grimy goods

Like Canned Peaches- (NSFW Meihem)

“Brrrr! I get cold just lookin’ at ya!”

He’d waited hopefully for a response to his attempt at casual conversation, brows lifted as he stared intently at the irritated woman in the fluffy parka who was clearly doing her best not to pay any attention to him. He’d even offered his most winning smile, the kind with slightly less teeth, before she fully turned towards him and sternly pushed her glasses up with one gloved finger. Her adorable little lips had pursed as she lifted her nose in the air and finally, finally spoke directly to him.

“Then you should look somewhere else!”

That had been their first real interaction. Mei turned him down flat.

But then again, that had hardly been the first time Junkrat had been turned down flat by the object of his attentions. In fact, he was turned down flat most of the time, and knew the only solution was to keep trying. He’d made several attempts after that one, each just as unsuccessful as the last, and took increasingly desperate measures to make her look his way, maybe give him another irked scowl, or fling more of her mild insults at him. The accusations of being a horrible, no-good bully didn’t really bother him. He’d been called much worse than that over the years, with much more colorful junker vernacular. But he couldn’t help but notice that he was the only one in the entire group to earn that particular brand of ire. So, he figured that in his own strange way, he must have been special to her. And he liked that idea very much, being special to her.

She was everything unknown to him; she was quiet where he was loud, she was soft and curvy where he was gaunt skin and bones, she used ice just as he used fire, and she was softspoken and polite where he was raucous and blunt. She had little apple-cheeks that dimpled when she smiled, even if it was never at him, and her little giggles sounded like tinkling bells that could grab his attention even through the constant ringing in both his ears. She even smelled nice, from what he’d been able to whiff of her before her giant Russian brick shithouse of a friend had grabbed his head and thrown him in the opposite direction, like vanilla extract that came in those little bottles that smelled wonderful but didn’t taste so wonderful, or flowers he didn’t know the name of.

He’d never really seen a woman like her in person before. The women in the Outback were much like the men of the Outback; their brains just as baked as their half-starved bodies, with vicious demeanors, loud voices, leathery tits, and cunts that felt like being in the inside of a baseball glove. The sheilas on the covers of the magazines (at least the human ones, any pictures of omnic women were promptly destroyed with prejudice) were always almost as scrawny as the women in the Outback, always had their eyes closed or looked vacantly confused, and usually were half covered with text about the ten most beneficial yogurts or other things that women seemed to worry about in the outside world. Occasionally he’d get his grimy claws on the good kind of magazine, the ones where they arched their backs and got their tits out and bit their fingers and looked at him real seductive-like, but he usually spent more time trying peel the sticky pages apart without ripping the good bits, and trying not to imagine the previous owner as he did so.

And then there was Mei, who was different from everyone in the best possible way he could think of, and he wished she didn’t hate him so much.

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shouldernova  asked:

i feel embarrassed to even suggest this but um. Crack fic where they somehow discover theyre fictional

what if……

what if it’s a normal day at the palace. it’s post curse: the sun shines lovely on their faces as lumiere and plumette waltz in the kitchen; the evergreen trees bristle bright green as adam walks into the forest for a bit of fresh air; the marble walls of the palace are cool and calming as lefou takes tea with mr. cogsworth. In the hidden heart of France, belle curls up happily in her new home to start her new project.

Ah, yes. The bookshelf. A cranky old piece of work, tucked in the back of one of the unused bedrooms, full of all the books nobody bothered to put in the library. They had been sitting here, undusted and unloved, for many years now; adam, even, hadn’t known what was in them or what they were.

“probably medical journals, or something,” he had said. “something boring, i don’t know. if they were interesting i would have insisted they be put in the library.”

“If you don’t know what they are, how do you know if they’re interesting?”

“Stop being cheeky.” Adam grins and goes for his walk, and Belle is smiling with the memory of it as she cracks open the glass doors—goodness, they’re grimy, Plumette hasn’t been in here—and lifts out the first book.

What do you know. A medical journal. Adam would never let her hear the end of it.

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Fuck, Holster


A mess of a letter that Ransom writes on his laptop

Fuck. Fuck, Holster. I have an exam tomorrow and I can’t focus. Not because I’m panicking over the exam- which, shit, I am- but because, fuck man, you just…UGH

Fuck. I keep fucking this up. I thought if I wrote it down I could be done with it and study, but I can’t seem to write it down. I guess that’s just your effect on me, eh?

Alright damn it, here, okay okay I can just start with this: you brought me my planner. That’s not an odd thing for you to do, I know, but it was different this time. This time I didn’t tell you to get it. This time I knew you also have an exam tomorrow (good luck btw) so I didn’t mention mine to you. You’d know I’d have a hard time and you’d focus all your attention on helping me, which isn’t good for you. So I didn’t bring it up.

But you knew anyway. You said, and I quote, “You always curl up in a ball like that when you’re stressed. Exam tomorrow?”

Insignificant right? Right?

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King Under the Mountain~

This is a mixed media painting; Watercolor, colored pencil and marker on Strathmore watercolor paper. Its about 5x8″ tall, so not too big.

