the undersiders

10

Numbat

The numbat (Myrmecobius fasciatus), also known as the banded anteater, marsupial anteater, or walpurti, is a marsupial native to Western Australia and recently re-introduced to South Australia. Its diet consists almost exclusively of termites. It digs them up from loose earth with its front claws and captures them with its long, sticky tongue. An adult numbat requires up to 20,000 termites each day. Once widespread across southern Australia, its range is now restricted to several small colonies, and it is listed as an endangered species. 

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8

Here’s one way I draw trees~

  • Create solid silhouette of your trunk/ leaves
  • Using a solid texture brush (I used the same one for all the steps), cut away into the underside of the leaves
  • Add some individual leaves to break up the treetop
  • Add lighter/darker hues for volume. I use the same process of laying down a solid stroke and then cutting into it.
Petition to have "no" voicelines in overwatch

Genji: “I need healing !!!!!1!!1!”
Mercy: “No. I don’t think so.”

Hanzo: “Attack the objective!!!!!4!!2!!211!”
McCree: “Eat the underside of my rusty boot, pardner.”

Soldier 76: “Stop the payload!!!2!!1!1!”
Reaper: “Honestly?? Fuk u”

nude wars | pt.1 (m)

» pairings: yoongi x reader x jungkook

» genre: smut, touches of fluff / frat!yoonkook

» word count: 4,458

» description: Okay sure, maybe having a threesome with two best friends from the same frat wasn’t the smartest thing you’d ever done. But hey, when the result was them vying for your attention in the form of scandalous snaps, breathy audio messages, and unspeakable texts, well then the decision definitely wasn’t that bad — Or alternatively, your phone getting caught in the middle of Yoongi and Jungkook constantly trying to one-up each other in a war of sexting (and just maybe romantics).

Nine texts, four missed calls, several snaps, one voice mail — who the fuck leaves voicemails?

The notifications flashed across the home screen of your phone after your blurry and sleep-deprived eyes managed to locate the button to stop your shrieking alarm that was set for six-thirty in the goddamn morning. The early wake-up time due to the fact that it was your turn to trudge through the morning shift at the café you worked at — now that was what you called a simple cause and effect. You have the morning shift, so you set your alarm earlier than usual. It was simple, however as your thumb rested against the screen of your phone, the previously mentioned notifications continuing to stare back at you with urging enticement, you once again wondered how this particular cause and effect had come to fruition.

Your teeth caught hold of your bottom lip, bearing down on the tender flesh as your heart began to rapidly beat against your chest. Ragged sighs invaded your lungs as you pressed your thumb against the home button of the device. It unlocked, revealing what you of course already knew would be there. The small red dots that indicated how many missed alerts you had received throughout the night. It was with a deep breath that you pressed down on the first icon to rid yourself of the notification that held the least weight.

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All It Takes (three)

Bucky x Reader

Summary: Be happy Bucky is here to handle everything.

Word Count: 4116 | Rating: R

Warnings: SMUT. oral (f receiving), face riding, dirty talking, two nsfw gifs, UNPROTECTED SEX (wrap your wang, before you bang!)

A/N: I am just going to leave this for y’all thirsty hoes. But I’m baffled by the feedback I got on the first tow part, so just wanna say THANK YOU!

also sorry for any typos

Masterlist here

All It Takes Part One Part Two 

(*gifs are not mine!)

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Nine Months - Harry Styles Imagine

No piece of mine has never had as much interest surrounding it as this one has, so thank you for expressing your excitement to me. I hope you’ll find it was worth the wait. (Protip: if you’re reading on mobile, ditch the app and read on Safari or Chrome instead, as the app is prone to close on longer pieces of text).

This one is dedicated to @permanentcross, simply because she’s the best. E has listened to me ramble on and on about this story for longer than anyone should have to. She’s the inspiration behind many things beneath the cut, all of which I will leave up to your own interpretation. 

