brain tank

Old World Blues … I blame my curiosity.

“mmmm Such an unusual specimen to so boldly… walk… into the mighty expanse of the Think Tank.”

Dr. Dala is the only member of the Think Tank that seems to have some human left in her. …in a few… cells.

…maybe.

:::blue pencil, graphite, lots of photoshop, CGTEXTURES:::

edit: there seems to be some speculation as to who the man is. He is Ross MacFayden, the since-2006 sketchbook enigma that somehow fits into everything.

edit edit: holy wow. thank you for the notes everyone. *_*

anonymous asked:

can i has more cr sense8 au percy pls? (if your up for it of course)

*slams 2,000 words on your desk five months later* MY HOBBIES INCLUDE PROCRASTINATING FOR FINALS BY WRITING SCENES FROM THE MIDDLE OF THE HYPOTHETICAL PLOT OF NICHE CROSSOVERS WITHOUT GIVING YOU ANY CONTEXT SAVE A COUPLE OLD POSTS OF BULLET POINTS (posts here. Take this fic as the inter-seasons holiday special, basically.)


“I’m still not certain we should be doing this.“

It was a meaningless statement even before he said it. With her arm in his, with the warmth of her against his side and the tinkle of her laugh fading in the air, Percy thought he would trust Vex to lead him down any icy path through the woods, with any blindfold on or off, even if he had never known her more intimately than he knew himself. Even if they had just met, somehow, one day, and she had smiled and beckoned, he would have followed.

Exaggerated gagging noises broke into his thoughts—Vax, visiting as almost always, making Vex laugh in the cold Northern darkness. The drugs all but gone from his veins, Percy could feel him again, that knife’s edge of sarcasm prickling over devotion deep enough to fill the sea.

Two (one? three?) months of isolation was turning him poetic. It was horrifying.

“It’ll be fine,” said Vex, tugging him forward. “Turn right—”

Percy followed her instructions obediently. “I don’t know where you get the confidence that she won’t be looking, just this one night. It’s not like the holidays have stopped them before.”

“Because she’s loony, Freddie,” Vax said with overwhelming fondness.

Keep reading

Hey There, Cool Rider

Sometimes I creep through the bughead prompts tag, so sue me! 
Warning: full on sexy times ahead. Very sin, much smut.

@xobughead: Betty bonds with Jughead’s dad over fixing his motorcycle. Jughead is surprised and sexiness follows.  


They were trying, and although Jughead didn’t necessarily want to admit it he was enjoying spending time with his dad. It was Betty’s idea to go and see him again together, on more social terms this time. 

“Come on, Juggie,” she pleaded, toying with the collar on his denim jacket. “I’ve never been introduced as anyone’s girlfriend before,” she mumbled shyly, tapping the toe of his boot with the tip of her shoe as she looked down, faint blush dusting her cheekbones. The corners of Jughead’s mouth twitched slightly. It was so adorably normal, what they were doing right now. A girl nervous to meet her boyfriend’s father - the mediocrity of it in amongst all their worries was almost comical. 

“Ok, we’ll go,” he conceded, her bright smile making his defeat completely worth it. “But only for a few minutes,” he warned, fixing her with a not-so-stern stare. She blinked back at him with innocence lacing her eyes, tongue coming out to wet her already glossy lips. 

“Few minutes, got it,” she confirmed unconvincingly. Any protesting groan he was about to emit was swallowed by the firm peck she leaned forward and placed on his lips. He brushed his nose against hers as she pulled away.

“Those are underhanded tactics, Miss Cooper,” he sighed, breath fanning over her flushed face. She only giggled in return, grabbing his hand as they headed towards the trailer park.

“It could be fun!”

***

Fun. It was one of the many words that sprung to mind right now. 

When they’d arrived at the trailer park they found FP outside, bent over a propped up motorcycle, back to them. 

“Hey, Dad,” Jughead called to get his attention. FP jumped in surprise, not expecting to find his son standing inches behind him. His boot knocked the almost empty bottle by his feet, a distinct clang ringing out across the shed. 

“Uh, hey, Jughead,” FP greeted him, taking a small step in front of the bottle as if that would hide what they all already knew was there. His eyes flicked to Betty, her hand wrapped tightly around Jughead’s arm. 

“You remember Betty,” at his pause Betty nudged him gently in the side. “My girlfriend,” he finished somewhat reluctantly, looking down at the stubborn blonde attached to his side with an amused smile and pink cheeks.

