#bloody fuckin rambles

[ziggizapz]

she mothered too close to the sun with these ones

[luck-of-the-drawings]

THE ORDER OF PALMS An order of holy folk that serve The Helm, working to create powerful Aasimar Paladins for the purpose of protecting any who hire their help. [BACKSTORY UNDER CUT]

One day, Gjör and her peers were lead by their mentor Opheria, to a mission far from their home. On the peak of that mountain village, they saw upon the horizon, the castle of their home go up in flames. Horrified and scared, the apprentices sought to follow their mentors guidance, and followed her lead into a small barn. It was there, that Opheria proceeded to slaughter each and everyone of the apprentices. It seemed she somehow had a hand in this sudden attack on the Order of Palms. Gjör D'annevual survived a sword through the 'heart', on account of a rare condition, that places her heart on the other side of her chest. When she finally managed to bring herself back home, the Order was insulted by her survival. She had so many better peers, why couldn't any of them have survived? This runt was seriously the only thing that survived Opherias wrath? It was better to just wash their hands clean of this. Thus the Order decided to banish Gjör from their ranks. She now travels the land in search of a purpose.

[calamari-minecraft-corner]

Idk it’s something about in my AUs, especially my dnd con au that no one forgives dream for what he’s done- but they’re willing to move past it and get closure in some way or another.

Like what always gets me is that people expect redemption or the path to be a better person to be easy and simple and that everyone will forgive you for what you’ve done!

But no- I’ve always seen redemption as gritty and bloody. Something you have to push yourself to do and understand that some people will not give you forgiveness or closure or anything.

And that’s entirely okay because you can’t control how they feel.

But you can continue to go forward and be a good person, even if you have days where you go back into old habits.

Idk I’m just rambling about my own stuff on it-

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

I LOVE going everywhere by bike. Don't need to wait for a bus. Don't need to cram myself into a bus with (urgh) people. Or even worse, what feels like every single student in town. I still get home in about the same amount of time. I'm so so flexible including with places. Like yeah sure, let's go there! I don't care if the next bus station is far away. Doesn't matter to me.

Stayed out late with friends recently. Two of em had to get their family to come pick them up because that's too far to walk and it was too late for buses. A different friend lives like 30 minutes away but always walks and their way goes through a small park where literally no one is at with few lanterns so it's pitch black and I could literally just walk them home and then take the bike which is faster and has its own light and feels and probably is safer than walking those dark ass streets at night alone.

Like. I can just do all that. And yeah, sometimes when I'm not doing too well I feel like collapsing afterwards and yeah, maybe my fingers feel like falling off a lot at this time of year but that's like. SO worth it. I have no idea how people can live and NOT go everywhere by bike. Like if it's more than 20-30 minutes maybe but even with hills.... I fucking love my bike.

[speakercrab666]

if horror game in horror genre, then why monster have scary face???? i want horror game!!! NO SCARY FACE!!!!!!!!! only horror game <3

[mrultra100]

Shark Week has been going extremely downhill over the years, but take a look at this...

........

.................

[autism-disco]

i lied i actually hate composition grbsbsnnfbd a

[mogai-sunflowers]

fallen angels are so gender y’all. i seriously can’t get over how gender they are

[jellybeanium124]

survived. thank God I got the midshift I would cry if I had to close today

[zipstick]

@ my parents (mum im looking at you): why do you feel it necessary to make your failing marriage a public spectacle

[charliemwrites]

Mister(s) Steal Your Girl — part 3

(I seriously need to come up with an actual name for this series before it sets in)

Introducing his grand horniness- John “Soap” MacTavish

No Content Warnings

It’s been six, coming up on seven, dates with Kyle. A dwindling part of you feared that after the absolutely mind-blowing night you two shared, he’d ghost you or something.

But nope, the morning after was spent in one of his jumpers, receiving kisses and breakfast and tea. The two of you watched movies all day until he drove you home, kissing you at the door. He let you keep his jumper.

Not three days later, he invited you to a movie you’d both been excited to see, and giggled over the popcorn bowl like teenagers. He didn’t even mind that you leaned over to whisper during certain parts, or the ramble you went on afterwards. (When you apologized for overanalyzing and talking so much, he gave you a bizarre, almost offended look. “Don’t you dare stop,” he huffed, “you’re way better than radio. What did you think about that after credit scene?”)

A few days after that, he called with apologetic news.

