goofyghoul-blog

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“stop being dramatic”

me:

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adilathepard:

“How would bouncing on your dick not hurt? I mean there’s so many nerves in there and to just be ‘willy nilly’ bouncing up and down would be…. oh….. wait…. you mean?…. Oh, gods.”

“There it is!  Yep.  But it was fun while it lasted.  I’m assuming Dom doesn’t use that type of talk.”  He’d say another joke but he has the feeling it would get back to Dom and he’d have to find a new home.  

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adilathepard:

“So it is a threat?…. Oh no…”

“See I’m not bouncing on anything if it’s gonna hurt anyone…”

“Mmm, don’t think it would hurt.  Not in the slightest.  The opposite.”

@adilathepard

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Are you going to bounce on Alec's dick or face?

“…… Is this a threat to Alec, because I’m really confused here?”

@goofyghoul

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The Spokane Press, Washington, August 27, 1910

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completely ooc but i’ve been working on this fic that’s getting way too fucking long.  

i’m way too invested but there’s no way i’m not gonna post it now.

basically, misadventures with Shuri & Peter bc they never got the chance and I’m mad about everything.  with additionally sam & bucky babysitting them bc i’m mad about that shit too.  

help.

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Moody by Frederick Ardley Photography

Click to follow on Instagram @frederickardley

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saligiare:

“I have sworn off dating lately, I fear.” Asmodeus heaved a dramatically forlorn sigh. “But give me that smile again a couple of times and I might reconsider. –Cuba Libre. Call me boring, I do not mind.”

“What a shame,” Alec returned in mock disappointment, though the smirk that followed betrayed the act.  The bartender nodded at the order and Alec turned back to his newest companion that seemed to wrap the whole room in a strange air, needlessly demanding attention.  The glances flicked over to them weren’t meant for Alec but the redhead and he wondered if Dorian was simply used to it.  “Oh, I doubt anyone would describe you as boring, mate.  Perhaps the opposite.  You’ve got the whole,” Alec made a quick gesture, “mysterious and attractive thing going for you.”  

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bennettsurvivor:

“I most certainly do not, I want them to think the worst of our situation. Being on the go isn’t that bad. So what if I tend to lose a couple articles of clothes and forget to eat from time to time? That’s what being on the edge is like. You should try it sometimes.”

“You know, I had that life once and homelessness is not something I’d like to return to.  And I think I’m quite comfortable with my lifestyle right now.  You’re welcome to try it out.  Though sometimes me you like danger twenty-four-seven, rather than just a weekend thing.”

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Letitia Wright

Send me a face claim and I will use that face claim to make an NPC in my muse's life, as well as talk about their relationship, connection, and feelings towards my muse.

Odessa Marcelin | 25 | Werewolf

Cousin to Simon (changed his name for reasons), Odessa is the tau of her pack, the lead spy/scout and has four others under her command.  Odessa is one of the few who work with magic within her pack, often with the seers, as a resource.  She is the one who found Alec’s group, though the pack had been working with Radana for years.  She’s fond of the group, though will be wary of their exact nature.  If she has to do any work with them, Des will communicate more to Alec & Xanthe than the rest.  She finds their demeanors easier to be around.  And maybe sometimes she’ll go visit if she’s in the area.  Odessa is highly respected in the pack, being younger than most tau who came before her and rose up within the ranks fast.  Des is known for gathering intelligence anywhere and if there is even a thought about betrayal, she’ll be on their tail.

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I want the platonic meme thing!

* platonic prompts: send a symbol for my muse’s reaction to the following!

16. Bella getting Alec something he needs before he can ask for it

[i didn’t do the random generator for this one tbh.  i just wanted fluff.]

Long nights, especially ones like these, tend to come with a precursor: no plans, nothing in the Netflix queue, everyone else is doing something and there is no mundane tasks worth picking up to finish.  Though, this night has a bit of a twist: he has company.  Though this company needs a warning label, really.  And he’d like to tell her the next time it comes up on a conversation: Warning: Will Eat All Food And Occupy Couch/Sleeping Spaces As Desired.  He likes Bella, though.  Whatever frenemy relationship they held from before has twisted slightly recently.  He’s fond of her; as fond as one can get with someone like Bella, he supposes.  From what he gathers from the rest of the group, she’s hard to love.  She walks in like a hurricane and leaves just the same.  It’s easy to banter with her and he appreciates it, especially if another certain someone isn’t around to exchange friendly fire.  He’d like to think she’s fond of him too—at least, she better be when she takes up the whole couch and rummages through the fridge for whatever is there.  Tonight, however, she’s quiet.  And he’s looking over paperwork for the next planned service on his laptop.  Emails and bookings.  And maybe a few bills are sitting on the tabletop in relation to the energy they’ve been consuming lately.  He takes a moment, setting down his laptop on the table and rubs his face tiredly.  It’s been a few days; a nap won’t hurt.  Tea sounds nice though.  Tea, yeah.  He shifts, readying his body to stand up but a form is next to him instead.  There stands the young witch, with all that confidence muted for a moment, replaced by a strange understanding.  And in her hand a teacup—his favorite teacup, the kind with yellowed vine design along the rim—piping hot.  Black tea, he can already tell and he wonders if that’s just a simple observation on her part or if it’s a magic thing.  His mouth is already forming a grin, grateful and tired all at once.  It occurs to him that she had been silent for most of the evening and maybe he had ignored her for the past few hours.  Maybe he had hypocritically thought she wanted her own space.  After all, she doesn’t have much of it, jumping from place to place; assumingly.  He takes it from her gingerly, as if it would break the moment he touches it.  “Thanks,” he says, holding it close to his mouth.  “Just want a needed.  How’d you know?”  He pats the cushion next to him on the couch, a non-verbal invitation.  “Appreciate it.”

