#found iit.

[2hiit]

@in0rem0rtis

ugh ii need my diiamond eye2 emojii 2TAT.

[dandunn]

Me: the lupin isekai manga isn't real it can't hurt me

The lupin isekai manga:

[psi-iioniic]

roxy siits iin my braiin on a hiigh stool w hiis legs crossed driinkiing a gr33n apple flavored margariita from a fancy glass just watchiing

[btm-txt]

✨Me and Moonwatcher got a lil hype to watch the Knuckles series last night. Gave me something to chuckle at while I rest my angry wrist.💖

[misspickman]

simones bop run is the most haha ~girlboss~ snappy comeback ! shit i have read in a comic and its horrible. its so bad. and then the plots arent even interesting

[radioves]

thiis damn spiider better start payiin rent

[telematicsabiotrophy]

aa bought u2 a mochii maker 2o ii gue22 iim goiing two have mochii ju2t all the tiime now fuck yeah

ii have no iidea how two u2e iit?

apparently ii ju2t pour the riice and water iin and iit doe2 everythiing but fuckiing pre22iing x here

we'll 2ee

anyhow all ii have ii2 liike

nutella two put iin2iide but ii gue22 that2 what we're goiing wiith for thii2 fiir2t round yeehaw

[thoughtformchoreographer]

What's your opinion on @ask-cronus-grub

ERIDAN: ask wwho noww

ERIDAN: oh

MARCH: wwoah eri wwhered the grub come from?

ERIDAN: i dont knoww

CRONUS: oh my god is that me? hopy shit!

ERISOL: you 2hould probably put that back wwhere you found iit.

ERISOL: before 2ome lu2u2 ha2 a fuckiin coniiptiion lookiin for iit.

[fanfiction4sooya]

Request: Reader waking up Tiffany on her birthday by going down on her. Thanks🙏

It took me ages, but I am slowly getting back to my old reqs. Thank you for waiting, baby! 💖💖 hope ya'll like it

cw: somnophilia, oral sex, cursing, humping, stablished relantionship, not really proof read, no mommy kink this time for once;

You were planning this little surprise for a few weeks now. You took Tifanny for a little weekend trip for her birthday, only the two of you in a cabin in the woods away from people, her fans, away from job duties, anything that would exhaust her more on such special occasion.

The night before you had a great time; you ate nice food and drank two bottles of wine. It was perfect.

Actually, almost perfect, since you two got so drunk your attempt to have sex went south because you two literally fell asleep naked in each others arms without even begining the act itself.

You woke up first, looking around, your head throbbed a bit but iit was manageable; your eyes scanned the room and there she was. Her ever so perfect hair a bit messy on her face, her eyes closed in a deep slumber, her lips slightly apart. You heart skipped a beat. You smiled, trying to recall the last time you saw her so disheveled.

Slowly you sat down, pulling the covers on the way, smiling again as you remembered the last night failed sex. You two were completely naked. You shivered. The thought of taking her like that went through your mind like a lightning, quickly arousing you.

"Would it be a good present?" You talked to yourself, you little mischievous thought only growing as your neediness grew as well.

Your gaze traveled around her naked form; her perky tits and slightly muscled abdomen, her milky thighs and the little bush of hair on her pretty pussy. Your mouth wattered. The need of drinking her sweet juices while she was in such state of vulnerability made yourself throb.

Slowly you crawled by her knees, lightly pushing her legs apart so she wouldn't notice you just yet; laying on your stomach you bit your lip when you faced her pussy. It looked so pretty from this close you always got a bit shocked.

Positioning yourself closer, you inhaled her scent, whimpering; you put your tongue out, licking just the tip of her hooded clit, that action eliciting goosebumps on your skin and in hers too. You hugged her legs in a lighter way to better angle your face and did it again, this time not only licking but attatching yourself on it to suck.

You watched her stir just a bit, thankfully she was a heavy sleeper and the wine also had a part on the job of keeping her knocked out.

You felt her slit drip a bit of her arousal onto your chin and her nipples get slightly hard, your pussy throbbed in response as you humped the mattress, feeling your own arousal slick through your folds.

