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grannyandgrandpascreations · 8 months

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Sanderson Witch Museum Distressed Flannel Shirt

This item is for a one-of-a-kind bleached "Sanderson Witch Museum Home Of The Black Flame Candle" flannel shirt.

No two shirts will ever be exactly alike so please aware and embrace the differences. All shirts are carefully curated, hand-dyed, and re-purposed so that each shirt is going to be different from the next in terms of color and plaid print.

SIZING: These shirts vary, many are unisex and come in men's sizing. They can be worn by both men & women. Ordering your normal t-shirt size is recommended for a regular fit. Going 1 size up works well for a baggy/oversized fit. Women's or Children's Specific sizing will be noted on the photo/variation options selected.

FABRIC: All these shirts are made of cotton or a cotton/poly blend. Measurements and thickness vary slightly by brand.

COLORS: Each flannel is unique, and no two shirts are going to look exactly alike. Colors are sent at random. Because the colors often change throughout the bleaching process, I cannot take specific color requests for these shirts.

Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Air dry is recommended.

Due to different picture lighting settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

Thank you for visiting Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations, we truly appreciate your support of small businesses. We also personalize our products, please reach out to us with any personalizing any of our products, additional fee's may apply.

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.

#flannelshirt - #grannygrandpascustomcreations - #distressedflannelshirt

This item is for a one-of-a-kind bleached "Sanderson Witch Museum Home Of The Black Flame Candle" flannel shirt.

FABRIC: All these shirts are made of cotton or a cotton/poly blend. Measurements and thickness vary slightly by brand.

Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Air dry is recommended.

Due to different picture lighting settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.

#flannelshirt - #grannygrandpascustomcreations - #distressedflannelshirt - #halloween - #sandersonsisters

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deformedtooth · 16 days

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(all of these are on depop at @deformedtooth )

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riconastyfan · 1 year

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#rico nasty #ozzy osbourne #skoot apparel #palm angels #bleached brows #bleached eyebrows

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ms-taurusvenus · 1 year

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Astro Notes

The naives have a RBF and features of a Scorpio rising would by having Ascendent-Pluto aspects.

9H placements frequently create and attempt to locate the deeper meaning of even the most basic things.

Scorpio placements and those with aspects to Pluto tend to be accused of envy.

7H Venuses typically wed in private and detest the thought of a lavish ceremony. Their weddings also tend to be more understated, with the bride and groom dressing in more casual or straightforward apparel as opposed to how many other couples make a big deal out of what they wear. Examples include: Cardi B, Adrianna Lima, Bruno Mars, Kurt Cobian, Ryan Golsing, etc. When you search for these celebrities' weddings, you frequently find that they either have few to no photos from their ceremony or that it was a modest affair.

Scorpio, Virgo, Sagittarius, and Gemini men look fantastic with dyed or bleached hair.

Cancer, Taurus, Libra, and Virgo placements typically hug the best.Cancer placements frequently hold on until you release them from the hug.

Tips for arguing with a Virgo Mars 101: Prove. Them. Wrong. Even if you're in the wrong, attempt to pull something out of your ass and hope it works if you still want to win the debate.

9H Chiron may have religious trauma.

Sun in Capricorn x Fire Moon motivates the naive to work tirelessly and ambitiously toward their goals.

Aquarius and Leo placements (particularly Moon & Ascendent) are always significant and important in some way, whether they're famous or not.

People with Taurus and Cancer placements frequently find it quite easy to fall asleep.

People who have placements in the 7H, 8H, and 12H frequently generate envy in others.

A lot of well-known, successful football players have a weak Mars; this only goes to show that just because someone has a weak Mars doesn't mean they aren't driven, determined, or as strong as someone with a strong Mars. Examples include Diego Maradona (Cancer Mars), Lionel Messi (Cancer Mars), Pele (Libra Mars), and Kylian Mbappe (Libra Mars).

Ask a Gemini or someone with perdominate Gemini placements if you want recommendations for fantastic movies or TV shows.

Until you meet a Virgo Lilith, you don't understand what a perfectionist is. They put a lot of effort into making sure everything is done carefully and to the best of their ability.

Pisces placements nails are frequently quite attractive, long, and strong.

People with the Libra and Leo placements are sweethearts and are frequently regarded as loving and kind by others.

Many Aries Venuses wait until later in life to get married. They also tend to not want to get married until later in life as well.

Despite having better options, a toxic or unsuitable spouse, or being dissatisfied in a relationship, Pisces placements tend to only date those with whom they feel comfortable.

Uranus-Jupiter transits may indicate pregnancy.

Taurus Venuses are incredibly devoted to their lovers, but that doesn't mean they can't let go of their ex-partners and move on. In fact, many Taurus Venuses are able to and do do.

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dilfartist · 8 months

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Model 2099

Pairing; Yandere Android Miguel O’hara x reader

Synopsis; You always thought of your android Miguel as a loveable companion. Little did you know he had an unhealthy obsession with you. And it even went as far as hurting someone who hurt you.

Word count; 3.3k

Tw; yandere theme, dark themes, dead dove don’t eat (maybe).

Reader description; Female/GN

Your skin felt frigid. Your fingertips, ears, and nose all numb despite your body being clad head to toe in warm apparel.

In Nueva York, the snow descended in great, unforeseen amounts. On the first day of the predicted cold weather, the snow reached from the street to the concrete. It was narrow enough for a child to build a snowman. However the next day, the snow reached higher, enough to cover the doorsteps of some apartments on your block and blanket the roads in ice.

Now your street felt lifeless. The only cars seen were the ones parked on the sidewalks. None of your neighbors left the warmth of their homes.

You dig your left boot into the hill of rampant snow, then bring the right one to propel yourself further. Unlucky you, having to fight your way home through the snow just because you needed a few necessities. The weather forecast predicted the snow would last for at least two days, so you went out to retrieve toilet paper, soup cans, microwaveable dinners, and a flashlight in case of power outs.

Grasping the handle of the front door, you pressed it forward, enough for you to enter. Swiftly, you shut the door behind you to sponge in the warmth coming from the heater. Once your numb fingers began to absorb the heat, you peeled off your gloves - well these gloves weren't yours; they belonged to a co-worker nice enough to lend them to you- and threw them inside your purse. You let out a pleased sigh. The house had a tidied aroma, smelling like someone had used enough bleach for it to still be identified hours later despite drying. Still, the apple cider fragrance spray claimed the house, if only slightly. Disrobing yourself off your coat, you call out to your Android. "Miguel! I'm home!"

Usually, your android - Miguel O’Hara, model 2099- waited beside the door to greet you after a hard day's work. Helping you disrobe your jacket and asking you about your day. And even when slightly off-timing, he'd let you know of his presence with a "welcome back!" from wherever he was in the moment. Oddly enough, there was no reply. You look up, puzzled by the lack of response. "Miguel?!" You call out, voice more audible for the other side of the house this time. Again, no reply.

You don't think much of his absence, presuming he had forgotten to grab an ingredient for tonight's dinner and would be back home in no time. Sometimes he'd be so focused on one task that the other errands would be forgotten. Miguel could handle himself.

The majority of lights in the house were turned off; furthering your conclusion about your Android’s whereabouts. You stepped into your kitchen, examining the room. Aside from the pots on the stove, nothing had changed in the kitchen. The kitchen was spick and span, per usual. You'd remember to thank him when you saw him.

Approaching the stove, you took note of the two pots simmering on the stovetop. One sat on the front burner, the other on the back burner. You lifted the lid, allowing the steam to escape. Your stomach rumbles, craving the smell. I groan, feeling impatient, placing the lid back on the pot.

The aroma of dinner leaked out of the slightly ajar pot, alluring you closer for a taste. You entered the kitchen, following the scent of the meal simmering on the stove.

Raising the lid off the pot, you dip the ladle into the soup, scooping as much as you can. You took a small sip, savoring the creamy-rich taste. The taste is addicting and you can’t get enough. You dip the ladle in once again, drinking the soup until the ladle is empty. Then again you repeated the action.

“Don't worry, dinner will be ready in just a minute.” The abrupt sound of a person’s voice states. You flinch in surprise, A hand is placed on your chest, dropping the ladle, and your heart thumps quicker than before. “Miguel!” You gasp, “You scared me.” You whirl around to meet his eyes.

