He should be thinking about his history course work due in
two days or his match on Saturday. He should be thinking about the prefect
timetable he has yet to organise and he definitely should be thinking about the
niggling pain in the back of his knee and if he should mention it to his coach.
What he categorically shouldn’t be thinking about is the pretty redhead at his
bus stop and how he wants to kiss the colour out of her lips and hold it in his
She’s wearing those bloody jeans again, the same as the week
before, that hug her legs and around her waist (and other areas James
definitely isn’t looking at). The streetlamps have already clicked on, her skin
is woven gold under the amber light.
He can’t look away, won’t look away as she wanders up and
down the bus stop, her fingers tapping at her phone screen and her mouth
lifting into a lazy smile as she reads a text. Thunderous grey clouds hang
heavy in the sky and he wonders if he is going mad, standing in the cold about
to be soaked when with one call he could have a car pick him up with
complimentary tea and biscuits.
The girl smiles again and he knows he’s going mad because
his heart is pumping in his throat and flowers are growing through his ribs.
His phones rings and he lifts it to his ear, noticing there is still a smear of
blood across his bruised knuckles.
“We need your help,” Sirius tells him. James can hear what
he thinks is Pete trying to move a bed. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the bus stop,
I need to nip to the flat to grab something.” James tells him, craning his neck
to see if the bus is coming. The girl glances at him, pulling her bottom lip through
her teeth. James flashes her a grin and blood burns up the neck he so
desperately wants to press his lips against.
“I thought that’s what you were doing last week?” Sirius
“Yeah, I just need something else.” James winces at the
silence that follows. There’s another crash and Pete is violently swearing.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that redhead who was
on the bus last week, would it?”
James can’t stop his eyes flickering to where she stands,
leaning against a lamppost, her silhouette cut from the shadows. “Err-
potentially- anyway why did you need me?”
“We’re trying to find
Moony’s philosophy notes, he’s hidden them.”
He runs his hand through his hair, it needs a wash to get
rid of the remnants of mud. “Obviously, last time you used them you spilt gin
all over them.”
“That wasn’t my fau- oh you utter bastard you know where
they are don’t you?”
James laughs and leans against the crumbling brick wall
behind him. “Look, Pads, I’ve got to go, I’ll see you tonight.”
There’s more crashing and what sounds like ‘James you
fucker’ before James can press end call. The girl is staring at him, the corner
of her mouth twitching. He pockets his phone with a sheepish grin at her. He’s
about to ask her something, anything. Words are climbing up his throat and
dancing across his tongue, a ballet of letters held between his teeth.
Then the sky opens.
The rain isn’t particularly heavy but it’s the sort that
seeps under the skin and lingers in the blood, James’s hair is already damp by
the time he gets his hood up. The girl is shivering, her thin jumper soaked
through. James’s legs start moving before his brain does, his hands unzipping
his rugby bag and fishing out his school hoodie. The girl looks confused, James
must too because he’s not really sure what he’s doing.
“Here, it’ll stop you freezing to death.” He says, offering
it to her. She reaches for it, uncertainty spilling out of her eyes. “I’m
James, by the way.”
“You’re not a serial killer, are you?” she asks once she’s
tugged it over her head. He almost misses the question, thinking too much about
how she would look in nothing but his rugby shirt.
She’s staring at him expectantly, her brow crinkled ever so
“Only on Thursdays, you should be safe.”
She laughs, sunlight falling from her lips, her fingers
tucking strands of copper hair under the hood. “I’m Lily,” she says. Lily. He nods, it settles in his stomach
like it’s always been there, Lily. The
rain keeps up it’s symphony on the pavement.
“So how posh are you, on a scale of Eddie Redmayne to Prince
William?” she asks. Her eyes are alight, her voice bubbling like cheap champagne.
He thinks he might be already drunk.
He raises an eyebrow, pretends to look offended, drinks in
the light that’s pouring out of her. “Me, posh? Never.” Her phone beeps but her
hands stay tucked in the pockets of his hoodie, he lets a drop of warmth creep
into his bones.
“Seriously though, I hear your school fees are insane.”
He glances at the crest stitched into his jacket, into the
hoodie, into his skin. Red and gold and laughter and adrenaline and home. “I’m
not that posh. Sirius, he’s a lord, but I’m nothing special.”
