#a sexy goose

[ghosthouses27]

My parents keep loudly mentioning my "helmet fetish" and they're not wrong but why you gotta say it at a family dinner 💀

[somedayillbepeterpan]

Hottest Colin moments in Season 3?

I can’t properly judge this until part 2 comes out, anon. I’m pretty sure I’ll be dead by the time part 2 comes out because I reaaallly like how subtle Luke Newton plays Colin. I was worried about him because Nicola outshines him in s1 and s2 but I guess he really just needed the right material to showcase his talent.

Boy makes this sensitive goose so SEXY.

But for part 1, here are my TOP moments:

1. His mischievous face and voice when he asks Pen if she was going to marry him or not. My mind flipped to another dimension when I first watched it.

2. His slutty face when Pen runs her hand on his hair in the carriage scene. That face did things to me.

3. When he was staring at Pen eating cake. I can’t help be enamoured at someone who is turned on by someone eating food because I do the same thing.

4. Post-dream tortured poet babygurl Colin because a. Shirtless, and b. Confused wet dream-crazed face.

WHAT ABOUT YOU?

[grunkulous]

It’s another winter again

[unlawfulchaos]

Maverick, trying to flirt: My dick is like life... Life is hard.

Iceman, blankly: Life is also short.

Maverick: Listen here, you annoyingly sexy son of a bitch-

Iceman, trying to contain his upset: You should know that my mother is an incredibly kind, respected, and well loved woman.

Maverick: I meant your father?

Iceman: ...

Iceman: Continue.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

can i request a prompt for more buck/bucky smut with slight dom bucky vibes😁😁

[It didn't go full smut, but the intention is very obvious.]

"You're thinking too much," Bucky drawls in Buck's ear as they lie on the bed after their first bath in ages. Buck smells like good soap because Bucky bought it special for him to use.

"I'm thinking just enough," Buck replies and turns to meet Bucky's gaze.

"What's got you thinking?"

Buck gives Bucky a look that means 'the war we're about to fight you fucking idiot.' "Oh, this and that," is what he says.

"Well, you're definitely thinking about two much of one or the other," Bucky replies. He sits up and straddles Buck's lap, grabbing Buck's hands before he can touch him and drawing his arms up over his head.

"Something you want?" Buck asks when Bucky pins his hands to the pillow and leans in to kiss his jaw.

"Same thing I always want." Bucky kisses his neck, then his collarbone. "Your undivided attention."

"Oh, is that all you're looking for?"

Bucky meets Buck's eyes and leans so they're just nearly but not quite kissing. "Every goddamn minute of every fucking day, Gale."

Buck sighs at the use of his name, hips rolling. "Oh, you really want my attention."

"If it were up to me, we wouldn't leave this bed for a week," Bucky says. "And I'd suck whiskey out of this spot right here," he touches the dip in Buck's collarbone. Buck lifts his shoulders.

"You could do that now," Buck says, his voice a little thready. "I'll lie here all nice and still and let you drink whiskey off every part you've thought about."

Bucky bites his bottom lip and shakes his head. "Oh, do not tempt me. You'll be covered in hickies by the time I'm done."

"I want to be," Buck says. He gasps a moment later, clearly shocked by what he's said.

Bucky grins and licks his lips. "Want me to mark you up, Buck? Send you back to base covered in spots you can't hide in the shower? Let everyone see you've got someone who likes to make your skin extra-pretty with bruises?"

Buck doesn't answer for a moment. His arms are slack over his head. His cock is hard. His mouth is slightly open, and he's breathing harder than he needs to be.

"You say the word, and I'll sign my name all over your fucking body," Bucky says. He touches Buck's collarbone again, then drags his finger down to Buck's navel. "Drink it right from your belly button, but I'll leave the mark a little lower where it can't hide." He slides his hand to the side and presses into the little groove at Buck's hipbone. "Little drink here."

Buck squirms, opening and closing his hands. "Where else?" he asks.

