glove flip

The Daisies Across the Street

Summary: Nico di Angelo, the town’s tattoo artist, has longed to meet the blonde florist across the street. On Valentine’s Day, Nico realized he much more prefers daisies to roses.

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darling dearest ❂ minseok [4]

Originally posted by baekhyunsama

in which a medical examiner falls for the horny mafia man who has his eyes on her / psa this chap has a character death !! its a lil tiny bit graphic imo !! also it may seem a lil sudden from the readers pov but u gtta remember that shes not in the ‘loop’ yet so / 2k

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no matter how long the day is (i’ll come home to you) 

a collab between @talkplaylove and @artgroves for @thestuckylibrary-bigbang 2017.

Rating: T (Fic, Art)

Archive Warnings: Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Words: 27,769

Relationships: Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes

Tags:  Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Alternate Universe–Canon Divergent, Notting Hill AU, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes (Shrunkyclunks), Modern Bucky Barnes, suicide ideation, Canonical Character Death


Steve’s spent an hour along Portobello Road before he sees the paparazzi on the left side of the street, trying to be inconspicuous by a street lamp. He crosses the street and ducks into the first store he sees, tucked behind a screaming red door and under a blue and white striped awning.

He listens, feet planted in front of the door, shoulders tense, as he looks around the shop. Row upon row of books are on the shelves in front of him, the wood creaking under their weight. Behind the counter is a dark haired man wearing a jacket, elbow on the table, stubbled chin on one hand, gloved left hand flipping the pages of a book.

No one follows Steve in.


Or, the one where Captain America travels the world, learns how to be Steve Rogers again, and meets Bucky Barnes along the way.
Also: the one where two old souls fall in love over young adult books, long distance calls, and texting at strange hours of the day.

Read on Ao3  |  View no matter how long the day is art tag on @artgroves.

anonymous asked:

are there any fics where Bucky wears glasses? thanks


Small Victories by portraitofemmy

“Come to bed.”

Bucky blinks up at Steve, the grey eyes behind his glasses still squinted from staring at the laptop screen in front of him.

no matter how long the day is (i’ll come home to you) by alby_mangroves, talkplaylove

Steve’s spent an hour along Portobello Road before he sees the paparazzi on the left side of the street, trying to be inconspicuous by a street lamp. He crosses the street and ducks into the first store he sees, tucked behind a screaming red door and under a blue and white striped awning.

He listens, feet planted in front of the door, shoulders tense, as he looks around the shop. Row upon row of books are on the shelves in front of him, the wood creaking under their weight. Behind the counter is a dark haired man wearing a jacket, elbow on the table, stubbled chin on one hand, gloved left hand flipping the pages of a book.

No one follows Steve in.

Or, the one where Captain America travels the world, learns how to be Steve Rogers again, and meets Bucky Barnes along the way.
Also: the one where two old souls fall in love over young adult books, long distance calls, and texting at strange hours of the day.

The Happily-Ever-After Business by mambo

After planning perfect weddings for New York’s elite, wedding planner Steve Rogers is ready to find love for himself.

But he didn’t anticipate falling in love with the tattoo artist who works down the street.

anonymous asked:

SEPARATE YOUR PRODUCE! I don't care if it's the same price! If it's different things then put it in separate bags! If you do put it in the same bag then don't get mad at me for having to untie it and separate for you! I'm not trying to bruise your stuff I'm just trying to do my job!

I just tell them I have to ring it separate and open the bags and scan it all separate. I grab plastic bags and use it like you would if you were picking up dog poo. Use it like a glove and flip the bag inside out so I don’t actually touch their shit.

You will still get some complain especially if they are trying to scam the $4 per lbs tomato’s as the $1.59 per pound ones. Also there are one or two that will separate it themselves and put each item on the scale for me.


-- Weird War D&D: Chapter 1 --

So I’ve decided to start compiling my party’s adventures into a collection of book chapters, mainly for the ease of me recalling information and their history, but also because so many of you seemed to like my hastily written “Cthulhu vs Airship” scenario. So, just like before, this will likely be a long post, as I’ll be writing a chapter or so at a time when the urge hits me to do so. So for those that stick with it, I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1: Deliveries.

+++ On board The Lightskipper, Western Elera +++

A thunderous boom roused Cie from her hammock below deck. Clambering out awkwardly, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and glanced out the porthole window. Waves lapped at the hull, spraying fine sea mist that blurred the view of her surroundings. Looking away from the window, she stretched; instinctively checking above her bunk for the bolt rifle while feeling around underneath her for boots and a clean change of clothes.

