#black soap for face

[keychainzindigo]

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[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Transcript:

Don't give up. Don't be a quitter, a spitter.

Follow through on what you started.

Swallow.

Audio source

[zymirsblog]

𖤘 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀🧼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓋰 ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❀

𖤘 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀🫧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓋰 ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❀

[atopvisenyashill]

do u think we can discourse about the lack of suicide in this series. the only out and out suicides we really get in the main series ashara dayne. i think you could argue that arys oakheart commits suicide, in a sort of suicide-via-cop way (or well, suicide via bodyguard) as well. possibly you can include qhorin halfhand although thats an interesting case given it’s not the “typical” suicide - he IS effectively killing himself here but it’s to help keep jon alive, who has a real shot at escaping, when qhorin himself does not. and while i think it’s left vague for a reason (reason being george likes several options & the ultimate answer is not important but fun to speculate about) there is the idea that maegor killed himself rather than being murdered. but that’s it iirc. in f&b and twoiaf there are a few more - helaena, gael, aelora, and tess. notable to me that (probably) like ashara, helaena kills herself (probably) over her grief from the loss of her children via jumping. tess & gael both drown themselves, and gael, like ashara & helaena, does so after losing a child. aelora is an unknown. all of these characters added are women. and of the characters - aelora, tess, helaena, gael, ashara, arys, qhorin, maybe maegor - only arys & qhorin are men and they both kill themselves in a fight.

i think that’s just kind of weird & interesting when you think not only about how bleak things get but also the way suicide is almost like, idk, industrialized in the series? there’s the house of black and white, where anyone of any faith and any background can go to kill themselves and then the northern concept of the old and disabled going south to fight that the winter wolves demonstrate. in the house of black and white, there’s set up - it’s a whole operation really, where you can have a final prayer before being given a way to quickly kill your self and know that your body will be disposed of properly (rather than leaving it for your family to find, for instance). and with the winter wolves, it’s part of a custom, practically a policy in the north - when there’s not enough to go around, you find somewhere else to die so your family doesn’t have to bare the burden of caring for you. i think this is interesting when you factor in qhorin - he essentially does just this, kills himself so jon can last and live to fight another day.

two instances of suicide on a rather grand scale and yet actual named characters that kill themselves? you can count them on one hand!

[sudsyv2]

Soap ‘helping’ ghost put on the greasepaint: do you or do you not feel bonita?

Ghost looking tired as shit with little painted hearts on his face: *sigh* …I feel bonita.

Soap: wonderful cause you look bonita!

[gmanmedias]

SWERVE IT CUT IT BITE IT HATE IT HIDE IT EAT IT LAUGH RIGHT AT IT

🤡 🤡 🤡

💜 💜 💜

🎭 🎭 🎭

18/37: Gamzee Makara

[runayachi]

tumblr user runayachi has a body ?!

[image description: a photo of lyz (me) taken in a bathroom mirror. Lyz has shoulder-length brown hair and glasses. The rest of their face is obscured by their phone. They're wearing a bleach dyed dark blue shirt, black shorts, and a Datekou volleyball club jacket. There is a soap dispenser in the bottom corner of the mirror. /end id]

got to see the haikyuu movie today :)

[buckwheeler]

buddie anthem. BTW

[chasejlondon]

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[cripplecryptid]

Why is life so expensive

[queers4years]

its called men-struation so where are all the Pads For Men™ ?!

[oceantornadoo]

simon riley AND reader who are absolutely terrible at dating.

he ghosts you after the first date. you thought it was a once-in-a-lifetime connection with unmatched banter and crackling physical tension. guess not. you lose a couple of nights of sleep over it and chalk it up to men ain’t shit and move on.

simon who can’t stop thinking about your date as he gets shipped out the next day. runs through an op quicker than ever, barking at soap more than usual, toeing the line of unprofessional. every day that passes is a day he can’t touch his personal phone, leaving your text thread abandoned.

you get a text a month later. “you around?” have to check the thread to remember who it was, finding yourself absolutely shocked, struggling to remember the hulking mass of a man who made you giggle so much over that one dinner.

simon shows up to your picnic date with apology flowers and a new leather jacket. explains why he was gone without prompting, a gruff monologue as you find yourself getting distracted by the new scratch on his eyebrow and the scruff on his face. unconsciously, your fingers brush it barely, wanting to make sure it was real.

simon stops mid-sentence, gripping your wrist in an iron hold. the shock of what you did hits you, profuse apologies spilling from your lips as you try to explain and tug your wrist back. he won’t let you though, keeping it in place, your soft skin against his worn calluses.

