#i am digging that moustache!!

[jamiebower-001]

A whole different flavour of handsome

Jamie Bower in "Run On" music video

[colourfulmes]

Oh man!! I can’t wait to get back into drawing!! I says with joys

I was then blocked by my mindless hours of hyperfixations on Infinity Nikki and Sky:Cotl

[luveline]

you're writing for bradley!! i am so so excited!! could i request just some domestic fluff with shy!reader and bradley? maybe her coming home from a long day and he's just the perfect boyfriend with a glass of wine and a hug ready for her? love u gorgeous 💗

thank you for requesting, babe, I absolutely adored writing this and him, let me known if you have any more!! —bradley helps you feel better after a bad, long day with wine and a multitude of hugs. fem!reader 1k

You push into your apartment, a ground floor slotting of sandblown terracotta tiles and wooden shutters weakened by termites, and pause. There's something wrong, a humming sound. 

You take a step back toward the door and slide your phone from your pocket. 

Hi Bradley, where are you? I think somebody has been in my apartment. Should I worry? you text him. You've continued a streak of politeness with him even now, too shy to dip into the familiarity you feel when he's holding you close over the phone. You follow it up quickly. Don't worry, I'm sure it's okay. Do you know what time you'll be coming over? Any time is OK.

"It's me!" Bradley calls with an easy chuckle. Couch springs creak as he jumps up, and a second later he appears in the living room doorway with a frankly breathtaking grin, shoving his cell into his pocket. "I'm coming over right now. Holy shit, would you look at you?" 

You hold your bag closer to your side, hair not nearly as neat as it started that morning, the day's chaos etched into the small wrinkles either side of your eyes. "Me?" 

When he smiles, it's all white top teeth and joy. For someone who's been through so much, and who works so hard, he's a shaken bottle of fizzy happiness whenever the moment allows —you barely have time to put your bag next to the rack of shoes (and there, his shoes you must've missed toed off and perfectly aligned with your sandy flip flops) when he's crossing the hall in quick strides and pulling you into an ecstatic embrace. 

"Hey," he says, kissing your cheek, moustache not scratchy but far from soft. It rubs a wonky trail as he kisses without goal. Kiss on your nose, your cheek, close enough to your eye to make you cringe and back away. 

"Hi, Brad," you say breathlessly. 

You need time to prepare yourself for seeing him usually, his sudden closeness catching you off guard. You struggle to make any sense of how much he likes you, but you've given up denying his attention. You want it too badly. 

He doesn't stall at your obvious (embarrassing) flustering; he doubles down. His arms like steel cords behind your shoulders, Bradley noses at the side of your face, his breath warm on your cheek as he says, "Sorry, I thought surprising you might be nice, but I didn't think about your nerves." 

"My nerves," you say. 

"Your bad nerves. You're flighty." He gives it another press, the straight line of his nose digging into your cheek before he pulls away. 

Bradley doesn't give you time to miss his arms around you. He makes for the kitchen, notices you aren't following, and grabs your hand. Tugging, he takes you into the kitchen and elbows open your refrigerator, revealing a better sight than what you'd seen this morning. 

"I had to go out again when I saw your fridge," he says, ducking down to push aside what looks like the makings of your favourite meal to unearth a pretty bottle of red. "Sweetheart, when you said you had a shitty breakfast, I was picturing, like, half a grapefruit. Did you eat anything?" 

He only knows what you'd texted him, shitty breakfast code for the found half of a cereal bar in your jacket. 

You don't like to text Bradley too much in case you put him off, but today was bad, and you know he doesn't mind. He'd told you so only a few days ago. His hand full of your stomach, hot under the collar, you can't remember what you'd been talking about initially, your memory intricately busy remembering the planes of his tightly muscled torso and the feeling of his weight atop you, but suddenly he'd been leaning down, brown eyes pleading. "You can talk to me," he'd said. "About anything. I want to hear it. You know that, right?"

So you texted him somewhere around lunch time and had been delighted to find him puttering around doing a whole lot of nothing. He's been keeping himself busy on leave, staying fit, helping your elderly upstairs neighbour put together her new chest of drawers between half marathons and surfing, regular dreamboat stuff. 

I think I'm having a bad day, you'd said. What are you up to, Brad? Can I still see you tonight? 

Why do you act like I'm not obsessed with you? he'd text back immediately. Kidding. Kind of. What's wrong? Can I bring you lunch? 

Raincheck on lunch? I don't think I'll have time. I'll explain later if that's OK. Miss you. 

Miss you too, baby. I wanna hear all about it tonight.

You blink up from his hands to find him staring at you worriedly. You're in your own head, exhausted and a little muddled after such a long day, and he clearly doesn't like it. 

"Is wine gonna make you feel worse?" he asks, tapping your thigh with his knuckles. 

"Definitely not," you say.

"Before dinner?" 

Your smile turns sheepish. You want the wine much more than the dinner, but if you get both, you won't complain. 

He leans back against the fridge, arms crossed, the neck of the wine bottle held precariously in a confident hand. "Sure you're okay?" he asks. 

