#( MAN IS GETTING BOLDER- )

[mischievous-thunder]

One day later:

The evolution of Wade's thought process before and after meeting his Logan

[tshortik]

I love you messy artstyle i love you visible brush strokes I love you textures and rough edges I love you imperfections I love you roughness and colour blobs I love you scratchy sketches and bold stylisation and dirt and imperfections I love you ugly and raw emotion!!!!! ❤️

[sqtorux]

gojo 'i am a man too' satoru when you keep teasing him about how he's younger than you and makes it his life mission to prove it.

[anathemafiction]

I love seeing Hadrian getting bolder with MC lmao feels even better with a shy MC because it's like he's picking up the slack. ❤️

You haven't seen anything yet.

[fiendishartist2]

its been so long since i first shared my designs for them, so i thought i would try again with my new art skills :3

[daybreakrising]

@apocryphis: "you never told me you could dance, vautrin." depending on how one chooses to interpret neuvillette's tone, one could hear either a very mild indignation or a pleased sense of surprise. without waiting for an answer (although he does listen out for one, should vautrin grant him the honour of it), he rises from the sofa and walks up to the phonograph, turning it on and adjusting the volume to a soft, gentle inflexion. "I would quite like to hear that story - and whether you knew how to dance before joining the marechaussee or because furina also made you learn... but most importantly..." satisfied, the iudex turns back to his dear friend, with a smile and a gloved hand reaching out to him. "could I trouble you with a request for a short demonstration?"

You never told me you could dance. No, he hadn't. In fact, he'd hardly told a soul since he left that life behind. There was only one other in Fontaine (and, indeed, all of Teyvat) who knew, and that was Furina - a secret revealed during a moment of bonding between them, a sharing of a mutual passion they had both once held dear. And still do, a voice utters inside his mind. He won't tell Neuvillette that he was not the first to learn of this, of course. He seems put out enough that such information was kept from him in the first place, and he dare not cause him further upset.

"Ah, it... it was a long time ago..." There is a subtle shift in the temperature of his skin, notably upon his cheeks, the tips of his ears, the hollow of his throat. Hopefully, he thinks, subtle enough not to warrant a change in colour, too.

It isn't that he is ashamed or even embarrassed by his former talents upon the stage, nor does he begrudge himself the ties to his parents and their fame. But it is something... private, almost intimate, about himself. A piece of his history long buried, that only someone of great importance to him should ever know. He can count the number of people he has ever felt confident and comfortable enough giving this piece of himself to on the fingers of one hand.

One of them stands before him now, a vision in blue, warmed by the soft glow of the evening lamps and accompanied by the gentle chords of music that fill the quiet around them. "I... I was a child of the stage." There is, surely, colour in his cheeks now. "My parents were performers - singers, dancers, musicians, actors, they could do it all - and, well... both myself and my sister followed in their footsteps. They used to joke that I learned to dance before I learned to walk, that my sister could sing before she could talk. I was to be a professional, one day, and-"

Primordial eyes widen at the hand now outstretched to him, all coherent thought stalling within his mind as he understands what is being asked of him. A short demonstration. Neuvillette, his Neuvillette, is asking... for a dance.

It takes, perhaps, a moment too long for Vautrin to react in any way beyond simply staring at that gloved hand. When he does, it is as though his body has simply taken control where his mind has faltered - his own gloved hand slides smoothly into Neuvillette's as if they were two pieces carved to fit, and he rises from the sofa to step within the Iudex's personal space in one fluid motion. It feels natural, the way he moves into position, the way his other hand falls upon Neuvillette's waist to draw him in closer.

He lifts his gaze to meet with those striking eyes, closer now than he thinks he has ever seen them, and he feels a rapid stuttering within his chest at the proximity between them. He can feel the soft whisper of breath upon his skin; he can see the fine lashes of delicate blue that frame those soft, beautiful eyes.

It feels almost difficult to breathe, as though the air has been stolen from his lungs. He can feel the frantic beat of his heart within his chest - so loud, surely Neuvillette can hear it - and the spreading burn of the flush that now creeps from beneath his collar. He parts his lips to speak - archons, why is his mouth suddenly so dry - but he can do little beyond exhale an almost shuddering breath.

Get a grip, Vautrin, he chastises himself, before you make a fool of yourself.

"It would be my pleasure and my honour to give you a demonstration, Neuvillette." It is unmistakable, the way his voice softens upon uttering the Iudex's name, the way it warms with unrestrained affection.

And then, a shift in the former captain's demeanour: a sudden boldness, a confidence, as he adjusts their joined hands into a specific form, as he lays a firmer grip upon Neuvillette's waist. There is a curious tilt to his head as he leads the other into the first steps of this rather intimate dance, a curve of his lips into a smile of such rarity that perhaps Neuvillette is the only witness to its existence.