Cie Faith hadn’t been with this group long, nor had she really spent much time out in the world herself. Looking around at the cold, metal interior of her room, she began to wonder why she bothered in the first place. They’d taken this job as easy money. Most of the time, working for the Eleran government was, especially with the cold war between it and the southern continent of Arella. And whilst she knew that Eleran military vessels weren’t the most accommodating of ships, she’d at least expected a light in the small, six foot square she’d been assigned to. She wiped the condensation from the window and let the natural light fill the room, coating the rusted tiles on the floor and bathing the empty, grey walls with some semblance of warmth.

Combing out the morning lugs in her white hair and letting it fall naturally to sit just above her shoulders, she zipped up the grey flight jacket and jammed her feet unceremoniously into a pair of battered leather boots. A low, confused voice rumbled from the room opposite, the language clear and concise, even through the closed metal door:

“Cie! Are you awake? What was that sound? Should I, er, be getting up?”

Cie sighed, shouldering the bolt rifle and hooking a pouch full of mystical ingredients to her belt.

“Probably just a training exercise Carbo! Nothing to worry about. We’ve been on this floating bucket for at least three days already. I would’ve thought you’d be used to them by now to be honest.”

Her words were met with a muttered, resonate grumbling before another loud boom rocked the cabin a little more than usual, drowning out his retort. Glancing out at the waters reflection, she spotted a glint of gunfire, followed by telltale blinding flashes of magical energy. Without skipping a beat, she checked her gear one last time, grabbed the worn, metallic flight goggles hanging on the door frame and wrenched the hatch open.

+++ The Empty Expanse. ½ Mile West from The Lightskipper. +++

“Nice shot Aurora! Keep focusing fire on the bridge!”

Thunders engines screamed as Vincent slammed the throttle open, banking the old D-Grade aircraft into a sharp, declining tailspin as the flak cannons from the gigantic C-Grade slave ship opened up in response to the group’s harrying attacks. Dipping low beneath the exploding shrapnel, Vincent pulled up, the cowling ripping off in a shower of sparks as Thunder skimmed the surface of the ocean and began to bank upward. For any normal pilot, the move would have been suicide, but Vincent Mcgraw was far from normal. Continuing his upward thrust, he took careful aim and squeezed the trigger for the quintuple auto-cannons mounted along the crafts dual wings. In a roar of deafening fury the barrels opened up, tearing a deep gash in the underbelly of the vast airship above. The metal groaned, holding for a brief moment before bleeding ammunition, fuel and stolen cargo into the churning waves thousands of feet below. Seeing her opportunity, Songbird streaked towards the cut; the normally quiet, shy pixie at its controls shouting in excitement as she unleashed a torrent of magical missiles directly into the open wound. Fiery eruptions filled the sky as the falling ammunition began cooking off under the intense magical fire, sending a ripple of explosions bursting across the airship’s deck, followed shortly by the delighted cries of Aurora, as she tore a neat, molten hole through the C-Grades inner levels, unfurling Songbirds mechanical wings to regain control of the bucking aircraft on her exit.

“Easy! That thing’s still got teeth!” Nomad shouted over the din, turning sharply to avoid another D-Grade craft, much like his own, that hurtled towards the large aircraft carrier below, sporting defaced markings of the Eleran Military. He banked around, taking his time through the advanced marksmen sights and sonar equipment hooked up on the interior of the cramped vessel to find his target. Barrelling out of sights of a turret shifting in his direction, he felt the judder of the rotary cannon beneath him light up, bisecting a group of slavers on the deck and sending the others running for cover before pulling away and preparing another strafing run.  
Looking below him, Vincent saw the falling D-Grade impact the ships surface, erupting into a fireball before scattering debris across its deck. They might have been slavers, but by the look of their tactics, it didn’t look like their enemies wanted them captured. Another aircraft tumbled past, it’s wings stripped and it’s cockpit filled with makeshift explosives as Vincent fought to keep Thunder away from the turret mounted flak cannons still operational on the burning, metal dirigible. He reached over with a single gloved hand and flipped a switch on his console, feeling the mechanical click of the triggers realigning to their new weapon systems. Banking down toward the plummeting home-made missile, he pulled the trigger, showering the back end of it in a flurry of explosive shrapnel rounds from the twin miniature flak cannons he’d had installed. The missile detonated in a fiery conflagration before depositing its debris harmlessly into the ocean below. With a grin, Vincent released the throttle, giving his old friend a brief respite before jamming it open and sending her screeching back into the fray.