Without further adieu, I present you with Nine Months…

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you want to paint the underside of your coffin with glow in the dark stars so you’ve got something to look at. when you were in mass last sunday god spoke to you directly and asked you to please stop it. you’ve been trying to stop it.

she’s wearing a red dress that hugs her waist so tight that you picture your hands searching for your sanity somewhere in the folds of that body. between thighs like that. is this objectifying her? you worry to yourself, smashing lipstick on.

your head already hurts, and there’s a girl who is puking in the corner. you ask her if she needs anything, and she tells you she likes your dress, and you say thank you do you need water, and she says, it’s okay i’m going to die here, and you say, okay let me bring you water. so you bring her water, even though the other girls look nasty at you when you cut the line. it’s not for me, you try to explain, weakly, over bass that is breaking your eardrums. nobody likes a hero. the girl is surprised you’re back. she spits up daintily, almost neatly, and drinks the water in a single chug. she tells you to go back to partying, so you do, because she tells you to.

where the hell is your friend. it’s not like she promised she’d stay next to you but here you are and here she isn’t, which is either rude for both of you or just the average way of things.

nervous hands bring you back to the bar where at least you can linger and pout and think about god, and his hands, and the sun coming up tomorrow on the bones of your body. where if you keep your eyes down and don’t look up you won’t remember that all places of worship are churches and here you are, nursing a vodka tonic you finished five minutes ago, praying about hell while women cagedance not more than six yards from where you sit.

a man in a suit - an honest-to-god suit - comes up to you. the cloth is powder blue. he asks if you want a drink. you don’t. you say yes because your mother taught you not to turn down free things. he orders you something you don’t like and you lean across the bar and tell the bartender nicely that unless he wants you to die you will be drinking a shot of fireball and nothing else, thank you. the bartender says, i don’t want you to die.

you don’t say, okay, but, what if someone would finally let me die. that’s dark. that’s something you stow for your friend who has a good enough sense of humor.

you smile at the man, take the shot, wave at him, ask him to come dance, melt away into the crowd with that ability you learned somewhere in high school. now you’re alone again and can’t go back to the bar because the man will be looking. you remember you’ve got a phone finally.

you ask your friend where she is. she doesn’t reply coherently, but you like the addition of the cat emoji.

some terrible part of you slips into your skin now, the ache of wanting out. so you go out.

and there’s the girl in the red dress.   

you feel yourself choke like a car engine and it’s gosh dang embarrassing.

she’s laughing, blowing smoke up at the building. a man is standing next to her, but she makes eye contact with you. you ask her if she’s willing to bum you one. you’ve never smoked in your life and you’re terrified of them like guns. she nods and slips you a clover. you don’t let your hands shake in the glow of the lighter, only after, only when she smiles at you and asks you how you’re doing.

how am i doing? i’m very lonely and i think god abandoned me and it feels like a train wreck inside me. i feel myself reversing. my headlights are going out. tomorrow already hurts.

instead you shrug and say something inconsequential. you say, that’s a nice dress. even manage to keep how hard your heart is pounding out of it.

isn’t it? asks the man. you now remember he’s here. you have the urge to smoke suddenly. inhale deeply.

sorry to bother you, you say, just got too loud in there.

she nods, looking at you, mouth in a pretty smile. not bothering, she says, it’s okay. want to go back in with me?

her outstretched hand is soft and cold. you drop the clover. once inside she shouts over the music to you about how men are creeps. her lip touches your ear while she speaks. her hand doesn’t leave yours. she pulls you to the dance floor. your heart feels like a carousel.

she dances. your throat is dry. she takes your other hand and makes you dance with her, a silly little twisting thing. your palms are sweaty and she is laughing. she leans in to speak with you, pressing up against your body. there is lightning shooting out over your skin. she smells like roses. her hair seems soft.

she’s whispering something and for a second, the sound of corroding stops in your brain. like the train finally derailed and now it’s dead and can leave you out of it. like stuff gets quiet even though you’re drunk in public on a friday night.

so this is worship, then, you think.

you say, sorry, and she says ? for what? and you can’t speak.

when she turns around, you leave.

I’m still genuinely concerned about the Cars Universe

are their armpits their wheel wells or the undersides of their mirrors

are their tongues… organic? or mechanical?

in the first movie some girl cars flash their headlights at mcqueen like titties but then in the second movie mcqueen gets headlights installed instead of just headlight stickers so does that mean he got breast implants

how do cars ‘die’ do they have souls?? can they be brought back to life with replacement parts like some sort of frankensteinmobile?

why are some of the animals car animals but some of them are just regular animals

why do they need to sleep if they are machines

there is a car military meaning there were probably car wars

car christianity is also confirmed meaning there’s a car jesus so also there’s that

sweet mornings

summary: breakfast in the barnes household || fluff || dad!bucky x reader

warnings: tooth-rotting cuteness, flirting, suggestive flirting 

note: here’s a cute little something. i’ll post something longer either later tonight or tomorrow

Originally posted by buchanstan

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She’s Just Not That Into You » Part I (A Harry Styles Miniseries)

First and foremost, I need to dedicate this miniseries to @stylesunchained​. If it weren’t for B, this idea would’ve never come to fruition. It’s been so lovely to torture you with snippets of this story, and now it’s finally here! And yes, the whole damn thing is dedicated to you, my beautiful friend.