“Yeah, of course. Hi, Betty,” FP replied, nodding at her in greeting. 

“Hi, Mr Jones.” A silence commenced between the trio, hints of awkwardness beginning to cloud the edges as it stretched on. “So,” Betty started to ease the tension, “what are you working on?” she asked in her politest parent voice, gesturing with her free hand to the bike behind FP. He glanced back, as if he’d forgotten it was there already. 

“Oh, yeah. Salvaged this thing from a junkyard a few days ago, guy was dropping it off as we got there. Nothing like a free bit of metal,” he joked, his grin looking eerily like his son’s in that moment. Jughead rolled his eyes at his dad’s penchant for a deal. “Trouble is, can’t get her started. Might be a bust,” he lamented, kicking one of the wheels lightly. 

“Well…” Betty hesitated, casting a quick glance to Jughead. “Maybe I could help take a look at it? I help my dad fix up cars sometimes, done a couple of motorcycles too.” The Jones men looked at her in shock. FP nodded, gesturing for her to move forward.

“Be my guest.” Betty slipped her arms out of her light blue sweater as to not get it oily, handing it to Jughead who couldn’t figure out how to close his mouth anymore. The night was unseasonably warm anyway, a light sheen already covering all of their foreheads but now, as Betty moved around the bike checking it over for various issues, a sweat broke out over her chest, dripping down in the valley of her cleavage, now tantalisingly revealed by the white tank top she was only left wearing. Jughead watched the bead roll down, disappearing beneath her shirt. He wanted to follow it with his tongue. 

Betty dropped down, crouching on the balls of her feet as she peered into the mechanics in front of her. Her actions revealed a small strip of skin across her lower back, Jughead taking in a sharp breath through his nose at the flutter that erupted in the pit of his stomach. 

“I wanna check the spark plugs. Hey, could you hand me that, Mr Jones?” she asked, leaning back to point to a tool resting on the workbench by FP’s elbow. Jughead watched as she swiped a hand across her cheek, leaving a black smut of oil to trace it’s path. Jughead had never known he had a thing for girl mechanics before, but he sure as hell knew now. 

“Sure. And please, you can call me FP,” his dad smiled, handing Betty what she needed. Betty flashed him a grin in return, turning back to the task in front of her. Jughead barely registered the sound of his father and his girlfriend chatting amicably about different types of engines, models of car, anything, as they worked together. In the back of his mind, yes, he felt an unfamiliar warmth spreading throughout his body at the sight of the two most important people in his life bonding before him. But, for once in his life, more hormonal urges were clouding his brain. 

“Is the tank full?” Betty asked, bending over to lift the cap, giving Jughead the best view of her perfectly round ass, hugged tightly by her light denim jeans. “The engine’s probably flooded, hold on.” With that, Betty swung her leg over the bike, mounting the seat and placed her hands on the handlebars, her position giving Jughead a front row seat to look straight down her top. He looked away, swallowing with difficulty, moving his hands to hold Betty’s sweater strategically in front of him, feeling a stirring in his jeans, head dizzy from lack of blood. Oh yeah, he was definitely having fun right about now.

Jughead startled at the sound of the engine turning over, before finally roaring to life as Betty sat back with a satisfied grin. 

“Whoa, nice work. Got yourself a keeper here, Jughead,” FP grinned, nudging Jughead’s shoulder playfully as he moved to give Betty a rag to wipe her greasy hands on. 

“Juggie, is everything alright?” Betty asked, brow furrowed in concern as she noticed the slightly strangled look on his face.

“Yeah,” he croaked, stopping to clear his throat, “yeah, it’s just getting kind of late we should probably head back,” he finished, pleading eyes fixing on Betty, hoping she’d get the message. The confusion didn’t vanish but she nodded anyway, clearly sensing something was off. 

“Ok, yeah, sure. It was nice seeing you, FP. Let me know if you need my help with anything in the future,” she said, tapping the seat of the bike as Jughead all but dragged her down the path. 

“Will do. See ya, Betty. Night, Jug!” FP called, a hand raised in goodbye. 

“Yeah, goodnight, Dad,” Jughead replied without turning back. 

“Juggie what is wrong with you? What’s the hurry?” Betty asked as their pace didn’t slow. Jughead waited until they were out of sight to clue her in, pushing her gently against the nearest wall and capturing her lips with his. She squealed in surprise before melting beneath him, hands coming up to the back of his neck, fingers burying themselves in his hair. His hands gripped her hips, dipping beneath her shirt to trace along the smooth skin that had been tempting him all night. 

