Mikipip - THE DUMP (・ω< )

Tiles

I think journaling my thoughts out makes me feel a lot better, I’ve been going through my pink girly girl phase lately and no one has said anything abt it.. cause I haven’t told anyone abt it lolz

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ。 ﾟ。　 november prompts

　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

¹⁾ traffic lights

²⁾ ripe mangos

³⁾ frozen peas pressed against a fresh bruise

⁴⁾ sunday evening

⁵⁾ a cluttered kitchen sink

⁶⁾ hands marred with coal dust

⁷⁾ a red-painted front door

⁸⁾ a fistful of sand

⁹⁾ cheap candles

¹⁰⁾ sunken gravestones

¹¹⁾ neroli perfume

¹²⁾ the shoe section in a second-hand shop

¹³⁾ a cracked headlight

¹⁴⁾ gold-embossed dinner plates

¹⁵⁾ green velvet

¹⁶⁾ a highball glass

¹⁷⁾ prayer beads

¹⁸⁾ a matchbox

¹⁹⁾ fresh apple tart

²⁰⁾ grey smoke curling up into a night sky

²¹⁾ a shared sleeping bag

²²⁾ raspberry tea

²³⁾ a barstool

²⁴⁾ a boss’s office with a closed door

²⁵⁾ skinned knees

²⁶⁾ a glass shower enclosure

²⁷⁾ orange segments

²⁸⁾ a thick manilla folder

²⁹⁾ barbed wire

³⁰⁾ a twin bed

raw meat dividers / free to use

tw - dub/con, afab!reader, cockwarming, medical malpractice, nonconsensual drug use, manipulation, unbalanced power dynamics, and obsessive behavior.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

“It really is a shame to lose such a lovely patient.

His hand drifted from your thigh to your hip, rocking you back as you tried to squirm away from him. He was too deep, too big, and you’d been sitting on his cock for too long. Whenever you tried to shift your weight, though, the arm wrapped around your waist would tighten its hold and drag you back into place, leaving your ass slotted against his hips and your cunt struggling to clench around his base. You didn’t know how long he’d kept you like this, but it must’ve been longer than an hour, if not two, three, four. Despite your foggy senses, you could feel slick dripping down your thighs, an empty void in the pit of your stomach where pleasure should’ve been. You could remember hearing that Harper was a good doctor, but that couldn’t be right. Doctors weren’t supposed to make you feel so bad.

“I mean, I know it should be a doctor’s goal to see their patients off as happy and as healthy as can be, but—” He paused, sighed, and you could picture him rolling his eyes, feigning wistfulness as he let out an airy chuckle. “Good, obedient patients can be so rare, especially in a town like this. I’m allowed to mourn the loss of my best charge yet, aren’t I?”

You felt him twitch inside of you, and in search of a distraction, your gaze fell to the collection of papers fanned out over the desk in front of you. You knew you were supposed to be reading them, but the text seemed so impossibly small, and your last round of medication was still clouding your senses, making it hard to focus on much of anything beyond the throbbing in your core, the feeling of his cock stretching you open despite your body’s best attempts to force him out. You could recognize the phrases, signal out words like ‘unfit’ and ‘dependent’ mixed in with the rest of the benign text, but when you tried to put it all together, none of it made sense. It was all you could do to check the boxes Harper pointed to, sign your name on any dotted lines that hadn’t already been filled by his. You could only hope that, when you finished, he’d let you stand up, get off of him, go back to your cozy room with its nice, soft padded walls. You couldn’t imagine having to sleep in his office, again.

“And you’ve been so cooperative, too,” he went on, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. You felt his lips against the shell of your ear, then your cheek. “Always taking your medication, always following your treatment plans, always coming to our little sessions with an open-mind – the pinnacle of an ideal patient. Honestly, sometimes I think I could tell you to stick your hand in a vat of boiling water, and you’d do it with a smile on your face. All for the sake of your recovery, of course.”

It was him moving, this time – shifting forward until your stomach was pressed against the blunt edge of his desk and he was all-but draped over you, his body pressed flush against yours. You let out a pitchy whine by way of protest, but Harper didn’t seem to notice, only humming as his hand found yours. “Almost done, little mouse. Just one more page.” He was practically cooing as he took you by the wrist, guiding your hand to the bottom of the final page. Two thick, cutting lines occupied most of the available space, his neat signature taking up the first. He brought you to the second, almost daunting in its vacancy, his index finger tapping against the back of your hand. “You remember your name, right? Can you write it for me?”

It was so hard to think, to stay awake, to try and remember a time where he hadn’t been planted so deeply inside of you. “If…” you started, only to trail off. You blinked once, then twice, and did your best to force your tongue to move. “If I do, can I go home?”

