Drawing Pickle Rick’s legs were the absolute worst lol. They aren’t typical digitigrade legs and they aren’t typical animal legs. Had a lot of fun with this! I do like drawing wacky things like this so maybe expect more. I’m still doing studies every night so it might be a while lol. Or I’ll forget about my sketches like usual
it’s @gdipalomo today/tomorrow !!! (still like 2.5 hours left before ur bday in my timezone but this way i can get it out while youre asleep H AH) so here take some fuckin CHURCHNUT YA DINGUS [excessive commentary under cut]
Impeccably dressed as always, with a dark blue vest suit,
matching pants, wine-colored tie, and shoes that shined to the point of reflecting
the overhead lights, Ward Meachum looked perfectly at home in the high-rise
Manhattan apartment. It made you feel that odd mental vertigo, the same sensation
of being on the outside, looking in, that you had experienced looking up at Danny’s building.
Ward’s gaze flickered upward to meet yours as soon as you
entered the space, his eyes growing darker in confusion as he stared above the
rim of his glass. You opened your mouth to speak, to at least greet him like a
normal human being, but that strange paralysis had overtaken you again, and you
closed your mouth instead.
The silence stretched between you as he sized you up, gaze
trailing over you from head to foot, one eyebrow slowly lifting as he took note
of the way you rubbed your arms from a chill that wasn’t there.
“(Y/N),” he finally said as way of greeting, peering at you
as if your appearance was a curiosity to him. “It’s been a while.” His tone was
languid and disinterested, but his eyes took in your disheveled appearance with
far too much keenness.
Leave a “Enamor Me” in my ask, and I will write a fluffy
drabble characters trying to woo one another [be it out of the blue/Valentines
Day, feel free to specify.]
“I just don’t get it, Mori.”
Chuck slumped back against the wall, his legs sprawled out
across his bunk. Yes, he was sulking. He couldn’t even be arsed to deny it.
“Chuck, maybe you should–”
“I’ve tried every-fucking-thing. I set up a movie
night, and he asked the whole goddamn shatterdome to sit in with us. I asked
him to dinner on the mainland, and he brought Herc and Max along. Fuck, I even
offered to get the hell outta here altogether, go wherever he wants to go for a
weekend, just me and him… and he fucking asked if I’d go to Alaska with him
to… get this… mourn over Yancy’s fucking grave.”
Mori huffed, not quite a laugh but too close for comfort.
“You should be flattered he trusts you enough to ask you along. He’s not
been there in years.”
He grunted, too frustrated and disheartened to move. “I
am. I guess.” Another grunt. “But fuck if that’s romantic, yeah?
Something tells me weeping over his beloved brother won’t exactly be conducive
to stars in his fucking eyes.”
Ugh. He fucking hated the look on her face. They’d never
exactly been close, but they’d always moved in the same gestalt within the
jaeger program, and on the rare occasion that he’d been obliged to confide or
explode, he had always turned to her.
Once. Before this time.
She’d given him the same look then. That half-amused,
“You are trying too hard.”
Yet another grunt. “I feel like I’m not trying hard
Because Raleigh Becket deserved better than a jerk like
Chuck Hansen. And that was at the bottom of every gesture Chuck had made. Even
if he showed up in a fucking tuxedo with roses and wine and a fucking string
quartet, he still couldn’t make up for how he’d treated the poor bloke at the
start. Or how big a jerk he still was, no matter how hard he tried.
He couldn’t help it, dammit. The snark would just jump right
off his tongue any time the bloke said something goofy or sappy.
Jesus. He was never getting laid again. Or snuggling on the
couch he’d dragged down from one of the couples’ berths a floor up. Or snogging
up on a catwalk in the jaeger bay.
Still with that irritating expression on her face, Mori sat
down beside his legs and patted his knee. Grudgingly, he hefted himself up and
scooted to the edge of the bed to actually sit beside her like a fucking adult.
