all cleaned up and pretty

Building a Scene: It’s over isn’t it?

For Pearl’s song “It’s Over isn’t it?” the scene is about Pearl accepting a loss. As the series has progressed, she’s learned that she isn’t always right, and that there are things about herself that she’s has to reevaluate. This all comes to a sort of climax in this scene where she accepts and admits out loud that her relationship with Rose was never as deep and complete as she wanted it to be or told herself it was. This is where she’s left at the end of the scene, feeling lost and out of place.

In the outline written by Ben Levine and Matt Burnett, this is how the scene looked:

You’ll notice a lot of things ended up changing compared to the final version. Most of that was due to time constraints. When we started storyboarding the episode, all of the rough demos of the songs were recorded so that we had an idea of the amount of time we had between each song (which ended up not being very much). The result was that we had to basically be transitioning constantly between songs, but doing it in a way that felt natural and as gentle as possible.

In addition, Rebecca remembered a part from the 1982 movie “Victor Victoria” starring Julie Andrews that she wanted to use as reference for the feeling of the scene:

Right away we latched onto this spinning 360 degree camera move. I loved the energy and focus it gave to the character and I immediately roughed out a version with Pearl.

If you’re ever stuck during a scene this is what you do: Don’t start from the beginning, find the moment you see clearest in your mind and build out from there. From these rough thumbnails I built the rest of the scene outward. I brought back motifs like her sword skills and her dance style to help evoke the past events of the series, and I tried to give as much time as I could to each shot and make her acting as expressive a possible.

Below are my rough boards set to Rebecca’s demo. At the end, i added a pause for when she throws the Rose into the air. It felt like a good spot for things to crescendo ring out. Deedee Magno Hall’s rendering of this blew us all away when we heard it.

From there clean up was pretty much straight forward. The scene didn’t change much except for tweaking her acting here and there. I’m super proud of how this scene turned out, hats off to Nick DeMayo our animation director and to the team at Sunimin in Korea where they draw the entire episode on paper:


super fast and messy redraw. hello darkness my old friend


I haven’t done Steven Universe inspired make ups in a while and I wanted to make the Diamonds, so I played around with palettes yesterday and ended up with these two. Surprisingly enough, as a dual make up, they work pretty well. I had this theory that if I could balance out the heavy top liner from Yellow Diamond with the lower liner for Blue Diamond, it could even out as a dual make up, even though I purposefully made Yellow more of a sharp edge look and Blue more of a smokey round one. Anyway, my full face result is under the cut, which isn’t the best thing I’ve done but I thought it deserved to be included for a general idea. 

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((Take the lovely @dailyadventuresofbraginsky’s Assasin!Ivan (AKA: Alfreds favorite client to clean up after) from the C•up-Crew au. I need to draw him more.


Locker room

Warning: Smut ahead! This half of the story isn’t too graphic, but definitely sexy. The next half will be much more intense. Link to part 2:

Summary: Betty gets a naughty impulse when Jughead mentions a hot shower.

Jughead and Betty had been in the Blue and Gold office for hours typing away at their latest story. Resurrecting the little news paper had turned out to be a popular venture, and the two novice journalists found themselves putting more and more time into their project. This also meant spending more time with each other, alone.

Jughead sat up from his laptop, groaning slightly and stretching his neck. “And they say writing isn’t physically demanding. My neck and my back are killing me from sitting here this long,” He lightheartedly complained.  Betty walked up behind him, and began massaging his neck with her delicate hands. He tilted his head forward, giving her unrestricted access to his strained muscles. Low toned sighs and groans escaped him as Betty’s fingers pressed circles into his tight muscles, relieving some tension from his hard work.
“God you’re the best…” He said under his breath.

Her hands slid down his shoulders and chest where she clasped her hands together, hugging him from the back and planting gentle kisses below his ear. “Feel better now?” She whispered, her lips brushing against his skin with each word. His neck was relaxed but he felt tension building low in his belly. He breathed deeply, trying ignore the surge of hormones, but taking in her sweet vanilla scent he found no release; only more tension. ‘God how does she do that to me?’ His thoughts were enough to shake him back to reality.

“Much better, I think all I need now is a hot shower and a good night’s sleep” He turned his head and kissed her on the cheek. He stood from his chair, breaking their embrace. For Jughead it was bitter sweet, but he knew he needed to make space between him and the blonde haired vixen. She awoke a sexuality in him he wasn’t sure how to handle, and he didn’t want to take any risks of making Betty uncomfortable.

“Well, walk me home first?” She playfully said. “You know, since you’re going that way?” A giggle escaped her, and Jughead felt a grin spread across his face. How could she effortlessly make him feel so good?