“God, Betts, do you know how hot that was?” he moaned when they parted, lips not leaving her for long as he trailed his mouth down the side of her neck, leaving a blazing path all the way to her pulse point where he sucked gently. Soft mewls left her mouth as a pretty purple bruise blossomed on her skin, his tongue coming out to sooth the irritation. 

“Tell me,” she whined as he pulled her body flush against his, the telltale sign of his arousal pressing deliciously against her upper thigh. All words left his head as she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, biting down gently and tugging. 

“The way you looked… riding that bike, all covered in grease and dirty… it was almost too much to handle,” he gasped, chest heaving in time with hers. He pulled back to look at her, eyes wild, hair a mess from running his fingers through it, lips red and swollen. She was the epitome of sin. 

“With the way you dragged us out of there I’d say you didn’t handle it too well,” she smirked, grinding her hips against his teasingly. The noise Jughead let out could only be described as a growl, crushing his lips to hers once more as he tried to wipe the smug look from her face, replacing it with one of need and desperation. His tongue swept across the seam of her lips, looking for entrance which she readily gave, holding her own as they battled for dominance. 

“Juggie…” she rasped as he busied himself with palming at her breast, head coming down to lick the bead of sweat that was running down the dip in her collarbone. 

“Hmm?” he hummed casually against her skin. 

“My…” she paused, struggling to catch her breath as she felt Jughead’s teeth graze against her overly sensitive skin, her familiar aroma of strawberries filling his senses. “My parents aren’t home.” He froze, only the sound of their harsh breathing filling the humid night air. He brought his eyes level to her, pupils blown wide with lust. 

“What are we waiting for?” he asked incredulously. Betty couldn’t help but laugh at how much of a teenage boy he sounded right now, loving how naivety looked on him. He spent too much of his childhood being an adult. She gripped his hand, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling him home. 

***

They fell through Betty’s bedroom door in a mess of limbs, tripping over each other as they attempted to move while keeping their lips on each other’s skin at all times. Jughead walked them backward, hands cupping Betty’s face until her knees hit the edge of the mattress, sending them both tumbling down. One thigh slipped between both of hers, both of them moaning at the heart-stopping friction it created. 

Betty placed both of her hands on Jughead’s chest, pushing slightly until he raised himself up on his elbows, looking down at her with dark eyes. She took a moment to take him in, cheeks flushed, curl hanging down in front of his eyes as he hovered above her, ready for the taking. She pushed further, leaning up herself until he understood what she wanted, dropping back onto the mattress and gazing up at her with expectant eyes. 

“You said you liked to watch me ride things,” she muttered, voice small as she tried to keep the nervousness out. With that she swung her leg over his hips, settling down over his groin and circling gently, pulling a desperate groan from both of them. 

“I-it’s certainly pleasant,” he stuttered, pushing her hips down harder, worried that she might take the dizzying pressure away from him. She grasped the hem of her top, pulling it quickly over her head, expert fingers reaching round to unclasp her bra and throw the offending items into a heap on the floor. Jughead couldn’t keep his prowling hands away for long, fingers dancing up the tanned skin of her stomach before cupping her breasts gently, squeezing experimentally to find the best way to elicit sweet sounds from her mouth, craving the noises she made under his touch. His thumb brushed over the dark pink peak of her left breast, causing her head to fall back, a low groan travelling up her chest, the vibrations heading straight to his pants, hips bucking upwards. 

He broke contact as she clawed at his shirt, too impatient now to care any for the fabric barrier, nails running down his pecs, his abs, before coming to grip the band of his jeans in a silent question. He nodded, nerves tingling in his every extremity. They’d only done this once before, content to take their time, exploring every inch of one another’s bodies. The first time had been nothing like this, awkward, clumsy, and inexperienced hands fumbling with stuck zippers and uncertain movements. They giggled their way through it, high on the nervousness and newness of it all. But this time there was nothing but heat, a fire igniting in both of them they didn’t quite know they were capable of. 

Before he knew it she was completely naked in front of him, wet slippery heat resting against his abdomen as he kicked his boxers off his ankles.

