails tracing the messy stitching and imagining the weight of his gun, keen in the pouch?

A strange aura of possession about it, like a part of him locked firm around a part of you, from however many miles away. You swear you can feel the ghost of his warmth on the inside of the strap, wrapped around your sensitive skin.

Yeah.

Stirs something, alright.

Joel’s been gone little over an hour. He’s probably at the outpost by now, logging All clear and pretending to let Jesse take the lead. Wide shoulders swaying as he wanders from room to room, a careful scope of the valley from each window, tongue tracing the bottom of his teeth.

Ridges of his knuckles white around the grip of his shotgun, squinting down the barrel. Lines drawn between his brows and at the corners of his eyes like scores on parchment, focus and concentration tight on his face.

You sink back into the cradle of your bed, that divot where his body and yours meet each night. Each part of you intertwining with a part of him: the place where you become one. His smell and your touch, your giggle and his teeth.

A sudden, powerful thing which hammers through your veins and jumps your body for a few seconds – you pull the first orgasm from between your legs within a matter of minutes. The sight of his shirt disturbed over your stomach, the feeling of blood squeezing past taut leather enough to throw you under by itself, never mind the fast snap of your fingers deep inside your body.

Another – slower, lazier, still vibrating from the first – then almost a third, but the crinkle of sheets at your ears, the pillow-soft landscape beneath your heavy body, begins to sweep you off somewhere.

And in as little time as it took to entice you into the water in the first place, you slip beneath the waves.

The house is quiet when he finally makes it home.

Jesus, Joel thinks, what a shift.

Not one infected the entire run, he can’t quite believe – but Jesse caught his palm on some warped sheet of chain link fence, then almost passed out when he looked down and saw the scarlet seeping from his shredded skin.

The pair sat for half an hour, unsheltered in the unforgiving wind, waiting for the kid’s head to stop spinning and the cold to rob the feeling from his hand.

All Joel wanted was to get home to you. You, and your hips swaying as you stand by the stove, and his hands kneading into the velvet plush of your waist, and the smell of burnt sausages and spatter of angry oil from the pan.

He’s so late. He said he’d be as quick as he could, said you’d barely know he was gone, and he’s so fucking late.

But he’s here now, at least.

He’s home.

As he kicks off his boots, snow sprinkling from the soles onto the doormat, he notices the absence of your arms around his waist. The missing weight at the back of him, no ear flat against his spine and hands interlocked above his belt. No relieved, I missed you, no nuzzle of your head under his arm.

The house is still and dim. The turntable spins in the corner, a dead crackle playing nothing for no one. Joel sniffs, eyeing the room and its new, orderly form: the books slotted neatly on their shelves, the rings of coffee wiped clean from the table.

Lifting the needle from the record, Joel calls out, Baby?

Maybe you’re in town somewhere. Maybe you’ve gone to spend the morning with the horses. But then, you would’ve been watching for his arrival. Would’ve skipped out from the stables and swung around his body, a gleeful smile and an outstretched hand. Take me home, cowboy.

And you wouldn’t have left the lights still burning, the player still turning. Your coat is still on its hook, smaller and brighter and where it belongs on the right of Joel’s. The cushions on the couch are fluffed and smooth, perched contentedly in place; the curtains draped in their tie backs.

You’re home. You’ve been home all morning.

So where the fuck are you?

Joel crosses over to the bottom of the stairs, blinking up at the painted cowboys and horses staring down from the landing. Calls your name, a faint singsong as he slowly ascends the stairs. You up there?

Down the wintery dull hallway to the bedroom door, figuring he knows the answer. And he’s right, isn’t he, when he nudges the door open and peers inside, spots the tiny lump of you in your double bed. Sunk deep into the mattress – covers you’d come in here to change, swallowing you whole.

A crooked, exhausted smile pulls across his lips; his thumb hooks around a belt loop, knee cocking.

You’re so…perfect. So heavenly, so still like this – stretched out on your front, breathing in the scent of his pillow and breathing out little puffs of air.

Joel leans over you, a heavy hand pushing into the mattress above your shoulder, and runs a featherlight knuckle over your cheek.

Pretty bird? he whispers, lighter than the long breaths from your sleep-swollen lips.

You don’t stir. No movement, save for the rise and fall of your shoulders wrapped up in his flannel.

Joel feels a pang of guilt, numbed only by the chill still through his body: he woke you this morning, before even the sun had lifted her head. Had you hunting all over the house with him, for some dumb holster that he wound up not even n–

His eyes trail down the shape of your body, draped in the sheets like white marble carved into the round shape of something beautiful, hands following the curve of your thigh. His wrist freezes when it meets the odd bulge of something, an awkward bump beneath the cotton.

He peels the sheet back, lifting it from your shoulders, your waist, your hips – until your angled thigh lies on full display for his feasting eyes.

His fucking holster…wrapped tight around your fucking thigh.

A disbelieving laugh at first – a She told me so, before he notices the indents in your skin, the stretched leather snug around your leg, riding higher than it should at the doing of your slumber.

Christ, baby, he breathes, stare glued to the folds of plaid hooked around the belt loop. Following the tatty hem down past your hip, along the underside of your ass – riding up some, right where your legs part.

And between them, all sheer and thin, twisted around itself and slipping between: your underwear. The threading of pubic hair peeking over the frilled hem of it; the sight filling Joel’s mouth with saliva.

A heavy heat forms in his jeans, an irritable weight which aches when he moves; which hardens when he pictures the image of you in his bed, his shirt, his holster wrapped around your thigh – playing with yourself while he’s been gone.