Gathering her slick on your tongue you hummed against her core upon tasting that divine flavour, unconsciously closing your eyes in approval. You were so lost in her that you didn't even aknowledged her eyes open and her gaze fixated on your face.

Tiffany bit her lip trying to suppress a moan in order not to startle you. Her body jolted forward when you gave her a particularly hard lick and her hand instinctively found your hair.

"Fuck baby" Her voice sounded hoarse from sleep and you smiled against her sensitive clit, still attached to it as if your life depended on it. "Such a good girl" She caressed your hair, tossing her head back a bit.

She held your head a bit closer, moaning just a little higher; you felt how she was getting wetter by the second, your chin coated in her juices. You closed your eyes, rubbing your tongue on her pussy up and down, not stopping for anything except her command. But she wouldn't stop too, she wouldn't dare to lose that contact. Not when her pretty girl made her feel so good, so satisfied.

"Don't stop b-baby, I'm almost there" Tiff said in a shaky breath, her legs slitghly trembling. "You do me so good, darling" You rolled your eyes upon hearing her say that in that lustful tone.

You lost count of how many minutes you spent sucking her off with your whole might, humping the matress as if you were her little pet in heat.

"I am gonna cum all over your face baby" She held your head in place, forcing your mouth against her core. Cursing, moaning, in the wildest of ways. Her juices gushed in your face and you made sure to collect all of it, your own orgasm hitting you blindly hard.

It took you a while to stop sucking her off, your own dizzy state taking over your body as she praised you again and again, caressing your head.

When you finally stopped what you were doing, she was shaking harder than you ever saw her do it, pulling you for a deep passionate kiss.

"Happy birthday, Tiff" You said a bit out of breath.

"Happy birthday to me, my darling" She answered against your lips, kissing them again.

[thewertsearch]

We're playing as Kanaya, right after Terezi watched Dave die. I guess we're about to see the immediate aftermath, as Karkat tries to figure out what he did wrong.

KANAYA: That Sounds Nice KANAYA: But It Really Doesnt Look Like There Is Much Room In That Pile Of Horns At All And I Should Get Going Anyway SOLLUX: yeah, of cour2e there'2 no room, iit wa2 kiind of a moroniic iinviitatiion two be hone2t. FEFERI: )(-EY, S)(UT YOUR MOP-EY BLOW )(OL-E!!! I was just s)(owing a little bassic courtesea. FEFERI: Really, you are just t)(e grouc)(iest dude sometimes. FEFERI: (And it's really cute!)

I was initially surprised that Feferi found Sollux’s grouchiness cute, since she's had to deal with Eridan's bad-tempered bullshit for who knows how long. However, I think Sollux's 'temper' is fundamentally different to Eridan's, in a way that Feferi would appreciate.

See, Sollux may be a little grumpy, but he's also basically harmless. His only violent moments are the result of manipul8tion or self-defense, and when left to his own devices, he'd rather tinker with his computers than hurt anyone.

Compare and contrast with Feferi's former moirail. He's already complicit in mass-murder, and his jealousy over Sollux 'stealing his girl' has already led him to try and vaporize the guy.

Eridan's a danger to himself and others, and his bad moods are threatening, but Sollux is just a slightly sullen nerd. Feferi can relax around him, and that alone is probably a breath of fresh air.

SOLLUX: you are 2o riidiiculou2ly optiimii2tiic iit'2 kiind of 2iickeniing, why do you even put up wiith me?

Just like our other Witch, Feferi is optimistic to the point of frustration – and, like the Jade of earlier acts, her optimism is based on evidence that that her audience isn’t privy to.

Unlike early Jade, though, my guesses about Feferi's sources can be a lot more educated. Her information generally comes from the Horrorterrors, so if she knows Aradia's alive, her God Tier self has probably made it to the Furthest Ring.

That's honestly pretty cute. We haven't seem much of these two as a couple, but they're starting to win me over.

Oh, you can fuck off, mate. Your guardianship of Kanaya ended on Alternia.