“Are you sure?” he stopped to ask, always the gentlemen, gesturing to their position. She nodded, biting her lip so enticingly he wasn’t sure how long this was going to last. She rolled the condom on, watching his muscles flex as her small hands brushed teasingly down his dick, sinking down onto him straight after, tight heat the only thing he could feel. A breathy sigh fell from her lips, toes curling at the feeling of being completely filled by him. His hands flexed at her hips, willing her to move but not wanted to push, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring. Slowly she lifted up, slamming back down against his hips with little finesse. 

“Fuck, Betty,” he cursed, a tingle tripping down her spine at his rare use of the cuss. She built up her pace slowly, enjoying the way his mouth dropped open at every roll of her hips as she began clenching in time with her movements. He was completely under her control, all power given to her. She loved being the only one to see him this way, open, vulnerable, and laid bare beneath her. 

He didn’t know how much more of her teasing he could take, bringing one hand up to rub small, quick circles over her delicate bundle of nerves. She stiffened, hips bucking faster instinctively as she barrelled towards her high, dragging him willingly with her. 

“Jug…” she gasped as her thighs tightened, every muscle in her body quivering as she fell over the edge, him following quickly behind as she rode him through it. When she felt as if she couldn’t take another moment she pulled off him, collapsing by his side as he tucked her against him, both trying to get their frenzied breathing under control. They lay there in silence, basking in the afterglow. She lifted a finger to trace patterns over his sweaty skin, locking her legs between his. 

“So,” Jughead began, his words coming out as a sigh, “I’m thinking of getting a motorcycle.” A laugh burst from her lips as she tucked her head into his neck, Jughead unable to contain his own laughter along with her.

“Ok, Juggie.”

Your Savior - 35

At least after a huge cliffhanger like the one from the last chapter I try to keep time between postings short! Though many of you may wish I had waited longer. I cried writing this par. You have been warned. I advise you not to read this in a public place. Be careful what you wish for.

Originally posted by rickdixonandthefandomlifeposts

Chapter 35

Warnings:

Any chapter in this fic may contain purposeful content by the writer to induce: emotional distress, anxiety, and all of the feels! It is NEVER my intent to cause vomiting! ;)   (Seriously, could be one of my fav convos ever!)

Any chapter may also contain: swearing, Negan being Negan, violence/gore, angst (see above), mentions of death, mentions of past sexual assault, PG adult contact, or smut (This is to avoid spoilers in future chapters. I guess read at your own risk.)

Your Savior Masterlist



“Ok Doll, I’m not very good at this kind of thing, but I think it’s time that you and I cleared the fucking air.”

Negan’s words rattled through your brain like a tank, leaving waves of apprehension in their wake. “Ok.” You finally managed to gulp, sitting up more comfortably and pulling your knees to your chest and hugging them tightly. “Clear away.”

Keep reading

5

Thinking thoughts.

I’m looking for intellectual space to grow & argue positions and realities without there being a winner. I’m looking to challenge position while also allowing my ego to rest and allow the words “you’re right! That’s brilliant. Yes!” to be shared even when we disagree.

I’m looking for intellectual stimulation that has experience in the classroom, but lives in the streets.

Theory + practice.

Black intellectuals.

3

Eren becomes a model for Levi’s Jeans. And ends up the butt of way too many jokes in the agency. (SNK Model AU has taken over my life, halp)

“So, what do you think of the new recruits, Levi?”
“Erwin, can I break my contract. I can’t handle all these brats and their raging homones.”
“Don’t you mean hormones?”
“No. This shithole is filled with all the homo + hormones, so homo-nes." 

You fight your superficiality, your shallowness, so as to try to come at people without unreal expectations, without an overload of bias or hope or arrogance, as untanklike as you can be, sans cannon and machine guns and steel plating half a foot thick; you come at them unmenacingly on your own ten toes instead of tearing up the turf with your caterpillar treads, take them on with an open mind, as equals, man to man, as we used to say, and yet you never fail to get them wrong. You might as well have the brain of a tank. You get them wrong before you meet them, while you’re anticipating meeting them; you get them wrong while you’re with them; and then you go home to tell somebody else about the meeting and you get them all wrong again. Since the same generally goes for them with you, the whole thing is really a dazzling illusion. … The fact remains that getting people right is not what living is all about anyway. It’s getting them wrong that is living, getting them wrong and wrong and wrong and then, on careful reconsideration, getting them wrong again. That’s how we know we’re alive: we’re wrong. Maybe the best thing would be to forget being right or wrong about people and just go along for the ride. But if you can do that – well, lucky you.
—  Philip Roth American Pastoral