Fuck. Fuckin’…shit.

He lowers, running lips he knows are freezing cold along the burning surface of your skin, tongue slipping past his teeth to drag a wet trail along your thigh.

Your leg shifts under his touch, the startle of his chilled fingertips behind your knee, nuzzling of his nose where the holster sits smugly on your thigh. Smelling like leather and salt, the sticky sheen of sweat still glowing on your skin.

Joel takes your waist in two hands – he can’t fucking help himself, can he? – and turns you, patiently, watching as you roll onto your back so he can drag you further down the bed. Tongue flicking at the corners of his lips, thirsty for something he only wants you to feed him.

Slow, slowly. Every effort put into not waking you, to keeping you in this peachy haze between asleep and awake; your movements long and staggered, held firm against the mattress by the weight of your doze.

With a sigh, your jaw turns to one side. Joel pulls you in, kneeling at the edge of the bed with your socked feet resting on his shoulders. His shirt gathers around your waist; your hips and the thin twine of your underwear spotlighted by stripes of weakened sunlight spilling in through the blinds.

Oh, pretty bird, he groans, slipping his open palms under your ass, rough and squeezing the pillows of flesh in his hands. This all for me?

A moan wrapped in a hefty breath twists from your lips. Your knees fall limp; legs open almost eagerly, like your body inviting him in. And he accepts, takes it with eyes blown black and hungry lips parted – leans in and nestles his nose against the thrumming heartbeat pounding through your clit.

Such a good girl, he whispers, closing his lips in a kiss over your clothed mound, and your hips jolt.

You’re so fucking warm. So wet; sticky and so ready for him. He kisses your folds, suckling gently and letting his tongue dart along the inseam of your lips in flicking movements – collecting the taste of salt and feeling his cock throb against rough denim.

Off? he asks – you and the room and himself – fingers hooking around the underwear rolled on your hips.

When your back arches, body feeling the loss of his tender kiss, rolling like a wave seeking to crash against the steady rock form of his – he smirks to himself.

Joel nods. Off.

He takes his time peeling them from your body, watching as more and more of his paradise is revealed. The waves of your folds, the sheer glisten of arousal along them; the dark hair peppering either side as damp and slick as the skin beneath it.

Your panties drop from a hooked finger without a sound and he turns back, hovering over your waiting cunt with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Out front, voices call back and forth to one another – some neighborly greeting and affable conversation – but Joel doesn’t hear. Deafened to anything but the sound of your sighs and his own blood hammering through his ears.

It’s a little rushed, a tad rough, the way he presses his lips back to yours. The way his beard grazes against your most sensitive spot, and the gasp he swears he hears lift from your tongue.

But fuck, he’s missed this, the way he always does – without knowing, without actively thinking about it, without knowing it was even at home waiting for him. If his mind weren’t on an entirely different planet right now, he’d curse that goddamn chain link for holding him up, for keeping him away longer than thirty seconds from the sweet little angel resting in his bed, and the sweet little pussy between her legs.

He parts your thighs wider, tongue dipping lower and deeper as he laps at your core, almost fucking panting against it.

You squirm lazily beneath him, shoulders tensing and untensing, a half-limp wrist lifting to pet his hair and an attempt at his name between your lips. Joel, you whimper, thick with sleep and something more dangerous.

I know, baby, he’s telling you, I know, and his tongue slips inside again. His hips grind into the mattress, cock an agonizing stiff against the sturdy edge. He can feel the wet in his boxers, the precome sticking to the inside of the cotton.

Fuck, he wants to be inside you so badly, so desperately.

Another gasp sputters across your lips, cut short in your throat when his teeth bump against your clit.

Too hungry, too brash, he thinks. You’re too soft, too open for him to let it go to waste. Not like this.

He pulls back, a filthy thread of arousal and saliva between his open lips and yours, and places a sodden kiss to the inside of your thigh.

But you whine, you poor little thing – your head twisting to the other side, a second hand now blindly surfing across his shoulder, past the brush of his beard and sifting through his still-chilly hair. The loss of attention to your pussy aching between your legs; your hips lifting weakly to meet the scratch of his chin again.

And that same sound – that same Jo-oel – a sound like song, like saccharine dripping over his shoulders.

So, he lifts a hand – two middle fingers coming together to push open your cunt, instantly sliding in knuckle-deep. Sucked in by the wet mess left behind by his lips, stretching you out with slow, round movements.

You’re slowly stirring, blossoming from your sleep and turning slowly back into this world. The cold edges seeping in, the warm flush of pleasure sharpening at their meeting. He’d do anything, he thinks, to keep you here; keep you teetering on the edge, tangled up between your world and his.

J– oh, fu-uck, you whine, and he can tell you’re still blinkered by sleep. But you grind on him again – a long, languid movement which seems to spatter out at its end when the coarse hair of his beard catches against your clit.

The breath stops in your throat, punching out in a shuddered moan. Joel could come just from the sound of it.

You gonna give me one, baby girl? he pleads, forearms clamping down on the underside of your thighs. Desperate – desperate to feel you, hear you, taste you as you come undone. Just one.

You’re writhing around beneath him, as needy as he is. A winding which matches his, coiling at the bottom of your stomach; a feeling which pulls at the corners of your lips and shocks them into a smutty, half-conscious smile. Your eyes roll back, fluttering open and then snapping shut when the light floods in.

There, you say, clearest so far, movements the strongest he’s felt. Your fingers root in his hair, rough over his scalp. Keep – keep doin’ that.