"I will be." You take a brave step forward and look up into his face. It's difficult to grasp what it is he sees in you when he's like something out of a movie, all brains, brawn, and bleeding heart. You don't get it, but he wants you, and he's here. "Thanks for coming over, Bradley." 

"This shtick again?" he asks, raising his brows. 

"This shtick again," you repeat, grinning at the implication. 

He hooks your ankle with his. "Thanking me for coming over is like thanking a fish for swimming. Couldn't stop myself if I wanted to." 

Your laugh is a wheeze. Brad does you the generosity of pretending you've made a more intelligible sound and pulls you in for a one-armed hug, rubbing a rough up and down into your side. It's such a nice feeling to be tucked up under his arm that you can almost forget how badly you want a glass of wine. 

"Want the big glasses from the top shelf?" Bradley asks knowingly. 

"Yes. Please." 

[ihavemanyhusbands]

I am foaming at the mouth @ play fighting that turns into breeding with Duncan 😖😖 plsssss can i request that? 🥹🫶🏻

Ovdrilbdgdsll ofc you may!!!

———

It had all started so simply.

You had teased and goaded Duncan about being able to beat him in an arm wrestle, and of course, he made you try and prove it.

Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t gone easy on you. But that wasn’t to say your resolve had faded when the back of your hand hit the table.

Instead, in retaliation, you pounced on him. You managed to get him on the floor, the two of you wrestling for dominance.

You straddled his hips, pressing your legs against his sides. He struggled, but you held him tighter, your body leaning over his. He stopped fighting back momentarily, letting you lace your fingers through his.

“Thinking about tapping out, old man?” You teased, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I’m just enjoying this view,” he said, shifting his body so his hips pushed up.

You felt his hardening bulge under you, and after a flustered moment of surprise, you raised an eyebrow.

“Oh��� really? Is that how this is?”

He nodded and next thing you knew, he rolled you onto your back. His large body pinned you down, legs still against his sides.

“I like it when you get feisty with me,” he chuckled. “But how are you gonna get out of this one, hmm?”

His moustache tickled your neck as he bent down to kiss it. You squirmed under him, struggling even as your body responded to his caresses.

“No fair, you’re only trying to distract me!” You panted, nails digging into his biceps.

His hips rocked against you slowly, almost involuntarily, and you could tell he was getting more and more excited.

You let out a sharp exhale on a harder thrust, gripping his hair with one hand and bringing his lips to yours. He kissed you deliriously for what seemed like an eternity, his hands probing and pinching at the spots he knew would set you alight.

“Okay, you win this time,” you panted as he pulled back to take his shirt off, raking your nails down his torso and tugging at his waistband. “Take me here, please.”

And those were the magic words he needed to hear in order to unleash himself upon you.

———

[hellaverse-critical-confessions]

WOAHH so I've received the Hazbin leaks (can send the link privately if anyone else wants to check them out, but I've gotten flack for sharing leaks in public posts before)

Let's talk about them (SPOILERS AHEAD):

ROSIE!!!! GIRLBOSS!!!!

She's the one Alastor's soul is bound to!! Slay madame slay. I've loved her in S1 and I love her even more now possibly (and whatever evil plans she might have, I support)

The Sera and bird angel song is honestly quite good. Is that... Heaven's equivalent of a Goetia? Don't the Goetia also originate from Heaven? Who knows

Human Pentious is... pretty cute? I mean he looks about how you'd imagine.

HAH. So Human Alastor (who had a much better hairdo in life) made a deal with Rosie. Interesting... that does raise the question of how sinner demons can communicate with the living? Unless she's not a sinner demon? Based on all this she must be more than she seems...

OOOOH. Vox will capture Alastor! And the LED mask gag has a frown projection to further disarm him, as his smile is his weapon and show of unwavering strength and confidence...

He looks extremely jarring but I guess that's the point

Vox my beloved. He's such a bastard I can't wait for more of him (I like his voice and mannerisms, bite me)

I'm also digging Lute's song. I'm wondering where she is (there seem to be a lot of big glass walls... windows?), and there's also her hallucinating Adam... oh boy. Lady you may be going slightly mad

(I'm guessing that the "Adam returns as a sinner" theory is a no-go, then?)

VoxTek has been spreading misinformation about the day of the battle, Killjoy is there... sounds like Brandon now... okay

So Pentious' sin was sloth. And... that's it. No unethical experiments or killing in the name of science, fucking things up with his inventions... nope. He just didn't act when he could've brought a murderer to justice. I mean that also does land you in Hell, I can see it, but considering he ended up endeavoring to cause mass destruction in turf wars and challenging overlords to usurp them (or something along those lines... it's been a while for me y'all), that is definitely underwhelming. Like he wasn't that bad. So how did he become a villain wannabe down there. Also that bird woman is apparently a representative of God; I am thankful that she isn't actually God herself. She's easily the kindest character we've met in Heaven, I like her. (Wonder where she was during S1...) Lute losing it and being demoted was also pretty cool to see, and uh... hi, Abel? Hope you don't get killed again by a bloodthirsty Lute so she can take back control...

Alastor is INJURED yes we love to see it. I'm cheering like Vox whenever that bastard is suffering. B-but where is his deer tail. He should have a tail

Lucifer doesn't even know anyone's names. Still don't like him either. WHY does Alastor swear so much.