[incorrect-hs-quotes]

tunglestucj

tentacleTherapist: Conventional morality is nowhere near cringe enough to be based. You agree.

centaursTesticle: I am going to liveblog my attempt at solving this obscure statisti% conundrum you have definitely never heard of

twinArmageddons: oh yeah, the Ob2cure 2tatii2tiic2 Conundrum, weve all 2een iit. ii have 2trong opiiniion2 on the obviiou2 ea2y and 2iimple way iit 2hould be 2olved, 2omehow

tipsyGnostalgic: i need. 2 fuck that old man.

turntechGodhead: [picture of a bird]

turntechGodhead: [picture of a bird]

turntechGodhead: [picture of a bird]

cuttlefishCuller: [Twenty-post long reblog c)(ain arguing about politics wit)( a stranger in stubborn defiance of t)(e obvious fact t)(at t)(e stranger is not reading a single word s)(e’s saying]

carcinoGeneticist: HERE’S MY TAKE ON THE LATEST CHAPTER OF THE CURRENT WILDBLOW SERIAL THAT YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO BLUR YOUR EUES AND SKIP PAST BECAUSE YOU HAVEN’T FOUND TIME TO READ ALL FIVE MILLION WORDS OF THIS COOL THING YOU DON’T WANT TO BE SPOILED ON.

gallowsCalibrator: WH4T 1F [TH3 MOST D3R4NG3D SH1T YOUV3 3V3R H34RD 1N YOUR L1F3] 4ND W3 W3R3 BOTH G1RLS?

tipsyGnostalgic: dnt forget i need to fuck that. old man. please

caligulasAquarium: [automatically generated link to a post on some ideologically extreme underground social media site wwith ten users that he uses instead]

turntechGodhead: [picture of a bird]

turntechGodhead: [picture of a bird]

turntechGodhead: [picture of a bird]

turntechGodhead: god every single thing about my life situation sucks so fucking much i want to cry and now you do too

turntechGodhead: [picture of a bird]

adiosToreador: [rEBLOGGING THAT LAST PICTURE OF A BIRD,]

turntechGodhead: [picture of a bird]

tipsyGnostalgic: that old man. u know. what i need.

gardenGnostic: heres today’s doodle :) [outlandishly beautiful piece of original art which gets seven notes]

ectoBiologist: only posted eighteen spicy takes about gender today, so here’s a new one i just came up with. is this anything.

timaeusTestified: Hey, wanna look at this pornography that somehow hasn’t gotten taken down by Tumblr yet?

arsenicCatnip: :33 < [a pun so bad she gets put in the fucking troll hague]

turntechGodhead: [picture of a bird]

turntechGodhead: [picture of a bird]

turntechGodhead: [picture of a bird]

arachnidsGrip: [21st re8log on the politics re8log chain where everyone is talking past each other and has zero intention of persuading anyone]

tipsyGnostalgic: i need to FUCK that old man. wht do you mean hes dead

gallowsCalibrator: WH4T 1F 1 FUCK3D TH4T OLD M4N. 4ND W3 W3R3 BOTH G1RLS.

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024,#20 do-over

Apparently there will be another AU happening. No beds but tats.

A Tattoo Shop AU.

I've no idea where this will go so I'll surprise us all. LOL

+++++

White Pony Tattoo - Part One (do-over)

Dr John Watson stood in front of 221 Baker Street and – for the first time in a very long time – felt anxious.

He was wondering why this actually happened to him right now. The London afternoon was mild and sunny, summer was about to begin and yet, an aura of foreboding seemed to hover around the well-kept Victorian building.

John shook himself mentally. This was completely ridiculous. There was nothing to be afraid of. There was no danger.

For God’s sake, he had fought for Queen and Country in Afghanistan, had saved several lives and countless limbs in the field hospital and also on the battlefield under heavy fire. He had not felt anxious then. Wary, yes. Cautious, of course. High on adrenaline, surely.

He had been shot in the shoulder while he was on a scouting mission with his team and had woken up in his own field hospital. When his fellow army doctor had disclosed to John in blunt medical terms that he might lose his arm, then John had been frightened.

After a long rehab process the arm was functioning again but John had been honourably discharged because of an intermittant tremor in his hand that made him unsuitable to work as a field surgeon.