Joel smiles against your mound; a cocky thing, emboldened by the sound of that little Texan twang, the curl of an accent which doesn’t belong to you. Rather, a result of your years spent with him, watching the way his mouth shapes the words, learning the low swing and swirling melody of his tongue.

As if he’s as alive within you as he is within himself; every little thing Joel knows is him, injected into your bloodstream – his dry wit, his blunt honesty, his thick fingers and his insatiable tongue.

He slips in a third, flicking them perfectly inside of you. Beckoning your release; tongue sitting in wait, a resting point for you to grind your clit against.

And he wants it as much as you do: wants to feel the clamping of your body around him, wants to taste the flood of your orgasm as it shocks through every bone in your body.

Wants to pull three soaked, pruned fingers from your pussy and slip them over your tongue, letting you clasp your fingers around his wrist; watching the half-dozing flutter of your eyelashes as you suckle on them and make those pretty little sounds for him.

Your hand knots tighter in his hair, pelvis circling steady against his suckling lips. He can smell it on you: smell the need seeping from your pores. The sleep spilling from the corners of your mouth, the happy whimpers and quiet cries for more, more, Joel, more.

And – Shit, he breathes against you, feeling a sudden rush of electricity he knows all too well between his hips. Not now, not now not before he’s been inside – Shit, baby, gotta let me go.

You whine in refusal – a petulant sound, all stubborn and greedy. ‘m so close, I –

Pretty bird, he groans, lifting his jaw. He places a messy kiss to the crease between your core and your thigh, wrist stammering with his sudden movements. You gotta – you gotta let go, you’re gonna make me come –

You’re echoing him, mumbling the words gonna, gonna come – fuck, Joel, ‘m gonna –

Shit.

Not – Fuck – not right n– Christ, baby girl, you’re gonna – you’re –

Your walls spasm, clamping and relaxing, squeezing around his huge fingers. But it’s not that – it’s not the gush of warm fluid which seeps from between your legs, coating his knuckles and dripping into his palm.

It’s not the arch of your back, the way your breasts lift to the ceiling and his shirt slips below one nipple. Not the way your head rolls back against the mattress, a broken moan tearing in shards from your throat.

No.

It’s the way your hands leave his hair in an instant, and grip around the leather on your thigh. Skin stretching thin over your knuckles, thumbs between the strap and your sticky skin; hips still riding out your high as you ground yourself, holding onto his holster.

And it makes Joel come. Hard.

Harder than he knew possible, grinding against a mattress and the inside of his fucking jeans.

He falls forward, breathing a guttural moan into the soft swell of your stomach below your navel, fingers hooking into the baggy shirt around your arms.

Shitshitshit, he pants, feeling the warm ejaculate spurt from his cock and all over the inside of his boxers. Oh, fuck, baby. Fuck me.

His hips shudder a few more times, pressing hard into the edge of the mattress before he’s coming down, slowing to a stop – still a leaden weight on your stomach. His cock almost painful, overstimulated and oversensitive.

But then – something gently tittering. A bird singing, cooing above his head. The ground beneath his temple shakes, tremors with laughter. The dust twinkles in the sunlight, now brighter, golden, streaming through the window.

You’re awake.

Joel drags his gaze upwards, bleary and glazed with sex, and catches your eye.

Feel good? you ask, sifting hair away from his damp forehead. When was the last time that happened? Fourteen?

I don’t wanna talk about it, he mumbles into your belly.

Your chest jumps, a laugh which echoes into Joel’s ear. Tastes that good, huh?

It takes a mighty effort for him to push up on his palms, slowly crawling up the length of your body until his elbows plant firm into the mattress either side of your head. He groans as he lowers his lips, parting them to let you slip your tongue inside.

The kiss is slow, tender. Your bodies melding together, teeth clacking and jaws moving in sync. A sharp taste, sweet with a singe of bitterness to it. Perfect, you think, smirking against Joel’s cool lips.

He pulls away, lips tickling the tip of your nose deliberately.

With a giggle, you push on his chest. You should shower. You smell like patrol.

Joel cocks an eyebrow. You comin’ in with me?

Nope. I got even more laundry to do now, old man.

He entertains the quip with a subtle smile, a thing which softens the creases on his face and lights a twinkle in his eyes. Quietly, genuinely, in a way which makes your heart ache a little, he whispers, Sorry I was workin’, pretty bird.

You shrug. ‘s okay. You made up for it. And – I found your holster. You lift your knee, letting the buckle shine in the sunlight.

You did that, Joel agrees, nodding and glancing down at the thing. He hooks a finger around the strap, giving it a little shake. Maybe I oughta lose it more often.

Hm, you shrug, or I can just keep it safe for ya. Looks good, don’t it?

He feigns a disappointed smile, a resigned sigh before he looks back up.

Better ‘n when I wear it, he admits, and his lips crash down to yours again.

#same universe as 'wish you were here' - if you want #joel miller #jackson!joel #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #tw somnophilia #tw dubcon

[bluecatwriter]

you could paint our boy jonathan harker?

I've never painted a Dracula character before, so this was a good challenge! Watercolor can be an unforgiving medium, especially where specific lines are concerned— you pretty much get one shot to paint them correctly, especially if you don't do a sketch layer underneath, which I don't. I did add some pencil lines afterward, to suggest stone and to sharpen some of Jonathan's features. I like the feel of this one, even though it's not quite how I imagined it turning out.