(I just noticed Niffty showing "KYS" to Killjoy...)

He used to have a pencil moustache but of course. That is a universal staple of evil yet still dapper men. (Could've also used to have it in the afterlife... thinking of some redesigns I've seen now.) Rosie I still love you

Oh hooray there's Baxter. But why... do we have blush sheets. Should I be afraid

ANIME??????

Yep that's about it thank you all for coming. I only looked at the browser viewable ones, don't wanna download viruses ✌️

[maered613]

Camie's getting married. Estranged from Owen & Beru, Luke goes home for the first time in 10 years. He's not looking forward to meeting their farmhand, the man who’s been living his old life ever since he left. Din isn’t particularly excited to meet Luke either; not when he already hates him for abandoning people who are like family to him now.

They both try to be civil. Fireworks ensue instead.

--

Din hangs his Stetson up at the end of the day, walking into the house, and his first thought is that he’s walked into an active war zone.

"- still doesn’t change the fact that is the stupidest song I have ever heard in my entire life!” Leia says, throwing her hands up.

“What does it matter?!” Luke says back, “-it’s just a song, Leia-”

“I am not going to be indoctrinated into being a person that thinks a song called “She Thinks My Tractor is Sexy” is a normal piece of music!”

“You’re just in time for the fireworks.” Solo says, beside him, “-Luke’s tryna teach Leia to square dance before the big shindig on Saturday.”

Din's gotta hand it to him, he’s still trying to play nice even after Din’s earlier dig.

Din doesn’t say anything, though, just listens to Leia and Luke argue back and forth about ‘insidious hick indoctrination’ until Luke agrees to change the song.

“They don’t play stuff like that in the country bars in New York!”

“Of course not, they only play entry level country music there. You’re gonna have to get used to the real ones!!” Luke says, skipping a track on his CD player, “-does this one pass muster?”

Leia listens for a bit and rolls her eyes.

“Still ridiculous. But fine.”

“That’s not square dancing.” Din says, after a moment of watching Luke guide Leia around the living room; she's picked it up quickly. “-it’s line dancing.”

“What’s the bloody difference?” Solo says, incredulously.

Din looks at him, blankly.

“-in square dancing, your dance pattern is a square.” Din says, slowly, as he mimes a square outline with his index finger. “- in line dancing, you dance on a straight line.” Din also punctuates that with drawing a line in the air.

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” Solo asks, indignant. “-I’m a Yankee.”

“So am I.” Din says, “-Detroit.”

“Motor City!”

“Yeah.” Din says, raising a brow. “-anyway, don’t worry about it. Grogu watched a lot of Sesame Street when he was a baby. I know my shapes.”

Din feels his moustache twitch as he catches sight of Luke’s shoulders hunching together, like he only does when he’s trying not to laugh.

“No wonder the two of you get along.” Solo says, flatly, “-you’re both fucking smartasses.”

--

you all are entirely too nice. I hope you enjoy the ending as much as i enjoyed writing it and interacting with you all. Xoxoxo

@dinlukeweek @stardads

[enam3l]

rockstar eddie introducing reader to wayne for the first time? 🥺

uncle wayne’s seal of approval (rockstar eddie x reader)

1.8k words / pure fluff / one thing about me is imma drop something for this series with no warning like reply to a lovely request from december LMAO i am sorry anon, i hope you enjoy (finally!)

you can see all rockstar eddie x reader stories and lore at #enam3ls rockstar eddie or the masterlist! and check out my new series love, lola

Out of every part of Eddie Munson’s world you’d been invited into since meeting him almost four months ago, this was the most daunting. As the car crawled up the drive your heart hammered. Finally, you were meeting the most important person in Eddie's life - Uncle Wayne. 

The car comes to a halt. You knew all about Wayne's home already, being able to buy it for the man who raised him was one of Eddie's greatest achievements. It was rustic and homey, the pair had worked on it together; it mirrored their lives, something they accomplished by sticking together. Daunting was an understatement for how it felt to be introduced to Wayne. Eddie’s only parental figure and life long constant. The person he was adamant was the reason he made anything of himself. You never had anyone like that so you knew Wayne’s approval meant everything. 

‘He’s going to love you,’ Eddie grins. The boy is practically jittering in his seat with excitement about seeing his uncle after so many months. No matter what adventures and luxuries life granted Eddie, Wayne would always be home. You daren’t let your nerves dull his enthusiasm. His big hand takes yours, tugging you behind as he storms up the porch steps. The iron grip a giveaway of his giddiness, using you to ground him as if he were to float away. Before the row of rings you can list by heart, can rap at the door, it swings open and two identical smiles face each other. 

Uncle Wayne, you think, looks straight out of an old Western; like the weathered former sheriff, gruff but full of wisdom. A sun soaked wrinkled face with a touch of grey hair and a moustache you know based on photos has been present since the 50s. He’s a little stiff from a lifetime of hard work but he still opens his arms for his boy. It’s impossible not to smile seeing Eddie vulnerable for someone. Seeing there was one person he did let look after him instead of the other way round. After peeling off his eager nephew, sharp blue eyes find you. 