“Being shipped out for a couple weeks. Shouldn’t be anything too dangerous, and I’ll call when I can,” he explained.

You told the nervous little twist in your gut that you knew this about him. That this is Kyle’s job, not a convenient excuse to ignore you.

“Stay safe regardless,” you murmured earnestly into the phone. “I‘ll… I’ll miss you, Kyle.”

“You’re getting the biggest hug when I get back, darlin’,” he promised.

He kept to it too. Called at odd hours sometimes - once during dinner with your fiance even. But Brandon is always taking random calls nowadays, so you figured, given the circumstances, it’s not such a big deal to excuse yourself either.

On the other end of the call, Kyle sounded a bit tired, but happy to talk to you. He couldn’t tell you anything about what he was doing, but shared some smaller, safer details. That the tea was shite because Soap kept over-steeping it. That his lieutenant was big enough to body slam him during sparring practice. That Captain Price wishes you well and promises to bring Kyle back in one piece.

You even heard one of his teammates in the background, asking Kyle if he was “chirping at his new bird.” Soap, as you found out. They sound like a good bunch.

When Kyle comes back, you offer to welcome him at his apartment. You bring a little plate of cookies and a pack of his favorite beer, hoping it’s not too much. But when he opens the door, his expression melts before he scoops you up in the big hug he promised.

“You’re a fuckin’ dream, ya know that?” he murmurs, tucking his face against your neck.

You spend the whole weekend with him, kissing at the stitched-up knife wound on his muscled arm. Otherwise, all in one piece.

“Would you… want to meet my mates sometime?” he asks as you’re getting dressed for work Monday morning.

“Of course,” you reply instantly. Realize that might be too eager. “If you want to introduce me, that is.”

“I want to show you off to the bloody Queen, babes.”

You giggle, crossing the room to drop a quick kiss on his lips. He tries to draw you in for something deeper, but you wiggle and swat at him, complaining that he’ll make you late.

It’s good, you think. Blissfully good. Honeymoon phase, maybe, but considering how far off your actual honeymoon is, you feel like you deserve this. Kyle is a wonderful partner - kind, attentive, respectful. He listens, he cares, he’s independent of you and respects your boundaries. Sometimes you can’t believe you were ever nervous about this open relationship thing in the first place.

On Wednesday of that same week, Kyle tells you that Soap is going to visit and is eager to meet you. He was thinking dinner and drinks, come back to Kyle’s apartment afterwards. You readily agree.

The next day, a bouquet comes in. It’s a beautiful, though not extravagant, arrangement. Calla lilies, roses, and hydrangeas. The note that comes with it says, “Wanted to make a good first impression in case Kyle told you lies.” It’s signed “Johnny.”

You send a picture to Kyle, amused and a bit endeared. It brightens the rest of your day so much that you barely notice Lucy’s usual snide comments.

On Friday night, Brandon is unexpectedly home. Usually he doesn’t even come home from work on Fridays anymore - or at least he didn’t before you met Kyle. Lately, you only pop in if you’ve forgotten something for your overnight bag. You had to stay late at the office today, though, and your apartment is closer than Kyle’s.

“Was thinking we could go out tonight,” he tells you.

“Oh,” you say, taken aback. Not just by the invitation, but by the mix of emotion in your gut. Some of it is excitement and relief, but not as much as you’d expect. It’s warring with unease and reluctance, a bit of frustration that now of all times he wants to reconnect.

“Um, raincheck?” you offer, smoothing down your dress. It’s a new one you picked out with Kyle; you’re hoping he (Kyle) will notice. “I have plans.”

Brandon’s brow furrows, smile going tight. “You can’t reschedule?”

God you hate confrontation and he knows that, doesn’t he? Why is he pushing?

“Well I don’t know when I’ll get to see them again,” you explain.

Suddenly the tension in his shoulders eases. “Oh, is it a few people then?”

“Just a couple. I’m meeting one of them for the first time.”

“Have fun then,” he says, fishing his phone from his pocket. Like you’re not even there anymore.

You blink, then your phone buzzes with a message from Kyle and you hurry out the door.

“I knew you’d look terrific in that dress,” he says as soon as he sees you.

Thoughts of Brandon, that strange interaction, and those churning feelings all disappear in an instant. Kyle just has a way of soothing you.

The restaurant is one that has quickly become one of your favorites with Kyle. Good food, good drinks, quiet and relaxed atmosphere. You like the funky artwork and squishy booths.