I was messing around with the color balance and realized that if I put it in grayscale, Jonno looks like a film noir detective. :)

[ID in Alt]

(I'm still taking art requests— feel free to drop an ask or comment with suggestions!)

#my art #answered #dracula daily #dracula fanart #jonathan harker #dracula #count dracula #dracula (novel)

[indira-laras-w]

process of elimination

this is the kind of quality content that happens when you're an Alhaitham main with Cyno's sense of humor.

ID: an eight panel comic in grayscale, featuring Cyno, Tighnari, Kaveh, and Alhaitham from Genshin Impact. Panel 1. Cyno is sitting at a table with a cup of wine, one hand gesturing to the air. He is saying, "Why does Alhaitham say 'The process of elimination!' while performing his Elemental Burst? Because he eliminates enemies with it." Panel 2. Tighnari and Kaveh at the same table. Tighnari has his hands in front of his exasperated face, and he is sighing. Next to him is a cup of wine. Kaveh is looking somewhat anxious, sweating. He’s spilling his wine on the table just as he’s about to drink it. He says, “Uh… Cyno...." Panel 3. Alhaitham has a hand on the chair next to Cyno's, and is silent, expressed with ellipsis, as he looks at him. Cyno is facing the front and not him, saying "hm? what?" His cup is on the table, to his side. Panel 4. Alhaitham and Cyno now sit next to each other, and Alhaitham takes the cup. Cyno is facing him, asking, "Oh, Alhaitham. Did you hear my joke?" Panel 5. Alhaitham is holding up the cup, and says with a flat expression, "You mean my joke. You did a surface-level analysis of the multi-layered joke that I made. Unless... the noble General Mahamatra has resorted to blatant plagiarism?" Panel 6 is split into three reaction shots. Cyno has a sparkle in his eye, while Tighnari and Kaveh look shocked and bewildered. Narration/thought bubbles say, collectively, "He says that as a joke on purpose?" Panel 7. Alhaitham is sitting and drinking with a smirk, while Cyno stands up with his hands on the table, looking excited. Cyno: "Hah! Of course not." Alhaitham: "Uh-huh. Sure." Cyno: "And I'm well aware of the full complexity at play here." Alhaitham: "Oh, really?" Cyno: "Mmhmm." Alhaitham: "Why don't you explain it to me in great detail." Below that is a shouting speech bubble saying, in all-caps, "WAIT-- NO-- !!" and a smaller one with fox ears to imply Tighnari speaking, saying "augh". Panel 8. Alhaitham is smiling softly with flower effects around him as he looks at Cyno who is rambling about the joke with his eye sparkling. In front of them, looking away, is an annoyed Kaveh yelling, "BOSS! Another round for this table! and put it on hthm's (Alhaitham's) tab...!" Tighnari is next to him, hands on his folded ears, eyes closed, muttering, "Archons save us, there's two of them now...." End ID.

Also here's the unobscured joke ramble:

So I've gone over the 'elimination' as in eliminating enemies already. While simple, it is genius in how easily applicable it is in every fight, from Spectres exploding to Treasure Hoarders escaping. Other than that, the full phrase 'process of elimination' itself refers to a logical method to identify an entity of interest among several others by excluding all other entities; this is likely the obvious meaning that you want others to catch first. After all, you once went on about your strategy in combat being "finding the weakest link" before letting everything else resolve itself, so it seems like an obvious connection. Hence why I didn't start from there. We also can't forget the use of the word 'process' is also relevant, since typically you start the fight with your Burst, hence this line starting the process of eliminating your foes.

#genshin impact #genshin #my art #cyhaino #cytham #haino #cyno #alhaitham #al haitham #tighnari #kaveh #genshin comic #genshin fanart #digital comics #cyno jokes #image description #THIS STUPID JOKE TOOK ME LIKE THREE ISH MONTHS TO TELL OH MY GOD #i got this idea in february because i'd been playing hthm for a while and kept hearing that line. but i sketched it in march i think? #it was supposed to be four panels but it spiraled into eight because of course #anyway. behold. after i reblog this to my main and post on hoyolab im gonna pass out. peace <3 #long post

[spaceistheplaceart]

Body Swap - How Do I Talk Like That? Part Four

masterpost

previous

Summarized ID: Mob talks to Reigen about his fear of not being able to socialize properly, that he isn't making connections or can't make the first move. He wonders what it would be like to make the first move, and pictures Tsubomi. Reigen puts a hand on his shoulder and listens.

FULL ID UNDER CUT:

(This is a body swap, so I'll be referring to the characters as who they actually are but keep in mind that Reigen is in Mob's body and vice versa.)

Mob looks down, a dull yet sad expression on his face. He says, "It's not that. I've just been thinking. Even though I'm better at it now, I think, I still have trouble talking to others. I feel like everyone else knows what to say, or at the least can make themselves understood."

A grayscale panel shows a flashback to when Mob gave his speech to become student council president, he is on stage, silent, frozen. Mob continues speaking, "but even when I have a script, I freeze up."

Reigen is looking at Mob with furrowed brows and his lips set into a thin line. Mob continues, "Master, I know you said I don't need to be like other people, but..."

A shot of Mob and Reigen sitting on the curb. Dimple floats next to Mob. "I'm afraid if I can't 'get it' now," Mob looks downwards again with a worried expression. "That I won't be able to socialize properly when I'm older."

Dimple grins. "Come on, you don't need to worry about that stuff yet! You've got plenty of friends don't you?" He flexes his arms, drawn behind him are radial rays of light. "What about Tome? And the Body Improvement Club!"