‘So… y’gonna introduce me to your lady friend here, boy?’ Wayne’s throaty voice drawls. 

‘This,’ Eddie declares and grabbing your hand, raising it like a prize, ‘is my girl. Wayne, I’d like you to meet Y/N. Y/N, this is my uncle Wayne.’

You’re unsure why you bow your head as if curtseying to royalty but this meeting is overwhelming. You’ve never met a parent of someone you’ve felt like this with before. You’ve never felt like this about someone before. 

‘It’s lovely to finally meet you Mr. Munson! Eddie is always telling me stories about you.’

Wayne chuckles, a hand even rougher than Eddie’s, warmly patting on you the shoulder.

‘Please, call me Wayne. Mr. Munson making me feel older than I already am, doll. An’ am glad the boy still remembers where he came from now he’s a big shot. Lord knows he don’t shut up about you when he calls.’

The revelation causes Eddie to squirm, cheeks turning the colour of the strawberry cake you baked for Wayne that you hand to him. A genuine look of shock passes his face as he takes the treat. 

‘Homemade and for me? She’s too sweet for you, Eddie. You casting spells in that dragon game to get this one?’ 

The dig causes you to chuckle along with Wayne as Eddie whines at his uncle. Taking the cake, your boyfriend slinks off in shame to the kitchen, insisting he’d rather not be in the room as you and Wayne mock him. 

‘Eddie told me the town used to think he was summoning the devil with that game. But you’re right, Wayne. I always assumed if he’d been doing magic it’d be to get girls or at least for a new Lord of the Rings book to be discovered.’ 

Wayne claps your back as he laughs gruffly again. 

‘Oh, you called the boys number there for sure, darl’. Hey, why don’t we go sit down and embarrass him some more with old photos.’ 

Upon entering the lounge, your surroundings indicate one thing, Eddie is Wayne's entire world. From the outside a weathered, gruff, working man but inside is a kind, selfless sweetheart. Above a sideboard, hung on the wall is a huge pinboard tilting from its mass of contents. Countless carefully cut posters, articles, reviews and photographs about Corroded Coffin. An entire archive of their career so far all collated in one place. The surface then littered in framed photographs of Eddie from childhood to the present day, a timeline of those growing curls. Between faded paintings of landscapes are framed tour posters and record sleeves.  

Wayne ushers you to sit down on the soft leather sofa as he juggles boxes off a shelf. 

‘I know jus’ what he’ll kill me for showing ya. Gareth once dared him to blow a bubble usin’ ten packets of gum. Had to sheer the fool like he was a damn sheep!’ 

A stack of boxes drop to the table and he thrusts a photograph into your hand. The incriminating photo makes you laugh too hard, that for a moment you worry you’ll pee on Wayne’s nice sofa. There with fury behind his big brown eyes, stands a gangly Eddie, no older than twelve with a freshly buzzed head that made him look like a cress egg. 

Thrilled at your reaction, Wayne continues to present you with more photographs. Each one with another silly or endearing story about the life of your boyfriend. Each another insight into the ridiculous man you adore. Eddie potters in and out of the kitchen, bringing you both drinks and slices of the cake. Hitting you both with exaggerated eye rolls and moaning despite the joy the sight before him instills. The two most important people in his life getting on better than he could ever have imagined. You, the girl of his dreams, enthralled just learning more about his past. Something he’s normally ashamed of but you’re enjoying. It further contributes to Eddie’s wondering that maybe you truly were the product of a conjured spell. 

Once Eddie ventures off to the store for supplies for the evenings barbecue, yours and Wayne’s conversations continue. Whilst flitting through piles of his archived photos, one folder flutters open. In its confines are collections of photos of a beautiful young woman, trails of dark curls and deep pools of chocolate eyes, identical to Eddie. Amongst the papers includes photographs of her holding a cherub faced newborn but also the booklet from a funeral service. Eddie’s Mom. Wayne flusters, unsure of what to do. His hands hover over the collection as he decides to tuck them away but you can help yourself but reach out and still his movements. 

‘I’ve never seen these pictures of his Mom before,’ you smile, ‘especially not when he’s a new born.’ 

Wayne turns to you, wide eyed. 

‘Y’know about her?’

‘Yeah,’ you reassure him, ‘I know everything.’ 

‘Everything, huh?’ 

The shadow of a smile appears on his face. Everything, he thinks, Eddie really spoke about it all. It was a first, Wayne knew for a fact no one else in his life knew all about his parents. Knew about his mom, what happened or why he ended up with Wayne. Eddie never liked to expose his true story, stuck to dropping small fragments that no one could piece together, never letting himself be vulnerable. Except with you. Wayne wonders if his nephew even realises himself just how big the implications of that were. Or if you even realise how monumental that step is for Eddie. 

‘He speaks about her a lot,’ you continue, ‘but if you don’t mind me saying, Wayne. It’s all you. You did an amazing job, you really raised the most amazing man. I think Eddie is the most special person I’ve ever met, truly. And that’s cos of you.’ 