“That’s depends,” He tilted his head to the left, mimicking her playfulness in his own sarcastic way. “Is my company worth waiting 15 minutes for?”
Betty lifted an eyebrow at his out of place question, still smiling, standing before him awaiting his explanation. He continued, “A pipe broke at Archie’s. We’ve been using the locker room until it gets fixed next week. Arch showers in the mornings with the football jocks and I in the evenings, football jock free”. They shared a quick laugh, Jughead forgetting for a moment why they were even talking. He swore her laugh could make him forget his own name.
“So will you wait up for me? I’ll be all clean and pretty when I’m done,”

Betty’s expression changed into one of slight surprise and contemplation. She sweetly replied “of course Juggie. Go on then” He parted with a quick kiss, and headed towards the locker room.

The boys locker room wasn’t such a bad place, despite the usual brow of testosterone fueled jocks that crowded the place during school hours. It had been recently renovated, and was now clean and modern. Not wanting to keep Betty waiting, Jughead quickly stripped his clothes off, and got into the large communal showers.

* * * * * * * * * *

‘A hot shower? God Juggie, why did you have to say it like that?’ Betty thought in frustration. She had deliberately been flirting with him, even trying to rile him up with her touches and kisses… but he mentions one everyday occurrence (of which he happens to be naked and dripping wet- not fair) and Betty’s knees nearly buckled. Then he drops the bomb that he’s showering there. At the school. Right now. He realized it was just him and her in the entire building, right? Not even janitors at this hour…

Betty’s mind was wandering shamelessly. She’d fantasized about the mysterious writer before, but never had she knowingly been so close to him while he was doing something so… so…

In her mind’s eye she saw him, water streaming down his body, soap suds across his chest and flat stomach, his eyes closed as he lathered his jet black hair. She felt a heat between her legs, and she whimpered at the sensation. 'Oh my god I want him’ she finally admitted to herself. Before she realized what she was doing, Betty found herself opening the door of the boys locker room, and walking in as if she’d done it a thousand times.

Then, suddenly she was frozen. Despite her initial bravado, she actually had never been in there before. Looking at the white and blue tiled room, it appeared nearly identical to the girls locker room, but laid out in reverse. In a lazy pile on the bench in front of her was Jughead’s clothes and backpack. She heard the water from the showers suddenly stop. 'Shit, he must just be finishing’ she thought. Her pulse raced, she knew he was going to turn the corner at any minute, and then what was her plan?

Down the hall from the entrance, Jughead stepped out of the showers, and wrapped a towel across his hips. He breathed a sigh, satisfied that his body and mind were clean, and headed for his belongings.

When he rounded the corner, Betty could not believe her eyes, no she could not Believe. Her. Fucking. Eyes. Jughead jumped back in utter shock at her presence. He was soaking wet, his hair was tousled mess and still dripping down his neck, his chest. He gripped his towel, and Betty’s eyes were drawn to a thick line of hair trailing from his belly downward.

“Jesus christ! Betty! What are you-” He swallowed, adjusting his towel to be sure he was as decent as possible. “What are you doing in here?” He finally spat out.

Betty paused for a moment. Then, suddenly finding confidence, she replied “Well, you told me to wait didn’t you?” He continued to stare at her, dumbfounded. She giggled, “I got impatient”.

Jughead laughed nervously. “Alright. Well I’m done, I just need to get dressed”. She stepped closer to him as he spoke. “Uhm.. it’ll just take a second Betty,” she was now standing right in front of him. Her hands were clasped in front of her hips, her eyes scanning his nearly naked body.
“Betty? Can I get dressed?” He squeeked.

“Hmm..” She slightly twisted her upper body from side to side, feigning a difficult choice. “I don’t think so” She said confidently.

“Well I’m not walking you home like this” He gestured to his toweled hips,  “just because you think I’m eye candy Bets,” his sarcastic wit attempted to break the tension. Betty smiled, but continued on, determined to get her way.

“I don’t want to go home yet anyway,” she said coyly, slowly running her hand up his chest causing Jughead to gasp. He grabbed her hand and held it still, his eyes full of confusion and excitement. 

“Okay Cooper. What’s going on here?” He asked, still hiding behind a playful manner. She responded with a kiss, hungry and wet. Jughead groaned at the intense feeling of her lips, her tongue brazenly searching for his. She pulled back, giving him her best sultry gaze. He was undeniably excited, but still he feared any reciprocation would be too far. He spoke again, voice shaking.

“Betty I don’t have any clothes on, it’ll just take two-” He was cut off by the blonde suddenly pulling off her sweater, and unclipping her bra.

// a transparent Lupin peeking out from under a concrete slab. now you can put him on your blog and have him peek out from a hole! i cleaned up his lines and colors and made him all pretty!