Miguel gives a small apologetic smile, setting the basket of clothes he was carrying onto the table. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Miguel says softly, accent getting heavier at the end. “Didn't hear you come in.”

“No, it’s fine.” You reassured. “Thank you for cleaning.”

Even if Miguel was programmed to clean, you always felt the need to thank him for his labor. No matter the times he reminded you that he was a machine designed for that very chore.

“I should also apologize for not greeting you at the door; My clothes were in the dryer.”

“It's fine, Miguel, really. You don't have to greet me at the door every day.”

Once again, Miguel provides you with a small smile; however, his smile does not reach his eyes. If the guilty smile Miguel sported wasn't enough evidence of his guilt, the flashing red LED on Miguel's right temple certainly accomplished the job.

The LED’s scarlet color quickly transitioned into a light blue color, indicating Miguel had gotten over his negative feelings.

It was terrifying knowing the sole dissimilarity between the two of you was the LED. Without the LED, you wouldn't have thought Miguel to be an Android. Knowing the sole difference between the two of you was the LED was in a way terrifying. Without the LED installed in the right temple of Androids, no one would be able to tell who was a robot and who wasn't.

Dragging the box cutter down swiftly, the tape splits open. You take a step back examining the package. The package is light brown, standing up vertically against the wall. “What the hell is this thing?” you ask, amused. A good friend of yours shipped you a gift out of the blue, so you called her up to catch your reaction.

“Open it and see,” she replies sarcastically.

You roll your eyes and spread the folds of the box open. Package peanuts spill all over the floor, and you grumble at the mess that piles on the floor. “Goddamn it,” you’re just about to complain some more when you catch something out of the corner of your eye. You freeze in place, you raise your head in an unhurried motion, the dread in your abdomen expanding.

You holler with fright, falling on your ass. “Did you send me a dead body?!” you exclaim into the speaker of your phone.

Your friend on the other side of the line enjoys your reaction, laughing so hard she begins to have a coughing fit. “Oh my god,” she hums in satisfaction, “you’re too funny, (Name).” After a while she settles down, no longer laughing but her tone still caries the puerile amusement she once had a moment ago, “It’s not a dead body. It's an Android.”

You were familiar with the concept of an android. Androids have been ubiquitous since their first release, and you’ve encountered many, but the majority of the time they were owned by establishments due to their overwhelming expense. Which is why the thought of you owning an Android was mind-boggling.

You stutter out a response, not sure how to approach the profound surprise, “You- I- why did you give it to me? Not that I’m complaining. It's just- this had to be about 8,000 dollars!” Then it hits you; you and she are in the same boat when it comes to funds, “Wait- how the hell did get this?!” you rub your temple, examining the face of the bot through the blurred glass that contains it.

She responds nonchalantly, “Aaron is wealthy remember? He bought me it.”

Aaron was her new boyfriend, he came from a wealthy background and she took advantage of that fact every moment she could. And he didn't seem to mind. Buying this bot would be like buying a box of cereal for him; not something to think twice and a regular ordeal.

You lift a brow, perplexed by the fact she gave you such an expensive gift. Not that you were complaining, of course, just simply curious “And you gave it to me? Why?” you question.

“He got jealous because the Android is literally breathtaking and I just couldn't keep my eyes off him. So being how he always is, he requested for me to throw it out. I mean his voice, Jesus,” she suppresses a squeal, “and not only that, he’s 6’9 and muscular!” she continues to gush about him, you unconsciously tune her out, your focus too busy on analyzing his blurred features.

You hum in acknowledgment. “Well, let me take it out, I’ll have to research it. Thanks for the gift, I'll talk to you later. Bye.”

You take a seat at the dining table. Miguel saunters to the stove, opens the lid, and takes a portion of the soup out to pour into a porcelain bowl. You cock your head to the side, curious to know the reason two respective pots were brewing their own soups. “What’s the other pot have in it?” you question.

Miguel glances at you for a moment then continues to prepare your bowl. “Mrs. Peterson is sick,” he carries the bowl over and sets it gently in front of you. “She asked me to prepare her some soup. I offered her the soup I made for tonight’s dinner, but you know how she can be.”

Mrs. Peterson lived next door, and she adored Miguel. She was sixty-three years old, childless, and had no family members in general. She always required his assistance and Miguel always obliged.

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips, concern morphing your face. “She’s sick? That's too bad. That’s sweet of you to help her.”

Mindlessly, you use your soup spoon to stir the steaming liquid in the bowl. Anxious of the answer he’ll reply to you with, you take a breath of courage. “Did David come by today?” you question, voice low and meek

Miguel is quiet for a beat until he decides to speak up. “No, and if he did, I’d deal with him,” he states carefully, touching on the subject to convey his understanding. “You haven't called him, have you?” his tone is identical to a nagging best friend who is tired of seeing you whine over a boy.

“No.” you shake your head, eyes shifting to meet his, “no,” you say once again to reassure him. Miguel appears satisfied with the answer he received, “Good. Don't go contacting him after what he did to you.” you let out an exasperated exhale. Leaning back in your chair, setting down the soup spoon in your hand, “I- Miguel, I think I might have deserved it.”

Miguel snaps his head in your direction, wearing a stern mug, “He had no right to put his hands on you, no matter the reason.” he chides. He leans his massive body against the counter, folding his arms, fully engaged in the conversation.

“I brought up his ex!” you argue on his behalf. Why? You’re unsure.

“Oh, so he should act the same way she did, to you?” Miguel is a tad bit galled, being sardonic with his retorts. Now he’s fully engrossed in the discussion, leaning his massive body against the counter, giving you his undivided attention. “Slapping you so hard you hit the wall.”

It hurts how factual his words are. It’s enough for you to look down in chagrin, a lump forming in your throat making it hard to swallow. Let anyone else be in your situation, you’d chastise them for such a weak mindset. Make sure they knew there was no good reason to blame themselves for someone else's wrongdoing. But being that person who feels empathy for the person who hurt you, feels so much more embarrassing than having a friend be that person.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you say lowly, speaking any louder would make you cry.

“It’s fine, (Name).” Miguel consoles, moving from the counter to rub a comforting hand on your back. You sigh, feeling soothed by the little gesture. Miguel leans down, tilting his body slightly to face-to-face with you. Miguel looks at you with such tenderness a shover travels down your spine. “He won’t hurt you again, I’ll make sure of it” His expression as a whole is soft and full of fondness, though his red eyes pierce your soul.

“Miguel bot 2099,” you mutter the title of the YouTube video on your TV screen. You click play and the video loads for a second before finally playing.

A woman appears in a pitch-black void background. Her whole body is a golden color and she sports an elegant white dress that fits her figure. “Hello, I am Lyla.” she greets sounding welcoming, “I am the mascot of the company LYLA. We are the ones responsible for Androids and Ai’s. You must have clicked on this video because you must have purchased a Miguel bot or you’re just curious.”

Lyla presents a Miguel bot that emerges on the screen out of nowhere. “Miguel O bot is one of LYLA’s number one selling Androids. And there’s a reason for that.”

“Miguel is used for three sole reasons.”

Three Miguels appear on the screen, all in diverse outfits. One is in a business suit, another in a red and blue apron covering a white t-shirt, and the last one is shirtless with leather pants.

Lyla puts her hand out, motioning to the first one in a suit. “Here we have Workbot Miguel. Miguel’s hardworking nature mends well with a work environment, which is why he is mainly purchased to be a working android. Miguel has a variety of skills that companies yearn for in employees. Barriestabot Miguel, Assistant Managerbot Miguel, Firefighterbot Miguel, and Nursebot Miguel are just a few Androids listed in this category of the bot.

Lyla moves on and the camera pans to the second Miguel clad in the apron and white shirt. “Household Miguel: with household Miguel, you’ll never have to worry your head about cleaning or cooking, that’s his job! He pays necessities and bills if you have no time. And he is great with children!”

