#a pure man

[hattersarts]

drew some book!husbands. they feel like they've taken more traits from each other than the show.

[mischievous-thunder]

And then Logan proceeds to sacrifice himself.

A moment later the other idiot does the same.

[thesherrinfordfacility]

fr tho i understand why crowley wants them to run away together and run from all of it but he just seems to have forgotten that aziraphale does not cower, he doesn't back down, and he. does. not. run.

and honestly, crowley knows it:

[benevolenterrancy]

"If the original novel had given this thing more than ten words of description, there was no way he wouldn’t have remembered!"

[blondie-drawings]

Good lord this tomb is full of shitposts 😳😳 pt 1/pt 2

[aur07a]

while I don’t ship shadowvanilla I do think shadow milk would be the shittiest wingman of all time

[boyyeahright]

monkey man studies! everyone go see the film immediately!!

[imaginariumwanderer]

He entered mom mode

[thechaoticdruid]

Tav: *breaks up with Astarion or Gale for someone else*

Astarion and Gale:

Tav: *Breaks up with Wyll for someone else.*

Wyll: Understandable have a nice day.

We don't deserve Wyll. He's just too good. Fucking takes it like a champ. What an absolute Chad.

[98chao]

something that belongs to me

[freerangeeggs]

What the fuck am I supposed to do with myself now. Just walked out of the cinema watching spider verse and I'm just supposed to go home??? Continue living as a normal person knowing what I now know??? I am exploding right now.

[yawnderu]

CW: mentions of kidnapping and stolen body autonomy.

Find a way in, kill the enemy, retrieve the hostages, leave. A routine of sorts that gave his life some sense of purpose to avoid going insane for the past two decades. Simon liked to believe he got over what happened in his past... truly, he did; and yet Manuel Roba’s horrors seem to haunt him no matter where how many years pass.

“C’mere.” Simon’s voice held no hostility, he made sure of it, yet your stiff position never changed. Legs angled to the right, hands folded on your lap, and eyes looking forward, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze even if it’s been hours since your rescue. Garrick, Price and Johnny have already tried to get you to talk multiple times, all of them with different approaches. 

Garrick was friendly, trying his best to seem approachable, a bright smile on his lips that you didn’t seem to notice, too busy staring at a wall no matter how much he tried to hold a conversation.

Price seemed fatherly, never once laying a hand on you even if it was itching to comfort you, and so he settled with telling you you’re safe now, how no one will ever get you again now that they're here. His words didn’t seem to do much, either. 

Johnny was… something else. His first attempt was a shitty pick up line, getting a reaction out of you for the first time— a nose scrunched up in disgust, but a reaction nonetheless.  

And Simon… Simon’s approach was different. The man was used to barking out orders and obeying them himself, not to deal with an unresponsive hostage. His behemoth frame was nestled next to you, putting a tray on the table and observing your reactions. From the way you swallowed thickly the moment the meal was presented to you, to the sound of your stomach growling. 

“Go on, then.” Your gaze follows his movements for the first time, the feeling of your stomach rumbling makes you more aware of your hunger, so many years being fed nothing but what was necessary to keep you alive by Manuel and his associates, so many years of being trained like a dog to obey to their very order. 

Simon can see the hesitation in your body language, too tense to allow yourself to dig in the way you wanted, yet no longer as stiff as before. There was a sense of relief at the fact that they didn’t seem to want to hurt you —unlike Roba—, yet years of non-stop brutal training can’t be erased within hours.

Roba’s training was engraved into your brain, and while the sense of security the SAS blokes gave you is something you’re thankful for, nothing guarantees they’re not working for him. You’ve seen other military men come and go throughout the years, always Roba’s friends, and always sharing the same disgusting, sadistic desires.

“Eat up.” The rest of the men watch the way you move, curiosity and amusement mixing at how strange your movements seem, almost robotic. Your forearms rest on the table, elbows away from the cheap wood as you attempt to hold your own cutlery— attempt, because it looks fully foreign to you, trying out different angles to make it work, and yet it's the first time in years you've been allowed to try and feed yourself.

Simon is the first one to catch on, having lived under Roba’s rules for long enough to know he enjoys taking people’s autonomy, to reduce them to nothing but a pathetic mess that depends on him. His gloved fingers are gentle as he takes the spoon from your hand, scooping up some food before holding it up to your lips. His full attention is on you, relief starting to make its way into his body as sees your rather soft lips wrap around the spoon, eating whatever he was feeding you. Lucky for you, this time it wasn’t an MRE… or beans on toast.

His gloved thumb wipes the corners of your lips every time you’re done chewing, and he’s quick to pick up more food from the plate, nothing but patience and kindness shown in his actions, so unlike the brooding soldier he's known to be.

“... two goldfish are in a tank…?” Johnny’s loud groan gets your attention for a second, yet you quickly glance back at Simon, curious eyes looking up at him, almost as if asking him to go on. 

“One turns to the other and says… ‘you know how to drive this thing?’” You can see the corners of his eyes crinkle before he even finishes his joke, clearly trying his best not to laugh at just how awful it was. A small smile hides in the corners of your lips, and Simon takes that as a victory, ignoring the questioning looks he’s getting from his team, for now.