(if you go to my blog while on a computer, you’ll see him if you scroll all the way down! and if you click him on my blog, he’ll take you down the hole to the next page!)

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Just a lil doodle I doodled at work. If you could scroll up, you’d probably see Gumball up there, in the process of being cleaned up^^

So that’s why the quality is all crappy, I pretty much just doodled this on Flash and then took a snap with my phone XD i tried to improve it but.. meh. Enjoy Donnie giving April the LOOK.

Also @kleptotello petition to make Apritello Day into an Apritello Week so I have time to post more stuff XD

anonymous asked:

Can you write something where it's right after the battle, and both Harry and Ginny are having nightmares, so they end up comforting each other?

A/N: Done!  I actually like how this one turned out so hopefully you do too :)

Also available on FF and Ao3!


The room is dark when she wakes, Hermione’s soft snores sound from the camp bed tucked just beneath the single window, her face calm in sleep beneath the pale moonlight.  Must be Ginny’s turn for night terrors then.  After a quick stop in the loo to throw chilly water on her face and re-braid her hair, Ginny pads down the stairs, avoiding the creaky spots with expert accuracy until she reaches the ground floor.

There’s a dim glow coming from the kitchen and she expects Molly to be puttering around the space when she enters, which is why Harry slumped at the table looking like a ghost is a bit of a surprise.  She helps herself to the leftover tea and perches on one of the mismatched chairs crowded around the table.  Ginny’s voice is still groggy with sleep when she speaks, “Fancy meeting you here.”

Harry startles, grasping his wand with white knuckles, until his eyes shoot open, hand dropping to the tabletop when he realizes it’s Ginny.  They sit for a moment, drinking each other in, until Ginny takes a gulp of her lukewarm tea and levels him with a searching look.  “You look like shite.”

He snorts.  “Thanks.”

Ginny gestures toward her sweaty hair and shadowed eyes, “Didn’t say it was only you.”

“Look great to me,” Harry murmurs with a blush.

Grinning, Ginny rises from her seat and circles behind him, “Can’t say the shaggy hair look is working.” Liar, she chides herself internally, but doesn’t speak it.  If she were honest, it’s more what the hair and sparse stubbly beard remind her of – the months apart, the Carrows, him.

Harry’s thumb rubs across her cheekbone gently, like a memory of some sunlit day but with knowing, dark eyes.  Still, when he speaks, his voice is light, “I was going for grungy rebel,” he laughs, “Can’t believe your mum hasn’t cornered me yet.”

His hand drops awkwardly, and Ginny can’t help but feel bereft.  A grin manages to cross her lips, “Even Molly Weasley respects the Savior of the Wizarding World.”  She actually laughs as Harry glares dramatically at the day old paper where his half-shadowed face frowns up at them.

After tossing the paper aside, Harry smirks at Ginny. “She didn’t have any qualms when she saw the state of my jeans.”

Once her answering laughter fades, they fall into silence as the house settles with creaks and groans around them until Ginny’s fingers are knit through his tangled locks.  Harry’s eyes fall closed and she hears a breath, like a sigh, leave his parted lips.

Ginny clears her throat, “I- I could cut it.  Then mum won’t go scissor happy, yeah?”

Harry’s hand grasps hers where it’s fallen to his shoulder, and he murmurs, “Would- would you mind?

Then she’s striding across the kitchen, bustling around as she searches for the shears Molly always uses. “Well I wouldn’t have offered if I did, would I?”
“Avoiding my question, Weasley.”

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Kiss It Better

Crowley x Reader

Word Count: 1254

Warnings: None

A/N: This was written for Moeyy’s 1k Fluff Fest Challenge !! @waywardmoeyy

English is not my native language, so excuse any grammar mistakes etc.

Prompt:  “I thought you forgot about me.”


Originally posted by supernatural-stuff-of-course

It’s been a few weeks since the Winchesters brought Crowley at the bunker, keeping him locked up in the dungeon in order for him to break and reveal every demon and the vessel they possessed that roams around on earth.

Despite giving the boys a hard time most of time, he was always surprisingly nice to Y/N from day one, but knowing a demon he was probably doing it to irritated the boys and nothing more. And yet here she was, standing a few feet away from the dungeon’s doors with a first aid kit in her hands.

“I’m so going to regret this.” she told herself sighing heavily.

From the moment she met him she knew he was trouble, he was a demon after all, but she couldn’t help having those feelings for him even though she knew her love for him was doomed because he would never return those feelings and he would unknowingly made it worse for her every time he looked her way or make a compliment.

 Taking a deep breath she finally pulled the doors open feeling her heartbeat increasing at the sigh of Crowley all messed up. Kevin had messed him up pretty good when the two of them came down the dungeon the other day.

“There you are darling.” he said gazing up at her “I thought you forgot about me.”