"So... Furina made you learn?" His voice, too, is bolder: a tease within his tone, an element of humour combined with delight, with fondness. "Well, then, Monsieur..." There's a subtle movement, a leaning in - and a slow, soft brush of nose against nose. "Perhaps you can demonstrate in turn?"

[drinkingdeadpeopletea]

i think what's really getting me about kozma claiming to have blown up the moon and also claiming to "be" the breach and basically equating "breach collaborators" and "my allies" in the same speech is that. the breach operative we've known since season one, the person who "is" the breach as far the story's concerned, is saskia. and midst is saskia's HOME! she built the black candle with her own two hands (metaphorically, at the very least), she LOVES it there and she loves those people :( and if we take kozma's story at face value, she just threw the "centerpoint" (according to imelda) of her own operation entirely under the bus and endangered the lives not only of innocent people but also of a bunch of her own operatives without their knowledge just to destabilize the trust and frankly that makes me kind of hope she IS telling the truth simply because that's the kind of betrayal i find absolutely delicious,

[fandomfaeofveryfewf4cks]

Michael...

Michael Christopher Sheen...

The phrase is tongue AND cheek. Not tongue IN cheek.

Furthermore, "tongue and cheek" is a phrase used to refer to someone using a sarcastic tone. What YOU did has... much different implications.

And you do this not long before the "We both get Plenty of use out of it, don't we?" Like! Hdjsbxidjb. You cheeky wonderful bastard angel man!

I, of course, have no idea if you came up with any of this yourself, or if it was all from thorough and meticulous direction, but still. I have a hard time believing you and everyone else involved in this didn't/don't understand the implications of, well, really that whole scene.

Seriously, though, it brings me so much joy to know that when Aziraphale REALLY wants Crowley to do or let him do something that Crowley is not going to particularly like, he gets flirty like this.

...

Oh... Well, except for that one time, huh?

Fuck.

By the way, the gif is just an edited version of one from this person's post:

Edit after reading comments:

@cottonwoolfairy @clarebearr I really should know better than to trust my family's pronunciation by now. I've always heard it as sort of "tongue 'n' cheek" and when I looked it up the first time, the sites that came up said "and" as well. Apparently, there are two versions with two different meanings, which honestly explains a lot. Thanks for pointing it out! Learned something new.

[floorpancakes]

im having thoughts about gay people again

[lucky-draws]

my very specific #artgoal for 2024 is to stop drawing people with incorrectly small foreheads

[jupiter--dream]

ANYONE WANNA SEE MY GAMEBOY PIN

I've always been a huge fan of pokemon and despite being born when gen4 was out, I always played the first two gens the most, so the gameboy pokemon games hold a place in my heart :3

The thing behind the gameboy is the little motherboard for a fake tamagotchi that I disassembled the other day bc I wanted the shell for another diy project of mine!

[stellardeer]

Literally what the fuck is even going on in america right now

[mochinon-yah]

I...... YES..... ABSOLUTELY HE IS LIKE THAT LIKE YEAH MAN HJEUEIEIKWSK

[killerpancakeburger]

Thinking about a Reader who ends up having Scary Dog Privileges with Ghost without meaning to. It just happened.

Then they have to deal with the fact that this comes with duties too.

Tags: civilian!reader, gn!reader, mostly fluff, a bit suggestive, smug!Ghost, smooth!Ghost. 800 words.

Part 2. Part 3.

When Ghost is reluctant to getting sutured in Medical after accidentally opening his stitches, grumbling he can do it himself, who does the nurse call for? Yeah, you.

She could stand her ground, after all she's used to dealing with big, whiny men, but it's much more fun to knock on your door and smile at your bewildered gaze and gaping mouth when she explains the situation in two sentences.

"Ghost's being difficult, mind taking over?" "I'm sorry, what the hell does this have to do with me?" "C'm'on, everyone on base knows he's got a soft spot for you. Don't you want to make my job easier?"

You roll your eyes and slam your hands on your desk as you get up. Groaning as you walk past her— "I'm doing this for you, nothing else, got it?"

Mumbling to yourself "you've got to be kidding me" as you barge into the sick bay. Ghost is coolly seated at the end of a bed, large as life, casual clothes as black as his mask and— oh. You weren't told the wound was on his thigh— you weren't warned that he didn’t have pants on. You can’t help it, your eyes go down, down, your lingering gaze and your flustered silence forming a confession louder than words.

A noise — a scoff or a grunt, you’re not sure — emanates from him, breaks your trance, makes you look up. The amusement in his gaze tells you he noticed your oggling— of course he did. Nothing gets past the Ghost, and you've been remarkably unsubtle. Despite the mask, you swear you can make out the smug smirk on his lips. His cockiness reignites your irritation. Annoyance making you bolder than you really are, you charge at him, crossing the distance between you two in a stride, stopping close— too close. He doesn't back off.

"What's wrong with you?" you snarl. "Nothin'," he retorts, imperturbable.