He knows the weight the name carries, knows the looks in the
street, the eyes noting the tie and blazer, the polished shoes and tailored
trousers. He knows what they think of, arrogance smirks and burnt fifty pound
notes, wrecked cars and opportunities thrown about like paper in a classroom.
They’re not all like that, he’s not
“A lord, huh?” she says, “Can you get me his number?”
“W-What…I don’t know…what do you mean?” you stumbled, barely
able to speak at the slap in the face of your secret being thrown back at
you. The look of shock on your face had
to be eerily similar to the one that he was wearing, the two of you staring at
each other with the weight of the world in the air between you.
“Are you okay?” Steve finally spoke again when the silence
was just too much. “Did…did it
work? Did Howard help you?”
“Uh, excuse me, but I had a little bit to do with it too,”
Tony added quietly with a cautious smirk.
He was trying to break the tension with an attempt at misguided levity,
but all it did was escalate a situation that was on the brink of falling apart
before it could begin.
so, i found this at the back of my cupboard this morning, my flat tummy tea, that i had shipped to me all the way from america, yes, it cost me a fortune, but i thought it’d be worth it to have a flat stomach. that was all i ever wanted. let me tell you i HATE herbal teas, i don’t know why, i just always have, so having this first thing in the morning was rancid, but i put myself through it anyway. i even remember posting it on instagram with the caption “please give me the body i want” and i got LIKES??? and, now i realise, how silly i was to buy into the diet culture, for one, because i doubt these things even work, and for two, because… MY TUMMY IS DAMN FINE, and it doesn’t need to be flat, MOST TUMMIES AREN’T FLAT… and i should have just let my tummy be, and my body be free! the best part is, i don’t look at it and think “maybe i should try it again” or “i do need a flat tummy” i look at it and think “I AM NEVER GOING TO DRINK YOU AGAIN, AND I DONT CARE ABOUT THE BIT OF EXTRA CHUB ON MY TUMMY, I’M ROCKING IT, AND I VOW TO NEVER BUY INTO THE DIET CULTURE EVER AGAIN” and it feels amazing to be in that mindset! i thought about chucking it away, but honestly, i’m going to keep it at the back of my cupboard, as a reminder that i love my body enough now to not drink some herbal tea, that i hate, in hopes that i get a “flat tummy”, it’s a reminder that i’m now free!
ps, not happy with my make up in this pictures but posting them anyway because the smile 😄😄😄
I know.. I need to do more than flat colors but I started this as a sketch and just got really tired after all those flowers.
In another note, while I love the other DA characters as much as this sad elf, I just can’t stop thinking about Solas and his relationship with the Inquisitor, romanced or no. I’m talking character development, grey morality, complex storylines, platonic/romantic love and friendship, all that jazz. I just need more Solas, please. <3
hiya, ive been super low on money as of recent and i super badly need to pay for my therapy, phone line, and ritalin/trazedone, which are really needed for me overall. im trying to make money the best i can, constantly doing yardwork and whatever else i can do to make it, but these are for when i need a break.
sketches ( 7 USD ) + ( flat colors are 10 USD )
lineart ( 10 USD )
full colors ( 15 USD ) + ( 5 USD extra for more than one character ) + ( shading bumps it to 20 USD )
backgrounds are an automatic +10 USD. if you wanted an image like this
itd be about 40-45 USD.
speedpaints of your commission are an extra 5 USD.
icons are 5 USD per usual, if you want an icon of your already existing commission, it will be an extra 2 USD.