Soap (Johnny?) has already gotten your party a table, and stands as the two of you approach. You nearly stop right there, and then almost trip a bit as momentum urges you onwards. Manage not to make a fool of yourself, but you still boggle at him.

Because Kyle? You thought he was a fluke. Just too handsome to be real, never mind tall and fit and friendly and— well, anyway.

You thought he was a fluke.

But Soap/Johnny is goddamn handsome too! Trim stubble, pretty eyes behind thick lashes, a soft-looking Mohawk that gives him a boyish charm without seeming immature.

“There you two are, thought ye stood me up!” he greets, drawing Kyle into one of those friendly man-hugs with the shoulder pats that look like they hurt.

“Youre a cheap date anyway, MacTavish,” Kyle replies, gently easing you forward with a hand on the small of your back.

“Och, don’t bad mouth me in front of a lady,” Johnny/Soap complains, then turns his twinkling gaze to you and offers a hand. “John MacTavish, but this bampot calls me Soap.”

“Not Johnny?” you ask curiously.

You take his hand, find callouses similar to Kyle’s. But his palm is a bit broader, a scar along his thumb - from a burn it looks like. Just as warm, just as careful. A firm, but not tight shake.

“You can call me anything you like, lass,” he says. From the corner of your eye, you see Kyle choking back a laugh. Johnny it is, you figure.

“Wait ‘Soap’ is a callsign right?” you ask as Kyle herds you into the booth.

“Right-o,” Johnny replies, smiling.

“Does Kyle have one?”

The grin that he gives you would make the devil sweat. As it is, Kyle groans and shoots you a betrayed look.

“Oh does he, lass.”

You light up, grin right back. “Tell me?”

“As if I could say no to a pretty face like that!”

And so begins a long, warm, perfect night. Johnny is great company. Welcoming and friendly, quick to smile, sharp witted. You could sit all night listening to him and Kyle quip at each other, but they’re so careful to keep you included and engaged.

Johnny even offers you some of his chips when his order comes, and you’re too delighted to say no. Not that Kyle seems to mind, encouraging you to steal a couple for him since Johnny keeps whacking his hand away.

The night ends back at Kyle’s. You whip up another batch of cookies with some suspiciously new-looking baking ingredients. The boys keep you company while you work — Kyle mixes the batter when your arm gets tired and Johnny keeps your wine glass full. In the end, you let them each get a lick of the dough spoon.

Eventually, you move to the couch, climb on together. Kyle, for some reason, scooches you into the middle instead of one of the ends, but you don’t mind and neither does Johnny, it seems. They argue over a movie to put on, but it doesn’t matter because the three of you talk through most of it anyway.

The second movie is your pick, which is your downfall. You barely get halfway through before dozing off. End up stirring to muffled laughter and harsh whispering. You’ve slumped into Johnny, you realize, seeing Kyle’s broad smile.

“Oh,” you hum, trying to sit up. “‘M sorry…”

“You’re alright, lass,” Johnny murmurs, gently nudging you back down.

“Kyle?” you ask, yawning.

“Still watching the movie, sweetheart. You can go back to your nap. Soap’s nice and warm, yeah?”

You hum, snuggle in again. He is comfy. “So are you.”

Another quiet chuckle. “I know, love.”

He rouses you later — the movie must be over, you think blearily. Kyle scoops you up, plants a kiss on your cheek as you tuck in.

“Say good night to your teddy bear, baby.”

“‘Night, Johnny,” you mumble, nuzzling your face into Kyle’s neck.

“‘Night, bonnie.”

You wake first the next morning — rare and precious. Kyle is lying behind you snoring softly, arm around your waist. You wiggle around to watch his sleeping face for a minute, appreciating the peace in his features. Drop a whisper-soft kiss on his cheek and then slip out of bed.

He grumbles a bit, but you coo at him to go back to sleep and he subsides quickly. Once you’ve freshened up in the bathroom, you pad out to the living room. Johnny is up as well, watching tv on low volume with a coffee on his knee.

“Mornin’,” he says.

“Good morning,” you chirp back, continuing for the kitchen.

“You’re up early,” he observes, following.

“Slept well,” you reply, grinning. “Thanks in part to you. I hope that wasn’t uncomfortable.”

He ducks his head a bit, a light flush blooming across his ears and cheeks. “Nah, can’t complain about a pretty girl fallin’ asleep on me. Means I must have made a good impression, eh?”

