Jun 24
I swear I saw a post with the shirt under cut but I forgot to like and save it and now I can't find it to reblog with this. What ever
Loading...
seen from Russia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from TĆ¼rkiye
seen from Ireland
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Spain
seen from Spain
seen from China
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
seen from United States
I swear I saw a post with the shirt under cut but I forgot to like and save it and now I can't find it to reblog with this. What ever
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ā¢ No registration required ā¢ HD streaming
In the abstract
All his life, he looked up to the famous artist Yagi Toshinori. He would paint in all styles, using all sorts of mediums, and his works were renowned worldwide. He was truly one of the greats. Some would praise his technical skill; his use of colors and contrasts, light and shadows, clean lines and brushstrokes. Others focused more on the emotional aspects, and his ability to reach and affect the viewer.Ā
Izuku was focused on the latter as a kid. He would always feel something when looking at his paintings. But now, as an adult, and as a fellow artist, he appreciates every aspect.Ā
After all these years, there's only one art style that he's never learned to understand. Not on any level.Ā And he's pretty sure he never will.
Abstract.Ā
Which is why he is struggling, trying to come up with something to say about the piece he is currently viewing.Ā
"It's... beautiful. You're very talented", he tells the artist.Ā
He's at a local exhibition, not showcasing any pieces of his own yet, but always interested and wanting to support his fellow artists.
He's even found a new favorite (potentially on par with Yagi Toshinori, though he'll need a closer look at more of his works to really be able to tell for sure) and his works are displayed next to this guy's. Unfortunately, this abstract painter had clocked him as he was on his way over there, and Izuku had immediately been intercepted. He'd been forced to stop, and more or less forced to have some sort of opinion on this random splash of color on a canvas. But this guy doesn't strike him as the type to take well to criticism. I mean, he's an abstract painter. Maybe Izuku is biased, but he thinks that says enough...Ā
"Yeah? You know, if I'm being honest, I'd much rather spend the night looking at you than the works on display here".
Oh, great. Now the creep is hitting on him, too. This is just what he needs.Ā
Trying not to be offended on behalf of his fellow artists, and trying to change the topic back to the guy's "art" (if only because it's the lesser of two evils), Izuku awkwardly laughs and says,Ā
"It's- it's really um... interesting. I like your... choice of colors".Ā
There's a scoff from behind him, and a rough voice saying,Ā
"Please. I've seen cum stains more interesting than this, and equally artistic".Ā
The crude comment has Izuku spitting his sparkling water all over the canvas before sending him into a coughing fit. The abstract artist panics and starts screaming about how his painting will be ruined, all while the crude commenter cackles like a maniac. Izuku apologizes over and over again, trying to tell him it was an accident, and how he was startled, and- Well, it doesn't matter. In the end, the artist runs off, screaming for someone to find him some napkins.Ā
Izuku turns to glare at the crude commenter (who is still laughing, by the way) only to be met with the most attractive man he's ever seen in his life.Ā
"Ah man, what an amateur. No way is a few napkins gonna do him any good".Ā
"Wha- Y-you don't know that! He might be able to- to dab it off and-"
"Oh shut up. It's fucking abstract. Nothing can save that painting, and you and I both know it!"Ā
Izuku's face is beet red for a thousand different reasons. He refuses to admit that he finds this guy's comments funny, and bites his lip so as not to laugh. But the way that he grins at him tells Izuku that he's not hiding his opinions as well as he might have hoped. Clearing his throat, he asks,Ā
"And h-how would you know what I know or not? That's a bit presumptuous, isn't it?"Ā
"Why? You're kidding me, right? I saw you. You were on your way to check out my works when that loser caught you. And I refuse to believe that someone with brains enough to like my art could possibly enjoy this crap!"Ā
Izuku pauses as he takes that in. He blinks, and then his eyes widen with awe.Ā
"You're Dynamight? You made those pieces over there?"Ā
"Yep", the man says with an easy shrug. His chest is puffed out with pride, even as he acts calm and casual. "Bakugou Katsuki. Who are you?"Ā
"I'm- I'm just- I love your art! I- That piece with the hands and the explosions- The- And the cherry trees with the- Oh! And don't get me started on your portrait paintings! I mean, they're just- they're- You're amazing! Your use of the-"
"Yeah, yeah. You can tell me how awesome I am in a bit. But first; what's your name?"
"M-me? I name- I mean- My Izu- Uh, my name is Midoriya Izuku. I'm... Izuku. Sorry, hi!"Ā
Katsuki snorts at his half-muttered, kind of failed attempt at an introduction, but takes his offered hand and shakes it anyway.Ā
"Well, Deku-"
"Izuku".
"Let's not waste more time looking at garbage. Let me show you my work instead".Ā
After Derek finds out Odette is having an affair with Thrax
Derek: "So what is your plan now, Odette? You were always so much smarter than me, so tell me what you think is gonna happen now, huh? Do you really think our people would want you as their queen? A devil's whore?"
Odette: "I'd rather be his whore than your wife."
Noting down thoughts while playing Demo4 of Blockt tales,
Spoiler alert lol
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ā¢ No registration required ā¢ HD streaming
Diced Pineapples - A. Aretas š„š
Title: Diced Pineapples - A. Aretas š„š
Fandom: āBad Boysā Film Universe
Character: Armando Aretas
Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader
Main Storyline: Mike and Marcus see an unexpected face when dodging law enforcement with Armando. š· @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful
====
2024
What the hell?!