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I LOVE when they revisit old episode ideas and when they do things FOR SCIENCE™. I skipped the germophobic section, though. Poor Link was terrified and Rhett seemed a little uncomfortable himself. D: Now imagine just how much Link would’ve cursed if the cameras hadn’t been rolling.

So basically these scientists found that you need to dissociate from your current situation to stop stressing about it…? Well, I’m going to talk to myself in third person the next time I’m freaking out, then.

Noir Nocturne Part 1 Chapter 17 Slang and Thinking about Baseball

Murtagh liked the story, but he loved the cartoon. The talking animals were the funniest thing he had ever seen, that he could recall. Not that he would ever tell anyone that, wouldna do to have anyone ken that he was not all dour and serious like all the time. Well, other than Jamie, of course, and just maybe Claire.

“I dinna ken how it is done but I liked it verra much” he said to Jamie as they waited at what Claire called a cab stand. She’d said they could afford to take one instead of the bus because they would be paid tomorrow, and she’d know best he reckoned. “Dinna understand half of what the folks were saying in the movie though.”

“Me as well, but ‘twas a good story even so, though sad. The lass should have waited for Echo. He wasna really such a bad sort after all” Jamie replied with a subdued and somewhat puzzled look on his face.

“Not a bad plan, to make some money if ye ask me” Angus interrupted. “Sort of same idea as shifting herds or lands.”

“Ye dolt, I dinna think ye understood it at all.” Dougal laughed and slapped Angus on the back.

“What? They pretended to be a family so they could eavesdrop and get the goods.” Angus squinted up at Dougal. Not sure if he should be insulted or no, Murtagh thought.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. They were criminals! They got what they deserved, and Echo struck her Jamie. He may have regretted it, but he shouldn’t have done it. Besides, she didn’t love him, she loved Hector and that is why Echo let her go.” Claire, who was digging in her wee bag for something, scolded in their general direction.

“Mmph” was the men’s skeptical responses, along with some sky looking and ground watching.

“So when can we go again?” Dougal asked. “I like listening to them talk. Tis all fast and odd, and nothing pretty about it, but does ha’e a kind of rhythm to it.”

“Well, I doubt you will be feeling up to running around much after work for the next few days, but perhaps when we are more settled? Besides, there are stories every night on the radio. The Lone Ranger, The Shadow, all kinds of things to listen to. You will be losing those old-fashioned patterns of speech in no time. Although, I do hope you don’t pick up all this American slang right away. It’s dreadful. Here we are, pile in and let’s get to the BH. I’m famished.” Claire said, oblivious to her own use of odd words. She shooed them into the cab and Murtagh hid his smile about her ways while ducking into the front seat.

They got home in quick order. While he knew he would miss horses, he thought he could come to really like these automobiles. Loads easier on the backside too.

“Well, ain’t you all a pretty sight. Gracious, even the runt cleans up nice.” Rhea said from the hallway when they entered. “Have about thirty minutes to spare to dinner too. News on in the den. Plenty of hot water for showers or baths. Forgot to tell ya I have four hot water tanks connected, so unless there’s a rush or everyone falls in the same mudhole, shouldn’t run out. Hope you’re hungry, got the big spread on tonight. Claire, be a dear and go out back to the garden and pick some green ‘maters, they’re Lilly’s favorite and it’s her birthday, so I have to fry some up. Red, come help me lift the roast. The rest of you find something to do with yourselves, you’re cluttering up the entryway” she ran on in typical fashion and pulled Jamie through the dining room before anyone could reply.

Murtagh saw Claire grin and shrug at him and then she followed them. He decided he was starting to be a bit fond of Rhea, she reminded him of Mrs. Fitz so much, but he wasn’t sure how deep that went. Trying to decide what to do next, he turned to the big room on the right and saw three people already in it. A man, and two women were seated on one of the couches nearest the radio.

“Oooh it’s the new fellas, do come in! Just listening to the sports on the radio. Julian, Betty and I’m Lilly.” She said pointing to the other two and then herself. She was a small blonde, with eyes the color of the sea back home. The other woman looked several years older, bit thicker all over, with very straight black hair, cut short, like a man’s, he saw. The man wore spectacles, was dressed much the same as himself and was thin, he looked to be around the same age as the dark woman. They presented no threat that Murtagh could see and he felt himself relaxing just a bit.

“Ah, heard there were more here. Dougal MacKenzie, the short one’s Angus Mohr and that’s Murtagh Fraser. What sports is it then?” Dougal said, turning and heading into the den.

“She will insist on listening to baseball, even though the news wasn’t finished. Have seats gents. Rhea will come collect us when it’s time to eat.” Julian, who had a paper in his lap, and sounded like a puffed-up popinjay, in Murtagh’s considered opinion, proceeded to light what they had learned from the movie were called cigarettes.