Her tone much lower, she leaned over to bump him with her
shoulder. “You are trying too hard.”
Sighing, he glanced at her. “He’s been through the
shit, Mori. He deserves better than me.”
Her eyes rolled, but her expression was soft in a way few
people ever saw. “And you are too hard on yourself.”
He snorted, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was wasting his
time. Worse, he’d gone and fallen for the big, beautiful idiot, and it was all
for nothing. Hell, if it was just about getting laid, they’d have already done
the deed. He didn’t have to be charming to get a fuck in, after all.
But that wasn’t what he wanted.
Okay, that wasn’t all
He’d been craving that ass for years.
Suddenly, Mori heaved a dramatic sigh and threw her hands
up. “I give up. You two are idiots.”
Frowning, he leaned away from her and glared. “Real
fucking sympathetic, there.”
She rolled her eyes. “Raleigh has been courting you
almost as long as you’ve been courting him.”
Every single thought left his head. He could only stare.
“He’s been trying to socialize you because he’s sad how
alone you seem, but he also just enjoys spending time with you.” God, he’d
forgotten how wicked she looked when she smiled like that. “And frustrated
because you keep making plans when he has already thought up something for
Finally, he blinked. Then blinked again. Then groaned, long
“What. The. Fuck??”
Jesus in a jumped up jaeger, but he fucking hated her laugh.
It was light and fun and musical, and it had never once meant a good thing for
But he rather liked it, too.
“Oh, Chuck. It’s been terrible watching you two try and fail to… to….” Another
burst of laughter, her eyes tearing up with it. “I’m so sorry, but…
really. Do you two never just… talk?”
“You’ll never get anywhere with that attitude.”
She full-on giggled and elbowed him. Damn pointy elbows. It
actually rather hurt. “You’ll go with him to Alaska, right?”
Grumbling, he rubbed at the new sore spot. “Yes, I’ll
fucking go with that silly wanker to bloody Alaska.”
“I’m not fucking wooing him over his brother’s grave,
Another chuckle and another elbow to the sore spot.
But he grinned crookedly and nodded, already planning his
pack and gearing himself up for the likely tears at the graveside. No, it
wouldn’t be romantic, but it damn well would be a sign of trust, and Chuck
would be damned if he took it lightly.
And maybe it didn’t matter so much what they did so long as
they did it together.
Yeah. Maybe that.
So, as Mori left with a scruff of his hair that he ignored
with bad grace, he scooted around to his
display and tapped the video feed. Soon enough, Raleigh’s tired face floated
just in reach.
Grinning a bit, Chuck shrugged. “That trip to Alaska
still on, mate?”
God, what a sight when the exhaustion lifted on a broad smile.
“It can be, yeah. You wanna go?”
Don’t try too hard. Just go with it.
So, he smiled as best he could. “Yeah. I do.”
The broad smile softened but didn’t dim in the slightest. It
was fucking beautiful.
“Good. Thanks, Chuck. Is tomorrow too soon?”
Since in an hour wouldn’t be too soon, he just shook his
head. “Meet you on the helipad?”
It wasn’t, but it would do. And it wasn’t exactly romance,
but for blokes like them who’d been through hell, it was a start.
A/N: A Secret Saito gift for @sage-the-empress, whose prompt was “city.” At first I was running through all of the exotic cities in the world where Arthur and Eames might spend the holidays and then I thought…why not put them in the city I know best. So here is a bunch of Christmas fluff in Boston.
Arthur should flee, very, very far from Vermont, where the job has gone to hell. He needs distance from the people who want him dead.