The words form a lump in the old man’s throat, a sensation so very rare to him. Never in the years of raising Eddie has he received that acknowledgement or thanks by anyone but the boy himself. The situation was thrust upon him and he did what he believed was his duty but that wasn’t to say it wasn’t hard. Whilst never admitting it, Wayne sacrificed more than most people ever would for Eddie. Sacrificed some financial independence and the prospect of forming his own family but, Wayne stands by the choice. Now your words make him gladder than ever. 

‘Well, Y/N,’ Wayne snuffles, ‘don’t think there’s too many things you could say t’me that mean more. You’re a lovely girl, think my boy really got a miracle with you.’ 

It’s not long before Eddie returns, hollering at you both. 

‘We gonna barbecue or what, you two?’ 

Both you and Wayne share a tender smile, hands holding the other before joining Eddie in the kitchen. 

You nestle into Eddie’s side to peak at his grocery store haul, he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. 

‘Made sure to get your favourites, sweetheart,’ he admits. 

Revealing the packet before bopping you on the nose with it. 

‘Really? Thank you, baby,’ you beam and tip toe up to peck the sweet smile on his lips. 

‘No problem. You wanna do that saucey thing you do whilst me and Wayne set up the fire and grill?’

Nodding in agreement, you already begin to analyse the kitchen, ready to take over as if it’s your own. 

‘Wayne, you gotta taste this. Y/N makes a mean ass marinade!’

Wayne hums in appreciation as he takes in the domestic scene before him of his nephew doting over you in the kitchen. 

‘I believe ya if that cake was anything to go off. A natural chef. Think she’ll use this kitchen better than I have the whole time I been livin’ here.’ 

Eddie snorts as he squeezes your hips before meeting Wayne at the garden door.  ‘Alright, need anything sweetheart and we’ll be just outside!’

You’re quick to open the window looking out onto the garden and shout out. 

‘You better tie your hair up and wear gloves, Edward Munson, I’m not having you getting burnt and getting that hideous buzz cut again!’

‘WAYNE!’ Eddie wails, ‘you showed her those pictures?!’  You smirk to yourself as you continue to prepare the food, Wayne’s chortling audible from outside.  

Beside the workshop they built together, the two men chop firewood. 

‘Soo…’ Eddie starts. 

‘So?’ Wayne gruffs in return. 

‘So… do you like her?’ 

The older man stills, placing his saw down carefully. Looking into the hopeful umber eyes that whilst don’t match his own, are still that of his son’s. 

‘Well,’ he croaks, ‘I’d say outta everything you’ve ever done, Edward, she’s the best thing. And if y’don’t put a ring on that girl, then you’d be a downright moron.’ 

Eddie nods, not disagreeing with a single word. 

‘For once, Uncle Wayne, I think I’ll do what I’m told. I know it’s only been a few months but… she’s the one. I just know it.’ 

my taglist angels: @whoahoney@lukewearingbeanies @esme-viridian @elysian-chaos @munsonology@mseddiemunson @kreepja @midnightsgetawaycar

[elbiotipo]

completely random question, i was scrolling through the notes of a post about silly ttrpg stats (gumption, chutzpah, moxie, etc) for fun, which you reblogged about a year ago. you added a tag that said "there's an indie funk rpg set in the disco scene of the 60-70s that has these stats. one of the stats is just 'funk'". i am very curious about what rpg this is, because i googled around and couldn't find anything. if you happen to remember, i would love to know!

Oh, this ask took me on a trip!

I found it on 1d4chan, the wiki for 4chan's /tg/ board, the traditional RPG board. Which was rather more palatable than the rest of 4chan, and incredibly fun, with lots of homebrew settings. Unfortunately, it's defunct.

I thought it was lost forever, but it was saved in the Internet Archive!

It's called Joints and Jivers and it's based on 60s-70s funk, disco and martial arts B-movies. Disco kings and queens, kung-fu masters, hippies and bikers are all playable classes. Stats include hair (if you're bald, a moustache can count), boogie, and funk, in the words of the manual:

You can probably make ABBA or the Village People with the stats provided, as well as any kung-fu or action movie from the 70s-80s. It also came bundled with Modempunk, which is a short phreaking (phone hacking) RPG based on 80s movies like Hackers.

1d4chan had a lot of cool stuff, I need to do some digging and rescue stuff out from it.

[yallemagne]

I never talked about this on the 8th, I kinda just reblogged my one post about Dracula digging facial hair, but rereading Three Letters by BlueCatWriter reminded me of this internal connection I made in my head that I never saw anyone else bring up. Maybe they didn't bring it up because it's stupid, but I'm depressed, so I need something.

EDIT: fuckin bluecat wrote another fic where Dracula is being a pervert about the beard and now I'm even more depressed joiegrp

Anyway anyway anyone know about Peter the Great? The first emperor of Russia. He's regarded as "great" for looking at Western Europe and saying "... we should do that". One of the funniest Westernization routes he took was forcing the nobles to shave their beards because it was seen as very Slavic to have big bushy beards while men in the West shaved. Men who refused to shave were either physically forced to or made to pay a tax to keep their facial hair.

Now, Romania was not under the Russian Empire, it was split into Moldavia, Transylvania, and Wallachia, which were independently run for a time. And Romania is not a Slavic country by any means, it is more closely related to its Latin counterparts than to its Slavic counterparts. So, to be clear, I am not trying to make a comparison that is Slavic culture vs Western culture, because it wouldn't make sense.