[mischievous-thunder]

What a casual cup of tea is for a commoner is a bottle of rubbing alcohol for this Peanut

[ryockycookie]

What if after defeating Shadow Milk he doesn't necessarily just begone but is trapped inside PV's mind and no one even knows about it except PV himself

[kalivodas]

listen i just had to i have such a fundamental feeling for that bear of a man

part 1

warnings p in v nasty nasty talk he calls you kiddo but come on now

IT’S YOUR FAULT. at least that’s what he tells you, coos into your ear as the wet of his mouth finds refuge against your throat. his beard tickles, but his tongue sears.

“you started it, kid,” he grumbles to the fever-ridden air between you. his truck was hot, fog pilled on the windows. (jesus, you were fucking in the parking lot of a home goods.)

he places a palm on your back, arches it up nice and pretty for him, and teases the head of his cock against you. you hear his breath hitch when he meets nothing but wetness.

“please,” you whine, and you feel goosebumps prick your skin at the rawness of your voice.

“beg for it, lovie,” he urges.

your hips buck, grinding into him aimlessly as he pulls away from you. a man who would stick his dick in you in the back of a shopping plaza, but a man with restraint, nonetheless.

somewhere between the high-pitched whimpers of oh, fuck you and god, please please please just put it in and fuck me, john, please baby, need you bad (it was absolutely this one), he bottoms out inside you.

you feel his hips shutter against you. your lungs fall empty, a pathetic, breathless thing falling from your mouth. when you find your air, catch his cock in a vice, he completely draws from you.

“stop being mean,” you grit, bite at him, and your back heaves when his teeth sink into your shoulder.

he grins. you feel it. “why dontcha’ just be quiet honey? just-“ he jams his length into you, face splits impossibly when he hears a squelch. “let her talk for a little bit, shut that pretty fucking mouth.”

before you get to rebuttal, or a form a decent thought in the mush that was your head, his palm finds the fat of your hip. he squeezes there, hums when you whine, and places a hefty palm on your ass. he lets the other hand snake around, enveloping your mouth.

“fat babies, huh?” his pelvis all but snaps against you, and you bite against his hand when his balls slap your clit. he feels you squeeze him, like a fucking vice, he says, and one of his hands slide to your shoulders.

he pushes you down, cheek flat against the leather of his backseat, and pistons down into you like he got paid by the damn hour.

“i’ll give you a fucking baby.” his chest shudders, you swear you feel the hair of it prick your back. your bear.

“fill you the brim, jesus, i’m gonna make you a mama,” he grunts, and you can hear the brute of him shatter. his words come out slurred and broken, lungs taking in air almost viciously.

your hips lock beneath him, and you paw the hand on your mouth away. “knock me up,” you beg him. “please, gotta be— fuck, gotta be full.”

you’d put twenty bucks on the bet that he whimpered.

“i’m gonna’,” his hands find the pudge of your thighs and he tightens his fingers on you like you might slip out of them. “gonna’ make you all fat and pretty, kid.”

he cums then, hot spurts of him filling your tummy. he peels himself away from you, and has to bite away a smirk at the spent, sweaty state of the two of you.

“no more house shopping for you, mr. price,” you coo up at him, but your body hasn’t moved. in fact, it sounds like your fighting your lungs to breathe.

he laughs. “yeah baby, that’s the problem.”

a / n dedicated to @pricegouge only ur tags awakened something

[doberbutts]

Recently Youtube's algorithm really wants me to watch Schindler's List and I never had so the other night I sat down and actually watched it.

Having a lot of thoughts about it but a major one I keep coming back to is how even an immensely and deeply flawed human being can go against "just following orders" and instead put in the work to actually help.

It may never be fully enough. It may never save as many as you'd hoped. But when you have a choice to either follow orders or save your fellow humans in front of you, I hope you choose the latter.

Schindler died in poverty. He was not a renown war hero nor was he at all famous or widely beloved. But he saw that he could help, even in some small way, and so he helped.

He was a Nazi who saw what the Nazis were doing to Jews and said no more. Enough. If I can even spare those under my charge, maybe a few extras, then at least I will have tried to do something about this.

I think a lot of people do not fancy this type of activism. It is messy, dangerous, and often completely thankless. Schindler survived as long as he did after the war due to those he saved helping him with donations. He was not popular in his hometown due to his association with Nazis, he was not popular in Germany, he was not popular in Argentina. His businesses all failed. His wife left him. A movie about his deeds was released several years after his death, where he would receive none of the benefits. He went to prison multiple times for simply refusing to hate Jews.

I think a lot of people like to think they're activists, but are sorely unprepared for doing this type of work, and then in truth become activists in name only. This is hard work. But without him, another thousand or so people would be on that death toll.

He took his position of extreme power- a Nazi owning a factory almost entirely operated by Jews, making oodles of money off that cheap slave labor- and said you know what? No. I'm not doing that. I can't save everyone, but as long as they are within my factory, you will not kill my workers. As long as I'm here you aren't harming one hair on the head of any Jew under my care. You're not sending or keeping them in Auschwitz. You're not randomly executing them for entertainment. They're people. You're not murdering them.

"Just following orders" they say. But they didn't have to. They could have helped. They could have did what he did, look around and say "what the fuck am I doing here", and stop. He did. They could have. They didn't.