+++ On board The Lightskipper, Western Elera +++

“What in hell is going on out here?” Shouted an irritated Cie as she stormed toward the upper deck of the repurposed aircraft carrier The Lightskipper.

“I thought we weren’t expecting any heavy resistance on this job?”

She began to push open the hatch to the upper levels as the clanging of metal on metal preceded Carbos arrival. Clad in his typical reddish robes and steel plates, the construct was a stark contrast to the very human Cie, clad in her leather armour and duster jacket. He held at his side a heavy, menacing looking greataxe, and his expression was one of concern and confusion, difficult to read as it was. His form was lithe and thin, constructed from metallic fibres that weaved into each other like muscle, and his face was a blank slate, devoid of any features, eyes or mouth. As he spoke, his voice, though resonating and deep, was soft and calm, like that of an older gentlemen, though the sounds themselves appeared to resonate from the metal itself, rather than a single source.

“I’m not entirely sure. I suppose I expected something, considering they wanted us to escort them, but I didn’t expect much more than a few rogue Freerider fighters, or something similar.” He braced himself as the ship lurched again. “This certainly feels a little heavier hitting, however.”

Cie looked back to Carbo and continued to force the heavy hatch open. She grown to like the strange mechanical man over the past six months they’d worked together, finding his quick reflexes and underestimated strength very useful on many occasions, though his rash and often unpredictable tendencies did lead her to give him a wide berth during combat scenarios. A single, almost skeletal hand placed itself on the hatch and, with the metal squealing in protest, Carbo pushed the hatch open.

“Thank you Carbo. I’m surprised this carrier is still sea-worthy”. Cie smiled before continuing up the steps to the hanger.

“I hope Vorfen is airborne.” She said, her heels clanging on the metal deck as she strode across to check on Echo. The small, E-Grade one man craft sat tethered in the corner of the hanger; it’s mechanical bat-like wings folded down by its side and the magical lodestone engine bathing the interior in an arcane glow. She staggered slightly as the ship shuddered from another impact, lighter this time. Catching herself and glancing out the open bay doors of the hanger, she saw a shower of flaming debris crash into the ocean, a good six hundred or so feet away as Thunder caught the water briefly in the wake of the explosion before accelerating rapidly up and out of sight again.  

“I’m sure he will be. It takes some time for that ship of his to get airborne, but once it’s up there, I’m sure the fight will tip in our favor.” Carbo replied, striding past Cie to check on Alloy, his own D-Grade aircraft. The fighter was a standard Eleran design, with a single Skytrol engine working its way through most of the interior of the craft, ending in a large, angular propeller that rolled lazily back and forth with the rocking of the ship. He climbed expertly atop the grey wings and began clearing some debris that had landed on the window of the cockpit.

“Though I certainly think we need to really be thinking about ourselves first.”

Expecting a response, but receiving only the sounds of gunfire in the distance and echoing clangs of debris hitting the ship, he turned, looking to the direction of Echo before quickly diving off Alloys wing, moments before the small, silent aircraft unfurled its wings and darted out of the hanger, leaving a trail of translucent, arcane vapor in it’s wake.

“Right. Well then,” He muttered, pulling himself up and looking around for any sign of life, but finding none. The Lightskipper had nothing but a skeleton crew to begin with, and, with the sounds of gunfights beginning to rage across the ships main deck, it explained why no crewmen were around to assist them. Carbo looked across Alloy sheepishly for a moment, spotting figures running across the hanger towards him. As he raised a hand in greeting, it was met with a hail of machine gun fire; the bullets clanging off Alloy’s hull and whizzing across Carbos head with malicious excitement. He stumbled over a loose toolbox and collapsed into cover, his greataxe sliding out of its sheath as he did so. Staying his hand and placing the shouts between the four men taking up flanking positions nearby, the ringing across the hanger petered out as each found themselves devoid of ammunition. The lead gunman, a man thick with muscle and clad in multi-plated leather armour stepped forward, dropping the empty firearm to the ground with a resounding clatter.

“Right-o boys! They ain’t gettin’ no more birds of the ground now! This ship is ours!” He grinned, hopping over a set of crates and walking over to the battered D-Grade, turning to his men with arms outstretched.

“And this ‘ere will make a fine addition to our arsen’l. Get ready to break her down for parts lads!”

The three men, all clad in the similar, bulky armour, began walking over towards Alloy, laughing among themselves and reloading their weapons as they went. Suddenly, a gutteral, wet retching caught their ears, as their laughter was swiftly replaced by shouts of panic.