It's a shaky comparison with my shaky outsider knowledge, BUT! Like Peter policed the nobles' appearances to strip them of their culture and replace it with Westernism, Dracula, by refusing Jonathan the ability to shave, strips him of his culture and replaces it with his own ideals about a man's appearance.

Attitudes towards facial hair are always fluctuating, but particularly after the Crimean War, I believe shaving grew more popular in England when soldiers who had to shave for hygiene reasons returned from the war. In general, if you were to have a beard, it was prudent for it to be more than just a little stubble (men growing moustaches would fill in their moustaches with makeup or wear a fake until they grew in completely) and you simply must keep it well-maintained! Like a little garden hedge on your face. Otherwise, you look like an unkempt slob.

So, apart from clean-shaven-ness being deemed more Western, it's simply a matter of pride for any man to style his facial hair or lack thereof however he pleases as a means of self-expression and personal hygiene. Dracula denies Jonathan that vehicle of self-expression and forces him into a state of dysphoria.

Tsk tsk all because he's into bearded men.

[inkivaarinensart]

Digging myself deeper into my infatuation with Jeremy Brett, found “The picture of Dorian Gray” (1976) where he plays Basil Hallward, and sir. Sir. I am looking respectfully. Sir. Your forearms. Your cleavage. That moustache.

[myimaginarywonderland]

Dantteri is so insane because you had both of them race each other in their junior career?

And when they got to their F1 team (you know RB and Mercedes) you had Daniel making digs or snide remarks about Valtteri and his performance. Valtteri couldn't be bothered and did not care for Daniel. When they shared a podium, Val literally tried to run away so he didn't have to do a shoey.

This significantly calmed down once he went to Renault. And it started to becoming a game of Daniel wants to get Valtteris attention. While Valtteri found his girlfriend, discovered hobbies etc. Daniel was out there making comments about his moustache, ass etc.

And not once did Vale really respond. And it just became so much worse once Valtteri went to Alfa Romeo. It's like by ignoring he became even more attractive to Daniel. That man was doing everything meanwhile Valtteri could not care less and probably would prefer 40% of the grid over Daniel's extrovert personality. Valtteri got himself a cute team-mate (Zhou) and basically dipped from the grid as soon as his bf (Lewis) or little brother (Zhou) didn't need him.

And now, we are at a point where the fandom is just ass insane about Dantteri as Daniel is about Valtteri. We are craving every interaction, framing photos of them together, waiting for a glimpse of crumbs, hell, I was out here manifesting them to be teammates (eventhough I am not a Daniel fan) 2 year ago.

We have truly come full circle.

[samuelroukin]

As a gift to you/your anons/proof I have no shame I guess, here's that GazPrice thing you were looking for:

It's strange, but Price's office has become one of Gaz's favorite places. There's a comfort to it, a familiarity, a feeling of belonging.

Price isn't like other officers, he cares about his men and what they can bring to the table, looks at him and talks to him like he matters, like he's not just a body in combat boots.

And Gaz loves it, treasures it, strives to deserve it. But he can't stop yawning, no matter how hard he tries to stifle it.

"Am I boring you, Garrick?" Price says, one lazy eyebrow raising as his hands move to light his cigar, clearly giving up on Gaz being able to manage a conversation. It's like being stared down by a lion, not knowing if he'll pounce or lay back.

"No, sir, I promise, it's just. I'm tired." It sounds weak to his own ears for all that it's true, because Gaz shares a wall with Soap and apparently he doesn't need to sleep and has enough lung capacity to both take Ghost's cock and yell at the top of his lungs about it, with filthy running commentary the whole time. Gaz never thought he'd resent the armed forces for drown proofing them.

"Is that right," Price says and it's not a question, and it turns over inside him, the bitterness of falling short. "It's just Soap-" and he can't stop even though he should he can't say these things, "he. Well, it's. Soap…"

"Is enthusiastic about his Lieutenant's attention?" Price says, nice and euphemistic with a smirk that is anything but, settling warm in Gaz's chest at the understanding.

"You don't know the half of it! They keep me up all night," Gaz says and it's a worse mistake.

Price's eyebrows dip in time with his moustache and he realizes with a lurch what that sounds like, what he's said, what he's accidentally implied.

"I mean, it's. Soap's loud, sir. Very loud. And… elaborate?" Gaz tries, digging himself deeper, feeling like a stupid schoolboy, blushing hard. He's military for fuck's sake, he should be able to talk about sex. Laugh it off. Even to Price.

"Is he now?" Price says, and Gaz can't help himself. He understands Soap a little better now, the way the tongue can run away on its own.

"It's all Yes, LT, right there and I'll be good, I promise, won't come until you say so long as you're inside me, I'll be a good boy for you and then-"

"He's anything but?" Price says, sounding even keeled again, laying back into his chair, nice and comfortable, relaxed enough his thighs splay. At least from what Gaz can see on his side of the desk.

"Yup," Gaz says, popping his lips out with it, trying to sound calm and cool and collected, not hot under the collar at the shit he's saying. Repeating.