“‘s okay, love. jus’ ask next time. still jumpy from work.” you finally snatch your hand back, embarrassment warming your body as you nod your head in acknowledgment. he thinks about letting the awkwardness settle and take roots, adding a string of failed dates to his black book.

instead you make the choice for him, attention catching on a nearby curious toddler. you give the little bugger a wave with your biggest smile, sticking out your tongue to make the kid laugh. simon decides then and there that he’s going to keep you.

[atopvisenyashill]

annoying to already see people discoursing about this “meleys the traitor” scene.

greens will say, pretending to care about the smallfolk, that they have a right to be mad about the attack on Aegon’s coronation because of the collateral damage to the smallfolk, which, fair enough, however stupid I may feel that scene was, it did do some unnecessary damage to the smallfolk of king’s landing.

HOWEVER.

if the scene is uncritically people buying into otto’s propoganda, it’s not only stupid it’s also an annoying departure from the books and a continuation of got writers (first d&d now condal and hess) treating the smallfolk as if they’re stupid which they are not. Look at the actual text of F&B:

Eight hundred knights and squires and common men lost their lives that day as well. Another hundred perished not long after, when Prince Aemond and Ser Criston Cole took Rook’s Rest and put its garrison to death. Lord Staunton’s head was carried back to King’s Landing and mounted above the Old Gate…but it was the head of the dragon Meleys, drawn through the city on a cart, that awed the crowds of smallfolk into silence. Septon Eustace tells us that thousands left King’s Landing afterward, until the Dowager Queen Alicent ordered the city gates closed and barred.

Yes, in both the books and the show, the Greens managing to kill Meleys the Red Queen and Rhaenys the Queen That Never Was is a big victory for them and of course Otto is going to turn it into a propaganda moment. It's even understandable that some of the smallfolk would turn on Rhaenys (in the show only) after her (stupidly written) stunt at the coronation. But those last two lines are crucial because it shows us what the smallfolk are really thinking as the Dance kicks off - "If the Greens are willing to disrespect even the nobility after their death, if they are willing to parade around the head of one of their great, terrifying, beloved, and respected dragons, treat Meleys the Red Queen like she's nothing but game hunted for sport...seven hells what are these people going to do to the rest of us nobodies?"

And that is why, if the show takes the route of erasing how terrified the smallfolk are after the Battle of the Rook's Rest, it's a complete disservice to the smallfolk just to have them buy Otto's propaganda hook line and sinker. They are not stupid, and when they realize very early on in the Dance just how awful and violet this conflict is going to get, they attempt to leave for safety and it's only Alicent locking them into King's Landing like lambs to the slaughter that stops the exodus from King's Landing.

Cutting that scene takes away not just the perceptiveness of the smallfolk of King's Landing to make the Greens look better, it also takes away one of the crucial moments that leads to the Storming of the Dragon Pit; after realizing that dragons can be killed by regular humans and not just dragonriders because they are forced to look at Meleys' severed head, then locked into a city that gets progressively more dangerous, with dragons that are getting increasingly more aggravated because of the continued violence of the Dance, the smallfolk take the only course of action they feel they have left to them and that's to rise up and massacre the dragons in the pit in a vain and violent attempt to protect themselves from the endless slaughter that the Greens forced them to live through.

[dmitriene]

skincare with blue collar simon riley, you know that if you hadn't noticed, he wouldn't have said a word, just as he wouldn't have seen it himself, but you're lucky enough to notice the clogged, almost darkened pores on his face and gradually forming pimples, as well as blemishes from the old ones because of all the dirt that gets on his face.

all his skincare is water, not even a bar of soap, and not only was his skin quite sensitive before, his work did not leave him a chance for self care at all, unlike you, with a good set of jars to moisturize and keep the skin in order, in case something goes wrong, and you needed them, your hands fully armed, as soon as simon got home.

you dragged him into the bathroom almost from the doorstep, forcing him to throw off his work uniform and climb into the already prepared, warm bath with fragrant foam, which you prepared a couple of minutes before his arrival, since simon has a habit of texting you once he gets on his way back home, and he will not refuse a few minutes of rest in the bath, especially when his darling drags him there.

of course, it takes more time, wiping off the excess dirt from his rough skin, which has crept under both his clothes and nails, relaxing simon by rubbing the washcloth against him in a circular motion, over his tense, broad shoulders, down his wide, meaty biceps, to the scarred chest, padded with a good layer of fat, his pale eyelashes quivering, tired eyes closed, letting you do your thing, especially when you get to work on his hair.

unkempt, locks outgrown and sticking from side to side haphazardly, a little coarse under your fingers as you rake your nails up and down his nape, wetting the top of his head before squeezing a couple of drops of shampoo into the palm of your hand, starting to wash his hair, pressing your fingers into his scalp, causing simon to make sounds almost similar to the loud purrs of a loving cat, tilting his neck back.

