#from THAT duty
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akirakirxaa · 2 years ago
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27 for music ask game!!
[Music ask prompt instructions here! You too can find out what kind of random stuff I listen to! Keep Reading break due to Endwalker spoilers.]
Are you not sick of playing games? Sick of giving blame? Sick of fucking living like the world has never given you a life-defining day? And I can't relate. - Feel Nothing, The Plot in You
A great many things had happened in the past several months that Akira never would have guessed at transpiring. Not least of which included traveling to the far flung past before Hydaelyn even existed, slaying the very gods of light and darkness, being rescued by her already dead enemy (more than once even), and traveling to the very edge of creation. But despite all of these things, they weren't what caused her the most pause.
It was that, in her moment of need, when she felt she was staring certain death, certain failure, head on, who would come to her rescue but Zenos in the form of Shinryu, having flown across the literal expanse of the universe just for, what, a chance at a rematch?
Had the circumstances been less dire, she may have still been stunned to silence.
And she was absolutely stunned at the amount of comaraderie in that final battle. Had she not known better, she would have sworn that there was no way this was the same man who'd tried to kill her, and those she loved, on so many occasions.
But the moment the Endsinger was defeated and Meteion had left to guide Akira back to the ship, she felt the shift. He knew she could never let him leave alive. She knew he wouldn't let her leave without a fight. And, as he pointed out, did she not wonder who was truly the stronger? Did she not yearn to push her own limits to new heights?
It would always come to blows. But he stood back and gave her the choice to walk away if she wanted. She pensively gazed across the empty expanse that had been the final battlefield against the Endsinger.
If it came to it, it would be a beautiful place to die.
"That, I cannot deny."
It's too late, too late I've buried this and it's evident You won't change, won't change (I feel nothing)
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starsofang · 5 months ago
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Simon didn’t like to hold you. He liked to be held.
At first, you didn’t understand why he’d turn his back to you in bed without saying anything. You thought you’d done something to him, or maybe he was in a bad mood. You couldn’t be any more wrong.
Simon Riley, an absolute brute of a soldier, was silently asking for you to be the big spoon. You nearly didn’t believe it when he finally brought it to your attention.
He was too embarrassed to ask you, so he’d resort to flipping on to his side and wait. And wait. Until he realized you didn’t catch the memo, even after many hopeless attempts.
In his mind, he thought being the big spoon would somehow convince you he wasn’t manly enough, as if his title in the service or his pure stature wasn’t proof enough of his masculinity.
To him, being held was a blanket of security. Where he’d always have to watch his back out on the field, both literally and metaphorically, he didn’t have to keep an eye out at all times with you. It was a chance for him to find solace in a person, and when he explained this to you, he was surprised to find you so willing.
And oh, when it happened, Simon nearly kicked himself for holding back on verbalizing it for so long.
The warmth of your arms when they wrapped around him from behind, your face buried between his shoulder blades, legs tangled in his, he thought that this was what inner peace felt like.
He was silly to think you’d ever be the one to judge him for what most deemed ‘unmasculine’. In all of his broad glory, he felt safe the moment you held him, like a child does when they feel a mother’s embrace except it was from someone he loved dearest to his heart.
And you? You found that being the big spoon was rather enjoyable when the man you’re holding was so damn comfortable to snuggle up to. It was a win-win for you both.
You just wished he wasn’t an idiot that left you wondering all those hopeless nights until the truth came out.
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Y/N: What are you doing? Ghost: Holding the door open for you like a gentleman Y/N: I'm taking a shower
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forsaire · 27 days ago
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soap isn't scared to tell his parents he's dating a boy
no
he's scared to tell his parents that the boy is English
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gongyussy · 9 months ago
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the h in nhl stands for homoerotic
bonus intricate rituals:
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oifaaa · 2 months ago
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It's funny how opinions can change over time for instance I used to want Bruce to be a good parent but then I realised how fucking boring that is to read at the end of the day comics are soap operas and I'm here for the drama
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yooo-lets-go · 2 months ago
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Elias Walker father of the year
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tesscourtes · 4 months ago
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if nobody got me, pinterest kissing references got me.
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heymurada · 4 months ago
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CoD Baseball AU: Ghost and Soap relationship speedrun edition, featuring respective hairstyle criticism and exasperated teammates
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deunmiu-dessie-sideblog · 5 months ago
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hehehehhe, was thinking about construction worker simon who goes to work every day just to show off the lunches you make him for work. and it soon becomes a huge thing and all his coworkers and even managers look forward to seeing what you've cooked cause it never seems to be the same. it's literally the only reason simon wakes up in the morning to go to work; he has everyone jealous and prances around all proud, then tells you all about when he comes home :(
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toxooz · 1 year ago
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also been thinking abt pooki with his cunty scarf💅
if my next drawing post isnt the comic update take me out back and shoot me like a sick dog
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tsukuyomiland · 1 year ago
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She doesn't want to be there
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 2 months ago
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How much longer 'til your luck runs out?