@bennettsurvivor

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SAME MUSE X SAME MUSE THINGS I STILL WANT ;;

• younger canon x older canon. • one is the imaginary friend of the other. • clones. • one is the multiple personality of the other. • twins. • one is the conscious of the other. • one from the future sent back in time to help the other. • one from the past sent to kill their future self. • one is a specific emotion of the other. such as their ‘happiness’ or their ‘rage’. • one is the guardian angel of the other. • one is light, one is dark. • hero side, villain side.

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when you get this, please respond with five things that make you happy! then, send to the last ten people in your notifications anonymously. you never know who might benefit from spreading positivity! 🌼

This is cute af.  Thank you!

Five things then...

1. Tea/wine at night while I’m writing. 2. Compliments bc I’m thirsty.3. Messing around with my rp fam.4. Reading fics that ignore the terrible canon of shows/films that are out to personally offend me.5. Love for black women.  

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“Why are you whispering?”

50 Dialogue Prompts

It’s not until Tyler says it that he realizes he really is whispering.  Rather harshly, actually.  And hurriedly.  His eyes dart behind Tyler, where two others in the group had walked off to just a minute before.  And the lobby is huge and loud with chatter from thirty-plus people, exchanging conversations excitedly about whatever film they were about to see.  And here Alec was, face scrunched up and trying his hardest to be quiet.  About a girl.  Alec clears his throat and straightens his form, hands shoved into his pockets and rolling his shoulders back.  “No reason.  Just---we don’t have to talk about it anymore.  So, you want popcorn or a slushie?  I know I have to buy at least three things of these sour skittles anyway, so might as well tell me what you want.  Unless you’re buying something for Eva.”Rambling is what he does best in these situations.  Hopefully, Tyler doesn’t call him out on it and instead just throws a jab at what he just said.  Whatever works for him.  So he’ll throw on that familiar grin that probably annoys Tyler to death instead.  

@lunaticlockwood​

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Gimme platonic meme thing

* platonic prompts: send a symbol for my muse’s reaction to the following!

3. singing them to sleep

[ I did the random generrator thing on this and it landed on #3 a good four times.  lol ]

Everything sort of hurts.�� When these things (’things’ code for assaults, fights, any altercation under the Goddess’ good moon, really) happen, it’s usually a case of pairs.  Examples being: a swollen jaw and maybe a fractured rib.  A migraine and a stab to the liver.  A dislocated shoulder and a bullet wound in the back.  Tiny little sprains, here and there.  But this time, it’s a bit different.  It’s like his body checked off D. All of the Above and his mind is slipping in and out of consciousness, as if to say, Oh, I’m still hurt, I’ll come back later, which he’ll later be rather thankful for.  Especially the nice tune that accompanies the drift back to darkness.  It’s a familiar one too; one that he’s heard long ago but more so recently---maybe once, playing in the background of a store or on an AM radio while Xanthe was in the middle of a story.  He can’t place it yet.  Then he recognizes the voice as he resurfaces back into the white hot pain again.  Something akin to the golden age of jazz, a slow and steady song but quiet.  Stripped of it’s usual spirit but raw with a type of emotion he can’t quite place yet.  It stops, as if sensing he’s awake.  Ah, Eva.  Sung it in the shower.  Threw a hairbrush at me.  Or was it a bottle of shampoo?  Ran fast so I wouldn’t get hit.  Before he knows it, he’s smiling and even that fucking hurts.  It’s a skeletal form of a smile, must be, because it doesn’t feel quite like his usual smiles.  He doesn’t bother to open his eyes to confirm it’s really her; he’ll have to trust his ears on this one for once because he’s almost sure even peeking would melt his eyeballs out; just...everything hurts.  The melody itself is like an odd antiseptic.  “S’nice,” he murmurs and oh, his throat hurts too.  He can’t remember what must have made him hurt so much but he’ll remember later.  Now is time for sleep.  And listening.  So he says in a small exhale,  “Keep going.”

@highheelsandclaws