taking care of his face passes without any complaints, he obediently puts his face on your palms, practically burying his nose in them, enjoying a couple of warm kisses with an almost sleepy smile, all while you apply facial foam to his skin, stroking and then washing away with wet palms, cleansing his face before gently sticking black pore strips on his nose, warning that the removal process can be unpleasant.

simon doesn't care as long as you do it, pampering him after a hard day of work, continuing to massage his neck and then shoulders while waiting couple of minutes before you'll need to remove the strips away, maybe then you will join him, and he will definitely take care of you too, for example, cook dinner while you rest, tucked in the warm bed.

after being spread on his fat, girthy cock, clutched tight inside your pulsing walls, your moans breathy and silenced by the needy, insatiable kisses, each one biting and messy against your lips, as you hiccup, the thick tip of his head rutting in the same spot over and over, making you gush and claw at simon's wrists weakly, his hands busy palming at your breasts with pleased hums.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[itsoutrageouss]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley being ready to go on his knees for his favorite nurse… but he has no idea how to show it.

Then he sees you at the pub.

It settled inside of him as a feeling of uselessness because he’s so used to knowing what to do. He takes action. He fixes things. And now he gets all flustered when you tend to his wounds, absentmindedly stroking his thigh and talking to him so so sweetly. Calling him a good boy when you finish the stitches, biting your lip as you focused on making them as neat as you could for him. He would stare at you the whole time, his cheeks heating because no one ever showed him this much care and you didn’t even seem to struggle with it- it was all natural.

You had labelled him ‘favorite patient’ in your phone but he didn’t know that. He figured you behaved like that with all the soldiers who came in- the reason you were such a good nurse.

After a well succeeded mission, the task force and the bases Staff all crowd down to the nearest pub. It was an excuse for you to finally be out of your work attire, adorning a black lacy top that made you feel sexy along with your glossy lips. He was already there, leaned back in a booth with Soap and Price as you walk in, looking around nervously.

He has to grit his teeth as he sees you. Fuck fuck fuck. This was gonna be a long night. He fisted his hands beneath the table.

This feeling of hopelessness, of not knowing what to do was so foreign that it bubbled into anger. Price frowned, noticing the rigid way his Lieutenant suddenly sat. Soap was too busy telling some story to notice anything, slamming down a hand, the beers rattling. Your colleagues crowded you into a booth that so conveniently faced him.

Why did he look at you like that? He was positively fuming, glowering, brows lowered and face set. You cowered under his gaze, eyes flickering away nervously.

His lips parted in soft surprise. Why did you look so nervous? Had he done something?

Because of course he was no clue how damn intimidating his so called love stare stare is. He follows you as you walk to the bar, leaning over, your skirt riding up. He has to blink up at the ceiling because it felt simultaneously like a gift from above, being allowed to see you like this, and like a curse from hell.

“Oh he’s down bad for her ain’t he, that fucker?” Soap exclaims, finally catching on as he lets out a hearty laugh. Simon glares.

“I think LT needs another pint” Price muses. Soap, ever the sergent he is, groans and gets up, patting Simon heavily on the shoulder before walking up to the bar next to you.

“You got him weak in the knees, Bunny” Soap grins casually, ordering the pints. It takes you a few seconds to comprehend before you lean backwards slightly, catching Simon’s gaze. This time he averts his eyes immediately. He was fucking fuming inside, not knowing how to get these feelings to go away. The only solutions he could think of were violence or sex. And violence he’s had enough of- and he’s sure the training dummies had too. Every damn night these past days he’s been punching his knuckles bloody, hoping it would satiate his restlessness. It didn’t.

And as for sex… he didn’t- well he didn’t not want that but that’s not where he wanted to start. He always threw himself into hookups or fiery flings that burned out too quickly, leaving embers he didn’t care for. He didn’t want that with you. He wanted to be genuine, slow, proper. And he had no idea how. He didn’t like not being good at things.

Your eyes stay on him, forcing his head to turn back to you. Your expression is unreadable, his fingers curling beneath the table before he rapidly stands up. You almost jolt at the action, the floor creaking from his weight as he stalks over to you and Soap, grumbling something.

Soap leaves, Simon trying to casually lean his elbows on the bar. “Just gonna wait for the pints” he tells you, then his jaw ticks because why did he say that? You probably don’t give a fuck what he’s doing there.

You smile softly, intrigued. “How’s your shoulder?”

It startled him, his head whipping to yours like you said something totally out of sorts. His shoulder? Right— It takes him way too long to answer.

“Fine. You did a good job. As always,” he said gruffly, looking down at the chipped wood of the bar, drumming his fingers impatiently.