Usually, Harper hated it when you talked about the orphanage, about school, about home. You hadn’t meant to, you just wanted to go back to your room, and you moved to correct yourself, to promise that you didn’t want to be anywhere but this hospital, his hospital before he frowned and prescribed you another electrotherapy session, another dose of the small, white pills that left your thoughts blurred and your body hot. But, anything you might’ve been able to spit out died with a breathy laugh, a peck to the corner of your jaw. “Of course,” he purred, rocking his hips gently against yours. “Sign, and I’ll take you home tonight.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt yourself start to smile. Hastily, smudging the ink more than once, you scrawled your name across the brutal line, dropping the pen and going slack against Harper as soon as you were finished. There was another open-mouthed kiss to your throat, then the dip of your shoulder, and he dragged you back onto his lap with a playful squeeze to your thigh, a grin pressed into the crook of your neck. You squirmed unabashedly, now, your hands  graspingly weakly at the arms of his chair in hopes of pulling yourself to your feet, but Harper held you tight. “Where do you think you’re going, little mouse?”

“I need to— You said I could go—”

“Just give me another minute, darling.”

His cock pulsed against the walls of your cunt, and you felt something break open inside of you.

“I want to appreciate this moment before we get you to proper, brand-new home.”

"photograph of a young palestinian girl flying her kite on al-waha beach, gaza, 2011. on this day, 6,200 palestinian children filled the gaza sky with kites, achieving the guinness world record for most kites flown simultaneously. the culture of kite flying amongst gaza youth remains a symbol of resilience, creativity, and joy. over the past 7 weeks, the amount of children killed by the israeli state has nearly surpassed this number, continuing to rise each day. we must continue calling for a permanent ceasefire now. the devastation must end" — via @azeemamag on instagram

I was punched and pepper sprayed by cops that my university administration set on student protesters yesterday. Including once where a cop ripped my mask off my face, grabbed my jaw, and sprayed pepper sprayed straight into my mouth. The university sent out an alert in the middle of our protest canceling classes for the rest of the day, only citing “adverse conditions”. After protesters dispersed under threat of even more violence and three buses of riot police from all over the state with rubber bullets and bully sticks parked in front of one our school’s famous landmarks. I staggered over to a couple of friends who were watching on the sidelines. They gave me water and an apple and held a bag of ice on my very pepper spray irritated face. As they were walking me back to my dorm we ran into one of their roommates. She had taken cancelled classes as an opportunity to get crumbl cookie with her friends. Standing in front of her, happy in a floral blouse with her box of cookies, in my pepper spray and water soaked tshirt, keffiyeh sadly hanging off my shoulder, holding an ice pack to my mouth, felt like a slap in the face.

After putting my pepper spray soaked clothes, shoes, and keffiyeh in a plastic bag and taking an extraordinarily painful shower, a friend and I went for dinner just off campus. There we had a pot of green tea and ramen to soothe pepper sprayed throats. We got ice cream after (shared a cup with chocolate and raspberry pomegranate with strawberry pieces on top, it was very good). From our spot outside the ice cream place we watched a steady stream of groups of sorority girls in matching jeans shorts and blue bikini tops walking back to their apartments after some apparently raucous parties. The cognitive dissonance was insane. I really felt a little like I was going crazy.

Even this morning, waking up to the smeared sharpie of the National Lawyer’s Guild’s phone number on my arm, a black and blue chest from where a grown man straight up clocked me while I was held up by two other protesters in a wall, and a still sore throat and eyes from the pepper spray, life goes on like normal. I still have final papers to write and a math exam to review for.

I’m not sure I really have a point. But, this feeling only makes me want to fight harder for a free Palestine. So, fuck Israel for being an apartheid state and all of their crimes over the last 76 years. Fuck university administration for not disclosing their level of investment in Israel. Fuck university administration for not divesting from this genocide. Fuck Joe Biden for actively supporting this genocide. And fuck the police.

There’s this new character I’m thinking about making but I won’t be able to draw them for awhile so I’ll just put it here. It’s this tiger cat alien person but they have like 2 extra eyes on there forehead like.. like they are a spider or something. I like zom 100 (go watch it) so I want to take the idea of most things being black and white with splotches of either really bright saturated colors or just. Pink. Okay and I want them to have like this plushie tiger but the tiger talks and stuff. Like it’s a real tiger, k feel like it would be cool if they can wear the tiger. They tiger has a zipper on its stomach and you can open it up and wear it like that. The tiger is filled with nothing but the void.

The void calls.

And maybe they are like a fighter so they can be well built or whatever ^_^

Madoka and Homura Pixelart by ooo [website] [twitter]

♡ reprint permission was granted by the artist.

I’m gonna start working on making Vtuber models and playing around with live 2D I’ll document my progress here ^^