He sat in one of the big chairs near the unlit fireplace. Dougal and Angus took the other couch. The voice coming from the radio was incomprehensible. He knew what it was from the movie as well, but the man talking was speaking in code he thought. “Two on, bottom of the 8th, all tied up. It’s a barnburner folks!”

He looked at Dougal to see if he was making any sense of this, but his face, though apparently concentrating, looked just as confused as Murtagh felt. Lilly clapped her hands and said, “I love a good game, even if they aren’t pros, they sure can play semipro ball.”

“Can I ha’e one of those?” Angus asked Julian, pointing at the cigarette.

“How rude of me, the women don’t smoke, of course, so I forgot to offer.” He stood and passed a small wooden box to the three of them, pausing to light them by striking the wee sticks. He must have noticed they weren’t sure what to do with them, other then put them in their mouths, because he said “Inhale. Not like a pipe or cigar. Whatever you do, don’t flick the ash on the rug. Rhea would have a conniption. Ashtrays on the tables next to you.” He sat back down and picked the paper up, hiding his face behind it.

“Could ye explain the game to me lass? I dinna think I ken it.” Dougal said, dismissing Julian with a short, sharp nod of his head in his direction, a grimace, and a deep inhale.

“Well you wouldn’t, would you, being Scottish and all, imagine not knowing how to smoke though” said Betty in a condescending manner. She looked to be trouble in Murtagh’s eyes, might have to take her down a peg or two.

“I would be happy to Sir.” Lilly said, standing up and reseating herself between Dougal and Angus. “I just love how you talk! It’s dreamy.”

She spent the next twenty minutes giving them the “fundamentals of baseball” as she called them, while also listening to the game, and clapping her hands with delight off and on.


Jamie stood awkwardly in the kitchen, not knowing what to do with himself, after Claire went through the door to the back porch. He wasn’t sure he liked her response to what he said about the movie. He wasn’t even sure he had liked the story, but it had been instructive, as she said.

“Here, put these mitts on and I’ll open the range. Put it on the trivet on the counter for me.”

“It certainly smells good.” He smiled at Rhea, fumbling a bit with the mitts.

“Ain’t you the charmer. Come here and let me help you. Do it myself, but it’s heavy.” Her face, while not exactly pretty, had a warmth to it, and lit up when she smiled back.

“What are we having? I could eat just about anything right now.” He put his hands in the heated oven with a small flutter of trepidation. Odd that, he thought, must be the newness of everything spooking him a bit. It wasn’t like he’d never seen an oven before. Finding a space on the counter with nothing on it but a small knitted square, he sat the roast down and studied the shiny material hiding it from view.

“Oh, that’s a pork shoulder, mashed potatoes, brown gravy, sauerkraut, pinto beans, fresh salad and onions from my garden, fried green ‘maters, corn bread, fresh rolls, iced tea, freezer pickles, strawberry with rhubarb pie and I think I have some chocolate cake left over, if you all get through that and are determined to eat me out of house and home. Go away now Red. I can still smell you from over here, even though the barber helped a bit with that.”

“It’s the horses Rhea, after I wash all their things a couple of times, and they’ve had time to shower, the odors shouldn’t linger.” Claire said, coming back in, with the bottom of her dress scooped up and holding at least ten large green tomatoes. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten rather used to it. You would think Actors would be a more fastidious bunch, but this group, well, they aren’t like anyone else you are likely to meet.” She gave a sly wink to Jamie with that, and held her dress out to him to empty of the produce.

“Jamie, come with me upstairs for a moment, if you would. Let me know if there is anything else I can do to help you Rhea.”

“No honey, this will do nicely. Have a few minutes with your man alone, I know I would!” Rhea said with a lascivious look in their direction.  

He followed Claire up the steps to their room, thanking God for the few minutes he would have with her to himself. She opened the door, taking off her hat and letting down her beautiful curls. His breath caught in his throat.

“Damnit, forgot your bag downstairs, go back for it please. I want to hang up your clothes and get the things together for the bathroom for after supper.”

He ran down the stairs to the entry way, grabbed his bag, looked in the den to be sure the men were alright and ran back up the stairs three at a time.

“We don’t have time for what you are thinking about Jamie, not really.” She laughed when he dropped the bag, crossed the room and took her in his arms. Any constraint he might have felt about being bold went by the wayside when he saw her standing by the window with the sun shining on her and through the dress.

“Wilna’ take all that long Sassenach, and ye ken it well” he said while nuzzling his nose in her hair. The urge to throw her on one of the beds and rip off anything she was wearing was nearly overpowering all rational thought.

“Well, perhaps I would rather we did take our time about it, ever think of that my fine lad? Besides, I have plans for you later.” She hugged him then and stepped around him quickly.