Mob smiles slightly. "It's true. I do have a lot of friend, and I'm very grateful that I'm surrounded by such good people." His smile drops. "But sometimes, I feel like..."

Shown are a series of grayscale flashbacks all in one long panel. The first scene is of Tome, talking excitedly while holding Mob's hands in hers. He looks slightly taken aback, but is listening. They're sitting at a desk. The next is Mob sitting next to Emi on a grassy hill, holding her writing. The final one is Mob, flexing, while one of his Body Improvement Club friends feels his muscle excitedly. Mob is smiling shakily, blushing slightly, and sweating. He says, "I'm not connecting with them properly. Whenever we talk, I always let them take the lead, I became complacent. It felt easier that way."

Another grayscale flashback, showing Mob at his desk in school, looking over and watching two of his classmates talk happily. One of them is a girl with big curly hair, sitting at her desk, and another is a boy with short spiky hair who's leaning on her desk and talking to her. Mob says, "And everyone that I know now, I only know them because they spoke to me first. I've never gone up to someone and became their friend because of my own efforts."

This page shows a glittery thought bubble, picturing Tsubomi. Tsubomi is smiling widely with cute, big, shiny eyes. She's turning around to face the viewer, her hair and skirt. flowing out from the motion. She has her arms tucked behind her back. She's blushing, and is shaded with soft pencil scratches. The background is gray and pink with sparkles and big glowing circles. She's illuminated in white. She has a cowlick shaped into a heart. Mob looks up at his thought bubble, slightly blushing, and says, "If I were to try and make the first move, I wonder..."

Reigen claps a hand on Mob's shoulder. "Mob. Listen," He says.

END ID.

#mp100 #mob psycho 100 #reigen arataka #shigeo kageyama #mp100 body swap #arataka reigen #kageyama shigeo #op art #comic #mp100 comic #tsubomi takane #takane tsubomi #transcribed

[upsidedownsmore]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

ok so uh i got commissioned by warframe and now I can finally talk about it oh my goddddd!!!!

article they so lovingly wrote with questions for each of the 5 artists is HERE !!!

so back in December DE reached out to me to do a glyph commission of Kullervo, and I'm still unbelievably floored that any of this has happened to begin with like ???

but yeah I'm super super stoked about this, THANK YOU DE THANK YOU!!!

wips and stuff below the read line!! :) :) :)

Idea sketches, in order of completion:

After getting feedback from DE, I went with the 4th one as the closer profile shot would work better for something as small as a glyph

wip sequence from linework to final:

The linework by far took the most time, but it paid off once I got to rendering! Having a single project I could focus all of my energy into after my growth from Tennotober was an amazing experience!!

Alternate grayscaled version of the glyph that I also like:

also here's a screenshot of the insane number of reference pics i had just in case lol:

Very interestingly DE actually wanted this drawing to be somewhat inspired by the work I did on Hollowframe (I KNOW RIGHT???), and they specifically had the Radiance in mind when thinking of the right feel for him, which was very fun to work in and slowly deviate from as I refined the drawing. if you told me two years ago that hollowframe would lead me to getting commissioned by warframe i wouldnt believe you but uhhhhhhhhh here we are i guess???

anyways that's all, ty again DE and the wonderful community team for giving me this opportunity and that honestly extends to this whole creator program deal as a whole!!

ok byyyyyyye :)

#warframe #warframe art #warframe kullervo #warframe tag #wf tag #wf #UpsideDownSmore's art #artists on tumblr #digital art #krita #i'm gonna explode #i'm finally released after 4 months #i feel sick but i'm so happy #ty guys :)

[tawaifeddiediaz]

abhi na jao chhod kar...ke dil abhi bhara nahi...

(for @oneawkwardcookie hehe)

[Image ID: seven gifs, colored in various tones of dark green, black and white, of Evan Buckley and Eddie Diaz from 911. Overlaid in cursive text are lyrics from "Abhi Na Jao Chhod Kar". The translation is in smaller block letters at the bottom-center of the gif.

GIF 1: Eddie wiping a tear from his face in 6.11, overlaid with Buck and Christopher from 3.10 as they decorate gingerbread houses. The text reads, "abhi na jao chhod kar" and the translation reads, "please don't leave me and go."

GIF 2: Buck dipping his head as he lets out a sob in 4.14, blended with Eddie kissing Christopher's cheek while Buck looks on in 3.10. The text reads, "ke dil abhi bhara nahi" and the translation reads, "my heart hasn't had its fill of you yet."

GIF 3: a black and white gif of Eddie and Buck facing each other after Eddie's shot in 4.14, accented by slightly displaced green. The text reads, "jo khatam ho kisi jagah" and the translation, outlined by a green box, reads, "that which comes to an end somewhere."

GIF 4: a green gif of Buck and Eddie hugging in 2.18, Buck grinning widely as he congratulates Eddie. The text reads, "yeh aisa silsila nahi" and the translation reads, "this isn't that story."

GIF 5: a black and white gif of Buck tearing at the ground in 3.15, frantically looking around himself for something to help dig Eddie out of the mud. In big block letters, the lyric reads, "Abhi nahi". In smaller block letters reads the translation, "not yet." The translation is repeated twice more in increasingly smaller, more transparent increments.

GIF 6: a black and white gif of Eddie trying to pull Buck up towards himself in 6.10, his face straining with the effort. In big block letters, the lyric reads, "Abhi nahi". In smaller block letters reads the translation, "not yet." The translation is repeated twice more in increasingly smaller, more transparent increments.