“Oh! That reminds me - those flowers were gorgeous. Did you know calla lilies are my favorite?”

“Aye, Kyle’s been talkin’ about ya nonstop since ye met.”

It’s your turn to flush, and much brighter. You hurriedly turn to the cabinets.

“Well, thank you. I loved them.”

“Yeah? I’ll send you more then.”

Startled, you whip around on him, mouth stupidly open as you try to find a response. “You really don’t have to do that!”

“But what if I want to?”

And if you were struggling for words before, you’re hopeless now. So you just throw your hands up with a little “gah” sound and turn back to gathering ingredients.

“What are we making?” Johnny asks, taking mercy on you. Not that using that sly “we” isn’t devastating to your composure.

“My super special flapjack recipe,” you answer. “Could you get that big bowl down for me?”

He steps past you to do so while you dig out the measuring spoons from the dishwasher.

“If they’re as good as your cookies, then I’m gonna need extra PT after this weekend.”

“Good,” you reply, smug, “that’s my goal.”

“Dangerous woman.”

You snort, holding up a wooden spoon. “Oh yeah, I’m a real threat brandishing cooking utensils at a special ops guy.”

“Och, don’ sell yourself short - my nan used to be a menace with those things!”

Kyle exits the bedroom fifteen minutes later to the smell of cinnamon and his best friend with a face full of flour.

“…Do I even want to know?”

“Just be glad she’s on our side, Garrick.”

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Masterlist

[ziggizapz]

u people do not understand the amount of chills i got hearing "if i wanted to clear the canvas i wouldve used turpentine" like HOOOOLY SHIT..

[mostlykind]

what is wrong with my body why is it that when I sleep less than 7 hours I get rly anxious throughout the night and wake up about a million times. I also get night sweats and feel like I’m going to throw up each time I wake up ?????

[cntloup]

simon is the type to confess his feelings to you when he's absolutely shit-faced which happens rarely but it does... it only needs to happen once

when he's sober though, he's impenetrable as a brick wall

he always keeps to himself behind the high and broad walls

and of course you can't get a word out of him even by torture

he's already been there, don't even try to break this man, it's useless

so one night after he's been out with the lads and let himself loose a little bit while they were celebrating, his mind starts to get foggy

and suddenly he finds himself at your doorstep at nearly 4 a.m. , pounding on the door with heavy fists

he feels all warm and fuzzy at the thoughts of you and his heart threatens to burst out of his chest at any moment

his head spins and he feels like he can't take it anymore

he wants you. and he's going to have you.

you groggily drag your feet on the floor and open the door to meet his half-lidded brown eyes

his hand is on the doorframe to keep himself steady

you struggle to keep your eyes open as you fight off the sleepiness

"simon! you know what time it is?!" you ask in obvious annoyance

"i don' give a fuck about tha' " he slurrs his words and punctuates it with a loud burp

"simon! you reek of alcohol!" you point out, "come in, you bloody idiot!" you say after thinking to yourself that you can't send him away in this state

how did he even get here like this??! this man i swear...

"i need to tell you something." he says as he drunkenly steps through the door

"what? it better be important!" you say while facing him with your arms crossed

"i love you!... i've always loved you... i... i..." he rambles

"WHAT?" you ask in utter shock, now completely awake

"i love you." he says, this time much softer while gazing into your eyes so lovingly

he takes a step closer, "i love you." he repeats and places a hand on your waist

"you're drunk!" you say, still shocked, but... you start to kind of get into it, give in

"sober enough to know how i feel, dove!" he utters and you wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you closer by your waist

you feel all fuzzy, lost in his droopy eyes, gorgeous hazels staring back at you

"i love you too, simon!" you say back breathily as if he has knocked the air out of your lungs by mere words and a soft touch

you pull him in for a kiss, the taste of bourbon and tobacco on his tongue intoxicating

"i love you, si... so fuckin' much!" you say with a light chuckle, both out of breath after pulling away from the fiery kiss

"love you too, baby." he smirks and captures your lips with his once again

[shotmrmiller]

damn i couldnt help myself. im just being delusional wishing this was me; in the same cbf!johnny and fwb!simon beeecause. unedited.

pairing: Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

tw: menstrual blood and sex

You were at home, curled up in bed dying from menstrual cramps. Your menses had come so unexpectedly that you even had to rain-check your hookup with Simon. A particularly painful throb in your lower stomach has you curling into yourself further, burying under the blankets.