She moves on for the last time. “And here we have the Miguel meant for adults eighteen and above. This is sexbot Miguel, mostly found in male strip clubs or can be purchased online. We assure you, that you’ll feel pleasure you’ve never felt before. He comes with a remote control, which switches from hardcore dominant to soft dominant to submissive. We’ve created his intimate parts to the point numerous test participants felt like it was the real deal, and probably even better. He’s crafted to seem real so he includes fluids. The fluids are not real, they are simply there for it to seem real or by the user's choice. The fluid can be bought in stores near you or online. There are fruit flavors as well as desserts.”

The Miguel Androids disappear and Lyla is left by herself. “If any malfunctions occur with the bots, we have programmed the Miguel to have a Lyla AI to sit on his shoulder and help the user repair the issue. Lyla’s are never the same. They don’t appear like I do. Lyla’s come in all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities.”

Lyla gives a smile, a smile that you can’t help but feel uncomfortable by. It’s like she's staring right at you. In you.

“We hope you enjoy your Android. Your friends at LYLA.” the video concludes.

You sit there mentally processing the information for a minute, rubbing your chin. Your gaze moves to the Android, now propped up on the wall, and outside it’s containment. Miguel is definitely tall and extremely muscular as he was claimed to be. You can see why Aaron demanded she throw him out; he couldn't compete with him in the slightest.

Miguel had tanned skin, dark brown hair pushed back, two thick bushy eyebrows, and old wrinkles. Why did they choose to make him aged? They never explain. Maybe it’s to target families and people with daddy issues, you think. You walk over, looking up at his face. His eyes are shut.

“Didn't explain how to turn you on,” you grumble. Your hands explore the skin of his neck until your fingertips brush against a button on the back, you press down until a humming sound emits from the Android. You take two steps back and watch as the Android powers on. On his left temple appears a blue swirling light. His eyes flutter open.

...Are they red? That's...not right.

Your brows crease at the sight. You take out your phone, glancing at the original model once again. Yeah...Miguel should definitely have brown eyes. “What the hell..?” you whisper.

Putting your phone away to be polite to him, you greet him. He looks down at you, “Hello. My name is Miguel O’Hara.” he states casually.

His red eyes are piercing into you, but still, you find yourself bewitched.

“Thanks, Miggy,” you smile slightly at him, not yet recovering after the hard topic. Miguel was right, David’s vitriolic behavior towards you was inexcusable. Miguel would be there for you. He’s been your support more than your own boyfriend has been for months. Granted one is a robot, but sometimes you don’t even realize it with how human he acts.

A high-pitched beeping sound echoes from the left side of the house. “The washer is done. I put in another load when you came in. I’ll be back.” Miguel saunters off.

You stand up, walking over to the stove holding your empty bowl. You reach for the first pot but then decide against it. Mrs. Peterson wouldn’t die if you had one bowl of the soup. You reach over and open the second pot. You scoop as much soup as you can onto the ladle and pour it into the bowl. Once filled nearly to the brim, you place it down on the counter. You grab the lid, placing it back onto the pot.

You turn your attention back to the bowl.

“What the hell?” you mumble, squinting to guarantee yourself you weren’t crazy.

Poking out of the soup was something white. Nothing you could identify from just one look. You take your spoon and pick up the white thing with it.

It was...an eyeball! A human eyeball!

You scream in terror, dropping to the floor, your fall causing the entirety of the pot to plunge with you to the ground, reverberating a clank. You crawl away, from the dark liquid puddling the floor. More and more body parts are revealed; a big white toe, fingers of all sizes, another eyeball, and you can only assume the chunks of meat are the entire body. You shake like a leaf in the wind, looking around for something to do! What were you going to do now?!

Your panic is interrupted by a creak in the floorboards outside the kitchen. You snap your head in the detection of the sound to see Miguel standing in the doorway, taking up the whole door with his body. You cower in fear at his physiognomy. His expression is indistinct, bloodshot eyes watching you like a lion catching its prey attempting to sneak off. You stare at each other, both unmoving from your spots. You’re the first to speak, though if it weren’t for the pregnant silence and the motion of your lips, “I’m sorry,” your voice cracks, the lump in your throat making a comeback. “Please don't hurt me.” you whimper.

Miguel saunters towards you, you scoot back still on edge. Miguel knees down, taking your face into his hands. They feel warm. Why? He hushes your cries with such tender you nearly overlook the situation. “I had to,” he spoke up factually. “He came in here, threatening you for telling his mother about the fight. I couldn't let him hurt you again.”

You let out a muffled cry, looking into his crazed eyes bloodstained eyes. He presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers, “I made sure he’d never hurt you again.”

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totallytracted · 1 month

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recent(ish) style trends that batfam would incorporate into their personalities

jason: airpods max but specifically in space grey

tim: aritzia super puff lmao

dick: mullet duh

damian: panda dunks

duke: those bitchy black sunglasses

barbara: claw clip

cass: large ass platform boots. demonia shaker/unif yum boot. uk da vibes

steph: come back of the blair waldorf 2014 american apparel skater skirt vibes (i mean this has alr happened in the tim drake pride series) also bows on everything

kate: bleach the eyebrows

selina: low rise jeans

bruce: crocs.

bonus - alfred: heart shaped le creuset

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mimzaucracks · 4 months

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First post on sideblog, let’s goooo!

Image ID 1.0: The uppermost image is an image dump of rendered sketches of a ROTTMNT: The Movie AU version of Renet. She’s a young black girl, about the same age as April in the film, and she shares a striking resemblance to her, short for Renet’s hair being bleached blond. The drawings included in pictures described later, and in the bottom left corner is a photograph of the pencil sketches from a notebook. The text in the image reads:

Renet (ROTTMNT MOVIE AU)

- F!April’s daughter

- Master Michela[n]gelo’s protégé

- Got sent back before Casey but got stuck in limbo; emerged after events of the movie.

- Possibly a clone of April

(End ID)

I was rather disappointed we got another Casey as the MC in the movie instead of her, so it got me wondering if she could fill the same role as him. In my opinion she can, and that birthed this AU idea. Her being Future April’s daughter and Mikey’s protégé fit too perfectly, so I would actually have her be Jr.’s old childhood friend who was missing for many years (in limbo), so both of them are happy to see each other again in the present new timeline.

Regarding the “possible clone” comment: Many headcanon Casey Sr. either finding Jr. in a dumpster somewhere and adopting him, or that she asked Draxum to clone her. I’ve never really subscribed to either, since he does look very similar to her (which makes me think they are biologically related), but his temperament is basically the complete opposite of hers (which refutes the clone theory in my head). I always just assumed Cassandra had a boyfriend too irrelevant to mention in the show, even long before the movie released. I figure he’s her biological son, but he inherited his father’s temperament (and his mother’s looks). That being said, I’m willing to apply the cloning idea to Renet. I cannot picture April with a man, ever, so I can see her demanding Draxum clone her to give her a daughter. Maybe the kinder side of April’s personality is stronger in Renet since she grew up in an environment where kindness and hope are the only things keeping a community together and its members sane. Maybe she even adopted some of her other mom’s (Sunita’s) traits, who knows?

Image ID 2.1: A 3/4 view of Renet’s head, drawn in a style very close to the show’s/movie’s. She’s looking forward, away from the viewer, smiling slightly with a little of her teeth showing. She wears her blond hair in a ponytail like April did in the show’s finale arc, and she has a blue headband and a decorative silver tiara resembling a clock (10, 11, 12, 1 and 2), which bears a slight resemblance to the Statue of Liberty’s crown. Her cape is the same shade of indigo as her headband, and the cloak’s collar is majorly oversized, revealing her neck. She has an earring in the shape of an hourglass. (End ID)

Image ID 2.2: A fully rendered illustration (not in the style of the show/movie) of Renet and a teenage April from the end of the movie in front of a sunset. They are standing in profile towards each other, with Renet on the right, holding April’s hand in her left and her time sceptre in her right. April’s expression is slightly confused whereas Renet’s is tender and happy. A small speech bubble reads “Hi mom.” Renet’s chest plate/plastron is brown/dark orange to mirror Casey Jr.’s teal, showing her connection to Michelangelo, much like Casey’s shows his connection to Leonardo. (End ID)

I’m not entirely sure on her cloak’s exact design yet. If you look closely at the pencil sketch of her body, you can slightly see Donnie’s Genius-Built Apparel ‘D’ logo on her sleeves. I left it out of the illustration with April by accident, but I’m not sure whether I necessarily want his logo in those spots on her cloak. Maybe it’s at the bottom of the tail? I’m also not sure whether I want it to have those glitter-esque particle effects from the bust drawing; it’s not really a design element in-canon. Although, I do find it very pretty.