Stepping over the twitching, bisected body of their captain, Carbo shouldered the bloodied greataxe and moved toward the group, who were hastily bringing their weapons to bear. As a shot rang out across the hanger, narrowly missing the lithe, black construct, Carbo let the blade of the greataxe clang on the metallic floor, emitting a shower of sparks as he dragged it very quickly toward them.

“Now that was just rude.”

+++ The Empty Expanse. 1000ft West from The Lightskipper. +++

Vorfen wasn’t a talkative fellow. Rarely did he find time or reason to speak more than a few words, choosing instead to let his C-Grade airship, or dear friend Aurora, do the talking for him. He felt his mechanical joints whine as he turned towards the window of his bridge, looking out at the distant aerial battle above the waters. A mountain of a construct, Vorfen stood a good eight feet tall, clad in a broad steel dome that stretched upwards into deep pauldrons, held aloft by huge mechanical greaves connected via rigid support joints. Within the domed armour sat a spherical head, visible only from the cool blue glow of the sensors shaping its rectangular eyes and supported by a myriad of internal wiring. Heavy plated gauntlets slammed down on the vast array of controls at his disposal, pulling levers and spinning the helm with a veteran experience. As the metal plating groaned and tools rattled across the floor, the vast ironclad banked sharply, pulling the enemy slave ship into its crosshairs. Brick was far from agile, and by the time Vorfen had lined up the cannon batteries, the enemy was already bleeding fuel profusely; its deck littered with explosions and defensive flak clouds from his comrades. From below, a familiar D-Grade twisted sharply in the air, narrowly missing a collision with falling debris, before levelling out and refocusing its autocannons onto the now exposed engine systems of their prey, sending out another small ripple of impacts across its surface.

Checking the range dials and altitude meters, Vorfen reached across towards another section of the industrial console, clamping a heavy hand down on a square switch as his eye displays flicked from a relaxed blue to a combat red. Allowing the enemy to drift slowly between his bridge mounted iron sights and the turret mounted crosshairs, the large construct slammed down on the firing sequence, sending a volley of shells howling across the open sky, meeting their target as a vicious cannonade that tore into its starboard hull like paper. Rolling the helm to bring Bricks portside to bear, Vorfen pulled the reloader and began rotating the huge turrets to point at the deep lacerations his craft had inflicted. His bridge rattled with small arms fire as enemy crewmen began retaliating in kind with machine gun fire, taking cover behind the rented armour. Confident the reinforced windows would withstand the barrage, he continued checking dials, ensuring that Brick matched the speed and descent of its mark. His hand hovering over the firing switch, a resonating, ethereal howl echoed across the sky, staying his hand for a brief moment as a dark silhouette raced across Bricks starboard bow. Unleashing a single, intense bolt of eldritch energy into the gutted C-Grade, the esoteric bat-like shape of Echo streaked across its deck, briefly illuminated by the eerie detonation left in its wake before extending its wings outwards and vanishing into the clouds.
Seizing the opportunity, Vorfen unleashed another fusilade, tearing into it like lions to a fresh carcass. Support beams, already weakened under the intense arcane heat, shattered; showering the unfortunate and beleaguered slavers with searing metal before the deck below them gave way. As the once vast, looming shape of the C-Grade slave ship disintegrated into fragments of burning debris, it slammed into the treacherous, writhing waters below, rapidly sinking from sight as the ocean consumed it.

His eye lights flicking back to a calming blue, Vorfen turned the helm, feeling Brick’s bulk below him shift as the large, once stolen, pirate airship made its way back to The Lightskipper, its newfound purpose under the hands of the protective construct at its bridge already showing promise. Glancing out the window, Aurora dipped Songbirds wings, giving him a hearty wave before beginning her descent towards the battered aircraft carrier they had been tasked to defend.
Over the crackling communication radio, Vorfen heard Cie coming back into range.
“Well, at least we can say we earned our keep. Maybe now they’ll consider upgrading us to something other than a metal tin to sleep in.”
A hearty chuckle left the metallic figure as he laughed to himself.
“Yes Cie. I Agree.”
Vorfens voice was calm and direct, opting to speak as clear as only a construct could.
Over the radio, a confused voice joined the conversation, crackling and distorted with static as the communications device attempted to transmit the deep resonation of Carbos voice correctly.
“Did we win?”
“Yep, that ship never stood a chance. Certainly something bigger than we expected on this run though.” Vincent replied, the wind whipping at his words as he came in to land.