“Plans, is it? Well I believe I have some plans of my own, as mentioned on the bus. I will firm them up over our meal.” He said, turning to the task of rearranging their room, while she put his things away.

“That sounds vaguely ominous. I imagine you will be much too tired to do anything about threats when I am done with you. What are you doing? You only have to move the table between the beds to put them together you know.”

“I ken that, but I want them by the windows, further away from the door. Where’s my belts?”

“Oh my, that’s even worse Jamie. Have I done something to warrant punishment in your husbandly opinion?” she was laughing outright when she said this, found the objects in question and handed them over to him where he now lay with his head under one of the beds.

“Have the new belt for that mo chridhe.” He said loudly, playing along, while studying the best way to tie the beds together. He wasna about to let them come apart with motion. He attached one of the belts to the legs at the head and one to the legs at the bottom. He didn’t think he’d be needing any belt any time soon, but these two were being used in the best way he could think of for now.

“You know I could just ask Murtagh what all the things you say to me in Ghalidgh mean. For all you know, I know already that you are calling me terrible names or counting to one hundred or just being nonsensical.” She said mischievously from nearer the doorway.

“Tis true, I call you vile things and hope ye never understand them, and must always be doing the counting to keep myself from beating you for your wicked ways and foolish tongue.” He said slowly as he stood up quickly and made a lunge for her at the door.

“Oh no you don’t! I don’t believe it any way. I know you better than that I think. You do rather like to treat me as a horse however. I would bet it’s all gibberish you say to horses when my back is turned.” With that, a neat sidestep of his lunge, and a wicked smile she left and ran down the steps herself.

“Mo ghraidh, mo nighean donn” he said, laughing to himself and making a mental note to tell Murtagh and the others not to tell her what any of the Ghalidgh meant.


anonymous asked:

dean jerking off in the backseat of the impala with his face pressed against the leather? yes? Yes. (his eyes squeezed tightly closed as he inhales the comforting smell of leather--the seat warm against his cheek, and god, he can almost hear her rumble--he grimaces as he wipes at the drool glistening on the leather afterwards)

Oh yes. Ohh, yes. 

A warm night and he’s parked at one of those ‘campsites’ that they advertise for like two hundred miles, but no one’s really camped at them for like ten years and no one notices if he pulls in at two in the morning, summer night drenched all around

and so he rolls the windows down, drinks a few beers, trying to settle down after torching that ghost back in Sedona, but–and he’d go to a bar, maybe pick up a chick, but there’s nothing around for miles and it’s too late for that–and anyway, here he is, with his baby, hundred of miles of driving ahead and who knows how many thousands behind, and he flops over into the backseat, since Sammy’s not around anymore to take up all the space–

but hell, he don’t have to think about that right now, does he, baby–just you and me, sweetheart, he says, and finishes the last of his beer in three long gulps, tosses the can out the open window over his head. The breeze is drifting in, smellin’ like old earth and the last rumble of exhaust from her big engine, and Dean–okay, so he’s a little horny, he can admit it. Been a while, just huntin’ and waitin’ for Dad to call, and–and maybe, hey, it’s not like his baby minds, does she, and no one’s around anywhere close, so he reaches over the front seat and turns her on again, big rumble of engine shuddering through the seat, pressed up right against his dick–and Fleetwood’s in the tape deck, that’s perfect, big old bassline purring through, and he flops down into the backseat again, belt off, shoves his pants all the way down and off, so he’s just there in his old Ozzy tour shirt and nothin’ else, skin sticking a little to her leather, spreading his knees wide and rolling his balls, face pressed up against the back of the seat, one foot down on the floorboards, feelin’ her purr under him, oh man, like Magic Fingers only better, because she’s his, through and through–aren’t you, baby, he says, lips moving against the seat, and he’s hard now, for real, and he goes slow, easy, ‘cos he can, out here, slicking up and down, teasing himself a little bit, humming along to the lyrics, a new day yesterday–oh man it feels good, don’t it, he rubs a lazy thumb through his slit and pulls on his balls a little, slowin’ himself down, but–oh, oh, it feels–and he flips over, after a while, hasn’t done this since he was a kid, but shit, he remembers, and he braces one foot against the door and one on the floor and drags his dick wet all over her seat, the ribs in the leather draggin’ really nice against him, oh man, yeah, yeah, and he puts his face down against the seat and just humps, hard and fast, one hand bracing himself against the other door so he won’t slip, oh god, baby, yeah, that’s it, come on sweetheart just like that–

and then, in the morning, he wakes up bareassed to the dawn, mouth sticky-dry and his shirt stuck to the seat and to his belly with come, and he’s drooled all over the leather and, okay, this is all pretty disgusting, but–he’s smiling as he cleans up, and his baby purrs to life all the same, so. Pretty good night, all in all. 