Secondly, I need to take the time to thank @cuddlemusclestyles​ for her knowledge of England and always answering my questions about it. I would be lost without you, for you are my own personal Google.

And, of course, thank you all for the interest you’ve expressed for this miniseries. It’s always that much more enjoyable to write when you know you’ve got people rooting for you. I hope I don’t disappoint you.

Originally posted by chillhopdotcom

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Reminder

Summary: In which Bucky needs a reminder that he’s the only person you want to be with.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 948

A/N: This one was written for my love, @janelock221. HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU RADIANT QUEEN. I took the two prompts you sent my way and threw them in here - it’s my small way of letting you know that your friendship means everything to me.

Originally posted by coporolight

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” you complain, staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. You don’t know how you got here. This wasn’t what you had in mind after returning home after a long day of work.

I don’t call you my partner in crime for no reason,” Bucky calls out, voice carrying through the wooden door that’s acting as the only barrier between the two of you. “Now c’mon, doll. I wanna see how you look.”

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Show Me a Dwarf Thief, & I'll Show You a Dead Dwarf

(I play a rogue, and my party was exploring an ancient dwarven fortress from the days when demons flooded the world. So, every other door and every other wall had a trap. Between me and the dwarf skald, we spot most of the traps without a problem. With a few exceptions, such as this narrow hallway:)

Skald: Hey [Rogue], watch that square. It’s a pressure plate.

DM: In fact, what tips you off is in the engravings on the wall, there’s a dwarf pointing it out as if it was a funny prank.

Rogue: Oh, that’s rude. Alright, you can stay outside with the rest, I’m gonna check the rest of the hallway, and jump over the square.

(I make an acrobatics check to make a 10 ft. jump.)

DM: You make it over the pressure plate no problem, and are feeling pretty good about it until you hear the *click* of the floor beneath you. The hallway begins filling with water, and the doors lock behind you.

Rogue: Oh fuck you, dwarf architects.

(Thankfully, the strong party members kept the door open until I could escape. This continues until after we’ve fought scores of undead, beaten two haunts, and disabled a number of door and wall traps. We’ve seen a scorpion tail-shaped poison trap in a vault door, a gunpowder room door rigged to explode, a wall designed to spray acid a la The Mummy, and a chapel built to drop bombs from the ceiling that was left on by the priest before he died. We’re clearing out the last two rooms…)

Skald: [Rogue], another pressure plate.

Rogue: …Alright. I’m going to disable this pressure plate, and then examine IN GREAT DETAIL, the square directly behind it.

DM: Alright, you disable the plate by removing the hydrogen bags connected to them. These would have been opened into the hallway and ignited if you stepped on the plate.

Rogue: Holy shit, dwarves do not fuck around. What about the plate behind it? I examined that as much as possible!

DM: You pry the tile up with your knife, and you hear a *click*–

Rogue (Panicking): NO! EVERYBODY OUT!

DM: –But when you look underneath the plate, it’s clear that the floor tile is designed to make a *click*-ing sound when being manipulated with, say, by a rogue searching for traps. On the underside, the tile reads in dwarven, “Ya think we’d use the same trick twice?”

Rogue: … [Skald], I-I… I mean no disrespect to your race or your culture, but for rogues, dwarves are just… the absolute worst people ever.

Skald: I understand. I admire their craftsmanship and ingenuity, but there’s a reason there are no dwarf thieves.

DM: Okay, to the rest of the party, around the corner, you hear [Rogue] crying.

Rogue: *sobs*!

the spy au that @philosophium ordered !!


Andrew slips through a slit in the crowd, brushing through the sleek trains of expensive gowns, rich wool suits jackets catching on his own. He’s on his second flute of champagne, and the tartness keeps him focused. His attention is on the flavour and the rim of the glass and the warp of faces through it. His earpiece crackles and whispers.

He can see his mark on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by servers and liars and pretty things. One of them is all three, Andrew can tell: a waiter’s vest, a seam of over-applied foundation, and bright blue eyes.