my paypal is email@example.com, and id appreciate if you could show this to everyone if you cant commission me. signal boosting is important and id appreciate every bit of it. if you’re interested, please DM me, for we’ll start discussion of your artwork. thank you!! 💕🌸
Eventually Jackaboy found Jack’s house and he flew around the perimeter looking for a quick way in. He saw an open window to an upstairs room and, on closer inspection at the fan-made figurines on the windowsill, he assumed it was Jack’s room. “Let’s hope we’re not too late.” He muttered, and he swooped through the window and into the room. It didn’t take for him to find Jack, in fact, deep down he kind of wished he had more time to brace himself for what he saw lying on the bed. But he’d worry in a minute, he needed to get Marvin in the room. He unhooked Marvin’s cape from his belt and hastily, but making sure the cape was flat, laid it, inside facing down, on the floor. Jackaboy then took out the smoke bomb Marvin gave him and, as instructed, threw it hard into the centre of the cape. There was a flash, a small flame, and a puff of green smoke. And as the smoke cleared the cape was now inhabited by Marvin, who straighten his mask and brushed himself off. As Marvin got accustomed to his surrounds his eyes settled on Jack’s bed. Jack was lying there, deathly still and pale; blood streamed from his eyes and nose, and his hands, one of which was clutching his chest and the other dangling off the edge of the bed, were covered in blood. “Jack!” Marvin screamed. He rushed over to his body. Moving Jack’s hand off his chest Marvin noticed they were stone cold. He was dead, and not finding a pulse confirmed it. “Please tell me there’s a way to save him.” Jackaboy asked, his voice was shaking as he tried to hold back a welling sob. Marvin investigate Jack’s eyes. They were blood shot, but what should have been red was replaced with an inky blackness. A blackness Marvin and the other egos knew all too well. “Anti did this.” He sighed. “Looks really bad this time.” Jackaboy’s heart sank. He mumbled, “… So… we were too late?” Marvin shook his head. “No. Maybe? I’m not sure yet.” He sat Jack’s body up and hooked his arm underneath Jack’s shoulder to lift him off the bed. “I’ll see what I can do. Can you grab his other arm, please?” In a wink of an eye Jackaboy was at Jack’s other side and together the disregarded duo of the egos carried the dead body of their boss out of his room. Quietly they made their way downstairs. Spending just two seconds away from holding Jack, Jackaboy Man zoomed around the house at light speed to check if anyone else was home. He then returned to Jack’s side as if he’d never been gone. “No one’s home.” He told Marvin. Marvin nodded. “Good. We’ll lay him on the dining table, I need a clear flat surface to work on.” They made their way to the dining room and lifted Jack’s body on the table. “Hopefully I can fix him before Signe gets home.” He peeked at his wrist watch and hummed. “Heck, if we’re really lucky, we’ll be able to get him back before his next upload!”
An hour had passed and Jackaboy was shuffling up and down the hallway outside the dining room; Marvin requires time alone with little or no interference when use his magic in serious situations. Unable to keep still from worry, the hero paced up and down, occasionally glancing out the window by the front door to check if Signe was on her way home. The thought of her walking in on duplicates of her boyfriend messing around with the dead body of said boyfriend terrified Jackaboy immensely. He hummed to himself, no tune in particular, just anything to block out the silence that was overwhelming him. Suddenly he heard the door handle of the dining room creak and immediately Jackaboy was at the door eager for news. Marvin opened it slowly, he hung his head down in utter defeat. Jackaboy’s whole body dropped in sorrow. “… You… You can’t save him?” Marvin looked up with red eyes, tears disappearing behind his mask. Instantly Jackaboy grabbed him and pulled him in for a hard sympathetic hug. Marvin sunk his head into Jackaboy’s shoulders and sobbed a muffled cry. “There’s too much damage for my magic to deal with.” He sniffed, “His wounds won’t seal up to contain the spells. There’s something inside him, something has clogged his systems, almost like drowning him. He needs something more than just a sprinkle of glitter or a trick of the eye.” Jackaboy rubbed Marvin’s back in comfort. Then a thought hit him, which sparked what little hope he had left. He pulled Marvin off him and said, “The doctor! He can help us!” Marvin looked up at Jackaboy’s desperate but nonetheless gleaming smile. So much positivity, so much charity in that smile. This was going to be hard to tell. “I’m sorry.” He said, “Looking closely at his wounds… they weren’t wounds from whatever killed him… they were surgical cuts.” Jackaboy’s smile fell, just as Marvin’s heart did as he watched his smile leave. “And there was… medical fluids, medicine, a lot of it, in his body. I’m afraid I believe the doctor may have had a part in Jack’s death.”