The Hobbit is really my favorite story of all time, its my favorite book. So being able to paint scenes and portraits from it really brings me a lot of joy. (Not to mention I love a good dirty grimy face).

Enjoy!

xxx

Give Yourself Some Credit

Prompt: Start giving yourself credit, your trying.

Relationship: Bucky Barnes X Reader

A/N:

Warnings:

~~~

Bucky walked ahead of you, the mission had gone astray and people where killed because of it. He seemed to believe it was fault. But in reality no-one could’ve expected the bad guys to have been hiding in the small crowd of civilians you were evacuating out of the Lab. This was only supposed to be evacuate and let Tony handle the chemical leaks. But instead of a mission actually going right for once, it went wrong. To make things even worse, the bad guys where trying to rebuild Hydra, they’d known about Bucky and managed to get their grimy no good hands on the words Hydra had put into his head. The Winter Solider appeared and the public got scared. It was like what happened with Wanda was happening all over again.

“Bucky,” You called trying to catch up with him as he walked into the room the two of you shared. He continued to ignore you and walked into the bathroom shutting the door behind him. You heard the shower start but you knew he wasn’t getting in, it was just a ploy to get you to leave. “Buck, I know your not actually in the shower and I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

“Y/N, now’s not the time.” He mumbled through the door. You sigh running your hands through your hair. Every time a mission went wrong he did this.

“Then when is the time Bucky!” You shout. “If you would just talk to me I could help! It kills me to see you like this and you don’t even let me help you!” The door opens and Bucky sees you with tears streaming down your face.He quickly gathers you in his arms .

“I’m sorry doll.” He whispers into your hair. He holds you in his arms for a long time until you stop crying. “I don’t know how I got you and now I’m pushing you away.” 

“Just know I’m here for you okay?” You whisper placing your hands on his cheeks. “Don’t you dare think I’m not. I don’t care if I’m asleep if you need me I’m here.”

“Okay.” He responds softly.

“Thank you.” You kiss his lips before walking to the bathroom. “Now, if you’d stop hiding in the bathroom pretending to shower I’m pretty sure Tony would appreciate the water bill going down.”

He laughs at that watching you turn off the shower. “You got it doll.”

~~~

Another week has gone by. This time the mission went pretty well, it was a nice change from the ongoing streak of missions going astray.The public still seemed to be afraid of Bucky, but it wasn’t until a little girl hugged him for saving her life did he realize that there where people that appreciated him. You walked up to Bucky after the little girl had left. 

“People are starting to recognize that your not the bad guy.” You say happy for your lover. 

“I just wish every one could see that.” He says looking at the few people in the crowd that were glaring at him.  You grab his real hand giving it a small squeeze of reassurance.

Give yourself some credit, your trying,” you tell him. “and as far as I’m concerned thats all that matters okay?” 

“Okay.” he says and you kiss his lips lightly.

“I love you.” You smile twirling a piece of his hair.

“Yeah, yeah.” He says swatting your hand away playfully. “I love you too doll.”

An Anti-Oli/city rant

as per request by my anon, @annabluh, and @so-smoke-em-if-you-got-em. It’s under a read more cause this got so long. Like, you guys 100% dont have to read it, its a mess. 

Anyway, why the Oli/city fans, fandom, and ship suck and is actually really horribly emotionally abusive and not a good ship. 

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3

Pretty As A Picture (a Dydia Modeling AU) - Part 2

Posing on a motorcycle isn’t necessarily Lydia’s style. She’s 99% sure the theme was chosen because Derek looks good all grimy and gruff without any consideration to her person preferences. It still came out pretty good, mixing her vintage pin-up look with whatever it is the stylist decided to do with Derek. She’ll admit that he’s gorgeous, but the guy isn’t exactly personable. He spent the whole time practically glaring at the camera, with a sprinkling of glares sent in Stiles, Scott and Jackson’s direction. 

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Rock The Bells.

I recently entered a contest to win tickets to Rock The Bells. You had to write a rap for this contest so I gave it my best shot.

This was my rap:

Now, the kids I go to school with they listen to real crap

While they’re swallowing music coming from toilets, I’m listening to real rap
A Tribe Called Quest, The Pharcyde, Lauryn the list goes on 
Don’t get me wrong I ain’t saying that I’m hating Big Sean but,
I start at The Roots of rap and further I go ‘till I hit the prime cut
The Golden Age, where intellect ruled and money was a perk
Where Afrocentrism was beauty and no one knew how to jerk 
I’m tired of hearing about champagne, bitches and chains
I remember when rappers were excited bout pagers and it wasn’t just dames
but now it’s all the same, switch the beat and name and call it a new artist
We used to be concerned with who could spit it smartest now it’s just who’s hardest
Now it’s just who’s more paid, and who s more played, Who’s the one who’s Got it Made
Real Rap is my church, so Erick Sermon’s sermon is keeping me out of hell
and I know that real rap is around when I start to hear them Rock The Bells.

This was the winning rap:

turn up my microphone. turn up my microphone!!!
check one. check two. i need tix to rock the bells so i can knock da boots, with erykah badu. and change ms. to mrs. lauryn hill-miller. aint no one iller than ME!mr. ryan v miller. call me what you want but don’t call me late for dinner. so what up what up…am i the winner?