He’s distracting, flighty, a rubber band pulled all the way back. He looks like the memory of a case file, and a name occurs to Andrew one second before Kevin hisses it into his ear.

“It’s fuckin’ Charlie Pilot. Don’t engage, Minyard, we’re not here for him.”

Andrew doesn’t make any effort to reply, just takes another pull of champagne. He’s not really watching the troupes of entertainers or the clockwork security or the velvet and silk blooming under bowing chandeliers. He’s not even watching the man he’s either going to rob or kill, who’s laughing and weedy, red in the face from the alcohol. He’s stuck on Pilot –  next to his target, holding a heavily stocked tray of appetizers, his expression pleasant and empty.

He’ll be an irritant to what should be a straightforward plan, if he keeps hovering. Andrew takes a loaded step forward and the voice in his ear complains.

“Don’t even think about moving in until Pilot leaves. He’s probably doing reconnaissance for Matt. I bet he doesn’t even know about the file.”

Andrew watches Pilot’s face tick, the way he blinks like he’s on a timer, the way he’s worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth.

“I bet he does,” Andrew murmurs, and he drains the last of the champagne. He plucks his tie pin away from the fabric and drops it in the empty glass, leaving it on a passing tray.

“What— what the fuck Minyard, we’ve lost visuals. Do you hear me? Andrew? Andrew?”

Andrew weaves through the rest of the golden crowd, ignoring the buzz of Kevin’s reprimands in his ear. He finds a new spot on the outskirts of the crowd where Pilot has installed himself.

“Do you know how fucking expensive those cameras are? You’re such a piece of shit operative,” Kevin says. “When you inevitably come back without the intelligence and without our equipment, it’s costing us to keep you around, do you realize that?”

Andrew’s more focused on the way Pilot’s shoulders are turning to face him, the slim line of his tailored pants, that eyelash-thick smudge of un-blended make up.

“Shrimp?” Pilot offers, swaying the tray in his direction.

“No,” Andrew says, but he stays uncomfortably near, feeling along the edges of his boundaries without finding any seams. Pilot’s composure is still and reserved as a frost-ravaged garden.

“Have a good evening then,” Pilot says graciously, turning back towards the host that Andrew should be sizing up but hasn’t even looked at. He glances at him for a sliver of a moment, finds himself uninterested, and looks back at Pilot.

Andrew catches him suddenly by the arm, but relaxes his grip just as quickly, caught off guard by his own impulsivity. His own disguise is just an invitation and sun bleached hair; he isn’t playing a character like Pilot is. He’s neutral for a living, but Pilot is a new weight on his scale, unbalancing him so that he can’t quite settle at zero.

When their eyes meet, the polite, curious waiter snips out of existence. Charlie Pilot stares at Andrew, with eyes like the bluest part of a fire.

“There’s a conflict of interest,” he tells Andrew calmly. “And your interest will lose.”

“I’m not interested in anything,” Andrew says broadly.

“Hm,” Pilot says, unconvinced. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t lie,” Andrew says. He’s always saying it; it’s a novelty that employers enjoy and enemies challenge, amused.

Pilot raises his jaw, mouth twitching. “No, you wouldn’t, would you.” His eyes flicker to the side of Andrew’s face, where Kevin is breathing furiously through his earpiece, then down to the grip he still has on his forearm. He lowers his tray down until the rough edge is pressed to the root of Andrew’s hand threateningly. “You’ll want to let me go, Andrew, or you’re going to end up needing a longer armband.”

Andrew feels genuine surprise squeeze his fingers around Pilot’s wrist. He hadn’t noticed the black fabric extending a whiff beyond his crisp white sleeve. He lets go, and Pilot tucks his shoulders back, satisfied. His hair is too dark to match his freckles, Andrew notes quietly. It is, perhaps, what the make up was meant to cover up.

“You are not going to win, Charlie,” Andrew says. “We’re the more capable team.”

Pilot smiles indulgently. “‘Charlie’,” he repeats, mouth curling around the name. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been Charlie Pilot.” He jostles his tray from one hand to another, and loosens his collar with his freed hand. “And I don’t think you understand how much farther ahead we are than you. If you’re looking for information, we already have it. If you’re trying to find the connections this place has to the Yakuza, we’re the ones undoing them.”

“Who’s we? I don’t remember seeing anything about loyalty in your case file. You’re just a runner.”