While āvisitingā Tabitha for help, Detectives Mike Lowrey and Marcus Burnett realized that you joined this wild nightclub as one of the bartenders.
Leaving this seat that perched over neon lights, Armando walked straight toward you and smiled to gain overdue joy, finally away from prison.
Wearing this Bud Light shirt, one trucker hat veiled his remarkable brown eyes. Dirty jeans covered both legs and boots stepped along.
āHi, baby.ā Facing Armando, you offered genuine happiness and joined this section.
Uncle Mike and your father Marcus still can't believe what's going on.
āMy daughter slept with a criminal.ā Your father Marcus barely kept his mouth shut, but you don't care.
Armando survived everything.
@fluffythecthulhu said they wanted a fic in a comment under my Motherās Day Megop art. Iām not sure how serious you were, but I still made one! Itās short for once, but it got embarrassing fast.
Thank you for the sweet comment, btw šš¦
TFA Carrier Optimus Megop
Warning in the tagsāØ
-/āāāāāā-
Optimus hadnāt touched his rations all cycle- more concerning still, he hadnāt fueled properly in a deca-cycle. He complained more about feeling nauseous or on the constant brink of downright purging than he ever did use that snarky mouth of his to consume his Energon.
Megatron had grown used to him neglecting himself in ways he formerly thought him too sensible to make the mistake of. Choosing to ignore fueling in lieu of finishing a communication relay at least a thousand lightyears out of range to reconnect a straying ship- which could take hours, where every precious minute counted.
Strika had ordered him not to work so hard to salvage the fodder that either purposely veered off their course, or were too stupid to read a set of coordinates correctly. She would insist that it was what they deserved for acting so foolishly.
And every time, Optimus would argue that that was no reason to leave them there to suffer both the chilling isolation of lost space or such a flippant branding from their superior. There was always some reason, he insisted, for their severed connection. There was always some argument he would make that Strika and the other high command -or any average Decepticon in close range willing to insert their opinion upon hearing the conversation- were being too harsh.
Sheād leave in a huff, Optimus would resume working himself to death, and his rations would go untouched for another hour straight.
Megatron regretted assigning a brat with such an unprejudiced, smart little mouth a position in communications.
Unfortunately, Optimusā abhorrent lack of charisma was unexplainably magnetizingā¦somehow. And he was by the book and strict in regulations, making him a fantastic -brainwashed- soldier to trust to carry out an order. His dedication to everything he was tasked with, as well as that odd charm, assured Megatron near immediately that he was the best choice for the job.
Optimus would always do what he was told and do it to a fault, so long as no one else suffered unfairly for it. It was perfect for Megatron who was looking for a mech willing to communicate with both halves of the reunited factions. Especially since no one else could be convinced to take the job. Those that were willing were sorely lacking the skills to delegate, and so it went to Optimus not a mere three cycles after his reassignment to the Nemesis exploration crew.
That meant having to deal with the sassy bot more than Megatron would have liked to- at least once a cycle, in fact.
Thingsā¦. Only developed from there.
It wasnāt Megatronās fault- contrary to what Starscream insisted otherwise regarding fragile little civil frames, and their easily overwhelmed, shy nature. Never daring to make the first move and take up so much space in the affairs of their large counterparts.
As Decepticons, thus far, hadnāt the single most qualm with inserting themselves into the matters of their new, tiny crew mates.
But truly, it wasnāt Megatronās fault. He was not the instigator.
It was the fault of limited worthwhile conversation for so many millennia and the equally refreshing opportunity to have an unbiased presence in his life once more. One, unlike Strika, who wasnāt adverse to talking about subjects unrelated to warfare and maneuvers. One that was keen to show Megatron respect as his newly appointed commander, though not to defer to his every whim and judgement and roll over for him in niceties.
It made their time together less like the chore of keeping basic communication with his personnel, and more a thing of thrill and fancy.
Megatron was having fun again.
More fun than heād ever had attempting to destroy the mud ball planet his new officer so loved. Who knew?
Rumblin' & Tumblin'
Ā Coyotes within a pack cried, migrating Vultureās overhead flew with a piercing yap across the savannah heat, both parties, stalking prey on wounded legs; laws of hunt. In a tumble world bound by nature. Couldnāt ever know what appeared like an ally today, was a looming enemy for tomorrow. Footprintās cratered into desert soils, one feet lagging behind. Captain, found himself still suffering from wounds not fully healed. A traitor was amidst his safest space. Keeps any man up at night, even the wickedest. Prowlers, six steps like units, drew behind forming shadows behind him. Their pursuit dated back from the Saloon. Their indoor voices between each other. Their slightly drifting formation shown by their silhouette, they were of ambush, killers for hire, message senders. Whoever his traitor was, confirmed a hunch. They were out to take him out, and there wouldnāt be a second date. Defensively in silence, drew his posture while continuing his pace, feline earās canted back, his breathing still had a whistle pitch. There was no surviving this, handās attempt to clump together; for a fist, but a spasm had painful tearās excruciating leaking from his eyes. Cackling heard between the pursuers. Before rocketing speed toward him from three directions, one came with a lunge from a hidden blade between sleeves. The Seeker prioritized and grabbed the wrist of the offender and twisted it but didnāt connect enough force to entirely disarm but gave a small body push. Outmatched and numbered he was lobbed with a clubbing blow from the forearms of a towering Roe in his backside. That pushed saliva from his lungs, with force.