Bucky stares at him, desperately in love. "The backs of your knees," he says. "The folds of your elbows. The dimples on your back. Maybe have you stand up so I can pour it down your ass and lick my way up."

Buck groans and throws an arm over his eyes. "Jesus, Bucky."

Bucky touches his thumb to Buck's lip. "And as the grand finale, I'd try to talk you into taking a little sip so I can suck it right off your tongue."

Buck lifts his arm and stares at Bucky. He reaches out to the bedside table and grabs Bucky's flask. "No," he says. "Start there."

Bucky can't move as he watches Buck unscrew the top of his flask. "What? Buck. You don't--"

"I won't be drinking it," Buck says. He presses the open flask to his bottom lip and licks the edge of the spout. He shivers at the taste of the whiskey, but he doesn't break eye contact. "You'll be drinking it. I'm just the glass."

Bucky takes the flask out of Buck's hand so he can lean in and kiss him hard. "You're not 'just' anything except mine."

Buck nips his lower lip. "Prove it." He opens his mouth.

[29625]

Forensic artist! Slider x FBI investigator! Mav AU WIP I’ve been hatching for a while.

Inspired by the UID community and its talented volunteers and professionals who contribute to the beautiful, humanizing facial reconstruction of some of the decedents! The case isn’t particularly based on the real event but rather a creation of a mish-mash of many different cases as well as fictional details.

Paring: Slider x Maverick, with forensic sculptor! Ice and FBI investigator! Goose.

Rating: Teen and up for now. Might throw some sexy stuff later.

Warning: graphic description of violence, dead body & suicide (no major character death). Very inaccurate description of how law enforcement works in the US (I’ll fix it later! Sry! Please let me know if there are something you’re familiar with because that’d help a lot!)

In 1991, a case reopens in San Diego, California. The case where a White woman aged between 30-45 was found deceased in a wooded area with a gunshot wound in her head in 1978.

She was not facially recognizable with decomposition and animal activities, as well as the wound inflicted by the impact of close proximity gunshot. A medical examination concluded she had large amount of alcohol and some sleep medicine in her system at the time of her death, possibly making her disoriented, and the purse containing her personal belongings left at the scene had a empty bottle of pills whose label had been scratched off.

She cut all tags off from her clothes which consist of a polka dot summer dress, a pair of white heeled sandals (size 5), blue bra and a white underpants with laces, all found on the decedent’s body except for one of her sandals, possibly due to animal activities as observed in her post-mortem scars on her right leg. She was approximately 5’ to 5’3 inches tall and weighed about 140 lbs. She had fair complexion with chin-length red hair, naturally straight and styled curly, but the advanced state of her decomposition hindered the examiners to determine her eye color.

The location she was found is close to the region where prostitutes and hitchhikers frequent and she is theorized to be particularly familiar with the area, suggesting she had been working in sex trade in San Diego area.

Even though she carried no ID or tax stamps, receipts, or credit cards with her at the time of her death, a possible clue to her identity was found in her purse, which is a piece of paper (approx. 4 inches wide and 1.6 inches long) with the message following:

I love you so much Jannie/Jennie/Jamie (the exact words differ depending on the sources) .

I can’t be there anymore but I’ll always love you & wish you the best.

To people this may concern Im [sic] sorry for every-thing [sic]. xxxx

The message was scribbled with a blue-ink pen, but it lacked her signature and nobody with the name in the letter has come forward after the initial information was released in California region.

It is theorized that the person in the letter is either her friend, family (possibly a sibling or a husband) or her child, who she might have been estranged with at the time of her death.

No foul play is suspected in her case and her death has been concluded as a suicide by gunshot.

“….And we’re renewing her facial approximation, which hasn’t been updated since the initial discovery.” Pete scans the case file containing the composite—a basic photomontage. Her silent face is devoid of any emotions he can tell right away, frozen in time, something he’s so used to seeing. “Right. Well, we gotta contact Tom about this.”

