Fun Fact: I simply found this picture in my archives one day; I had completely forgotten about its existence. I don’t even remember when I drew it, although the file says it was created on the 5th of May. I am spooked because never before has a finished image like this been completelywiped from my memory as this has done, and I’m lucky to have stumbled upon it because otherwise it would have disappeared into the recesses of existence.
So here y’all go. A hidden Chara of strange origins; stop being so freaky child jeezles.
The last thing Makoto remembered was getting ready to leave for practice when a swirling gray cloud surrounded him. It looked like he was sucked into a tornado, if he was describing it himself. He had no recollection of what he was previously doing, in fact he could barely think right now. All he noticed was a boy, who seemed a bit younger than him and, what appeared to be his pet cat. Looking at the pink haired gentleman, Makoto raised an eyebrow and asked, “Since when do cats fly?”
natsu could say with certainty that the brown haired male had appeared out of nowhere, as he hadn’t smelled him before that moment. he looked nice enough, and didn’t give off any kind of threatening aura, so natsu relaxed. he did, however, raise his eyebrows at the question.
Hello. My best friend is in a need of money for various living costs, as well as for her mom’s birthday, and with her permission I’m posting this here on her behalf since she rarely uses Tumblr anymore for various reasons.
Please please please commission her, she’s an amazing artist and could really use some financial help! Her prices are affortable to pretty much everyone, but if you cant help by buying anything, reblogging this helps a lot too!
All information is in the picture, as is her contact info so please contact her for any questions! Or you can message me too if nothing else works for you and I’ll forward your message/contact info to her instead! Also yes, payment happens through PayPal!
Mary shot Sherlock in a bedroom. Our first glimpse of the edge of the bed is soon after Mary shot Sherlock. Bedrooms are unlikely rooms to include in a office building, so this feels like a symbolic hammer over the head. The bed doesn’t come fully into view until Sherlock is visualizing his argument that Mary “saved his life.”
“I’m sorry, what did you just say to me?” Samantha turned in the queue to face the older man. He was at least in his late fifties, with a greying beard that needed a good comb and clothes that were two sizes too small for him. He looked like his mother dressed him in his twenties and he’d never bothered to renew his wardrobe.
His eyes were cold as he addressed her, it felt like he was looking through her. “Move aside lady” he repeated. “Actually this is a line and I was here first, so you can wait your turn behind me” Samantha said, her voice was stern but not at all lifted. It was as if her words had evaporated the moment they left her mouth, without hesitation the man pushed past her.
Samantha was quick on the ball and moved in front of him, standing her ground. This disgruntled him, he huffed and spoke again “when will you goddamn women know your place, you belong at the back of the line. Men first.”
“Know my place? Know my place?!” The lava spilled over the top and the words came crashing out of her mouth. Samantha went from 0 to 60, too full of opinion to stay quiet. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Have you been asleep the last fifty years? Welcome to the present, where men and women are equals. You and your backdated ideas are what’s wrong with today’s society, Don’t stand there and sneer at me, and don’t shove me aside. That’s fucking man handling you ass..”
“Miss is there a problem?” A mousy haired girl in her mid twenties emerged from the back of shop. It was at this point that Samantha realised what a scene she had been making. The customers around her were all watching. “Yes there is actually” Samantha lowered her voice only a fraction, too stubborn to let the issue completely drop. “This man thinks that he can cut the queue just because I’m a woman and I need to ‘know my place’”
The shop assistant was brilliant. She explained to the man that they didn’t stand for sexist behaviour in their shop and that if he wanted to be served he’d have to wait in line like everybody else. She then made sure to serve Samantha herself, trying her hardest to be as cheery and friendly as she could.
By the time Sammy got out of the shop she could feel her stomach churning. It was a mix of emotions. Pure anger, as the feminist inside her was ready to march the streets. But also a rush of anxiety, and a sickness that came from being intimidated by him.
There was a sense of déja vu. It was too much like home, too much like her father. Too much. Just..too much. Sam found a side street and leaned against the wall trying to catch her breath.
“So much for retail therapy” she mumbled, clenching her fists in an attempt to stop her hands from shaking.