Pilot looks briefly bothered by this, and he juts his chin again. “I’m loyal to whoever’s doing the work that needs to be done.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Who are you?”

He looks down, at Andrew’s empty hands, at the hip where he’s hiding his gun. His expression is warped and sad when he looks up, like the real filling in his strange costume is finally oozing out.

“You can call me Neil,” he says, and drops the whole tray of food so that it clatters and rolls into the host’s feet. There are gasps and yelps, partygoers dodging and stooping to catch the runaway platter. Andrew looks impulsively down to track its progress, and when he looks sharply back up into the knot of activity, Neil is gone. Of course he is.

He doesn’t have time to think about where he might have disappeared to, just steps neatly into the opportunity that’s been afforded to him. He uses the distraction as a doorway directly into the offices behind the coddled host.

Kevin is asking repeatedly for updates, and Andrew fishes the earpiece out and tucks it into his breast pocket. He likes to be alone for this part, when the most important door closes behind him and everything makes as much sense as a ticking clock.

He keeps thinking of Neil’s reaction to ‘runner’, of the vulnerability trussed up in his persona. He finds himself sick to his stomach wanting to know what his real hair colour is.

He tries every door in the polished row of them, finding all of them locked. He picks the lock on the door farthest from the burble of the ballroom behind him, and cracks into what looks like a room built for business arrangements and drinking. There’s a snifter next to a half dozen tumblers on a cart along the wall, and extensive cabinets under the desk.

He feels his way along the underside of the desk, and opens each drawer, idealistically left unlocked and unprotected. He finds useless information and shady information and heaps of anonymous, unlabeled tapes.

He finds the safe in the floor, facing up patiently under a wingback chair and a panel of floorboard. He stoops so that he’s face to face with it, shrugs his jacket off like a dead skin onto the floor, and puts the heart of a stethoscope to the face of the safe.

He’s sweating, spread out surreptitiously on the floor, but the safe is flimsy. It cracks in under an hour, the party wilting two rooms over, pressure taking him by the hair. Andrew flicks the door open impatiently, unwinding the stethoscope from around his neck.

It’s filled top to bottom with paper, and he reaches for the first file, carding his fingers through the spill of sheets.

Got you, it says. Over and over again, in unassuming little typescript. And on the next page, got you.

Andrew’s fingers flex. The next file is the same, and the next. A million taunting, twirling repetitions: got you. Got this. Got here first.

The safe was already cracked. The list of names was already stolen. Neil’s face winks and swarms when he closes his eyes, furious. If you’re looking for information, we already have it.

He roots around for the bud in his pocket and pops it back into his ear. He leans back, splayed away from the spill from the safe, the stacks of failure. He enunciates clearly into the microphone sewn into his collar.

“We have to find Neil.”

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anonymous asked:

What are the main ereri moments in the uprising arc?

Oh boy, lemme show you! People have probably already compiled these scenes but I’mma do it again, because I can’t sleep anyway.

First, there’s little things like Eren cleaning up the new HQ, trying to make sure everything is perfect for his husband’s Levi’s arrival:

Eren is the only one bothered by Levi’s disappointment because he is still learning just how high his husband’s Corporal’s standards are. How could he possibly forget to clean… the… underside of the table…? 

And here’s the two of them sitting next to each other at dinner (which makes us all ask the question, where the hell is Eren’s hand?)

Levi sitting on Eren’s bed while he’s recovering because he cares:

Then there’s the scene when they go to save Eren and he calls out for his man Levi specifically before the rest of them…

 And Levi looking over at Eren with love in his eyes and apologizing for the fact that he’s always the one left with difficult choices:

And then after they’re all saved, Levi tells him “you really look good without a shirt terrible” (which, we all know, in Levi-talk actually means “I’m glad you’re okay”) 

Then there’s that funny little scene where Eren calls Rod Reiss a midget and Levi side-eyes him hard as Eren realizes his poor choice of words:

And then, of course, this beautiful scene where Levi gives Eren his handkerchief to clean up his nosebleed after too much titan training:

Watching him closely with blatant love and affection:

I think that’s all of them… Idk about you, but I’m excited as hell to see these scenes animated :D

Tweeter and Skeeter.

This is long, be warned. I live in a lowish income neighborhood. My little section is pretty nice, but if you go a few blocks in any direction, it gets pretty shitty. That means I’ve had a few run ins with skeevy meth heads and small time thieves.