But Arthur hasn’t slept in almost three full days—sleeping for the job doesn’t count—and Arthur makes it as far as Boston and loses all willpower to get himself to the airport, to get himself on a plane, to get himself somewhere else. Eames has a safe house in Boston, a ridiculously posh brownstone that’s all strange angles and falling-down plaster that Eames calls “charming” and refuses to fix, and Arthur manages to disable any of the security systems that make noise and stumbles into the house. He knows that Eames will know he’s there, as Arthur left the other security systems up and running, so he waves negligently to the cameras he knows are observing him, re-arms the noisy security systems to protect him while he sleeps, straggles into the bedroom, collapses onto the bed, and is immediately out.
im back at college! i have work due tomorrow! im tired af! imma bang this out! doubt itll be very long and likely error ridden ( @churchcats do better jk luv u but also pls help me) but I TRIED ok here we go. this is boy king au
The King and Arthur. Like the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, but with more sex, the King can’t die, and also in Hell. So almost not at all like the musical.
Romance with a King was difficult. Alfred had lots of duties to attend to. He usually messed them up, too, making meetings longer and Arthur’s annoyance much deeper. Alfred insisted that when they were together they spent more time on romance, not sex, which would have been fine if Arthur wasn’t an incubus and needed sex to live.
Perhaps it was more accurate to say that romance with an idiot was difficult.
Imagine running your own music shop in Hells Kitchen and working late every night.
Okay this is kind of specific I guess and not a request, but I wrote it a while ago. Plus I just got back from vacation, I’ve got to get writing again :p
1224 words. Enjoy xx (not my gif)
You were fixing stacks of books and CDs after a long day in the shop when you heard the bell above the door ring. Glancing at your watch, you saw it was almost 8pm. You usually stayed late at the shop, it was like your second home. You had bought the place when it was nothing and made it into a lovely little music store people in Hells Kitchen could enjoy. You didn’t mind staying late at all, especially if you could please more customers in the process.
You walked towards the front to greet whoever walked in. “You’re lucky, I was just about to close,” you paused, seeing Matt standing there, cane in hand. “Matt, what are you doing here? It’s getting late.” You were honestly surprised he wasn’t out dressed as the Devil of Hells Kitchen. He told you about his secret soon after Foggy found out. You were a little mad at first, and a lot worried, but you understood why Matt was doing what he was doing.
“I know,” he said, coming in and fiddling with the record player near the door. His head turned towards you, “Karen told me how you’ve been walking home late.”
You rolled your eyes. Karen was like a sister to you, and she was one of the reasons you had moved to Hells Kitchen in the first place, having no where else to really go. She just had to go and make him worry. “Karen,” you grumbled under your breath, and Matt chuckled.
“Are you finished here?”
You glanced around the shop once, nodding your head. “I think so, yeah.”
He held out his arm, smiling charmingly at you. “Allow me to escort you home, then.”
You couldn’t help but grin back. You snatched up your purse and keys, looping your arm through his. Walking down the street with Matt, you felt safer than you ever had walking home, and thought that maybe it wasn’t a bad thing Karen made him worry.
After that, every night that you worked past 7, Matt came to walk you home. You began to look forward to your expected late night chats. He’d said on a few occasions that Karen worried about you getting home okay, but you knew he was also looking out for you, and you were grateful.
He asked you about the store, how you started it, why you loved music so much. And you asked him about Foggy and law school and being a lawyer. You became even closer than you were before he started walking you home through these talks, and you were not complaining. You didn’t know if it was just you or not, but when he left you at your front door, you felt… Awkward? No, that wasn’t the word. It just didn’t feel right watching him leave.
One night, you needed to finish taking inventory, and Matt was waiting on the couch at the front of the store. “Matt, I can finish up here and walk by myself, you can go home.” It was already really late, and you didn’t want him staying up too late just to walk you home. You were sure he had better things to do.
But he was already shaking his head. “No, I’ll wait, Y/n. I don’t mind.” He took his glasses and his jacket off-that’s it, he was staying. You shook your head at your stubborn friend, but worked faster.
“What’s this?” He asked, holding a record in his hand.