#mimjan draws #mimjan rambles #art and text-based post #first post on this blog #rottmnt au #canon-based au #rottmnt april #rottmnt renet #she was so snubbed fr #I love Casey Jr as much as the next person #but come on! did we really need two?#Cass is my once and forever main ‘Rise’ Casey #they can share that title #I really just wanted to see their take on Renet more

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brokenjere · 2 years

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seventeen going under (j.f)

seventeen going under: a jeremiah fisher story

AN: hey all, this is my first time writing for jeremiah and i hope you like it - please let me know what you think. like, reblog, comment, send me an ask (the inbox is open:) )

Synopsis: YN and Jeremiah Fisher were soulmates. From diapers to deb balls, they were meant to be and that was one of the only things YN was sure about. Growing up in Boston, there were rules, rules that YN had broken. Rules she hoped would not follow her to the sand beaches of Cousins but nothing stays buried forever.

catch up here

I was laying on Belly’s bed, the sheets tucked under my arms, staring at the ceiling. I was pretty sure she was asleep because her breathing was shallow and steady and her right hand was twitching next to mine. I don’t know why I even agreed to stay the night. Belly just looked so overjoyed when my mom brought up the idea at dinner last night, I don’t know how I could have said no. And then there was him.

I knocked on the wall behind me twice. The knocks were soft, maybe most people would not even have recognized them as intentional but when I heard three knocks back, I swung my legs off the bed and carefully stood up so I wouldn’t wake Belly.

In the hallway, I was able to breathe because there he was. Jeremiah. I sighed and whispered, “hey.”

“Hi,” he whispered back. “Can’t sleep?” I shook my head and leaned against Belly's bedroom door. My hands were on the knob, ready for a fast escape if I were ever to need one. Not Jeremiah though, he stood in his open doorway with nothing but a pair of sweat shorts on and messy hair.

Summer Jeremiah always made my heart grow ten sizes. Like the Grinch when he finally got a Christmas. Winter Jeremiah didn’t have any freckles on his face and his hair was darker and always pressed down with a beanie. Summer Jeremiah, well he had sun-bleached hair and waves from sea salt in his hair and his eyes always seemed to match the blue of the ocean when we were in Cousins.

He nodded his head toward the hallway behind him and I nodded back in agreeance, following him quickly down the stairs. I was light on my feet, careful to not make a sound. I could see my mom on the big lazy boy chair, reclined back with a glass of red wine in between her fingers. Susannah and Laurel were sitting on the couch, Susannah’s head on Laurel’s shoulder and they were all laughing at whatever was going on during the movie they were watching. It was an old black and white film. Something they probably have watched a million times. The music was just loud enough they couldn’t hear the back door sliding open.

I followed Jeremiah outside, through the big sliding door in the dining room. There was something about the pool at night. The way the moonlight made the water glow or how I could only see Jeremiah smile when the pool light hit him just right. I didn’t see Jeremiah’s smile, though. Not this time. This time, Conrad was sitting on the edge of the pool with his feet in the water. And he was smoking a joint.

“You really shouldn’t be smoking,” I tell him. It sounded more like a nag than anything, but I couldn’t help it. I don’t even know why I said it. I sat down on the edge of the pool as far away from Conrad as I could. Jeremiah was close on my heels, snagging a towel from one of the lounge chairs. I was only in shorts and a tank top, my usual sleep apparel and the night sky was a little chilly. Jeremiah always noticed when I had goosebumps. Before he sat down next to me, he draped the towel over my shoulders. His feet hit mine under the water.

“You said that to me last month,” Conrad droned. I looked over at him and his hard eyes were staring back at me. “Not like the moms will care.”

I supposed he was right. Rules didn’t exist in Cousins. You could eat ice cream for breakfast and stay in your pajamas all day or swim until your fingers and toes pruned up. No one ever said anything because it was summer.

During the fall and winter, my mom wouldn’t so much as let me leave the house in sweatpants. I always had a curfew and breakfast was made before I left for school every day. “Don’t forget your jacket,” she would call out before I’d leave the house.

Susannah was the same way. Always make sure the boys were getting good grades and keeping up their chances of football scholarships. Mr. Fisher rode them like crazy about football. Especially Conrad. He was good, too. He would have had a scholarship if he hadn’t quit over spring.

I heard them fighting through the backyard one night. I was outside reading a book on the back patio when I heard Mr. Fisher yelling at Conrad. It was hard to make out a lot of it, but football and are you crazy and what the hell were you thinking were all easily recognizable. I tried to focus on my book and not eavesdrop but eventually, when it went quiet, Conrad stumbled through our connecting gate and sat down next to me with a joint between his fingers. “That stuff isn’t good for you,” I told him. He told me he didn’t care and lit it anyway. I checked to make sure the lights in the house were out. “What was that about?”

“I quit football,” he told me. I had gathered that much but didn’t say anything because I didn’t want him to know how much I had heard. I just nodded my head and waited for him to keep going. “I didn’t wanna be tied down this summer.” Like Jeremiah and Steven, I thought, who both had already gotten jobs at the country club for the summer. Cousins was still two months away, but the air was getting warmer and everyone could feel the summer air already.

“Is that all?”

Conrad took a hit of his joint and then offered it to me. I shook my head and he took another one. “Yeah.” I didn’t believe him, but I let it go. I knew the Fishers sometimes better than I thought I knew my own family. We had been neighbors for as long as I could remember except for during the months of June and August when they went to Cousins beach. When I was thirteen, the beach house next to theirs went up for sale and it didn’t take much convincing for my mom to put in an offer. “I need my two best friends during the summer,” Susannah begged my mom. Laurel was her real best friend, I think even my mom knew that, but something about how Susannah smiled made you just wanna agree. So, for the last four summers, the Fishers were my summer neighbors, too.

I kicked my feet in the water of the pool and despite it being heated, when my foot was not touching Jeremiah’s, it felt cold. I glanced over at my side of the yard. The kitchen light was still on. “I should go home,” I tell the boys. Jeremiah stopped kicking his feet at my words.

“Why?” I looked over at him and then glanced at Conrad, who could not be bothered to look in our direction so I looked back at Jeremiah. There was his smile.

“Lights on. My dad is probably awake and besides, I can’t sleep in Belly’s bed. It’s a twin.” That was an excuse and I knew it. Jeremiah knew it. Conrad’s eyes finally glaring at me told me that even he knew it. “I’ll come over for breakfast, alright? We can go get the good muffins.”

I stood up, wrapping the towel tighter around my shoulders and Jeremiah was quick to stand up with me. “I’ll walk you,” he said. I started to protest when he put his hands on my shoulders, spun me around, and walked me toward the shrubs that divided our two beach houses. When Jeremiah and I were younger, we dug out a small path through the bushes. Jeremiah said that going through the front took too long so we grabbed Mr. Fisher's old weed wacker and cleared out a little path. Every year we have to cut it back a little, but every year, it’s there.

I didn’t wear my flip-flops out and hesitated before going through. There were twigs and branches and probably really sharp rocks down there that I couldn’t see that my shoes always shielded me from. “Oh, please,” Jeremiah huffed. He stepped in front of me and bent down, motioning me to jump on his back. I laughed and did as I was told, wrapping my arms around his neck. His skin was sticky with the late June heat and I couldn’t help myself but nestle my head against his blonde curls. “I would carry you across all of the trenches, my girl,” he mumbled.

My girl. My Jeremiah. Before there were summers in Cousins there was Christmas break in Boston, and Spring break in Miami, and a typical Friday evening in the basement of the Fisher house. He was my best friend before I knew what best friends were. We bathed together before it got weird and we slept in each other’s beds even after we probably shouldn’t have. I cried on his shoulder when the first boy I ever loved broke my heart and he was laughing when I realized the first boy I ever loved was him.