Jackaboy let go of Marvin and ran to Jack’s body. Scattered around the table were endless vials and jars of potions Marvin had concocted; some smoking, some bubbling, some empty, some smashed. Jack’s shirt was off and revealed long cuts, made too finely and too perpendicular along each other to have been fighting wounds. Next to his head was a scrap piece of paper with long words like anticoagulant, cholinesterase, carbidopa, and anti-depressants scribbled down. The innocent hero’s fists clenched by his sides. “No.” He growled, “Schneep wouldn’t do this. He’s a good man.” He turned to Marvin. “He’s saved you, and Chase. He’s saved us all in some way.” Marvin bit his lip, he wasn’t sure what to think, but Jackaboy insisted, “He saved Jack last time Anti killed him.” “Then what happened this time around?” Marvin pressed. Jackaboy crossed his arms. “You said yourself earlier… Anti. He must have sabotaged the doctor. He had a hand in this. I swear… Schneep wouldn’t do this, not ever.” Marvin sighed and rubbed his eyes through his mask; he was tired and torn. Too many thoughts ran through his head, he was worried that Jack would never be saved, he was worried that time was running out, he was concerned for Jack’s fans and how concerned they would be when they would slowly realise that Jack wasn’t coming back. But a more pressing thought lingering in the back of his head concerned Anti. He remembered what he had told him the last time he crossed him. Was he really that powerful? Was he really in control of them? And in that case, was he listening to them right there and then?… “Are you sure about it?” he whispered. “I’m sure. In fact,” Jackaboy lowered his eye mask and gave a cheeky grin. “I’ll prove it.” And in the blink of an eye he whipped away back upstairs and out Jack’s bedroom window. He zoomed high up in the sky and kept an eager eye out on the ground, piecing together the clues that would lead him to Dr. Schneeplestein. “He wouldn’t kill Jack. He wouldn’t.” He followed the ‘trail of Schneep’, as he humorously called it, back to the Brighton suburbs, back to what Jackaboy knew as the doctor’s home. “Please let it be that he didn’t.”
Summary: A nightmare causes a panic which needs to be calmed.
Word count: 1500+
A/N: So, this was supposed to be a lot shorter, but here you go!
Warning: Body insecurities, which leads to angst.
The day had been stressful and the thing you were looking to most was curling up with your boyfriend, his body cuddling into yours, his head resting slightly on your chest. You had been so happy to cuddle Peter, that your life felt complete as soon as you laid eyes on your dopey boyfriend who was silently meandering the apartment.
The two of you went to bed silently, finding yourself in the position you always slept in. Your arm hung loosely around his small frame, him pressing into your body. His head rested in the groove of your neck, your breath fanning over himself, lulling his senses into a mindless euphoria as the fleeting feeling of home returned once again. He loved the safety and comfort you offered, relishing the way that you clung to him, always making him feel safe and loved.
As the two of you slipped into the blissful comfort of sleep, dreams coming to you both. Yours were pleasant, allowing a small smile to appear on your face as you gripped the boy you loved dearly. Though for the small boy, his dreams were relentless, a cold sweat working up his body, and continually trashed around.
rhodey is off on his first deployment. tony makes it his mission to send him helpful and creative care packages.
The first one was actually pretty thoughtful. Rhodey’s mom had sent him a care package, a huge box full of home made cookies and granola bars, bottles of sunscreen, magazines, hard candies and decks of playing cards. It must have cost her a fortune to put together and mail and the guys in Rhodey’s unit are suitably appreciative. Packed inside the box is a smaller one, with his name written in Tony’s familiar block letters. Rhodey saves that one for last and opens it in the relative privacy of his bunk just before lights out. It’s a pile of comics and four little hand-held electronic games. They have the SI logo on the back, but Rhodey’s never seen them before, which makes him suspect Tony had sent them from his own collection of prototypes.
Wherever they came from, they’re a hit with the guys. Not that Rhodey lets anyone play until he’s beaten each one.
They pop up here and there. A box full of condoms and lube (not sent as part of his mother’s care package, thank God) one month, the next Tony sends him a hundred teddy bears to hand out to the local kids. Sometimes it’s porn, quality stuff that Rhodey’s squad is a little too eager to get their hands on. Sometimes it’s five hundred back issues of Batman. Rhodey never really knows what Tony’s going to do from one month to the next, but there’s always another package waiting for him.
Sometimes they pile up. Sometimes he’s not in a place where he can get mail, or at least not where anyone outside the military is allowed to find him. When he gets back, there’s always the appropriate number of packages waiting for him. He can tell how worried Tony is about him by how sentimental the most recent package is. One time, after he’d been incommunicado for weeks, Tony sent their MIT year book and he’d written hundreds of little notes throughout, all of them reminders about some class they had shared or some person they had known or some trouble they had gotten into. “Remember this?” Tony had scrawled across Tiberius Stone’s smirking face. “He tried to have you expelled for cheating so I threatened to report him for corrupting a minor and he tried to beat me up so you showed up with the entire Air ROTC and they chased him halfway across campus.”