[First] Prev <–-> Next
#poorly drawn mdzs#mdzs#jiang cheng#wei wuxian#Aaargh...I have so many thoughts about this scene.#This is a hard goodbye. I'm not your burden to bear. Not anymore.#This is the culmination of years of miscommunication. There was so much love there. They trusted each other with everything once.#I think it is easy to hear the anger in JC's voice and consider him the aggressor in this but listen to the words not the tone.#It is anger yes - but it is an anger born out of love.#Jiang Cheng wanted him to live - damn the rest of the world to hell if that's what it took. And Wei Wuxian chose strangers over him.#Sometimes two people who once flourished together become each other's worst wounds.#A goodbye to someone you once would have done anything for is a wound you don't easily recover from.#Jiang Cheng could have stood at Wei Wuxian's side and joined him. Consider though; as a sect leader his life is not his own anymore.#JC cannot just abandon the fledgling New Yunmeng Jiang without also dooming people.#And that is the lynch pin of it all. Both of them are trapped by duty. And the older they got the more tangled the web became.#The song I linked (Hi Epic fans) is such a good JC and WWX song that doesn't fit this scene exactly#But it does fit *them*. The words of warning that go dismissed. The Tactical Genius who continues to press on.#The seeds of doubt that grow louder until they creep towards mutiny. Ultimatly this *is* a mutiny! It *is* betrayal!#'You rely on wit and people die by it'. Is that not Wei Wuxian?#Just smashing my brainworms together over here. Don't mind me.
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rusticfurnace · 10 months ago
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biker ghost from my reckless chains au teehee
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shotmrmiller · 7 months ago
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size difference where the one afraid to fuck you is simon. he thinks you soft. which is what you are. soft. fragile. small.
you're not like him. nothing like the guys. battle-scarred. muscles carved by relentless missions, scars that speak of duty.
your skin divots under his fingers, yielding to his weathered touch and if he squeezes hard enough, you'll have marks by morning. (he needs to be careful, he can't hurt you, won't—)
and so simon watches you touch yourself in the beginning, clever fingers swirling over your slippery clit with practiced movements even though his cock is straining against his trousers painfully. he can hear you mewl his name through bitten lips and it takes all of his self control to not tug his jeans off, slot himself between your spread, inviting thighs and push— stretch open your fluttering walls, so hot and slick, until he meets resistance, until he can push no more but—
he can't. you'd hurt. and he'd hurt because he hurt you. he won't.
after, when your eyes are heavy lidded, mouth slightly parted in exertion, you remind him that you aren't made of glass. that you won't break. you'll shatter— in the way you do when his tongue replaces your fingers— but not break.
"not a virgin either, for christ's sake," you groan.
maybe he's thinking too hard about it. he knows your teeth have edges, knows your bite is swift when deserved. but all he's truly good at is making things give. biology made it so with his bulky frame and raw mass.
his eyes trace the contour of your collarbone. delicate. then it darts to the pulse on your wrist. vital. his hands, the size of dinner plates don't coax. they demand. he'd snap you like a twig, leaving nothing but splintered remains in his wake.
you don't seem to mind, however. it slightly alarms him. where's your self-preservation? do you enjoy pain? is this some masochistic thing?
he looks at you, all glassy eyed and dewy skinned (ethereal; you're practically glowing under the soft light of the full moon that paints the room silver) and he thinks of how it's going to take work to make it work. his cock is large (he's seen the guys' eyes pop out of their heads in the showers once they caught a glimpse of what's between his legs) but you're persistent in the end. one too many nights of having him without having him.
he understands. simon knows better than most what it's like to yearn. to want and not have. he'd cause you pain by not giving in, and cause pain by giving in. damned if he does, damned if he doesn't.
so he caves. promises to go slow. careful.
"i can take it," you bravely say but he's barely pressing himself to your entrance and you're already making noises that tug at his pathetic little heart. the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip-- you look so pretty, how'd a twisted creature like him get someone like you to come home to-- as his cock fills you has him feeling lightheaded. it takes every ounce of self control to not sink into your heat, to hook your legs around his thick waist and let gravity do the rest.
an unsteady hand weaves its way down to your stuffed cunt, fingers splitting into a vee, feeling how he splits your puffy lips, and the view makes him buck his hips involuntarily.
his hands tighten around your calves when you keen, a high pitched noise that swells the lust he feels burning white hot at the base of his spine, tips of his fingers, deep within his loins. he feels ready to burst.
and he's only halfway in.
your voice cuts through the ringing in his ears. "m-more, simon, c'mon," the n is low and drawn out.
his fingers bite into your flesh as he pushes slow, oh so slowly, until your vise-like cunt envelops him completely. the sibilant hiss you let out makes his hair stand on end. (shame pricks at his nerves like a thousand tiny needles when his cock twitches at the sound of your slightly pained moans)
simon doesn't move, feeling your swollen walls around his cock ripple, tighten and slacken, like it's got a pulse of its own. he could be here, in you, cock deep in paradise for the rest of time.
"fuck me," you warble out, hand rubbing your swollen clit to well up the pleasure that's being smothered by the searing pang of discomfort.
when simon cants his hips back, he watches his cock come out of you, glistening with slick. his jaw aches from how hard he's clenching it. control. got to keep it slow, gentle. slow, simon, slow, slow--
"harder."
he feels the sudden sharp sting of your nails and jerks forward in surprise, filling you completely in one fast movement.
your moan this time is needy, thick with want, arousal dripping from your voice as it does your pussy, coating him in creamy white, a frothy ring at the root.
simon can see the barest of bumps below your navel, or maybe he's seeing things, your hot cunt putting him in a state of delirium but the way you take all of his cock and continue to beg for more, beg him to fuck you like he means it even though he's twice if not thrice your size well...
you'll just have to forgive him on the finger-shaped bruises they're going to be on your body after.
(you'd looked so cheeky before he flipped you onto your knees, grabbing onto your delicate neck like a lifeline as he pulled your hips to meet his. you'd taken him easier here, cunt sodden with slick but the angle had him reaching a devastating depth no one else could ever dream of reaching and even though it'd sprung tears to the corners of your eyes at the pinch, "mama ain't raise no bitch.")
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