It's actually the first time you’re overlooking him. You may be enjoying it a bit too much. Nevermind the fact that you've had to wedge yourself between his parted legs to get there.

You frown, unconvinced by his answer.

“Did Soap contaminate you?”

Bargaining to be cleared out earlier was the Scotsman's trademark.

“Johnny throws a fit cos he hates feeling useless. That's not what I'm doing.”

A smirk stretches your lips.

“Oh, no? I'm sure your reasons are much more noble.”

“Doesn't matter. Got what I wanted anyway.”

He's way too self-satisfied for a man in his underwear.

You throw an unequivocal look in the direction of his injury.

“What you wanted? A still open wound?”

“You.”

He replied without missing a beat, as confident as usual. It is both alluring and aggravating.

“And your idea of wooing me is making me upset?”

You don't add “because if it is, that's really fucking stupid” out loud, but you’re sure he got the message through your tone.

“Nah. But you're more honest when you’re angry. Gutsier.”

You only realize he slipped his index and middle fingers in your trouser loops when he sharply tugs at them. Off balance, you steady yourself by catching his shoulders.

Taking advantage of the strip of bare skin between your shirt and bottoms, the pads of his thumbs idly stroke your hip bones. The contact sends electricity through you, shivers of pleasure running down your sides.

“Ghost,” you start, severe, trying not to let the effect his touch has on you show in your voice.

“Simon,” he counters, surly. “Told ya it's Simon when we're alone, didn't I?”

He did, but you didn’t think he was serious. If that's what it takes to get him to listen… you’ll play by his rules.

“Simon. What's the rest of your brilliant plan? I'm here, but I can’t stitch you up.”

“How ‘bout a deal. I'll stop resisting… for a price.”

You raise an amused eyebrow.

“What kind of price?”

“A kiss.”

You snort. You didn’t believe him capable of something so… puerile.

“With the mask on?”

He doesn't move a muscle to get rid of it.

“Take it off.”

You usually wouldn’t obey what sounds like an order so easily, but it's the first time you get to touch the skull. Slipping two fingers between skin and cloth, you slowly roll up the mask all the way under his nose.

You gently trace the scars surrounding his lips. Then, the second you feel him relax, grip on your hips slackening and intensity of his gaze waning, you grab the bottom of his mask and drag it back down vigorously, making the holes for the eyes land way too low for him to see anything.

“If you thought you'd get a reward for acting out, you've got another think coming.”

[frankiethedarkangel]

You recently moved into a home that is notorious for being haunted.

Being the skeptic you are, you took the chance with it. You could handle a few bumps in the night, maybe even at the worst, a little poltergeist activity.

After spending the day unpacking you decided to explore the attic. There were a few boxes that needed to go into storage for the holidays. Grabbing your phone to use as a flashlight, you head to the hallway to pull down the ladder to the attic.

It was as you expected. A dusty and over heated space at the top of the house. As soon as you turn your flashlight on you feel as if someone poked your side.

Your flashlight relieved a something in the back of the attic covered by a white, dusty, cobweb ridden sheet. So typical. Making your way to see what it is, you feel like someone’s touching you again.

This time it’s bolder than feel as if there was someone poking your side. Something touched your ass. Trying to ignore it, but definitely feeling weirded out, you make a logical explanation for it. Just a muscle spasm you told yourself.

That was until you actually reached the cloth covered objects. Pulling the sheet off, you see there’s a painting of a man. Must be one of the previous owners.

Before you could even move something pushed you against the wall hard. Letting out a scream you try to fight off whoever it was. But there was nobody there.

Feeling something touch you again. Almost as if someone is running their fingers up your legs. You decide to call out.

“Who’s there?”

As expected nobody answers, but it takes you by the hips and pushes you against the wall again. By now you’ve pieced together it’s the ghost you heard about. Well, the poltergeist.

“It’s you isn’t it?”

Looking at the painting as you ask. Almost as if it’s giving you an answer, your pants are pulled off and you feel a finger rubbing your wetting slit.

Rubbing circles on your clit with what feels like it’s thub. Slowly pushing a finger into your pussy. It feels so wrong, but it feels so good.

After the mystery of a person fingers you, you feel a while body pin you to the wall. Holding your hips tight. Slowly what feels like a hard dick is pushing into your now soaked pussy. Using you make itself reach an orgasm.

You feel the ghost cock twitch inside you. As if it was a warning, it cums inside of you. It pulls out and just, disappears. Getting yourself dressed you feel the ghost’s cum leaking out of you.

“It’s green? Green goo?”

Monster Masterlist

[empyreasheart]

long time no oc post but i think khlise would absolutely send letters back home to empyrea to her mother post - dream drop distance, both to ensure they are still safe and share the wonderful things theyve found on their journey - pressed flowers, shells, small trinkets... they sign every letter with "all my love, el" - something very personal since only elise's friends and family from empyrea call them el