Tim Drake Week, Day 7: Injury/Healing

This is so laaaate and I’m sorry. But it’s cute, so enjoy.


Day 7: Healing/Injury

The warning is all there to read:



Oh shit.

The brief flash, building a contingency, is short and bittersweet because the only thing that can deflect Dick Grayson’s mother-hen instinct is literally the wrath of God.

Maybe an alien invasion.

Or not.

The point is, once Dick’s got a hint of hurt vigilante, the man is an unstoppable tank, tearing through cities, bad guys, good guys, unimaginable boxes of cereal, any and all Party Cities and obscure comic book shops to find the culprit.

B couldn’t escape him in outer-fucking-space.

So, there’s that.

Take into account he’d been dodging the Titans also, and it’s just a hodgepodge of fuckery from there because this game thing they’ve got going on? The “Where’s Red?” game. It’s seriously balls, and is severely cramping his style.

Even Ra’s is refusing to pick up his phone calls, so you know shit has apparently gotten real on the good guy side of things.

Welp, he did his utmost best this time.

“Hi Big Wing,” he says over the comm in his ear and taps it to mute before kicking the thug out of his path and continuing on.

What is this I hear about a really bad fight with the Fatal Five?”


“That about sums it up, really. A bad fight. A bad fight we totally won, by the way, thanks for asking.” He doesn’t make a sound as his left side twinges anyway, still raw under the bandages because he might have broken a few stitches or something.

Just not a big deal. Not enough to warrant

Dick’s Sixth Sense

“I hear the Persuader nailed you pretty good,” all easy, just big brother Dick. He’s not fooled for a second, oh hell no.

He huffs and climbs up into the vents, ignoring the pain of the aforementioned injury (and yes, an atomic axe is a weapon no one should try taking on without a serious enjoyment for pain) taps the comm back on and talks low enough to still listen for the usual signals of main bad guy HQ —>This way.

“I deflected his axe with repurposed Luthor tech. The calibrations weren’t that hard.” Which is completely, totally, unequivocally true. After the first hit took out a good piece of him because he’s good, but no one is that good.

Dick hums, fake and telling, making him freeze right in the middle of the vent. “Oh? Well, that’s fine. Knew you could do it, Timmy, but you’ve got to be taking it easy after a fight like that, right?”

“Sure am,” behind the whiteouts, he gets a load of very carefully stacked canisters in a storage room, which is just exactly what he’d been looking for. Almost. Bad guys too. He really liked wrapping up all the loose ends in a case before he puts it to bed. “Doing a little maintenance to the mainframe, cleaning up my old notes, doing some data analysis. All pretty tame.”


He’s got this. It’s in the bag.

Mutes the comm and gingerly removes the vent cover, swinging in easy but the damn side pulls anyway. His wrist computer scans the labels, computes the explosive power in the room (there’s an app for that) while voices pass by, talking about the deal going down in a few hours.

(Yeah, bad news for you.)

“Good, good,” Dick is saying absently as the keypad case comes off and he works a little magic to change the access codes. “I’m glad you’re resting up, Tim. Taking care of yourself like you should since infections are terrible for you.”

Well, the thing about that is–

He was running out of time here. Yes, he took his antibiotics, but maybe he might be just, you know, feeling it a little.

Wisely, he taps the comm on just enough to “mmhmm,” his way through it.

“I mean, I would really hate it if you were working a case right now like that. Just, that would upset me so much, Tim.”

He pauses as the door slides open softly, thinking for a second he might not be able to bullshit his way out of this one.

His vigilante sense is tingling.

Not in any good kind of way.

But, the clock is ticking, and he strafes out of the weapons room to the door shutting behind him. Cracks his knuckles and his neck before it’s time to take to the shadows, do this as quickly and quietly as possible.

“You’d be out there. All alone. Without your team since they’re all taking a well-deserved vacay, Tim. They’re not out doing anything strenuous.”

He sucks in a breath, presses flat into the shadows until the first with a very nice AK-47 come right up on him–

And is down for the count.

“Hey, I just got a really good ping,” he zip ties the guy and keeps moving, “let me call you back when I get something–”

“And you’d just be making is worse, Tim,” Dick goes on, “because you don’t know your limitations sometimes–”

Shit. Here we go.

Second and third armed mercenary go down seamlessly. All kinds of winning right here.

By the time Dick has gotten somewhere around the, “and with what we do, Timmy, you have to understand the lines you can cross with your body and your health,” he has put down twelve, maybe fifteen, ready to come up on the big boss for the night so he can just get this over with and head back to the safe house for a nice long soak in a hot tub.