When we got to my patio, he set me down. The pavement was dry unlike the Fisher’s, where someone was swimming at all times. It seemed like the ground was never dry over there. “Thank you,” I told him. He smiled and sandwiched my head between his hands, kissing my forehead. I wanted to swat him away because I probably had sticky skin, too, but I didn’t.

“Can I come in?” He asked. I gently shook my head, even though I wanted to say yes.

“If my dad is awake, you probably shouldn’t.” My dad only had one rule. No Boys. That included Jeremiah and Conrad and even Belly’s brother, Steven. Especially no boys with the door shut or past 9pm. Sneaking in was Jeremiah’s MO, though. When he was ten, he learned to climb the trellis outside of my bedroom window and I learned to leave the window unlocked. There were countless late-night show binges and movie marathons that ended in me falling asleep on Jeremiah’s shoulder and him waking me up right before the sun rose so he could sneak back out.

He nodded his head as if he understood. “Okay,” he mumbled. I nodded my head as best as I could with his hands still on my face. They were a little more relaxed, his wrists resting on my shoulders and his thumb grazing my jawline. “Muffins?” I nodded and I could have sworn he thought about kissing me.

“Goodnight,” I told him, slowly backing away from him. He released me and his hands dropped to his sides. He was smiling softly as I backed away, grabbing the door handle from behind me. I didn’t want to break eye contact. It was like a sick game of you hang up first because neither of us wanted to leave. At least, that’s what I told myself. Eventually, I opened the door quietly and slipped into the softly lit kitchen and I had to force myself to not look back at him.

The back door was unlocked, something that my parents started doing when I was allowed to stay at the Fisher’s later than my mom did. My dad was sitting in the living room with a book in his lap. The only light was from the oven stovetop and the lamp next to him. I wanted to sneak in behind him and go upstairs without seeing him but I cleared my throat, causing him to turn around.

“Hey, honey.” My dad put the book down, keeping his place with his index finger. “You’re home late. Your mom still there?” I nodded my head and picked at the loose thread hanging off from the couch cushion.

“I couldn’t sleep. Mom should be home soon, I think. I didn’t tell her I was leaving.” He nodded and shifted in his seat. “I should go to bed.” He nodded and I felt his eyes watching me the entire time I trod up the stairs.

On my fifteenth birthday, I was dumped for the first time. His name was Elijah Willis. He was my first kiss, my first boyfriend, the first boy who told me he loved me. I loved him, too, while it lasted. The way his hands gently cupped my cheeks will forever be burned into my skin. He had always seemed too perfect, holding open my door, always calling at 9 pm sharp, always getting me a snack from the gas station even though I said I didn’t want anything.

He was perfect. Until he came to my birthday party late, a single tulip in hand that I was pretty sure he picked from the neighbor's lawn. That’s not what I noticed, though. I noticed his messed-up hair and tired, sad eyes.

We were all outside, trying to get the last taste of warmth. I was starting to feel October on my fingertips. “You’re late,” I said.

“Can we talk?” He asked, glancing around at all my friends that stared back at him like he was a fish out of water. They all had wondered where he was. I even heard Melanie and Jaz whispering to each other by the fire about how this is how it ends.

“You wanna show up to my birthday late? And then ask me If I wanna talk?” I felt my cheeks go hot. My legs turned to jello. “No. I don’t wanna talk,” I hissed. I put the words talk in quotations using my fingers and Elijah looked taken back. Eventually, we did talk. Well, he talked. He told me about how while I was in Cousins over the summer, he was hooking up with some girl from his art class and decided it was just time to end this thing with us. Those were his words, not mine.

I didn’t go back to the party. Instead, I went upstairs and cried into my pillow until Jeremiah found me. I forgot he had been downstairs, witnessing the whole thing. I bet he even watched through the window as Elijah told me about her, watching every expression my face made. I bet everyone did.

I had my head buried in my pillow and the only reason I knew it was Jeremiah that was in my room was because he smelled like sandalwood and mint. He tugged at the end of my pillow. “Pretty girls don’t cry,” he said in a sad attempt for a joke.

“It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to,” I tried to tease back but it came out all too quickly and I just cried harder. Jeremiah grabbed me then, pulling me into his chest. I stopped crying when I saw his hand. “What happened?” His knuckles weren’t red like that before. He had white gauze wrapped around them but I could see the blood seeping through. “What did you do?” I looked up at his face. A huge red circle right in the center of his cheek. Like he was wearing blush, but cooler.

“You should see the other guy.” The other guy is Elijah, I assumed. How could I be mad? Not at Jeremiah. I didn’t smile or laugh at his joke or even start crying again. I just settled into his chest as he settled into my bed and he held me like that for as long as I needed him to. And after I no longer it, he delivered me ice cream and packs of Twizzlers until my teeth felt like they were rotting out of my head but eventually, I felt better.

Now, at seventeen, that memory is not jaded with Elijah and his summer fling. I do not think about the boy who broke my heart. That memory is categorized as The Moment I Knew I Loved Jeremiah Fisher.

As I threw my hair back in a loose pony, just enough to get it out of my face, my dad called for me from the bottom of the stairs. “Y/N! Jeremiah is here!” I slipped on my shoes and ran out the door as fast as I could. Jeremiah was standing in the doorway, his hands shoved in his shorts pockets. He had a goofy grin on his face. “Where are you two off to so early?” My dad asked as I descended the stairs, my flip-flops marking every step.

“Muffins,” Jeremiah turned his grin to my dad. “Want us to bring you and Mary some?” My dad pondered before taking Jeremiah up on his offer. “Will do, sir.” My dad curtly nodded and then left the foyer, off toward the living room. My mom must still be sleeping. I didn’t hear her come in last night from my bedroom, so I don’t know how late she was out.

“Ready?” I asked as I grabbed my bag from the table next to the door. Jeremiah bumped out his arm toward me for me to wrap my arm around, so I did. We walked, linked arms, to his red Jeep. He loved that Jeep. I loved that Jeep. We had some of our best memories in that car. He even taught me how to drive a stick in it.

“You have to keep your foot on the clutch and let it off slowly,” he tried to explain. I shook my head, frustrated that the car kept stalling but Jeremiah just laughed every time. “You’re gonna get it, trust me. It’s easier to learn manual if you do this first.”

“I don’t wanna do this first!” I exclaimed, hitting my palms on the steering wheel. Jeremiah was a few months older than me so he took his test on his sixteenth birthday. He wanted me to do the same, so we practiced and practiced all spring and summer so that when September rolled around, I would be ready.

“I did and I’m an amazing driver,” he gleamed. I glared at him. It must have been fierce because he recoiled in the passenger side seat. “Fine, fine. We’ll switch to my mom's car.”

“No. No. I wanna do it.” That was one of my biggest flaws, I always thought. Once I set my mind to something, I was determined to finish it. Whether I wanted to or not. “Tell me again.”

So he told me. Again and again until finally, one very hot August night, I did it. Jeremiah cheered when the car took off without stalling. He threw his arms out of the window and yelled at the top of his lungs, “my girl did it!”

I drove us anywhere and everywhere that night. To our favorite ice cream spot in downtown Boston where I had to parallel park for the first time but my confidence was boosted, so I was so certain I could do it. Jeremiah walked me through it but when I got out to inspect my work, the car was on an angle and the wheels weren’t straight. “At least you’re not in the street,” Jeremiah said, shrugging his shoulders before he switched sides with me and fixed the park job.

We walked down the busy street until we saw the big neon OPEN sign in the window and mint green table and chairs out front and Jeremiah held open the door for me. He paid for our ice cream even though I got a double scoop with sprinkles. We walked further down the street until we reached the park we played at when we were kids and we sat on the bench, Jeremiah sneaking licks of my ice cream even though I told him no. I took my cone and tapped his nose with it, leaving a tiny dot of vanilla on the tip. He tried to lick it off with his tongue, but it didn’t reach. “Get it for me?” He asked with his puppy dog eyes.

I wiped it off with my index finger and before I could wipe it away on Jeremiah’s shorts, he grabbed my wrist and brought it to his mouth, sucking the ice cream off. He didn’t break eye contact with me the entire time and when I cleared my throat and turned away, he shot up and grabbed my hand and we walked back the way we came.