This started when I moved in to my house. I noticed that on trash pick-up days, people would go up and down the alley where the trash cans go and dig through looking for recyclables. One of them was a guy I called Old Bob.

Old Bob lived a few houses down. He said he collected to buy presents for his grandkids. I don’t think the kids liked pints of Dark Eyes vodka, but he was harmless. So I started bagging up my cans separately so Old Bob didn’t have to dig through my trash.

Then, there were Tweeter and Skeeter. They would roll up and down the alley in a junky old truck with no exhaust that belched blue smoke. They looked like the after pictures from Faces of Meth. After they saw in was bagging cans for Old Bob, they started grabbing them. This didn’t sit well with me.

The next time I saw Old Bob, I told him I would leave my stuff just inside my yard, up against my shed, where you couldn’t see the bag from the alley. This went on for a month. Then, I heard and smelled Tweeter and Skeeter rumbling down the alley. I didn’t think anything of it, then I heard the rattle of a bag of aluminum cans being thrown into the bed of a truck. Those fuckers had gone into my yard to grab Old Bob’s drinking money. That shit would not stand.

I went to the hardware store; I bought a cheap pair of locks and some latches. I put the latches on my trash cans, I would unlock them when I left for work, which was about 15 minutes before the trash truck came down the alley. I also gave Old Bob a key. By this time, we were becoming downright neighborly. I would chat with him and have him help me around the yard and throw any spare cash his way.

After a few weeks, I heard Tweeter and Skeeter again. I heard them stop, then rattle the can lids, then drive off. I came out the next morning and the fuckers had pried the latches off my cans, and stolen the locks, too.

Now I was pissed. They were stealing Old Bob’s drinking money, and they had fucked with my shit. I stopped keeping cans separate, and started dumping used cat litter over everything.

Tweeter and Skeeter would still roll up to my trash area, but they weren’t willing to dig through shit to get anything. Old Bob was still helping me around the yard, so I would hands him bags of cans when he was over, in addition to the extra cash.

Everything was quiet for a few months. Then, we had a bad storm and the gutters on the alley side of my shed got messed up. They were in OK shape, but the underlying board and gotten torn up. It was too late in the day to do anything, but I figured Old Bob and I could take care of it the next day.

That night, I was woken up by Tweeter and Skeeters damn truck. But before I could throw pants and shoes on and chase them off, they were gone. So were the gutters on my shed.

Needless to say, I was fucking livid. After I calmed down, I went to Home Depot to get a new gutter. As luck would have it, I heard the fucking meth-mobile start up in the parking lot as I was walking in.

I wasn’t about to confront them directly, since I like having all of my blood and internal organs on the inside. What in did do, though, was get a good look at their liscense plates.

They were expired (of course) but the layer of soot from burning oil had obscured the sticker. You wouldn’t notice it from more than 5 feet away.

Finally, I had a way to get back at them. I called a relative who knew a few of the local PD. They said the address on the last registration was a house that had since been burned down in a meth lab fire. They never caught the cooks, but they going to keep an eye out for the truck. If nothing else, they would get a ticket and have to put current plates with a real address on them.

I was OK with this, but I wanted blood. I got my wish when the city did heavy trash pick-up.

I put an old grill in my back yard and scratched “Not Trash”, on the underside, along with spraypainting the smokestack white. Sure enough, Tweeter and Skeeter saw it and couldn’t resist. Once they had done that, I spent a few hours on a Saturday driving around the shittier parts of my neighborhood until I spotted my grill sitting in a yard.

I called my buddy with the police contacts and told them where they could find Tweeter and Skeeter and their un-registered vehicle, along with a stolen grill.

A few hours later, Tweeter and Skeeter came home to a few cops waiting for them. Since scrapping from heavy trash pick-up had been good to them, they were caught with a not insignificant amount of Meth and a lot of precursors to make more.

Tweeter has to serve out a 5 year sentence in prison. He also pinned the lab fire on Skeeter, who will be serving 10 years along side him.

Old Bob still helps me out, too.

All It Takes (two)

Bucky x Reader

Summary: It’s not just Bucky who is miserably lusting after you.

Word Count: 1349 | Rating: R 

Warnings: SMUT. Masturbation, one nsfw gif

A/N: okay, that’s a crappy summary. but I hope the content is good enough for y’all 

also sorry for any typos, i’m on the phone.

Masterlist here

All It Takes Part One

(*gifs are not mine!)