When the main doors open, however–

He sighs because he really hates when it’s twenty to one. Not that he doesn’t like those odds, but it’s still not his preferred ending of the night.

There’s a whole lot of guns cocking, shiny barrels pointed at him, and a sharp flash of white is his teeth in the glow because he’s smiling at how cute that is.

His gauntlet spits out a whirly bird, other hand full of pellets, and it’s time to rock.

“…but the best thing to keeping yourself on the up-and-up, Timmy? Something you taught all of us?”

The room explodes in a cacophonous mess of shit just breaking. Everywhere. Shit is breaking all over the place, and he didn’t even move.

His mouth drops open a little as the Outlaws and a dozen members of the Justice League form a half circle around the busted out wall and face his bad guys with a whole lot of yes please, I’ll have this dance.

Nightwing is in the center, celly held up to his ear, and the expression on his face under the domino is downright murderous.

“You need to know when to call in some friends.”

The ensuing fight is just absolutely bullshit.

Every time. Every. Time. he jumps in somewhere to take someone down, another superhero catches him and throws him out of the way.

He understood Hood doing it. He understood B. He understood Flash. He even understood Superman and Wonder Woman, but when it’s fucking Booster Gold?

That is beyond insulting.

He got here first for fuck’s sake and already called goddamned dibs!

“Stay out of this or Batman is going to kick my ass,” Booster just lays it out, “and I would much rather not do that.”

His utter frustration is compounded when Cyborg is downloading all their data and sending it to the Watchtower for analysis, the baddies in charge are already being questioned and a team sent out to meet the buyers, the weapons are being safely transported away, and just!


But instead, he’s got to contend with the stalking Nightwing, growling low and dangerous under his breath. He doesn’t even get enough time to fight being pretty much thrown over one of the older vigilante’s shoulders.

“Dammit! Put me down.”

“Oh? You think that’s going to happen?” Nightwing growls in that tone and send shivers, just all the shivers.

“I’m fine, I swear. I was on a time limit, I didn’t–!”

One powerful kick and the door is banging open, reinforced locks breaking apart. The Batplane is waiting, warmed up and ready to go.

“C’mon! I don’t need all this! There were only twenty of them, dammit.”

And nope. He sees a week full of bed rest and cuddles with his name written all over it apparently because even the most minute movement had Nightwing’s hand clamping down hard on the back of his thighs, very, very close to a pressure point that will put him out for hours.

Shit. Just, shit.

“I should warn you in advance, though,” as the leap up puts them in the cockpit, course already set for Gotham, “Alfred? Is even more pissed than I am, Timmy.”

His eyes go wide behind the whiteout, and his scramble to run is thwarted as the plane starts to rise.

anonymous asked:

Could I get some 2P! Germany headcannons please? Btw I love you work 😁

First of all, I’m sorry it took so long to answer this! 2P! Germany is so lazy, it was hard to think of him taking action, but I finally scrounged these up. Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy!

WARNING. There is a brief moment where I hint at rape. I will italicize this single headcanon, so if you are triggered by this topic, avoid that single headcanon, or all of them altogether. You have been warned.

-Do I even have to say what his punishments are? I mean, come on. You aren’t going to walk for a while.

-This lazy son of a bitch actually gets his ass in gear when it comes to his love. Well, until he has them.

-That being said, he only would kidnap his s/o if he thought he absolutely needed to. So, if they got a boyfriend, he’ll just kill the guy.

-But if he finds out you know you have a stalker, and are planning to move to an entirely different country altogether? Yeah, that’ll force his hand.

-Unless you piss him off really badly, he won’t force you into anything sexual. Will he make inappropriate comments? Yes. Will he, bluntly speaking, masturbate to the thought of you, whether you’re in the room or not? Yes. But he will not force you to do anything unless seriously provoked.

-Honestly, he’s a pretty chill dude, even as a Yandere.

-His place is a dump, obviously, so, if you end up cleaning it at all, he’s probably pretty impressed.

-Sure, he knows most people can’t stand a room that bad, but with how long it had all been there…

-Well, if he didn’t love you enough already, he definitely did now.

-Again, he is super chill, so he’ll give you a decent amount of freedom, and might let you see your family on holidays. Maybe let you text friends whom are a gender you are not attracted to (so bisexuals, you’re fucked there). All with his supervision, though.

-On the other hand, if you try to escape…Lutz isn’t very forgiving.

-He thought, if he treated you nice enough, you’d stay. Clearly, he needed to set a rule on who exactly you belonged to.

-This is where the forced sexual activity comes in. Including his special interests. He won’t listen to your pleas as he ties you up and shoves a gag in your mouth.

-Normally, he’d refrain from hurting you. But you can’t exactly ask him to stop while gagged, now can you?

-Don’t run from him. It’ll only hurt you in the end.