I drove out of downtown and to the side streets. The ones that Jeremiah had driven me

down multiple times before, always letting me pick the CD but this time, I let him pick. He picked The Beatles and he silently sang to me as I drove. Eventually, the sun came up and since it was still late August, the moms were in the summertime spirit and even my mom was stumbling back home through the front yard when I parked the car.

I hung my head out of the window and breathed in the salt water air. I closed my eyes and let the breeze make my hair messy. Jeremiah reached over and pulled the ponytail out of my hair. “I always liked your hair down,” he said from the driver’s side. I looked back at him and smiled, my eyes squinting too tightly from the sun coming behind him but it made his curls look blonder. The wind plastered my hair to the side of my face and I brushed it behind my ear. “Pretty,” he whispered.

“Look at the road,” I told him. He laughed and nodded, facing the road again and sitting up straighter. His hands at ten and two. In town at the store, the one that carried the good muffins, Jeremiah rushed out first telling me to stay put so he could open the door for me.

“After you,” he gestured for me to get out so I did. He let me pick out whatever ones I wanted, chocolate chip, banana nut, pistachio. I kept pointed at them behind the case and the worker behind it kept adding them to our pile.

Eventually, I turned to Jere. “What ones did you want?”

“What? All those are for you?” He gawked. I put my hand on my heart and gasped.

“Of course not, I was going to give a a couple to my parents.” Jeremiah laughed and nodded his head. He started pointing at a few to add and when he was done he put his credit card down on the counter. “I can pay for mine,” I told him, digging around in my bag for my card when Jeremiah grabbed my wrist. “I grabbed a lot.”

“I don’t care. It’s on me,” he said. “Well, actually, it’s on my dad.” He chuckled as the cashier ran his card and handed him back his card and our boxes of muffins, which I was entrusted to keep safe. They sat on my lap the whole ride home and when we finally got the kitchen, I pulled out two for my parents and the rest displayed on Susannah’s pastry display next to the fridge. She always had something in it. Right now, it was just crumbs. I was pretty sure there were cookies in there only a few days ago.

Conrad and Steven came rushing down the stairs, swarming around me and the mufins. “Give me one,” Steven cried from over my shoulder. He reached over, bumping my shoulder, and grabbed a chocolate chip.

“You’re welcome,” I teased as Steven sat at the island counter. Conrad sat next to him, his hands folded in his lap. I grabbed his favorite and set it on a napkin, sliding it over to him. “Hungry?” I asked.

Jeremiah started rummaging through the fridge as Conrad mumbled a thanks and took his muffin. “Who wants eggs?” Jeremiah called, holding up four eggs in his two hands with a smile on his face. “Sunny side up.”

#tsitp #the summer i turned pretty #jeremiah fisher x reader #jeremiah fisher imagine #jeremiah fisher fanfic #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher imagine #tsitp imagine #belly conklin #tsitp one shot #tsitp conrad #tsitpedit #tsitp jeremiah #jenny han #jeremiah fisher fan fic #team jeremiah

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ladiesonfilm · 9 months

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Whitney Westgate ⭐️

It’s all about sex apparel with this one. She was pretty tame content wise (vaginal only if you don’t count her one & only anal outing with - of course - Tushy 🥱), and yes her tits were a bit saggy, but somehow it’s all just part of her ‘girl next door’ appeal: big boobs, perma tan & teeth bleached so hard they’re radioactive . . . what’s not to like? 😍

Pro tip: There’s a scene she shot for Bangbros (see last pic above ⬆️) where she had to swallow an apparently very funky load . . . her face!! 🍋🍋🥴. . . 😂🍆💦

FR: 2

Status: Retired

PSR : 13

PC : R/B/B/R/R

#whitney westgate #legend #tanned

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disco-elysium-via-polls · 2 months

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🎵Protorave

More tribalistic markings -- this post is covered in little humanoids.

A pole screwed into the ice keeps the tent erect.

Trash from some unending party.

PILE OF ETERNITE - A pane of eternite has been planted into the snow. Two poles are holding it up.

INTERFACING [Easy: Success] - *Barely* holding it up. It could fall over any minute... a stronger gust of wind might be enough.

"What is this?"

Push the eternite over.

[Leave it as is.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "It looks like a makeshift bridge." The lieutenant adjusts his collar against a cool breeze. "Could be convenient."

2. Push the eternite over.

PILE OF ETERNITE - The pane falls into the icy snow with a soft thunk.

That's going to save us like 10 seconds of walking, but sure.

This is someone's home away from home. Just like yours.

TENT FLAP - The tent is just tarpaulin fabric covering a pile of stuff. The flap is open. Inside, three young men -- all in forward-looking apparel reminiscent of the sticker on the padlock -- are listening to some new form of music. It's like nothing you've ever heard. One of them looks at you.

ANDRE - "C'mon! Get in and close the flap behind you! The warm stuff is getting out!"

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - It's safe to assume this is their leader. Or at least he thinks he is.

Squeeze in.

"No way." [Leave.]

ANDRE - "Sorry." He points his thumb at the lieutenant. "We barely have room for one."

KIM KITSURAGI - "You go ahead, I'm too old for this..."

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - I'm actually not, he thinks. I just dislike delinquents.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I'm sure you will feel right at home. I'll keep watch." He gestures for you to squeeze in.

TENT FLAP - You leave the lieutenant outside and squeeze in.

Smells like sweat and laundry detergent. Plus a trace of ether.

A pile of nasal sprays. Brand name: "Nosaphed Ultra."

Canisters filled with what appears to be water. The label says "Distilled."

A speaker. The big kind they use for live music.

ANDRE - You see a youngish man bleaching the tips of his hair with a toothbrush. He puts the toothbrush down and extends his hand in greeting.

"Hello, I'm Andre. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Shake his hand.

Don't shake it.

ANDRE - His grip is strong, sweaty, and warm. He's trying to project and inspire confidence.

"This is my posse: Noid...."

NOID - The young man with earrings looks at you suspiciously.

ANDRE - "...and Egg Head."

EGG HEAD - "Egg!" The tape player high above his head continues to blast what is probably *anodic* music.

ANDRE - "Together with Acele Berger -- who's out there right now, doing some *seriously* progressive sonic experimentation -- we like to think of ourselves as 'music venue organizers.'"

"Wait, how many music venues have you organized?"

"Why are you here?"

ANDRE - "We have many in the pipeline, officer."

2. "Why are you here?"

ANDRE - "You see, we've been all over Jamrock North, prospecting for real estate to establish a new venue in..."

EGG HEAD - "Also for talent!"

ANDRE - "Yes, thank you, Egg Head. And, while there is no shortage of raw, unfettered talent spinning tapes in Jamrock, we've had rotten luck with the real estate part."

NOID - "Place is a shithole."

ANDRE - "I apologize for my friend Noid's potty-mouth. *I* realize this is not how you speak to a police officer. He has authority issues."

"There's no need. The place is pretty bad."

"Next time, watch yourself."

"Was there something you wanted? Your friend Acele said there was a problem with the church."

ANDRE - "Oh, so you've met her? Good, good." He nods.

EMPATHY [Formidable: Success] - He's not as glad as he would like you to think. There is concern in his voice.

ANDRE - "Yeah -- it's a matter of occupied ecclesiastical property. I bet you've noticed the derelict hive of *narcomania* on the coast?"

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - An attempt to pander to your perceived conservative sensibilities. No person his age would ever use a word like *narcomania* with a straight face. Don't fall for it!

"Enough histrionics. What are you talking about?"

ANDRE - "I'm talking about the church. And I'm not exaggerating! Even a place of spiritual refuge can become a magnet for all sorts of *dopeheads* and *burnouts* if left unattended..."

EGG HEAD - "Dopeheads!"

NOID - "Burnouts!" He angrily spits on a screw, then starts cleaning it.

ANDRE - "Well, I'm sad to say, that's exactly what happened. Sad because we were just about to put Martinaise on the map with one of the maddest dance clubs in Jamrock -- no, strike that -- in Revachol..."

EGG HEAD - "Strike that -- the world!"

ANDRE - "And sadder yet because the dopeheads and burnouts holed up in there are *the worst* kind."