From the moment he stepped into your life, you were aware of what all he could do to you. Bucky Barnes was a walking warning himself, a constant reminder for why you cannot be anyone else’s but his. You are head over heels for him and all he has to do is look at you and throw that sexy smirk along with those twinkling blue orbs and you were done for good.

You find yourself daydreaming about him – a lot, often about his lips, how he would roam them all over your body, pressing gentle feather light kisses on your sensitive skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. How his perfect lips would mould with yours, sucking all the air from your lungs, leaving them red and swollen. How he’d graze the tip of his nose along the underside of your jawline, breathing you in. He’d connect lips on the column of your throat, biting and sucking bruises and it would take him little to no time in discovering that sensitive spot on your neck which makes you release that sweet harmonious noise.

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Spoiled || R.B.

Word Count: 1875

Pairing: Ross x reader

Summary: Coming from a rich family, you never had to work a day in your life until you met Ross. After a confrontation with him, he makes you work for your orgasm by riding his thigh.

Warnings: smut, thigh riding, blowjobs, dirty talk, rich!reader, spoiled brat!reader

Requested by @faee12 : “Omg can you do a imagine with Ross and thigh riding”

Masterlist

Also, listen to Blackbear’s new album while listening to this preferably I miss the old you and make daddy proud trust me it makes it 100x better.

To be blunt, you were so happy that your family was rich. Your father was the CEO of a multi million-dollar company and your mother was a New York Times bestselling author. Put together, your parents made more than you could spend in ten lifetimes. This caused you to never have to work a day in your life.

As a child, you had a personal maid, Carla, who picked you up from your private school that your parents paid a lot for, made you your favorite snacks, and anything else you wanted. She would also read you to sleep at night since your parents were never home due to business meetings or events they had to go to. Carla became like you second mother, she taught you about boys and periods and other things a mother figure should teach you.

When you moved to middle school, you started to hang out with other rich families. You would hang out with the other children while your parents would talk business. You would brag about the latest electronic your daddy had just bought you just like the other kids. Your parents always wanted you to be better than all the other kids so they would spoil you with whatever you asked for and even what you didn’t ask for.

It reached a whole new level when you went to high school. Your mother hired you a tutor, but he would never teach you, but just do the work for you. You never said anything though, it was just work you didn’t have to do. You started to go with your parents to fancy parties and events which was your favorite since you got to go shopping for a new dress. Your daddy never gave you a price limit when you went shopping; he had given you a credit card in middle school and it had never been declined so you thought it didn’t have one.

You mother would set you up with boys from other rich families. All the children of rich families knew what happened when your parents would set you up. It was like an unspoken code. You would go to the event, laugh, dance and have a great time because you knew when the party was over you would go home with your date and things would get hot.

The only thing that changed when you moved to college is you stopped hooking up with the local rich boys and moved on to the frat boys. You went to parties every weekend, got shit faced, and on occasion hooked up with someone in the spare room. The school’s staff knew your parents so you never had to worry about your grades, but your father still hired you a tutor who just wrote your essays and took your tests for you.

When you got out of college, you had no idea what you wanted to do with the rest of your life but again you didn’t worry about it. You became a public figure and the face of brands who paid you a lot of money just for an Instagram post or to show your face at a party. You met Ross Butler on one of these brand deals. You were at a showing party of the new Netflix original show, Thirteen Reasons Why.

One of your girlfriends had introduced you to him, and when you made eye contact, you were instantly infatuated. He had this sex appeal that he carried around but he acted like he didn’t have it. When you flirted with him, it’s like he didn’t notice and he never flirted back. You were utterly confused since men had always shown interest in you.

It wasn’t until the third time you had hung out that you finally blurted out, “Do you not find me attractive? I have a been flirting with you nonstop since we met and all I have gotten back are a few compliments and one hug goodbye.”

He was shocked when you had confronted him like that. He just sat there with his mouth open, eyebrows scrunched, and stuttered, not being able to get a full sentence out. You got up in a huff and stormed out of his house. You were frustrated and angry that he had pulled you along like that since he was the one to invite you. You decided to treat yourself to a few new shoes to help calm your nerves.

It was about a week later when your butler had notified you that Ross was at your door and he wanted to talk to you. You really wanted to know what he had to say after he had basically turned you down. You had opened the door with a bitch face, “What do you wa-“ you started to say before Ross had rushed in and pushed you against the wall opposite to the door.