"It would be funny, really, if it wasn't so filthy. He keeps using Ghost's rank, I think he likes it. Oh, sir," Gaz says and watches Price's eyes go dark, thumb and forefinger rolling his cigar. It's a joke, really, it has to be and he needs to stop, but Price is looking at him, steady and heady, and he keeps talking.

"Ghost isn't better, anyway," pauses, swallows, waits for Price's nod to finish, "Show me Johnny. Let me see those pretty eyes, sweetheart. Just. Like. That." It's a shit imitation of the Manchester accent, but he pitches his voice right, getting it deep and rough enough.

It must sound enough like him, because Gaz watches the way Price sits back, sprawls even further. Gaz needs to breathe deep, feels the way it pulses in his throat and between his legs, grateful his hands are in his lap and the desk between them.

"He likes sweet words, Ghost. Wouldn't have thought it. But it's all love and darling, with him. Especially when Soap's mouth is… full, if you get my meaning," Gaz says, suddenly shy without knowing why, biting his lip while he does, gaze drifting down to how the cigar rests on Price's full, lower lip, brown on pink.

"I do," Price says, lazy and kingly, puffing out slow smoke. "And I bet he likes the sweetness, Soap does. Makes being naughty all the better, I'd say," he adds and Gaz can't help the shiver, the way it rolls down to his hips, making them want to buck up into the hands he's trying to keep steady instead of curling where they shouldn't.

"S'in the way he says sir, too. Wants to be put back in line, in his place," Gaz says, without meaning to do it, trying not to gasp at Price's wink.

At the fact that, for all that he's joking, should just be poking fun, he's calling Price, his superior, sir in it too. Right to his face. Getting things all mixed up

"It's just words though. They mean nothing by it. They're solid," Gaz says, looking down at his hands, at the tent they're hiding, wondering if he'll be able to get away to relieve himself soon or if he'll have to wait and squirm and pray.

Price sighs out more smoke, drifting over to him.

"I'm sure they are, Kyle. I'm sure they are."

YEAH they're solid alright 👀 thank you for blessing us, now i don't have to 🙏

[ramcharantitties]

Accha lagta hai

Part 6- Nsfw!!

"Faster!" Y/n shrieked, walking in the kitchen. Ram turned around, the pitched voice showing clear signs of irritation. "Well the recipe says to cook on a low flam-" "Get lost with your low flame" she turned the stove knob up, only to be pulled back to low by her husband. "It will enrich the taste!" Ram said, going back to stirring the curry in pan. "Ram, please give it to me" Y/n leaned on the kitchen slab, earning a side eye from Ram. "You can eat alone of you want it so fast" Ram said monotonously. "If I could do it alone why would I need you" you replied, matching his tone.

Ram bit his lip, trying to hide his smile. Y/n noticed, raising eyebrows in question. "Your demands don't sound as if you need food" Ram's dimple made their way on his chin as he wiped his finger after tasting the spices in pan. You tried not to stare. "I am tired and I need some satisfaction so please just give me some-" before you could finish your sentence, Ram grabbed your hips by his arms, setting you on the kitchen slab. You yelped, holding onto his muscular back. "I don't think" Ram started to turn the stove off, "you need food" he looked in your eyes. "I do" you said, tasting the pan with your finger too. Needed more salt.

(nsfw under the cut)

"Well then we can eat after this" Ram's finger gripped in the skin of your waist, his moustache rubbing against your cheek as he kissed you. You moaned, your fingers finding their way from his broad shoulders to his hair. Ram breathed heavily, his lips moving to your neck next, leaving marks down your skin. You couldn't help but grind against his abdomen, not even space of a hair's width between you two. Your hand snaked down between your bodies, unbuckling his trouser. Ram felt your movement and pulled you closer, if possible, flush against him, nipping at your collar bone. You felt his hard on, softly grabbing the base and moving your hand in a repetitive motion. Ram huffed and moaned in your ear, turning you on even more.

It was only a moment of time till Ram could tolerate, soon getting impatient. He bunched up your saree layers around your thighs, sliding your inner lining down to your shins from where you kicked it off. Your legs were hooked around his waist, when he lined himself with your core. In a single thrust, Ram pushed himself in you, and settled there. You breathed the same air, your lips close. Ram started moving soon, rocking you on the kitchen counter. You threw your head back, your nails digging in his arms. Ram felt good. You moaned his name, the friction and pace making your mouth water. Ram stilled, grabbing the counter and you, then increasing his speed. Your moans got louder, whispers turning in audible whimpers. You shut your eyes close, waiting for Ram. Already set off by touching, it wasn't like Ram could last long. He grabbed your throat, your intoxicated eyes only pushing him. He thrusted a few times, when you both came undone. You shivered slightly, both from the sensitivity and the cool sweat.

(nsfw finished)

Ram pulled apart first, dipping the glass in a water container. He gulped a few times, setting the glass next to you. Your back ached from the hunger and the quick session. You hopped off the kitchen counter soon, as Ram fixed his clothes. He turned the stove on, when you finally had some water. "I'm hungry now" you muttered, resting your head on his arm. He chuckled, hugging your waist. "Dinner is coming right up."