COMPOSURE [Easy: Success] - He leans back a little, watching you with a steady, serious gaze, letting you imagine just how bad those 'dopeheads' and 'burnouts' really are.

RHETORIC [Easy: Success] - Good. This calls for an *opinion*. You're an expert in those.

"I won't stand for narcomaniacs of any kind. No *narcomaniacs* on my watch." (Shake your head gravely.)

"I feel like you may be laying this on a bit thick. What's really so bad about these 'dopeheads' and 'burnouts'?"

ANDRE - "They're *spooky*."

"What exactly do you mean by *spooky*?"

"'Spookiness' is not a matter for police investigation."

ANDRE - "I was hoping you would be the judge of that, officer. All I can say is, their spookiness is the kind that keeps us from restoring this church into a community centre. And a place of spiritual refuge."

NOID - "Also, they don't heat or clean the building. Shit's gonna collapse."

EGG HEAD - "People just wanna spin tapes without them spookin' it up! Place has bad sines! No one can dance like that."

ANDRE - "Thank you, Egg Head..."

"So you're gonna look into it, right?" He turns to you. "It *should* be a police matter -- getting them out. Whatever spooky stuff they're doing, I'm sure it's not what the Ecclesiastes meant their property for."

"I'll look into it. Tell me more." (Get the task.)

"I'll make up my mind later. I have questions for you first." (Not now.)

"The police have more important things to do right now, kid." (Not now.)

Good news, kid. You're talking to the *premiere* member of the Remote Viewers Division. Of course we're looking into the spooky church.

ANDRE - "Alright, man!" He claps his hands enthusiastically.

New task: Help ravers start a nightclub

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] - Andre is obviously very happy you took him seriously. The whole tent is. The boys exchange giddy looks.

"Acele told me Noid put the padlock on the door. Why?"

"Who exactly are these people inside the church?"

"You mentioned some kind Ecclesiastes own the church. Who are these Ecclesiastes?"

"I wanted to ask you about this tent full of equipment."

"That's all for now." [Leave.]

ANDRE - "I did ask Noid to install a measure against more drifters wandering in. It's a temporary fix. Just something to contain the situation."

NOID - "I had to do it in a hurry. Not my best work... But it should hold for a while."

"I need the key."

"How long have those people been locked in there?"

"Right. Other questions." (Conclude.)

ANDRE - "Of course. Noid, give the officer the key."

NOID - "Alright." The speedfreak dips into his belt pack and produces a yellow key. He then makes a sudden, cool-infused move, tossing it in your general direction.

[Reaction Speed - Medium 10] Be the Cool Cop. Catch the key as it flies toward you!

Let it fall to the ground, then pick it up. Like a normal adult person.

REACTION SPEED [Medium: Failure] - It's as if time has frozen somehow. You think you can *sense* the key moving in the air. Yeah, this is gonna be *way* cool.

Don't ruin the cool by overdoing it. Raise your hand in front of your face with minimum effort.

REACTION SPEED - Blam! Straight in the eye. Straight in the old eye-orb. In *the lookin' ball*!

-1 Health

A stabbing pain. Tears stream uncontrollably from your right eye.

"Ouch! Goddamn asshole... what is WRONG with you?! Can't you see I'm in PAIN now?!"

NOID - "Man, I'm super sorry. That was totally my bad, I got overexcited. Threw them too hard. I'm sorry."

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - He looks like he's genuinely sorry he didn't throw them better.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" (Bend your face in *mockery* of his useless contrition.) "You almost *eye-murdered* me -- a cop! That's use of LETHAL FORCE!"

NOID - "I really am sorry, man -- just take this, okay?" He pulls out some black paper from his belt-pack.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Easy: Success] - Wow! Looks like there's quite a lot there...

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #harrier du bois #noid #andre #egg head

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grannyandgrandpascreations · 1 year

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Sanford and Son's Salvage Yard Distressed Flannel Shirt

This item is for a one-of-a-kind bleached "Sanford and Son's Salvage" flannel shirt. A perfect flannel shirt for any Sanford and Son fan!

CONDITION: All of our flannel shirts are brand new and washed twiced.

FABRIC: All these shirts are made of cotton or a cotton/poly blend. Measurements and thickness vary slightly by brand.

Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Air dry is recommended.

Due to different picture lighting settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.

#flannelshirt - #grannygrandpascustomcreations - #distressedflannelshirt - #TVsitcom

This item is for a one-of-a-kind bleached "Sanford & Son's Salvage" flannel shirt.

FABRIC: All these shirts are made of cotton or a cotton/poly blend. Measurements and thickness vary slightly by brand.

Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Air dry is recommended.

Due to different picture lighting settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.

#flannelshirt - #grannygrandpascustomcreations - #distressedflannelshirt - #TVsitcom

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bbeboppp · 7 months

Text

𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 | 𝘗𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯 𝘕𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘬 | 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗪𝗢 ; Philosophy

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆��✧

❝I'm stronger than all my men; except for you..❞ quote from "Pretty When You Cry" by Lana del Rey.

✧

THIRD PERSON'S POV:

December 5th, 1971. 07:56 AM

The dim light from early morning hours shone in through lacey white curtains in Bobby's room, illuminating the cold flat. The humble droning of cars below rumbled softly. Bobby had never, ever been a morning person, especially in the winter months.

God, he remembered just why he didn't take opening-shift jobs now; the mornings of New York were miserable to be welcomed from sleep to. He groggily sat up, reaching to the foot of his bed, where his suitcase lay. Inside were just a few of his belongings, such as clean spare clothes, forty bucks, a half-empty deodorant stick, a pack of stale beef jerky, and a belt. As he looped the belt through the belt loops, Bobby remembered the feel of it's soft leather wrapped around the skin just above his elbow. As if the room wasn't already silent, another dreadful silence slipped in.

Rejecting the memory, Bobby finished looping his belt quickly, kicking his heels into his shoes as he shoved his bomber jacket over his shoulders, zipping up half-way. A box of matches and a packet of silk cuts branded themselves against his skin as he felt them in his pockets.

✧ THREE MINUTES LATER ✧

A five-minute walk with only a minute to spare, Bobby accepted the fact that he'd be late to work. He wasn't planning on punctuality, the mindset of working any job but one assigned to him already kicking in, I guess some things never change. Besides, the dark-haired man already had something else in mind.

Bobby sat on the steps of the apartment, a cigarette tucked between his lips. He rested his hands in the pockets of his jacket, keeping them from the nipping frosty air of New York. Across the street, the little café had opened. The tan-brown bricks, the tea-green awning, the name of the café written in white paint. He watched two waiters, already in uniform, walk in through the door along with a tall, grey-haired man with hollowed cheeks. He was likely the manager, as his ridiculous outfit suggested. The lights turned on inside, the outside seating brought outside once again & the awning extended out into the street. Lastly, the little sign saying Closed was flipped, now reading Open.

Bobby stood up, throwing his cigarette butt on the ground, stamping out the burn end with the tip of his boots as he crossed the street, entering the café.

✧ INSIDE THE SHOP; Y/N'S POV: ✧

Y/N's uniform consisted of a white t-shirt, green apron that wrapped around her mid-section & pants of her choice, which in today's case would be a pair of brown flared trousers. It was a fuck ugly uniform, but it hard to slay when you have to worry about the uniform policy.

The first customer of the day was an old man who sat in the darkest corner in the café, reading the menu slowly. He typically came in every few days and never tipped. Y/N's work partner, Loretta, usually took his order. Loretta was one of Y/N's only friends, but a great one at that. She had shoulder-length curls, bleached not quite blonde but rather an off-ginger shade. The second customer was a woman in all-black attire, probably attending some important meeting that day. She wore heels that sounded loudly on the old wooden floor as she walked towards the counter, ordering a black coffee to-go.

The third customer was a man y/n hadn't seen before, and definitely not one who looked like he drank coffee from a local café. Maybe he drank coffee, but still, his grungy apparel brought a feeling similar to a premonition, but an enticing one at that.

His face was stubbled; he needed a shave. His hair was kept out of his face with a band around his forehead and a tall nose standing in the middle of his face like some sort of landmark. The thick, dark hair around his face framed it; his dark eyes held a witty spark within them; he seemed upbeat for some reason.