Two years ago, John had returned to London and after struggling for three months he had found work as a physician in a local clinic. He had soon met a wonderful nurse named Mary Morstan, fell in love with her and they had married quickly.

Which brought John back to the reason why he was standing in the middle of the pavement in front of 221 Baker Street, staring at the tattoo shop like a village idiot.

The tattoo on his right upper arm needed a do-over.

“White Pony Tattoo” was not what John had expected. It was located in a small shop with a red awning above its single window. There were no flashing neon signs or colourful and enlarged pictures of tattoo designs the artist had created. No advertising of the shop’s services whatsoever. Everything was clinical and sterile, even off-putting. Had it not been for the single metal sign placed in the middle of the window, no one would have thought a tattoo shop would be behind it.

Maybe it was the sign that made John feel so anxious.

It read “White Pony Tattoo” and showed a stylized white running pony on its right side. On the left the sign read “no arguing, no crying, no boring designs”. This did not bode well. Just by the look of it, John would never have thought about setting a foot in there.

Yet, John had done his fair share of internet research to find the best tattoo shops in London because he really did not want some would-be tattoo artist botch up his skin.

White Pony Tattoo had topped several lists. The only shortcoming that people regularly mentioned was that the artist was capricious. The lesser polite said that he was a total dick. However, Sherlock’s – John assumed it was a pen name -artistry was highly acclaimed and he had won several competitions over the last years. Getting an appointment was difficult and being accepted as a client was even more so. But sometimes, when Sherlock was interested enough, he accepted walk-ins.

John straightened his back, raised his chin, took a deep breath and opened the door of the tattoo shop. A melodious door bell chimed and announced his presence.

IIt was cool and dim inside the shop and it smelled faintly of a fresh lemon fragrance. A thick purple curtain behind the wooden counter closed off the rearmost part of the shop. Quiet classical violin music played in the background.

“Hello?” John called out, taking off his jumper to let his tattoo show. “Is there anybody here?”

The curtain moved and a man stepped up to the counter. It was easy to recognize Sherlock from the few pictures John had seen on the internet.

“Hello, I’m here for a do-over…” John began.

“Shut up.” Sherlock commanded. His baritone voice was silky and opulent just like the luscious black curls that framed his aristocratic and unusual face.

John was so surprised that he closed his mouth with an audible plop.

Sherlock’s eyes roamed over John’s face and upper arms, then the rest of his body. Piercing blue grey eyes took in every detail, precise like an x-ray machine or better, like a computer tomograph. They missed nothing, pinning John to the spot and stripping him down to his very bones, unable to hide anything. It was uncanny. Disconcerting.

“Firstly, it’s called a cover-up, as you should very well know.”

Sherlock chided, frowning. His voice rumbled like the high-end engine of a race car and filled John with an unknown desire.

“Secondly, I’ve already deduced what you want. I won’t do it because it’s boring.”

+++++

The one(s) who know and tell me where the shop's name comes from will get a cameo in this AU (nothing bad, I promise). Are you game?

tagging @peageetibbs @totallysilvergirl @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @raina-at

[luveternals]

paring: 1. john 'soap' mactavish x top male reader, implied soap x ghost (spoiler: if you ship them, sorry) rating: mature, MDNI cw: death, blood, depiction of killing, mention of war, major character death(i guess), morally grey reader, obsession, non explicit sexual content. tell me if I missed anything else. disclaimer: all mistakes are my own. I never played cod. I don't know bananas about the military. and i'm not doing research bc I literally don't have the time to fall into another rabbit hole... ⁓ ⁓ ⁓

Just watch from afar. You tell yourself. You will not get anything other than that. Because you know if you dare to get too close, there’s a chance it won’t end well.

You lean against the railing, sweat dump hair sticking to your forehead. He is on the other side of the training grounds, muscles working as he tackles his opponent to the ground.

The grin spreading across his plush lips. The look of surprise that replaces it when the other flips their position. The loud, beaming laugh that bubbles from deep inside his chest when they clap hands, and he gets pulled back onto his feet.

Gorgeous.

Someone calls your name, and when you snap out of whatever trance you’ve fallen, you find you’ve moved closer to the scene at some point.