Tom Kazansky from Los Angeles Police Department. He’s a forensic anthropologist who specializes in sculpture. A great contributor of his and Nick’s cases with an ice-cold precision, he’s also been a close friend of them—with his great dedication for his job and his deadbeat sense of humor.

“About that.” Nick interjects. “I don’t think we can, Pete. Or we should, for that matter.”

“Why not?” Pete asks, slightly frustrated but mostly surprised at the statement. “We’re lacking a good reconstruction and he’s the best candidate we’ve ever got.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Nick says with a small shrug. “But he’s on a family leave, remember?”

Oh.

Oh, right. Now he remembers.

“Good for him, yeah?” Nick smiles. “A kid is such a bundle of joy. I still think of the day Brad came home with my sweetest wife whenever I’m feeling low.”

“Shit, Nicky.” Pete groans as he rubs his face with his hand. Maybe two months without a break really does something to his memory. “I can’t believe I forgot that, man. I even sent some gifts for him back in October.”

“Workaholic.”

“Yo, shut up.”

He playfully smacks Nick’s head as they leave. The perk of having a witty partner is he never gets bored at work—with a side effect of never getting a break.

Finding another forensic artist was, to his surprise, a smooth process. Tom has assigned a substitute while he was away, taking care of his wife and his newborn baby girl.

Ron Kerner.

A forensic artist at LAPD, working in Tom’s lab. His portfolio shows a series of drawings of people. He seems to have worked on both the composites of criminals and victims, with him predominantly working on the identification of latter.

Flipping through the thick file, he reaches to the section titled ‘John & Jane Does’. And—damn, how lively and colorful those portraits are.

They are all smiling, some of their grins are wider than others with a more sly-looking expression. There are four comparisons between a then-unidentified person and their living photos, and Ron seems to have captured their unique facial features on point while…humanizing them, however tragic their last moments may have been.

Talented, indeed. Pretty empathetic, he might add. No wonder Tom has assigned his role to him.

“Bradshaw!”

A voice echoes in the hall as they finish talking to the receptionist. Nick turns around and waves back with a big grin on his face.

The man stands in front of them. He’s muscular, slightly shorter than Nick yet still way taller than Pete himself. Towering, but his relaxed stance makes him seem friendly, combined with the toothy grin on his angular face. His curly brown hair complements his tanned skin. Judging from the way he presents himself, Pete assumes he’s not a visitor here.

“Hey bud!” Nick says and shakes hands with the man. “Still dwelling in the lab, huh?”

“Oh you shut your pretty mouth, dickhead.” He chuckles almost affectionately.

“Pete, this is Ron. Ron Kerner from LAPD. Ron, this is Pete. Pete Mitchell.”

Ron Kerner.

The man looks at Pete and reaches out his hand, which he’s quick to shake.

“I really liked your portfolio.”

Pete mutters almost instinctively as he shakes his hand, realizing how awkward he sounds a moment later. Ron looks at him with slightly widened eyes, curiosity flickering in his beautiful hazel irises.

“Uh, I mean…I’m Pete Mitchell. Call me Pete.”

“Thanks.” Ron says with a smile with a tinge of shyness on the corners of his droopy eyes, although well-concealed by his bold voice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Pete. Tommy always talks about you guys.”

“Yeah.” Pete answers as their hands part, leaving a pleasant warmth on his cold skin. “Pleasure to meet you, too, Mr. Kerner.”

“Hey, Ron’s just fine.” He says. “We’re about the same age, right? Don’t make me feel old.”

“You can call him Ronnie if you want, Pete.” Nick says. “Bet you’ll get along just fine. He’s just as immature as you.”

“What did you say, jackass?”

Their eyes shot at each other as their voices almost synchronize, much to Nick’s amusement.

“Damn it, Nick!”

“Shit, Bradshaw.” Ron mutters at Nick’s smirking face that Pete’s so familiar with at this point of his career. “Let me be cool and act like an adult in front of this guy, alright?”