You paused in your work to take the music disk from him. Some had Braille on them but not this one. “It’s, ah, Elvis,” you grinned, handing it back. “He’s alright.”
“Just alright?” Matt smiled, “What else is in here? What are your favorites?”
You shrugged. “I dunno. I love some artists more than others, but I don’t think I could pick a favorite. There’s more old stuff over here,” you walked to the left wall of the store lined with vinyl records. “More Elvis, Dean Martin, The Beatles, The Flamingos-”
You were cut off as ‘Hound Dog’ started playing off one of the old record players. You spun around saw Matt looking amused. He held out his hand, “Care to dance?”
You laughed incredulously, but you took his hands anyway. He swung your arms back and forth to the beat, and you moved with him. Smiles never left your faces, and all thoughts of inventory and sleep left your mind completely.
When the song ended, you took a deep breath and let it out with a laugh. “Okay, that was fun.”
“What’s next?” He asked, raising his eyebrows playfully, and looking into his eyes, you caved.
The entire night was spent listening and dancing to old records. Some you loved, others not so much, and you tended to make fun of those while dancing, getting a few laughs out of your dancing partner. Only stopping to eat a snack or go to the bathroom, you both stayed up much later than you expected you would.
You were pretty sure the sun was coming up when Matt grabbed another record. “Only one more song Matt, I’m tired,” you laughed. This one had Braille, like some of the other records he had picked out to play that night. You tilted your head curiously when he suddenly looked kind of nervous. You’d never really seen him like that before. He was always so suave, something you had to admit you were attracted to. You shook your head. “Is that the one?”
He looked up and nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He put the vinyl into the player, placing the needle on the record and letting it play.
This was a change of tune. It wasn’t fast or exciting, it was slow. You smiled slightly, it was playing low, and it was sweet. “Is this… Eric Clapton?” You muttered.
He nodded, “'Wonderful Tonight,’ I believe.” He shrugged, but your smile only grew. You grabbed his hands and placed one on your hip. Your fingers intertwined with his, and you slowly started to dance.
The melody brought you both to a different world, swaying back and forth in time. His forehead rested against yours, eyes closed. Your eyes scanned his face, and then you closed them, memorizing the feeling of holding his hand in yours.
The song faded out, and you looked up at him slowly, a blush on your face. The warm sun was now streaming through the windows, but you really didn’t care. You wrapped your arms around him, resting your head on his chest, and sighed contentedly. His arms wrapped securely around you, seeming more confident than he had been a few minutes earlier. You could have fallen asleep right then and there in his embrace. “How come I’ve never seen you dance before tonight?” You whispered.
He pulled back to look at you the best he could, retorting with a comment that you only expected to come from him. “Because I’ll only dance with you, Y/n.”
You rolled your eyes, your hands pulling his head down impatiently as his smirking lips met yours. And if Foggy and Karen happened to come to the store later in the day only to see you two passed out on the couch, cuddled together, you didn’t really care, because you had just had the best night of your life.
This labeled as Broken.
My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.
They were alone as men were fanned out and firing echoed in the rocky facility.
After the screams, all Rhys had left was a litany of “fuck!“s and other noises of excruciating pain as he laid bleeding in the dirt. It was the worst pain he’d ever felt, and he could tell it was serious. Something was very very wrong inside his body. He tried to keep thoughts of I’m dying out of his head, but deep down he knew he was fucked.
“Jack it-it hurts….fuck it hurts.”
“I know baby hang in there,” Jack told him as he applied pressure to the younger man’s stomach. Rhys screamed out in pain, and Jack ignored it as he tried to staunch the free-flowing wound with his shirt. There was a quickly forming puddle of thick red beneath Rhys as he lay in the orange Pandoran earth. The bullet was still in his gut– hadn’t gone clean through- and he was bleeding profusely from the entry point.