You shake your head and redirect your body to the person demanding your attention. Your new captain waves his hand at you.

It hasn't been more that a few days since you've been reassigned, landed away like an object, and already they are sending you out with a squad you know nothing of aside from the little written info given to you before you moved to this new base.

You figure they don’t care for tests when the results are destined to be useless in the face of real life.

You only have time to glance over your shoulder, and he’s already leaving, walking further and further away from you. And you suppose there's never been any chance for him to ever notice you to begin with.

-

The building as eerily quiet, nothing like the deafening chaos that had broken the moment your squad had revealed itself to the enemy.

There is a body laying at your feet, eyes staring emptily at the ceiling while the hole between them drips gore into the dusty floor. The gun in your hand is cold despite the echoing ‘bang’ still ringing in your ears.

“All clear,” a voice whispers into your earpiece. “Meet you at exfil, everyone,” another adds.

The face of your victim is smooth, years away from any wrinkles. You pause for a second, taking in every detail.

The gun burns in your trembling grip despite the gloves, blood pooling at your feet. He hadn’t been wearing a helmet, terror now frozen in his empty gaze. His inexperience showed in his lack of scares and wrinkles, expression made macabre with the fresh hole shot between his eyes.

“Was that your first?” someone had asked when you made it to exfil and found your seat in your team’s assigned vehicle. You didn’t bother answering, they had their own regardless.

Your first kill. You tucked your gun away and ignored it for the rest of the ride.

You step out of the building, clothes sticky with wet filth and feet leaving dark stains into the ground. But the gun is steady in your hands, the next bullet ready to be fired. The mess left behind is nothing but an unfortunate aftermath.

“What a face,” someone from your team says the moment you find yourself at exfil, “seen the devil?”

“The last kid I killed,” you say with a hum, “iIt reminded me of the first time I shot someone.”

“Your first kill was just a kid?”

You don’t bother to give an answer.

-

It’s three years later that you meet him officially.

You’ve never dared to get anywhere close to him, and simply learned about him instead.

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish.

Nothing about him changed. To say he seems to have walked out of your memories it’s an understatement.

What’s different now though is the people that are part of his team.

The TF141. Who hasn’t heard of them?

Respected for their efficiency, infamous for the stories that circulate about them.

You stand to attention when you notice them making their way towards you.

The captain is the first to shake your hand, but Soap is, of course, the one that has your attention zero on him.

“I’ve heard of yah,” he says, and you have to fight the urge to beam. Has he? “Efficient, strong-willed, with nerves of steel. Say, he’s gonna be the perfect babysitter, ay Lt?”

Soap turns to beam at the looming figure that steps to stand behind him and fire burns into your vein, angry and ugly.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley. The person Soap seems to be the closest to.

“You’re gonna scare him off, Johnny,” Riley only gives him an unimpressed look before shifting his attention to stare at you. Friend of foe?

It's ridiculous how the two of them standing so close sends the urge to clench your hands into fist through your body.

They’ve been a team for years now, it’s only natural for them to grow close.

Logically, that would be it. But you find yourself hating the mere idea.

“It’ll be a pleasure to work with you,” you say, gentle smile grazing your lips. It doesn’t reach your eyes and whether Soap sees it or not, you know Ghost does.

You let it spread wider until it turns into a dangerous smirk.

-

Being pinned to the floor with a gun to the temple takes you by surprise, but it’s a natural reaction before your logic replaces it. You should have seen it coming, you’ve grown overconfident in your skills during the years, too cocky even.

The odds had never been in your favor. They knew somehow of your plan and now the 141 has been sent to scatter.

You’ve lost sight of the others, your comms stolen by the enemy.

There are bodies littering the floor, abandoned weapons taking up the little remaining space.

“I’m gonna love this,” the bastard pressing you into the floor hisses into your ear.

Bang.

When it comes to a fight, skill is not the only factor that comes into play.

you jerk to the side and pain blossom through the side of your head, still you throw your weight back and the man falls off you with a surprised shout.

You jump him, elbow falling against his throat, and steal the gun from his slacked grin.

The echoing bang sends stars into your vision and splatters his brain into the floor.