“Ha! Jokes on you, Kerner. You’ve already said dickhead like you always do.” Nick teases. “C’mon, Pete. You think he’s mature? With his taste in jokes like that? Betcha get along well, darling. Already in synch.”

Ron pouts at Nick with a small pfft sound, a gesture he didn’t think a guy this big could pull off.

“Get along well, huh?” Pete chuckles, lightly patting Ron on the shoulder.

“Great start, I guess.” He grins. “Though I can’t wrap my head around how you tolerate this bastard.”

“Me neither, man.”

Ron barks out a laugh as Nick pokes Pete on the arm, grumbling at how the table has turned.

Ron Kerner.

Today was the first time they’ve met. He’d been faceless to Pete for almost a month, ever since they first called in the most basic business-like manner, talking about grown-up stuff, in contrast to the almost overwhelming amount of portraits he sent him.

“Hey, Nick?”

“What?”

“Can you see an artist in his own work?”

Nick blinks a little, his eyes briefly shot up from the road. They are on their way to go back to their office in his car, idly listening to the local radio as the town passes.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Pete stretches his arms and loops them around the headrest. “It’s weird, I know.”

“I thought you lost your mind and decided to be a philosopher instead.” Nick says. “But I guess you can.”

“How?”

A few seconds of silence filled the car before Nick speaks, absentmindedly stroking his mustache.

“A part of your soul leaves your body to live in the world of your art, forever.” Nick mutters. “I don’t know, Pete. That’s just how I feel. A part of me becomes something not mine, and he dances with the music as I play it.”

Pete can only nod in response. Nick has always been enthusiastic about music. Tom has been artistic, too. He’s a professional artist as well as being a full-time officer, for God’s sake.

“I guess that’s true for Ron, y’know.” Nick says. “Considering the subjects he deals with daily.”

His fingers skim through the pictures. A Black teenager with shoulder-length braids, grinning widely in her denim overalls. A middle-aged Hispanic man with a box of tobaccos in his hand, smiling softly. One of the portraits depicts a woman and a child, possibly her son, chin-up and looking serene together in the wind.

“Ron’s a good guy, Pete.” Nick smiles and shoots a knowing gaze at his partner in the passenger seat. “I wasn’t joking when I said you’d get along.”

“Yeah.” He answers, lowering his eyes in approval. “I suppose so.”

He closes the file and traces the black lettering on the back of it.

Ron Kerner, it says.

Lined in ink, detailed with colored pencils and some markers. Pete can still feel the strokes of his pencils under his fingertips.

[charliemw78]

Legs for days

[ken-dom]

Ryan Gosling singing about zombies is somehow the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard?

The smell of my breath from the blood in your neck like? ???

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

I just wanna say to the OG Ewan Mitchell fans that you are right to gatekeep and in fact you should gatekeep even harder because I barely found out about the guy on HOTD and already I see people on insta and twatter making fun of his face and acting like he’s a creepy weirdo for being private and it’s literally gonna make me froth at the mouth it’s pissing me the hell off

[a--messy--blog]

omg the part where Karen happily said she "did it" in sexy is because she wanted to be a sexy doctor to cure sex cancer which Gretchen said "Sex cancer does not exist", but Karen thought she finally cured sex cancer and it doesn't exist anymore like-

[harryhotter]

[name-that-isnt]

Bamboozled rn, as the only thing continuing my use of the grayrose label over the aroace label is the fact that I think I've felt sexual and romantic attraction before, I just don't quite remember when

[spring-lxcked]

@facsimila asked: ❝ overcome with insane lust &. rage no choice but to bite him like a rabid dog. ❞

"If you can give it, you'd better be ready to get it twice as badly."

[seniouesbabes]

Lily Maymac 🌸💋🍒🌸

[omo-goose]

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT TO THE LGBTQ+ COMMUNITY!

you're all so valid, I hope all of you know that you deserve the world and I hope something nice happens for every one of you❤️

[starsweepers]

she literally said "i'm the goose with the juice" how can you hate her