He’d gotten a hold of a satellite phone that night and spoke to Tony in person for the first time in months.
As Tony gets older, the packages get a little more mature. He starts sending video game consoles and blu-ray players, boxes full of DVDs and ipods. Sometimes hundreds of clean socks and underwear and - after Rhodey had pointed out that there were women in his unit too, by the way - women’s cotton briefs and hundreds of packages of tampons.
Body armor. Stark Industries had always made weapons, but the body armor that starts coming in Rhodey’s care packages is top of the line, highest quality stuff and it has the SI logo on it. Other units start wearing it years after Rhodey’s does.
Tony sends him boxes packed with dry ice and gelato. Boxes with an entire season of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine on VHS, each one labelled in Tony’s precise handwriting.
Sometimes he just sends hundreds of letters, some of them just little notes scrawled on cocktail napkins, some of them dozens of pages long, all of them addressed to Honey Bear or Golden Graham or Turtle Dove.
And then one day Tony disappears after an insurgent attack. The soldiers assigned to guard him have been gunned down and a blood splattered suit jacket is balled up by the side of the road.
Three months go by without a package. Rhodey checks - he fucking checks because if Tony could get free, or give some sign that he’s okay, that might be how he does it - but there’s nothing. Rhodey himself barely leaves the dessert, burns every favor he’s ever been owed, begs a dozen more from every commanding officer he’s ever known, and they let him stay to lead the search for three long desperate months until even Rhodey is starting to think that this is less of a search and rescue, and more of a recovery mission.
And then Tony is back, a goddamn mirage in the middle of the desert. He’s half-dead and twenty pounds lighter than the last time Rhodey saw him, but he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“How was the fun-vee?” Rhodey says because anything more serious sticks in his throat. “Next time you ride with me.”
Tony is smiling at him, soot smearing with the blood on his face. He’s burnt red from the sun and it’ll hurt like hell soon. But he’s smiling like Rhodey’s the best thing he’s ever seen. “I realized I forgot your care package,” he says as he slumps against Rhodey’s shoulder, his hands gripping the back of Rhodey’s uniform so tight that he’s half-convinced he can hear the fabric ripping. “Thought I should come deliver it in person.”
“You’re all the care package I need.” Rhodey lays one hand flat against the side of Tony’s head and presses a fierce kiss to one of his temples. “Jesus, you dumb fuck. I thought you were dead." He starts to laugh, just a little, nerves and tension easing for the first time in months. "You are the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my entire life, man.”
“Aww, Honey bunch,” Toney says, and that’s when the rest of the team catches up with them.
Exactly a month later a small box arrives with the base mail. It has Tony’s writing, as familiar as Rhodey’s own, across the front.
Inside are photos, hundreds of them. And each one is of Tony.
Dear Pumpkin, the letter reads, since I am the most beautiful thing in your life, it seems wrong to force you to go for months at a time without basking in my beauty. PS: the nudes are toward the bottom, I know how nosy your squad is
Two of Rhodey’s men are already digging through the box, hoping for Tony’s usual treats. Rhodey figures they deserve what they’re about to find.
In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been really busy with school since the year is ending (plus depression is hitting me pretty hard all of a sudden) so I haven’t been able to update super consistently. I know I’m not gonna be able to do so until classes are over at the end of the month, but there is a silver lining! For one of my classes, I’m doing a 4-page comic featuring RAINBOW! characters! So you will get to see a RAINBOW! comic even though it isn’t the… RAINBOW! comic. lol. But I only need to do flat lines for class, and I won’t have time to color it myself. So I was curious if anyone else would be interested in coloring it?? Naturally I will give you the credit when I post it. If no one is interested, I’ll just post the line art. But if you are interested, send me an ask! And please give me an example of/link me to a place where I can see your art!! Please note that I’m not done with it or anything at the moment (I haven’t even started it yet). It will be done in 2 weeks or less.
So my tooth pain has gotten to a point where I can’t deal with it at all. It keeps coming back, with smaller and smaller periods of reprieve. So from this point forward I’m opening commissions explicitly to get to a dentist and take care of the agony in my mouth. I probably have more than one cavity, and I desperately need funds. Even donations. Please help me. What money I’ve made from commissions thus far is not enough to get me the help I need.