You stumble onto your feet, hand flying up to press against the side of your head. The ringing against your ear makes you squint and when you feel a new presence enter the room you spin around on instinct and fire your weapon, body slamming against the wall as someone throws their weight against you.

Click.

The magazine is empty.

“I suppose I should count ourselves lucky, you and I, hmm?”

Riley is holding your knife against your throat, your gun aiming at his chin.

He slips your knife back into its holster and steps away to look around the room. “You could have stabbed the shite out of him before he’d even had the chance to shoot you. Afraid of knives or someth'?” he asks, and you know he’s making fun of you despite his mask hiding his expressions.

You pull your hand away from your head and stare at it. Blood stains the glove and drips down your face, but the bullet had only grazes at the skin of your head. “Not the kind weapon I care for.”

-

“They are made to be used,” Captain Price says through the comms. “You don’t carry them just because,” he says, and despite the disinterest Riley is currently exerting, you know he purposely had a hand in this.

“When we get back we will brush over your combat skills.”

You feel like a child, adults staring you down after they found out you haven’t done your homework. Not a soldier making his way back thorugh an abandoned building to meet with the rest of his team.

“There is no need for that, sir,” you say with a sigh.

“Then why haven’t you used it?”

No one is immune to trauma. And in some degree we all know we’re suffering from it in some way or another. We either don’t want to acknowledge it or are simply too broken by it to realize we’re under it’s influence.

You fall silent. It’s not that you don’t know how to answer. Nor is it that you’re too broken by the sweet, soulless voice that whispers into your ear like a devil on your shoulder without its angel.

It’s the fact that they would not understand. Perhaps, their gazes would soften with sympathy, perhaps they would harden with disgust.

Still, they wouldn’t understand. To do so they would have to experience it for themselves. And you know there only little chance for it to end as it did you.

And so you let them find their own answers; they have them of their own, anyway. Assumptions are good enough for it.

Like always.

-

Perhaps, you’ve lost your touch. Perhaps, it’s the alcohol easing your guard to relax, attention stolen away by the pleasurable warmth spreading through your limbs.

He can sense your eyes on him tonight. And each time he turns to meet your gaze with a confident, amused smirk.

Right now, he leans against the bar, perfect body stretching against the counter as he moves to press his lips against your ear, “is staring all you gon’do?” he purrs, hot breath sending chills down your back and straight between your legs.

You’re frozen in delighted surprise. Your voice cracks when you find it again. “It depends.”

“Hmm,” he chuckles, finger tickling up your throat to press against you Adam's apple, “on what, pray tell?”

Initial shock gone, it’s your time to smirk. You take his hand in yours and press a kiss against his palm, then run your tongue between two of his fingers. “Am I your first choice tonight?”

He falters, body going rigid at the words. His attention flicks to the side, gaze staring somewhere just past your shoulder.

You can feel the intensity of his first choice burning a hole on the back of your head.

You shove the bitterness aside and pull you man closer by the hips.

“It's okay, darling. I’ll show you how you got nothing but to gain from this.”

The way out of the pub and into your room is a blur of heat and hunger. He lets out a loud groan, gripping your shoulders as you press him against the door, lips sucking possessive marks down his throat and chest.

He flips your position and slams you against the wall, hands pulling at your clothes and lips biting against your own.

You smile and push him away. “Impatient.” with a second push he falls onto the bed, legs spread open and chest heaving with anticipation, “is this what him breaking your heart makes you feel?”

He tenses for the second time this night, hesitation washing over the lust hazing his gaze. But you're already climbing onto the bed, pulling him closer by the knees and wrapping his legs around your waist.

“Don’t worry, darling. Once I’m done with you, you won't have any energy to do anything but think of me.”

-

The air is knocked out of your opponent, back hitting the mat below your feet with a dull thump.

Soap groans and huffs out a laugh as he claps his hand into yours, and you pull him to his feet.

“Cap, I think he doesn’t need the knife after all,” he says and slips his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer, so he can grin at you. His gaze is heavier than it has ever been, touch lingering longer and longer the more he finds reasons to touch you.