“Bonnie?” Johnny’s voice rings out from your living room. The bedroom door opens and he comes in, placing a plastic bag on your dresser, and quickly taking off his shoes to crawl underneath the blanket with you. “Hey, bonnie. How ye holdin’ on?” and you grunt in response.

“Och, that bad huh?” he loops his arm around your back and pulls you flush to him, rubbing soft circles on your lower tummy. His large warm hand feels so good in contrast to the cramps. “Y’know,” he murmurs, “I ken something that I heard can help alleviate some of yer pain.” 

“What is it?” letting out a pained groan. “I’ll take anything.” He slowly lowers his hand down to curl his fingers into the waistband of your pajama shorts. “Ye trust me?” You stiffen at that. Is he really offering to— “Johnny, I—”

“C’mon, hen. When have I ever not taken care of ye? I promise to make it good.” Johnny doesn’t wait for your answer, just kneels in between your legs, taking off your shorts and knickers. “Fuck, I’ll make it so good. Look at this pretty pussy,” he grabs onto your thighs, opening them wider, “Yer a vision, baby. I’ve dreamt of this for so long, ye’ve no idea.” He doesn’t even let you try to stop him from touching you all bloody, he just thumbs your lips before rolling small circles on your clit. 

“Can’t believe it took me this long to do this,” he says. His touch is turning the ache in your belly into a burning fire, your limbs tingling. You could feel yourself leak with blood and slick— making your clit slippery, easier for Johnny to bring you to your peak.

“Johnny, oh,” you moan loudly, and he lowers himself to suck on your neck to leave a love bite. “Ye like that?” and you nod jerkily, your nails digging into his arm. “Yer close?” another nod. “C’mon then, cum for me, pretty girl,” and he puts your nipple into his mouth, through your shirt, holding it between his teeth as he uses his tongue to flick it and you break. He pushes you off the peak with a pleasure so delicious, so sharp it stings. You can feel wet gush from in between your legs as you gasp shuddering breaths into his neck, vision going dark at the edges. When you finally stop shaking, you realize that Johnny is already taking himself out of his jeans and nudging your slit. 

“Wait, Johnny, I don’t think I can—” and he cuts you off. 

“Course ye can, sweet. Ye said ye’ll take anything, no?” and nudges his hips forward, the head of his cock parting your gummy swollen walls, “Then take me.” And he bottoms out. 

—

Later when you’re stuffed full of his cum and no longer in pain, you come to the realization that you canceled on Simon just to end up getting fucked by your best friend instead. You’re pulled out of your inner ramblings when Johnny’s mouth hungrily finds yours. 

“Let’s get you in the shower, eh bonnie?” he says between kisses, “ I’ll take care of the sheets.” With one final tug on your bottom lip, he lets you go, and you get up, stumbling towards your bathroom— milky pink dripping down your legs.

He picks up his phone and toothily grins at the text on his screen. 

She’s fuckin delicious, isn’t she? 

He taps out his response and gets up to put the bedsheets in the washer.

You know it, L.T.

[osachiyo]

imagine knotting with hybrid!chuuya || f!reader & mdni

"fuck baby, yer squeezin' me so tight," chuuya groaned lowly — brushing his sharp canines over the junction of your shoulder, before lapping up the sweat there. you tasted fucking divine to him — and looked even better, with bite marks and bruises littering your body, all marked up as his.

you when on cloud nine at that point — eyes rolling back with each bruising thrust of his hips, the noises of wet skin smacking against skin filled the room.

you gasped when you felt something.. bigger trying to squeeze into your cunt — looking down to see the base of chuuya's cock swelling up, forming a bulbous knot. "chuuya—!" "shh, baby — i got you," chuuya hushed you, biting down onto your shoulder to ground himself and not slam his cock completely into your tight heat.

"jus' my knot, darl' — you can take it, i promise," he tried to reassure, pushing his dick further and futher in until the knot slipped in with a wet 'pop!'

both of you moaned out in unison, with you biting the pillow and him biting down on your shoulder — his cock now pressed directly on your g-spot, which had you seeing stars.

the feeling of chuuya's cum flooding into your womb had you cumming in seconds — hot white flashes of pleasure clouded your vision as chuuya let out muffled growls while rambling praises against your now bloody skin.

"so — fuck! — s'good f'me, gonna give you so many pups, yer gonna look so fuckin' good all knocked up — can't fuckin' wait to make you a mama.. yeah? you want that, baby — of course you do — of fucking course you do —"