“Ah, very good., better put these locks back on then shouldn’t I?”

“Carbo, did you get stuck trying to unhook Alloy again?”

The radio retained an awkward silence for a few moments as Thunder scraped across the top deck of The Lightskipper, narrowly missing a few large sections of debris covering the airstrip. Vincent let the old craft whine down slowly, waiting a few moments before placing his gloved hands on the cooling fuselage in order to lift himself out of the cockpit. Pulling off his flight goggles and facemask, he ran a hand through his dark hair before rolling his shoulders and producing a hip flask from his side. Taking a swig, he looked around, checking the horizon for any other threats, before spotting the dark form of Echo banking sharply into the battered hanger beneath him. A tough, rugged, middle aged man, Vincent was the most experienced pilot the group had. And in the age of elves, dwarves and other magical races, few could compete with Vincent’s natural human talents in the sky. He breathed in the stark, Skytrol filled air, the fumes of the recent conflict lingering on the winds. He checked Thunder’s Skytrol fuel tank, and opened up the radio.
“Cie, Thunder’s running on empty. Any ideas how long this trip’s got left?”
“Probably only another day Vincent. We should be able to get a resupply once we reach the mainland.” Cie replied, her voice echoing across the radio from the lower hanger.
“Right, well the sooner the better really. She doesn’t run on magic like yours does.” Vincent hooked the radio to his belt and walked over to Brick, the boarding ramp thudding down onto the deck and a couple of crewmen already running to hook up the mooring lines.
“You did good out there Vorfen. How are you looking on fuel and ammunition?” Vincent asked, as the hefty construct trudged down the ramp. Vorfen regarded Vincent for a moment, nodding towards him in greeting before replying.
“I Have Around Five Days Of Continual Flight Time Available.” He gestured to the turrets mounted on Bricks deck.
“My Ammunition Count Is Approximately Five-Hundred and Forty Seven Rounds of Flak Ammunition And Fifty Rounds Of Cannon Shells” he continued monotonously. Vincent nodded.
“Should be enough to get us to the Saybrcg Ports for refuelling, at least.” The construct acknowledged his response and gestured toward the steel hatch leading to the interior of the ship, allowing the fighter pilot to descend the steps towards the mess hall first.

+++ The Lightskipper Mess Hall, 18:00 hours. +++

Cie poured herself another drink and stubbed out a cigarette on the table. It had been a few hours since the attack, and things were only now getting back to normal. Looking around, she could tell that the men were still on edge.
“I can’t wait to get off this thing and back onto dry land” she sighed to Aurora.
The shy, 2 feet high pixie sat on the edge of the table and looked at her quietly, her mouth half full with a collection of berries and seeds. She swallowed and dusted a few crumbs off her bright, spring coloured, corseted dress, smiling at Cie. Adjusting the tiny pair of goggles strapped atop her frizzy, plaited brown hair and fiddling with her small gemstone earrings, she reached into a tiny leather pouch at her side and pulled out a small green leaf.
-+- Don’t Worry! -+- A small, meek voice whispered in Cie’s mind.
-+- We’ll be back soon! -+-

Aurora spread her wings, fluttering into flight as she drifted over to land on Cie’s shoulder, offering her a handful of berries.
“She’s right Cie. We’ll not be long, now, I’m sure” Carbo leaned across the wooden table and placing a bet in the pool of counters between the rest of the group, before checking his cards. Vincent checked his bet, raising it by a couple more counters.
“Yeah, I’m with Cie though. This bites. Even with what we’re being paid. Talking about that, who do we see about getting paid?” Vincent asked, looking toward Nomad quizzically. Nomad shrugged as he considered the question, his features covered, as always, by the modified gas mask he wore, and light, studded leather armour that adorned his athletic build. Placing a dexterous hand on the table, he flipped over his cards, revealing a full house.
“About a couple of hundred each, if I remember right.” His voice was muffled slightly, but his preoccupation was clear.
“I think it might be another hundred for me though eh?” He chuckled as he reached over to pull in the tokens, much to Vorfen’s distaste. Nomad didn’t remember much, having suffered a severe case of amnesia after head trauma from a previous mission, long before he met the group. His ranger senses were still naturally attuned to his surroundings, however, and it was with this particular talent that he proved his usefulness to the group, especially in wild, unexplored territories. When asked his name, Nomad realised he couldn’t remember, and simply adopted the name painted alongside his craft, as a staunch reminder of his continual journey to rediscover his past.
“Well whatever it is, it’s not enough. Not for these crappy conditions” Cie grumbled, taking a plate of simplistic looking foodstuffs offered from Carbo.
“And I don’t know why you insist on eating with us Carbo, you don’t have a mouth.”
Carbo shrugged apologetically.
“It’s just nice to have the company I suppose.”
Cie smiled, nodding in agreement before going back to navigating whatever food had found its way onto the plate.
-+- Do you think we’ll get to see more of Saybrcg while we are here? -+- Aurora asked mentally, her fey magic allowing her to speak in silence.
Vincent dealt another set of cards from the deck and threw in a few coins.
“Probably. Odds are unless the I.N.C want to bring us up for a mission again like this one, we’ll be on our own for a bit.”
He thought back to the first meeting he’d had with the Imperialist National Coalition. The governmental body on Elera wasn’t the most straightforward, and was certainly more militarized that he’d have liked. Everybody on the vast planet of Eressi knew that the northern continent had the biggest guns, but it didn’t stop the I.N.C from flaunting that at every opportunity. But saying that, they did pay well. And the jobs were simple. SImpler than the jobs he used to have to run back in the Arellan military. Though he was sure to keep any mention of the United Colonial Confederation out of his mercenary application. Especially with the cold war tensions slowly escalating between the U.C.C and I.N.C.