“I know how to use it, It’s just not my preferred weapon,” you say, “I find using it a little too… personal.”

-

Other knives are different from the real thing. They might be duller, sharper, newer, older. But they are not the same thing.

You hold it under the moonnight, letting it shine as it reflects under it. The handle has long lost its colors, the design dulled and smoothed over by time and use.

You circle your hand around it and for some reason it feels out of place now that it fits the shape properly, making the grip more comfortable, firmer, steadier. Your fingers feel like they don’t belong there, like they are too large now, too callous, too stained.

You let it spin around your fingers, and it moves with too much grace and elegance, too much confidence, you much will to kill.

Not like the first time you’ve welded it. When the moon shone through the window like a witness. When your fingers trembled as wet warmth spread over them. Your breath came out quicker, harsher, punching through your lungs with panic.

You were clueless back then, armed only with knowledge taken from science lessons at school. Guided by repressed rage, pushed over by fear.

Your real first kill.

The knife spins faster, only to sink into the wood of the window frame when you stab it into it.

-

Nothing is going to turn out tonight. This Is how they’ve put it when they’d sent you out on stakeout. Your presence here is a simple, mostly useless precaution.

You watch him from the table, posture leaned against the chair into a careful, lazy slump.

While you're open about your staring, he’s on the balcony, eyes scanning the streets below. Still you can feel his attention on you, muscles tense as neither of you outright acknowledges thick the tension weight over your heads.

The knife is a solid weight against in its holster, pressing flat against your thigh when you tense your leg. You reach below the table and play with the handle.

This night is not going to end like everyone expects it. You know.

He shifts his position and this time turns to meet your gaze head on, eyes scanning your expression and jaw clenching st what he finds.

Neither of you is waiting for the enemy, no. He knows.

-

141 finds you standing in the middle of the room. Gun warm in one hand. Knife stained red in the other.

Two bodies laying on the ruined carpet at your feet. Only one their foe; neither your friend.

-

They hold a funeral for him. Only his closest friends are permitted to assist. He had no family left.

They let you in when you show up with the rest of the team.

You suppose you shouden’t be surprised. They see you as the one who’d avenged their friend.

-

Soap clings to your clothes, desperate lips pressing against any part of your skin he can reach.

You try to enjoy the feeling, bask at his touch, but the salt you taste on his lips sends an old, familiar raging fire through your veins.

Despite being out of the picture he still stands in your way.

-

—

Name: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

Status: KIA

His and his teammate's position had been compromised. Suspected cause of the mission failure is that someone set an ambush before their arrival on site. Attacker has been eliminated but whoever gave the information away is still to be found and caught.

—

You read through his file, brushing over the official story given to explain his death.

He should be grateful, wherever he is now in his afterlife. You’ve given him an honorable death, all things considered.

You do regret not getting your money back before getting rid of that mercenary.

Carefully, you slip the file back where it belongs, wiping away any trace that would tickle suspicion out of the most perceptive eye.

You’ve played this game for longer, than anyone could have ever guessed. The other player none other than yourself.

As you’ve known since the very beginning, you've let yourself step too close to the edge, and now it’s not your heart that’s gotten broken, by your mind.

Obsession.

You’ve fallen, and have no intention of climbing back up.

He is yours now, whether he knows it or not. He belongs to you, body, mind, and soul, whether he wants it or not.

~ ~ ~ thank you for reading! hope you liked it. tell me if there's anything I should fix, as I already said, I don't have the time to make this more accurate with research, but I'm more than open to suggestions and constructive criticism.

[d1rtgru8-t4lk5]

૮ ⊙ﻌ⊙ა < wass goiing through my camera roll and found thiiss moodboard ii never possted sso here iit iss!!

[painonthebrain]

JuneofDoom Day 21 - “Let’s play a game.”/Stairs

Content: Female whumpee, female whumper, broken legs, captivity, violence

Let’s play a game,” Whumper said.

“Just climb up the stairs, and I’ll let you go.”

Such a simple task. Anyone could do it.

Except for Whumpee, of course.

With both legs broken, she held herself up by her arms, resting on her elbows, shaking. The grime from the floor covered her arms and chest, and her hands were filthy with it, her fingers raw and red.