GIF 7: Four gifs in alternating grayscale and green color; Buck realizing Eddie cut his line in 3.15, Buck's cheek pressed to the concrete as he watches Eddie bleed out in 4.14, Eddie grasping the line to help Buck lift the tank off of Sal in 4.05, Eddie's expression falling slack as he realizes where Buck is hanging in 6.10. The word "nahi" repeats at four various places on each gif, with a line connecting each word to the translation, which reads, "Not yet, not yet, not yet, not yet."

/end ID]

#zee edits #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #911edit #buddieedit #buck x eddie #911 abc #911 fox #911 on fox #alielook #userisha #userdahlias #usersonny #usernymika #userabs #usernicolo #userrin #userriel #usermadita #tuserambs #tuserella #singinprincess #userkarolina

[camleecomics]

Eric Favors

#eric favors #shot put #track and field #sports #fan art #grayscale

[ciphermitarai]

I beat Side Order for the first time with the Order Shot.

I’m willing to assume many others did, too. Equal to or possibly more than the default weapon, Pearl’s dualies. When I saw Parallel Canon for the first time, I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was the most difficult boss for me to fight, not because of difficulty (Pinging Marciale has claimed more than one life of mine) but because I was battling Agent 4. A bunch of Agent 4s my size, with the same hair, crying out with the voices of allies.

But something seems right about that weapon I chose being 4’s—every other protagonist agent in the franchise had been featured in Splatoon 3. Agent 4 is not often represented in the Splatoon franchise or fandom at all. They’d fallen into grayscaling in the real world—ambiguous, never-evolving. The choice of weapon, to me, felt right, even if it was an accident. Because the basic shot is the first weapon one learns, it’s the natural choice; to me, it felt both the story and I staring Agent 4’s relative obscurity back in the face and going “no—you will be free, too.”

#side order spoilers #side order #agent 4 #agent 8 #splatoon 3 #parallel canon #or something

[stuff-and-such-art]

Request #8, thanks @iwannarunawayandbeapirate!! I think they would more than “get along.” I think they would be incredibly inventive and violent together.

ID Below.

[ID: There are 4 digital images in a row depicting Sasha and Cel interacting. They are made in grayscale, with simple shading, and scratchy black lines. The first image shows Sasha, a white human woman with dark hair and wearing a simple shirt, finger-less gloves, and dark trench-coat with spikes on it. She is looking towards Cel with a smug look on her face and is leaning against a pillar with one arm conversationally extended towards Cel. Cel is a white half elf with a torn ear, spiky blonde hair, and a light trench-coat. Cel is turning around to look at Sasha almost as if they were going somewhere else. They look interested. Sasha has a dialogue bubble next to her face that reads:

Sasha: “Wanna see something cool?”

The second image shows Sasha is the same position but a knife is shooting out of the sleeve of her jacket. Cel looks surprised and much more interested and has raised one hand to their chin in examination.

The third image shows Sasha and Cel talking more in-depth. Sasha has lowered her sleeve to display the spring-loaded knife dispenser on her forearm. Cel is leaning in to look at the contraption fully and still has a hand on their chin. There is a dialogue bubble that trails off the image from both of them that reads:

Cel: “Fascinating! Indeed very cool, but the potential is untapped! What if it SHOT knives instead of simply dispensing them? Or electric knives!”

Sasha: “Or bombs?”

Cel: “Bombs! That's a good idea. Perhaps we could simply-”

and the rest of the text is cut off.

The fourth image shows Cel and Sasha from farther away and they get more into detail for their ideas. Sasha has her arms raised in excitement and Cel seems to be explaining something thoroughly. There are small images of weaponry around their heads as if to illustrate their ideas simply. The images are of bombs, explosions, eels, electricity, knives, potions, fangs, and dead people.

Hamid is in the foreground pointed towards the two of them with a worried expression on his face. Hamid is an Egyptian halfling with dark skin, dark curly hair, and a three piece suit on. There is a dialogue bubble above his head that reads:

“Does anyone else think this is incredibly dangerous?” End ID]

#rqg #rqg fanart #rusty quill gaming #sasha rackett #sasha racket #cel sidebottom #hamid saleh haroun al-tahan #stuff's art #requests #for cel sidebottom sunday

[beansprean]

Queening The Pawn - Act 2 Part 1

QTP has returned!!! Now back to our regularly scheduled charged conversations in the crypt.

Read from the beginning

Act 2: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Close up on Guillermos eye, swollen red from crying himself to sleep, as it flutters open. 1b. Guillermo sits up in his bed under the stairs, wide-eyed and rumpled, still wearing his collared shirt from the night before. He has a cube bookshelf as a nightstand, which has a lamp, a yoo-hoo with a pink sticky note, and his glasses on top. In the shelves below: the interview with the vampire series, a few notebooks, a buffy vampire Funko pop, various unlit candles, and the vest he had been wearing crumpled up and half on the floor. 1c. Close up on his glasses, laid out neatly, and the yoo-hoo, likely now warm, on the nightstand. We can now read the sticky note on the bottle, on which someone had clearly had trouble spelling Guillermos name. It says: "for Gee (crossed out) Jui (crossed out) you". In the background, Guillermo clutches his blankets and turns his head toward the doorway offscreen, looking a bit lost as memories from the previous night flash behind him in grayscale (Nandor dropping to his knees, threatening Nandor with a stake, Nandor's desperate expression, the words "but it didn't work").