Rhys was writhing as he lay there, but not as furiously as when he’d initially gone down. Breathing hard and gasping in pain, crying out as Jack tried to tend to him in a frantic panic. He’d never felt pain like this before. He wanted to claw it out with his own hands. He could taste copper and bile in his throat, his body hot and cold, and he was terrified.
“I got you. it’s gonna be okay, you’re going to be okay.”
Jack was mentally strangling himself over not forcing the younger man to wear the body armor his soldiers were wearing as they went down to the shithole of a planet. "If you won’t wear it then I don’t see why I need to,” Rhys had adamantly told him. Jack wished he hadn’t been indulgent. Wished he hadn’t laughed it off when Rhys said Jack was a far more tempting target than he could ever be anyways. Jack wished he could rewind the clock. It all counted for naught.
The sniper had gotten off just one single shot before Jack’s men took him out and immediately swept the area for more insurgents. The shot that was aimed at Jack instead hit Rhys. Had Jack not turned to yell at the unit leader about why the hell it was taking his men so long to get their shit together, it would be Jack in the dirt right now with a bullet in him, not the younger man.
⊱McCARTNEY ⊰The Album Story [ 1⁄4 ] → Recording the album
I like its bare bones, I mean talk about honest. You couldn’t get more honest than plugging right in the back of the machine and, if the snare was too loud, you moved the mic away from it a bit. And..I didn’t really think it was going to be an album. It was just me recording for the sake of it. And then, alongside the instrumentals, I started trying to put a few songs in it, so I got things like ‘Every Night’ & ‘Maybe I’m Amazed’ and it started to have a little bit of validity as a collection..and it became an album.❞
The track-list included songs initially intended for The Beatles, such as Teddy Boy and Junk, newer material written on holiday in Scotland like The Lovely Linda and recordings done at Paul’s London home on a 4-track Studer machine from the EMI Studios that were soon to be re-named Abbey Road. Final sessions took place at Morgan Studios in Willesden and at Abbey Road itself.
Barista!Calum would wait every Tuesday night for you to walk in. You called his attention from the first time you stepped in, the dullness in your eyes and the way your shoulders were always hunched over, your head bowed down always broke his heart. He wanted to approach you, to hear you day something besides your usual order. He wanted to make you smile and wipe away the tears that always spilled down your cheeks as you sat in the furthest corner of the room where you thought no one could see you.
It wasn’t until Michael, who was Calum’s boss, got fed up with it that he made Calum take his break early and offered a free drink for him that Calum finally got the courage to go up ato your table and sit down. Despite the awkwardness, he finally managed to break the silence and speak to you. You didn’t really say anything and just stared.
And for the following weeks, you continued to go to the coffee shop and Calum would always take his break when you were around. And he would talk about dogs and music and any other thing he could think of, and you would only stare.
But he never gave up on you because he noticed the slight change in your demeanor. The little light that started to ignite in your eyes and the way you would sit straighter everytime, or the rosy color that would spread on your cheeks.
And then one day you replied with the lowest of whispers until you finally had conversations about anything you could think of.
But then his biggest accomplishment was when he finally managed to make you smile. Despite it being small, the smile was the most beautiful one he’d ever seen and it lit up your entire face. And in that moment he realized that he fell in love with the mysterious girl that went to the coffee shop every Tuesday night.
What he didn’t know was that you fell in love with him since the moment you stepped into the coffee shop for the first time. And maybe that was why you went every Tuesday night when things got bad, just to see the barista that made the best coffee and that had the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen.
sometimes adhd feels like those dreams where you’re aware it’s a dream but you still don’t have any control over it. you just kinda sit there watching things play out, knowing what should be happening and knowing what you should be doing to put that into effect but you can’t and that’s the worst part.
and all the dreams become nightmares. and people say, “but if you’re lucid in your dreams then why don’t you just change your dreams to make them happy?” and it seems so simple and you wonder if maybe you’re just not trying hard enough. but every night the same thing happens and you wonder if it’s just going to be like this forever.