She’d been given no painkillers. Why would she need them anyway?

She somehow found it in her heart to drag herself forward against the rough concrete floor, wincing with every movement, moving like a worm slowly drying out in the sunlight.

She grasped the edges of the stairs — also harsh, cold concrete — and pulled, gasping with the effort. Each time her legs were shifted, she winced, yet she forced herself forwards all the same.

During this, tears had begun to stream from her eyes, hot and damp. She sobbed, ragged, wanting, hoping, needing to be strong. She wasn’t strong, though. She knew that. In her heart, she knew she was nothing.

Whumper watched her struggle, her gaze piercing. She was judging Whumpee’s every movement. Whumpee could hear her voice. Weak. Sloppy. What a disgrace.

Whumpee squeezed her eyes shut and pushed herself up, crying out from the way her legs were bent against the stairway.

Whumper snapped her fingers and the sound was sharp, commanding. “I don’t have all day. Get the fuck up here, girl.”

All Whumpee could do was let out a strangled whine.

She was trying.

It was unbearable. Her legs were constantly burning, the sensation like she were filled with shards of glass that ripped her muscles apart with every movement. Her arms trembled from the effort.

She was nearly there. Reaching for the top step, she dragged herself up to Whumper’s feet, letting out tiny sobs.

Whumpee groaned.

“I… ddid i-iit…” She stammered.

Whumper took in the sight. Then, she lifted up her foot deliberately, as if offering Whumpee it to force her to lick her shoe — before she pulled it back and swung it into her chest, kicking her broken body down the stairs.

With a shuddering gasp, she hit the floor, the breath knocked out of her lungs. She barely had time to react before Whumper spat: “That’s what you get for playing games with me.”

[0owhatsamsays]

Good Omens - IT IS ALL IN THE NUMBERS

It's all in the numbers. We were so focused on Az and Crowley and other details, that something so ordinary as numbers slipped right under our noses. And when you start paying attention to them, it turns out THEY ARE EVERYWHERE. I won't point out all of them, because it will mean to write a post longer then Crowley's permit. But I will show you enough.

It starts with the note from Maggie. We were blinded by the spelling mistake and we didn't see that there is a number that is so visible, that I don't know how... but oh aren't they just geniuses.

See the red number. 229401

It goes on, but I won't post all the screenshots till the end. You can search for the psalm if you are interested.

Continues after the cut...

Then, and it's the reason I got suspicious... The price of the Shostakovich record. On the 20th rewatch I was like. WAIT. Why was it important for Aziraphale to state it actually costed "... AND 75". Why??? 8,75. And I was like okay... odd...875...what does it mean....

Yes, I know how you feel, but there is more, so moving on.

Aziraphale will listen to the record for how long? We all know. 21 minutes. Seriously, how didn't we notice? I can't....

This is all about the Second Coming.

And iit's not only that. Apparently behind the number 21 there are a lot of other biblical meanings, but I can't show you all of them...

Have in mind! I am even missing some that I found inbetween these, but they are really long and I don't have screenshots. Anyway, I am giving you one more reason to rewatch.

Moving on.

Shax is calling Crowley.

Sorry for the bad photo, but it's from my laptop. You see what I see?? 10:35

MOVING ON.... I told you that they are everywhere.

Skipping some that I found again... Like 261 (I remember this being 6 shots espresso 1 cup, but don't remember where the number 2 came from). Check the biblical meaning of 261.

And I will show you this.

Photo from my laptop again, sorry. This is in the bookshop and let me tell you that these numbers are on the photo that appears when episode finishes and amazon transfers you to the next episode. Here it is:

Notice that the "5" is missing.

Okay, my photo is right after the angels came to the bookshop to check about the plume and left. And the second photo with the missing 5 is the numbers BEFORE they came. It was first 10:1 and after the angels left, they added 5.

Read this:

Shepherd - Gabriel, sheep - angels. They didn't recognize him! Read again number 5. Got it??

People! There is a lot more. A LOT. But I will stop here. Maybe I will make another post with more, if people are interested, but this is it for now.

I still can't believe we didn't see it....