2a. Later, now dressed in a patterned sweater and hair still messy but hastily combed, Guillermo stands in the hall in front of the door to Nandor's crypt. He frowns and pauses, hand held out uncertainly toward the handle. In the background is a small table with half melted candles and a small painting that looks like a vampiric version of "Saturn devouring his son". 2b. Close up as Guillermo looks to the left, eyes still tired and red-rimmed. 2c. Shot from over Guillermo's shoulder as he stares down the hall towards the front door, which stands like a bright red beacon luring him forward. Behind Guillermo's head, another memory flashes in greyscale: himself collapsing into Nandor's embrace as Nandor begs, "Right now, I am afraid. So you must stay. My dear Guillermo..." 2d. Shot facing Guillermo again as he pulls his fist to his chest and exhales a bracing breath, eyes closed and brow furrowed in determination. 2e. Without opening his eyes, Guillermo screws up his face as if bracing for a blow and reaches forward to open the door before he can change his mind.

3a. Shot from inside the room as Guillermo cracks the door halfway and leans in slightly, looking apprehensive. He calls out, "Mas- Nandor? It's nightfall..." 3b. Reverse shot of Nandor, awake and standing in front of an open wardrobe as he ties a leather belt around his waist. He is dressed a bit more plainly in only two layers, his usual cloak or jacket either lain aside or not yet put on. His hair is pulled back in it's normal style, but a bit sloppily, some hairs escaping the bun and tangles left behind. He whips his head up in shock as Guillermo enters the room, locking their gazes, and Guillermo lets out a surprised little "Oh!" 3c. Shot over Nandor's shoulder as Guillermo opens the door fully and begins to step into the room, noting, "You're...up already." with wide eyes. Nandor, haughty expression in profile, spits back "Yes. I am perfectly capable of getting myself out of my own coffin, you know!" Guillermo immediately replies, "I know." 3d. Repeat of previous panel, both of them now silent and looking awkwardly away from each other. Guillermo is in the room now, but has one hand still on the doorknob and the other pulled protectively to his chest. Nandor has dropped his performative anger and looks very nervous.

4a. Close up on Guillermo, looking nervous but determined as he turns his gaze to the ground, starting, "Um...so..." Offscreen, Nandor interrupts, "Very well!" 4b. Matching Guillermos expression, Nandor continues, "We can commence with the yelling. I am ready." He steps forward and gestures Guillermo towards the loveseat, having dragged a cushioned wooden chair over for himself. 4c. Close up on Guillermo trying to mask his surprise, responding woodenly, "Oh. Okay." He thinks to himself, "He...actually wants to talk about it?" /end ID

#wwdits #queening the pawn #nandermo #mlm #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #image described

[meganwritesfanfics]

Clandestine Meetings (Joel Miller x Reader) Chapter 1

Next Chapter

Joel Miller x Reader

Joel's life has been filled with darkness and despair. For years it has felt as though his life had been drained of all color. He never dreamed that he would find anything to change that. That is until one day he finds a girl who becomes his rainbow.

Word Count: 1552

Rating M: For later chapter. Right now it's just a meet-cute. Some angst from Joel, but kind of fluffy.

Honestly, I didn't expect to be making this series. I had planned a one-shot around the idea of this reader character. But when I started to write a small background scene, I realized how great of a series this could make. I have ideas of where I would like this to go, and I would love to hear your feedback and ideas, but I am very excited to get this started.

It had been a few months since Joel, Tommy, and Tess had found themselves inside the Boston QZ and Joel felt as if he was going stir-crazy. After years of roaming, it felt weird to be trapped behind walls, and to be trapped with the F.E.D.R.A officers was even worse. But things had changed, Tommy had changed. And Joel could see the wear of the years, and what the years had brought, on Tommy. 

Not only that but Joel needed a change. He still knew that he would do anything to protect his brother, and now Tess. But having done horrible and despicable things to keep them safe, he needed somewhere that wouldn’t require him to destroy his own soul to do that. Plus it had also been years since he slept in an actual bed, even if it was just the shitty mattress that F.E.D.R.A had given them. 

And while the work that F.E.D.R.A required it’s “citizens” to participate in was back breaking, demeaning, and horrific. Some days Joel didn’t mind it. It gave him something to do, distracted his mind, kept his hands busy. Not to mention it gave him many chances to meet knew “clients,” for his and Tess’ business. 

Almost instantly when they had arrived Joel and Tess had started smuggling. It brought in a good income, plus they could trade for some otherwise impossible items from F.E.D.R.A. officiers. Plus Joel liked having some power over F.E.D.R.A officers, it made it easier to get out of scrapes, when his clients knew that if anything happen to him or Tess they would lose their suppliers. 

But as the days, weeks, and months dragged on life seemed to fade into monotony. His life had already lost it’s color and light when he lost Sarah, but now it seemed to descend to a sad, depressing grayscale. 

That was until he saw her. 

He hadn’t even noticed her at first. Joel had been so tuned out to the world around him as he moved the bodies, he didn’t even see as the workers around him began to wander away. He just kept picking the bodies up from the truck, and dropping them in the fire. It was probably one of the worst jobs F.E.D.R.A had, but it paid and not many people chose it, so it meant that there were always slots open. 

Suddenly he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He turned and his whole world stopped when he saw her. Joel wasn’t what you would call a romantic by any means, and after the shit he had been through, love or anything close to it had never even crossed his mind. But when he saw her, for a moment he felt his heart skip a beat. He felt as though his whole world was Kansas at the beginning of the Wizard of Oz, and this girl was his Oz. She beamed, even with all of the destruction around her, she gave off a feeling of comfort and warmth. 