“You look good.” The words slip past his lips, eyes quickly giving you a once over.

“I know.” He looks at you, sees a small glint in your eyes and the smile you smother. He wants to groan out loud at the sight.

A dry, almost laugh escapes him, shaking his head softly. “F’course you do.”

There’s a long, awkward silence where you both look anywhere but at each other, spines straightening, then slumping, then you both look at the bartender to keep busy.

He places your drink in front of you, three pints clattering in front of Simon. Neither of you move to take them.

“So I’m gonna go” Simon rumbles and turns, the pints clutched in his hands. He was overheating, fumbling in ever possible way he could and he couldn’t take it. You opened your mouth but he was already halfway across the room.

The pints rattle as he sits down. “So?” Soap asks as he leans forward. Simon grumbled that this isn fucking high school. But it’s not Soap he’s mad at. It’s himself. He had you right there.

You can’t focus the rest of the evening, laughing hollowly and sipping your drink with disinterest. Did he not find you interesting? It was so hard to read him that you started to doubt if he was playing with you. Maybe this was just the way he… was.

You hadn’t noticed everyone going out for a smoke. You hadn’t noticed the way he looked at you through the window like some kind of fucking stalker, only the glow from his cigarette giving colour to his shadow.

You down the rest of your drink, pulling your coat around you. The night is crispy, air poking your cheeks like needles.

“Are you ever going to ask me out? Because if not then I’d like to know- I don’t really know if you don’t like me or if I scare you or if there’s something entirely different at play but you cannot just stare at me and expe-“ a cold, chapped pair of lips silence you. They’re gone as quickly as they came you Simon’s eyes are wide, dropping his cigarette to the ground.

“I’m sorry- do you wanna- can I ask you out? I didn’t mean to do that but you talk a lot” he said bluntly, stuttering his way through his own mortifying actions.

He kissed you. To shut up your mindless yapping he… you shake your head in disbelief.

“You are unbelievable” you say, but there’s absolutely no malice in your tone- only wonder.

“Is that a yes?” He asks, his throat feeling tight.

“Yes. It’s a good technique you have there- do you do that on everyone? Kiss them when they talk too much? I can just imagine how Soap would rea-“

He did it again, eyes closing and inhaling sharply as he covered your cold cheeks with his hands. Christ you were a talker but he didn’t mind so much, if he was allowed to quiet you like this from now on.

[shotmrmiller]

getting shot down by ghost without even asking him out or anything because he'd heard from one scottish bird that your type of guy was exactly like him and thinking back on it now, all the qualities you'd listed for your dream man do sound like as if you were describing him. yikes.

you don't take his rejection to heart, even though it does lightly sting but before you get a chance to explain that said scottish bird is an idiot and very mistaken in his assumption, ghost is telling you that it'd never work, you'd only get hurt and that you do take to heart because what does that mean, exactly? does he think you some dewy eyed farm girl looking for love? that you can't have casual sex with someone without eventually wanting for more?

"tha' ain't wha' i said. you'd get hurt, i mean look at ya." what about you? it's not like you'd let any of what happens behind closed doors affect your performance or anything, you and kyle always keep things professional while in the field.

also, is he aware that he doesn't have to have a reason to not want to sleep with you, or anyone else for that matter?

"you're small," he states, as if fact.

small? small where? your irritation dissipates, shoulders bleeding tension as genuine worry begins to set in. his vision might actually be going bad. could it be the black paint he wears under his mask? is it even safe to use on the face let alone near the eyes? did he read the instructions?

but then you realize he's looking at your legs, or specifically, what's between them and things click, and now you're wondering how someone so bloody brilliant could be this fucking stupid.

"while i appreciate your concern, lieutenant," you pointedly snap, "that's not even- i'd be just fine." he's a big guy, for sure. massive, if being honest. his neck alone is easily bigger than both your hands and you've caught him once or twice having to duck his head to enter the debriefing room but him being so endowed that it poses a threat to you is idiotic at best.

he hums, long and low in his throat, as he peers down at you through heavy lidded eyes, and raises his right shoulder in a shrug. "as you like," and that's the one and only warning you got.

simon had given you as much foreplay as needed, had lapped at your pussy until you forgot what day of the week it was, curled and scissored his fingers until his bedsheets were sodden and it still hadn't been enough. he'd only fit about a fourth of it in before he took pity on you and fucked your thighs instead until he got close, pushing his ruddy tip back into your aching cunt because "spillin' outside is a waste," and sent you on your merry way.

you're no quitter though and after some shopping online, your saving grace (dilators) will be here in a week.

(now to find soap and rip the rest of his hair right out his scalp for wagging his tongue.)