-+- I’m sure we’ll be able to find work in Saybrcg. No doubt someone will be interested in protection from the roaming sky pirates if they go east, at the very least. -+-
Aurora mimed shooting down an enemy aircraft and giggled to herself.
“That’s all well and good Aurora, but it would certainly be nice to have something that pays well for once.” Cie replied, polishing off the mess on the plate, and handing it to Vincent. Putting it on top of his own, he flipped his cards, showing an ace and a king. Hearing the groan from Carbo, he smiled in satisfaction as he finished the royal flush, earning back a good portion of his loss.
“Well, I’m sure something’ll come up. Might just be a bit of basic work, but if it keeps us heading to Blebuff then it’ll do.”
Cie stretched, standing up and looping her bolt rifle over her shoulder.
“Yeah, I suppose so. I’m gonna get some sleep, anyway. If we head into port tomorrow I’d like to be ready to head out for the airfields as soon as I know we aren’t needed anymore.”
The group nodded in agreement, and continued finishing up their card game.
With Aurora in tow, Cie headed out of the mess hall, taking a left and heading down the steel stairwell to their separate cabins, eager to get some rest.

Out of the Park (Finale)

Part Fifteen
Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader
Word Count: 2010
Warnings: None.


Your name: submit What is this?

A/N: Thank you to everyone who loved this series like I do! There is plenty to come – check out the Coming Soon section on my masterlist for hints at what I have planned!

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doodlydoos of Reaper Jaska who will be coming to Entity tomorrow with the merge <3

I think it’s tomorrow. could be wrong. i feel like i’m going to look at this on the computers at work tomorrow and see giant swaths of misplaced color but njsdfks oh wellll felt good to just mess around with shapes and expressions

Happy birthday to this nerd

my first day back to work was fairly atrocious but watching overhaul and chrono make puns at each other on my dash is cheering me up because i’m a huge nerd. 

I also took a picture of my own gloved hand flipping off the wall at work today to use in our Discord RP as Overhaul so that was fun. It occasionally pays off to be literally your muse at your job (aside from, y’know, experimenting on a child. we have plenty of mice though). 

Also I can literally say in the RP “I will not be available for the next hour as this DNA extraction runs … The machine has been contaminating plates recently and I need to keep a close eye on it.” and it’s hilariously good canon material. 

Someday I’ll actually get around to finishing a chapter of this fic and get all of my Overhaul/Labwork out into the world … and the tons of headcanons … and everything else … sobs. 

♥’d this for a random starter.

“- They aren’t dead. Not exactly.” Leather gloved hand flips on a nearby switch - the creatures surrounding them reacting immediately to the flickering light and swarming. “… Failed experimentation. Whatever they were working on? Seems these guys were a stepping stone. If nothing else, it might be a kind gesture to put them out of their misery. Lest they get trapped in an eternal Hell.” Perhaps no level of humanity remained in the bug like creatures, even if it did? The humanity had no control. A disgusting abomination of genetic mutations not even capable of serving the purpose they were created for.

The thoughts plagued her mind - Ada released a gentle scoff before putting a blade into one of their skulls. Best not to think about it, after-all human experimentation was not new. “Guess we’re lucky we only came across the failed ones.” A little further in and they might not be so lucky.