And there she was, standing around the workers, pouring out jugs of water into small tin cups. He could see beside her was a small wagon filled with even more jugs. He was taken aback by the act of kindness. Immediately his first thought was ‘what could she possibly be benefiting from this.’ Because of course no one in this world could act with genuine kindness their had to be a catch. 

There was something about her though, for however much Joel’s heart ached at the sight of her, Joel’s mind hated her. How dare someone look so perfect, and happy with everything going on in the world. How dare she stir something inside of him that he never wanted to feel. How dare someone like her exist in this cruel and unforgiving world. 

From that moment, Joel swore to himself that he would avoid her at any cost. Any time she came around with her cart of water, or even when she brought around food, he would hide in the shadows, or just walk off the job entirely, not even caring if he didn’t get paid. She made him feel something, something that terrified him, and Joel had vowed a long time ago to never let anything make him feel like that ever again. 

But even with his hiding and running away, that didn’t mean he didn’t steal glances at her every time he had the chance. And the more jobs he took in town the more he saw her. He even tried taking jobs at early and late shifts, and yet she still was there. It seemed the harder the job, the more often she would show up throughout the day. And she wasn’t just there to pass out the water and food. Sometimes she would just show up for a moment of conversation. Joel would watch her as she talked with people, laughing with them, crying with them, pulling them into her arms for a comforting embrace. 

And people would flock to her when they saw her, but not Joel. He still kept waiting for an explanation, some sort of answer as to why she was doing what she was. And he thought he had found it, when he saw her one day walking hand in hand down the street with a F.E.D.R.A officer, one of Joel’s best clients. 

“That’s it,” Joel thought. “She must be pretending to gain people’s trust so she can sell them out to her F.E.D.R.A husband.” He had clocked the wedding ring on her finger early on. This was the only logical explanation he could come up with. Joel knew he had to keep an eye out for her, and make sure she never got close to him. And yet, he never told Tess or Tommy about her. The girl could be a threat to his buisness and lord knew Tommy was getting himself mixed in with a dangerous crowd. Even knowing this, he couldn’t bring himself to mention her. 

All of that changed, one day he was working on street cleaning duty, it was the middle of summer and the heat was unbearable. Already three members of the crew had dropped and had to be carted away to a F.E.D.R.A hospital for heat exhaustion. And it must have been the heat that caused Joel not to be on his a game, and on the hunt for the girl. Because the next thing he knew he heard a beautiful voice behind him say

“Sir,” 

He immediately turned and saw her y/e/c staring at him. There was a small smile on her face as she held out her hand which held a cup of water. 

“Would you like some water?” She said and again the sound of her voice ripped through Joel and he almost shivered at the sound. 

This was the first time she had ever approached him, of course, it wasn’t like he had ever given her a chance to. And in all the times he thought about her, and planned out what he would do if this happened, he never knew how he would feel when it did. He felt like he was a teenage boy again, with a crush on the most popular girl in school. And all he wanted to do was fall at her feet and worship the ground he walked on. 

“It is a very hot day, and I’m sure some water would do you good.” She piped up again. 

Joel just grunted as he reached out and took the water from her. He immediately averted his gaze on her as he took a drink. Not even truly realizing how dehydrated he was until he could feel the cool liquid coat his dry throat. Without looking at her again he handed her back the cup. 

“Thank you.” She said and stopped and immediately looked at her. 

“For what?” He snapped.

“I know these jobs aren’t easy, and I know you aren’t treated the way you all should be. So thank you.” She smiled, and she sounded entirely sincere. 

For a moment Joel thought she must be an insanely good actress, but the more he looked into her warm and comforting gaze, he realized that she actually meant it. And maybe for the first time in years, hell a decade, he had met someone who was genuinely good. 

“I’m Y/N.” She extended her hand out towards him 

“Joel,” He responded back as he took her hand, the feeling of their skin touching felt electric. 

And before he had a chance to say anything else, other workers had come up to her begging for food and water. With a chance at escape, Joel slipped away heading back into the street and back to work, but not before stealing one last look back at Y/N. To his surprise he found her look at him, and when their eyes met, Y/N smiled as her cheeks turned a light shade of pink, and she quickly went back to looking at the people around her. 

“I’m fucked.” Joel thought.

Next Chapter

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #smut fic #grumpy x sunshine #tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut

[splatsvilles-fashionista]

Ah, do you all smell that? It's some freshly baked Chill Season 2023 news, hot out of the oven!

Starting us off is a new weapon kit that wasn't in the trailer!

This new variant of the Snipewriter comes with Splash Wall and Ink Storm. The Splash Wall allows for more aggressive play, and the Ink Storm adds chip damage that can combo with your shots, but you'll only get one charge off after setting the Wall, so use them wisely!

After that, we got some more info on the new Special, the Splattercolor Screen. Namely, it impairs the visions of enemies who touch it. This is likely referring to the grayscale effect that happened in the trailer after the Painbrush rolled through the wall, and we can see that after they die the colors start going back to normal

Additionally, the debuff is denoted with these gray bubbles around your head.

Finally, we got an explicit confirmation that we're getting a new King Salmonid!

Its' Japanese name is Jaw and it's bigger than any of the previous Kings, and is described as being able to "eat anything." I've seen people refer to it as "Grandmaws" and I desperately hope that is what the official name will be.

EDIT: Nintendo of Europe's twitter account has confirmed that its' official name is Megalodontia!

#splatoon 3 #chill season 2023 #salmon run