"What would you like to order?" Y/N spoke, hands on the counter as she waited for an order to fix a drink of some sort.

No response. Bobby had heard her, and acknowledged it, probably, but he was busy reading the menu fixed on a sign above Y/N's head.

"Mmm, I don't know. What do you suggest?" Bobby spoke after maybe fifteen seconds of silence, glancing from the sign to her. Already, a line began to trickle in behind Bobby, all lining up quietly & neatly.

"Black coffee." Y/N spoke, unfeeling and unknowing to the chemistry Bobby was trying to search for. Her answer was short and simple. She had recommended the easiest drink on the menu.

"I don't like black coffee." He scoffed, looking back at the menu, reading it slowly and carefully as if he had all the time in the world.

Y/N frowned a little. She glanced nervously at the line, hoping the man would make up his mind. Thankfully Loretta had finished taking orders of seated customers & handed them to the manager who was working behind the counter and now opened a second register, a second line forming.

"Espresso then." Y/N suggested, another easy drink to make.

"What's in an espresso?" He tilted his head a little, knotting his brows together as if to imitate confusion.

"Americano." Y/N bluntly spoke. She didn't have the patience to explain simple coffee recipes.

"No no, I don't want an Americano, they're too sour." Bobby protested, shaking his head as if in disappointment.

"Americano's are sweet."

"No, they're sour."

A long silence came from Y/N. She stared at Bobby, not reciprocating his silliness.

"Americano's are not sour."

"The ones I've had are."

"..So.. do you want an Americano?"

"No I want an Espresso."

Y/N hesitated, waiting to see if he'd pull another trick. He stared intently now, his lips not moving to speak another remark.

Four minutes later, Bobby was handed his Espresso. He didn't typically indulge in buying over-priced coffee, but the charisma of the little café was something Bobby decided if he incorporated into his life, would steer him away from spending his time elsewhere. A distraction.

✧ 08:12; BOBBY'S POV: ✧

By the time Bobby had arrived at work, the store had been open for just over ten minutes. Inside was quiet, apart from a few teenagers on their way to school buying gum or the elderly doing their weekly shopping.

Matilda was at the front desk, the sweat on her forehead making her fringe begin to curl.

"You're late!" She hissed at Bobby entering through the door, strutting towards the backroom to get his uniform.

"No I'm not." Bobby replied before shutting the door to the backroom. He scribbled his name down on a name-tag, sticking it to the store-uniform fleece. The fleece was a dark navy colour with two thin lines running horizontally below the chest, one yellow and one red.

"You're LATE." She repeated, glaring at him, but still somehow keeping the pace she held scanning customer items.

"Maybe your watch is just fast." Bobby remarked, taking zero offense to the huff Matilda was working up over his timing. He walked into another register, opening it up.

The day went by with no significant events. Thankfully, Matilda didn't snitch to the manager about Bobby's punctuality, but there's a good chance she will if he runs late again.

✧ 03:21; ✧

First day back, Bobby had accidentally charged four customers twice the price of their items, dropped multiple & worked about three times slower than Matilda. Raul dropped by once, much less cheerful than he was the previous day. Bobby had a feeling that would happen; no grocery-store manager is typically that enthusiastic. He took a spoking break in the back alley, meeting Matilda doing the same. Their uniforms would smell of tobacco afterwards, but since Raul smoked in the backroom it was easy to blame the smell on the backroom, as Matilda had informed Bobby.

Raul offered Bobby $2.10 per hour if he stayed til half seven, as the person who was supposed to come in after Bobby had spontaneously moved to Florida. Bobby agreed, liking the sound of a seventy-cent temporary pay-rise.

✧ 07:26; ✧

With the end of Bobby's shift approaching, the final mile was really kicking in. His entire demeanour was tired, and he was working impossibly slow with a grumbly attitude.

Deciding to go out for a "smoke break" and never return, Bobby left the register & stood outside the shop, as Raul was shouting on the phone in the back-alley. As he held a cigarette between his tobacco-stained fingers, a familiar face exited the shop. Y/N, not wearing her horrid work uniform & in a thick fake-fur coat. She was holding two brown paper bags of groceries, balancing one on each hip.

Bobby stood up from where he slouched against the wall, now walking in step with her. A man of the moment, if Bobby tried this today he'd probably get tazed.

"Want some help carrying those?" He offered, the cigarette hanging lazily from his lips.

Taken slightly aback, Y/N frowned, almost discouraging him altogether.

Before Bobby could speak another bluntly friendly offer, Y/N handed him a bag. She continued walking, readjusting the other bag a little, not acknowledging the puppy she had at her heels.

"Your welcome." He sassily added.

The two walked a length together, Bobby sparking up conversation about anything, anything he could think of. "How's the weather?" He asked, spitting the cigarette he had into a bin, not wanting to look bummy in front of a lady. "Same as always. Cold." Y/N shrugged, crossing the street. Bobby followed in tow.

"Do you like your job?" He asked. "No, who does." Y/N answered. "Awh, don't be such a pessilist." Bobby cooed "The word is pessimist." She corrected him, fighting the oncoming smile at his idiocy. There was something.. slightly charming about the way he answered so quickly yet so foolishly, large doe eyes glancing to his side at her every chance he got.

"Oh, well, I'm not too smart. You seem smart, you go to college?" Bobby followed up. Y/N scoffed sadly, "No, I wish. I got rejected from four." "What were you gonna study?" "Philosophy." Y/N mumbled, perhaps slightly embarrassed about it. Not that she found anything wrong with studying philosophy, but her parents seemed to highly discourage it, since it's deemed typically useless.

"Oh, I know a few philosophers." Bobby spoke brightly. "Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle.. Uhm.. Para-something." Bobby began listing all the philosphers that came to mind at that moment. Y/N giggled when he said para-something.

"What? I told you I'm not too smart." He retorted, mocking a hurt-tone in his voice. "Parmenides. Philosophy is much more complex than studying the Greek Philosophers though. I mean, the courses can cover a range of umbrella-genres.." As Y/N began rambling about all she knew of philosophy college courses, Bobby listened with a great interest. Of course, he didn't understand half of what she was saying, but at least he nodded along with great enthusiasm and asked a few questions along the way. Unbeknownst to Bobby, Y/N was taking the long way home, just to draw out the conversation a little longer.

✧ SIXTEEN MINUTES LATER; ✧

At the steps of a grey apartment, Y/N stopped. Bobby stopped beside her. He looked up at the building, trying to count the storeys in it but gave up at fifteen.

"What floor do you live on?" He asked. "Twenty." Y/N sighed, taking the bag from Bobby.

"Oh, and thank you." Y/N smile was warm, bizarrely different from when they first met. "Anything to help out the next Aristotle." Bobby replied, looking down with a grin.

Y/N rolled her eyes, giggling quietly. Bobby skipped up the steps ahead of her, just to get the door and hold it open.

"Why thank you." She smiled again, tilted her head against her shoulder as Bobby stood there, stupidly smiling.

"Are you working tomorrow?" Bobby asked, leaning on the side of the door now.

"No, I only work on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays." Y/N shook her head. Tomorrow was Wednesday.

"You have the day off?" Bobby asked, brows raising.

"No," Y/N sighed, huffing a laugh, "I'm going to Coney Island this Wednesday, visiting my sister."

"Well, have a good time so." He pursed his lips into a subtle smile, watching as Y/N made her way inside, towards the elevator. Bobby walked down the steps, towards his own flat. He didn't know this area of New York too well, but wouldn't get lost by any means.

He took a seven minute detour, deliberately avoiding Needle Park. A burning curiosity itched his insides. He wanted to have a look, to check up on his friends. To see if Kitty was there. But he couldn't do that, he couldn't go back. People don't go to Needle Park to find jobs or prosperity, they go there to die.

When Bobby got home, he patted down his pockets, looking for his keys. He found him in his back pocket & unlocked the door. A cold room & mumbled arguments from neighbours greeted him.

END OF CHAPTER ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Word Count: 2.2k

IMPORTANT: If I call Bobby Paolo at some stage PLEASE tell me omg it's so embarrassing I don't know why I do it </3

#tony montana #pacino #panic in needle park #al pacino #70s #new york #new york city #meow #uhhhhh

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