He had his hands on either side of your head and you could feel his breath on your face, “Princess, you have never had to work for anything in your life,” He paused and pressed his body against yours, “but tonight that’s going to change.”

The idea of working for something had never excited you like it did tonight. You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding and your heart started racing when he led you to the living room by your wrists.

He plopped down on a black leather chair in the corner of the room. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt and dark jeans with his legs spread out. He ran his hand up your leg which was exposed because you were wearing a silk nightgown with lace details. He held eye contact as his hand went higher up your thigh until he grabbed your butt.

“I’m not going to do anything, but sit here, baby girl, so get to work if you want something.” He teased as he took his hand off you and leaned all the way back in the chair. You looked at him with your eyebrows raised as to say, are you serious, and he crossed his arms over his chest and challenged you with his eyes.

You chuckled and rolled your eyes as you straddled his lap. You rubbed your hands up and down his chest and you pressed down your core onto his. You brought your lips to his neck and peppered kisses from his jawline to base of his neck where you settled on his collarbone and started to suck. You lightly grazed your teeth over the mark you made and he let out a raspy groan.

You started to fumble with the button of his jeans when he grabbed both of your wrists in his hand to stop you, “Did you not hear what I said? Princess, you’re going to have to work for your orgasm.”

You were confused for a second, not knowing what he meant. It wasn’t until he patted his thigh that you knew what he wanted you to do. You let out a huff as you moved to straddle one of his legs. You held eye contact as you started to rock back and forth. The roughness of his jeans making your eyes roll back as it contacted your bare core.

“I wish you could yourself right now, using my thigh to get yourself off.” His hands went to your hips and pressed down so more pressure would be on your clit. You let out a loud moan and your hands went to his chest to steady yourself.

“Fucking ride my thigh like the spoiled brat you are. Daddy can’t buy you out of this one, can he?” He teased. You started to move faster on his thigh as you felt a knot form in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck, keep talking.” You managed to get out between pants.

“Baby girl likes when I talk? Of course, you do, you can’t do anything yourself, can you? I bet no one has ever made you work for anything so this must be hard for you, do you want my help?”

“Yes, please.” You begged as you felt the knot getting tighter.

“Ha, have you not listen to a word I’ve said? Fuck your daddy needs to pay for a better education if you don’t understand by now that I’m not going to touch you at all tonight.” He laughed while you gave him a desperate look.

“Oh, is the brat close to her orgasm?” He teased, “Come on come for me.”

You made eye contact with him as your orgasm took hold of your body and you collapsed on Ross’s chest as your body convulsed with the earth-shattering orgasm. You never felt anything like that before and it felt ten times better than your best orgasm.

“Princess, you’re not done.” He held you up and pushed you down to the floor in-between his legs. You knew what he wanted and you started to feel more comfortable because this was your forte.

You were still recovering from your orgasm as you ran your hands up and down his thighs skipping over the spot he needed you most. He let out a groan and mumbled, “Don’t tease me, princess”

You giggled as you unbuttoned his pants and slid them down his thighs. You peppered kisses all the way from his bellybutton to the band of his boxers while rubbing him through his boxers. He let out a muffled cuss word and put his head back on the top of the chair.

You pulled his boxers down and his dick sprang up and hit his stomach. You looked at him hungrily as you licked a bold line up his shaft to his tip where you took it into your mouth and sucked lightly. He grabbed your hair into a makeshift ponytail and pushed you down onto his erection. You took as much as you could into your mouth as he hit your gag reflex, your eyes started to water as he kept you there for a couple of seconds.

When he finally let you come back up, you were gasping for air but you went right back to his dick and started to swirl your tongue around the tip. When he started to let out a groan, you stopped and took your mouth away and continued to jerk him off with your hand.

He gave you a warning look as you connected your lips with his dick again and took a good amount of him into your mouth. He started to buck his hips up into your throat and you knew he was close. You paid attention to the underside of the tip with your tongue and your hands went to his balls where you played with them.

“Fuck, princess, your mouth feels so good. Keep going, I’m close.” He grunted. It wasn’t long before he shot his load into the back of your throat and you had no choice but to swallow it.

He looked down at you and smirked, “Working for it makes it better doesn’t it baby girl.”

You giggled and looked down with a small nod. He knew it had been as amazing for you as it was for him.

a/n- I know this isn’t relatable at all but oh well its what I wanted to write so. Also, tell me what you think about this in my inbox! I love hearing your feedback! Thank you guys for 1k I love you so much omg!