--------------------------------

Tagging: @ramayantika @yehsahihai @nerdreader

[brw]

are there any dc character you read for or are interested in reading for :3

I recently read and finished Far Sector! I really like Jo, she's so fun. I loved how that comic blended her being very competent and very out of her depth, and the Blade Runner vibes of the whole thing were immaculate. Really really good stuff, I like her a lot.

I intend to get into Martian Manhunter sometime! J'onn seems like the kind of character I'll really like, got a certain vibe I can definitely latch on to. Unfortunately I lost the reading list a mutual gave me because I got blocked so 💔 but I will find another one I am sure!

Red Tornado I should probably read just cause... well, just look at him.

I picked up some of the issues of Zatanna: Bring the House Down and I'm interested in reading more of her! She seems really fun and cute, and her design is very cool to me also. Kind of want to edit her sometime so I might read more when I get on that 🤔🤔

Beatriz looks really fun, I like her vibe. Seems She-Hulk esque without the Hulk and I dig that, but that's my surface level reading of her. I read one random issue of JLI and her and Tora were cute in it so I like the yuri of it all.

I'm also attached to Matter Eating Lad, who I know is probably just a gimmick character, but as someone with pica I unironically am kind of into it. His autistic swag. Maybe he's just like me.

Ooo, who else. I like the vibe of Jay Garrick and his hat. Very Kirby-esque, and from what little I've seen of the Golden Age Flash comics, he seems very fun and silly. I like the vibe!

Black Canary seems cool, not sure if I'd read her specifically but I'd certainly check out some of her more pivotal appearances I think.

The Hawkpeople seem... complicated, but they also look cool! I like the design and tone of them, it all seems very tragic and romantic and I dig that.

I also read Absolute Batman, which I don't think I'll keep up with, but I did like it. Much like Johnny's moustache maybe it only takes Bruce Wayne being really big for me to like him.

[sailorsally]

one time dean and cas get busted at a crime scene so they do a beeline to the baby and dean digs deep in the trunk to find a disguise so they can still snoop around the crime scene later and when he finally dives back up with a plastic bag full of wigs and makeup cas is just standing there as he was - but with one hideous addition - he is wearing a fake moustache. "I'm ready, Dean." and Dean is about to laugh except - "Oh you are being serious?!" Cas squints causing the fake moustache to lift in a very fake way. "I've disguised my true identity with this very believable imitation of human moustache" "Oh no you definitely haven't." "I am virtually unrecognisable" "You are literally wearing the same trench coat you always wear, Cas!" "What is wrong with my trench coat?" Dean just shakes his head and goes abck to rummaging around the trunk again until "Aha! Here they are!" and the next thing a large plastic bag with a pile of clothes inside gets pressed into Cas' hands. "There is a cafe across the street. Go get changed" "..." "Dean there are ripped jeans in here." "Oh I know, baby! And I do a mean smokey eye too!"

[demenior]

Happy wip Wednesday. Today I offer you an older, unpublished piece I'm still obsessed with. I was trying to write it before the Fjorigins comic was released, but, alas. So it's non-canon.

Fjord and Vandran's first meeting. Sabian is there too.

--

“Stowaways,” Captain Vandran observes. He’s sitting behind a large desk in the captain’s cabin.

Fjord balls his hands into fists to keep them from trembling.

The captain looks to the man standing behind Sabian. The quartermaster, if Fjord heard him right.

“How the fuck did we get stowaways?” the captain has a deep drawl to his voice. He speaks in low tones, which make it sound like he’s not bothered. His sharp gaze suggests otherwise.

“Hell if I know,” the quartermaster shrugs, “I’ve got the men sweeping the brig, but I think it’s just these two brats.”

Vandran nods in agreement, and then focuses his eyes on Fjord and Sabian. He’s got such an intense gaze, that Fjord is certain that this man will kill them. His waxed moustache twitches as his lips curl into a snarl.

“The hell are you boys doing on my ship?”

Sabian’s looking at Fjord. Fjord isn’t sure what to say. He knows the zhelezo in Port Damali, knows what to say as a half-orc and an orphan to appease them into letting him go when he gets into trouble. Knows how to charm the matron at the Asylum into letting him stay just one more night, even though he’s too old to be living on handouts. And now he’s here, out on the open sea, and Fjord doesn’t know what to say.

“You’re Stones?” Vandran guesses. It’s not too hard a guess. Boys wearing ragged pants that are too short at the ankle. Shirts that are threadbare and stained with age. Sabian stole an open vest off a clothesline a few weeks back, but neither of them can afford another shirt or even shoes. They look like what everyone expects of the Asylum wards.

“We’re w-willing to work for passage,” Fjord says. His voice sounds high-pitched, a flighty bird compared to the steady force of the Captains’ drawl.

Captain Vandran sighs loudly, “And what use are two boys to me, Mr. Stone?”

This is the furthest Fjord has ever been from Port Damali and the first thing anyone knows about him is that he’s a fucking Stone.

“That’s not my name!” Fjord snaps.

It draws the captain’s full attention. Fjord squares his shoulders. Stares back.

“That is the name given to wards of the state, am I wrong?” the captain asks.

“It was given to me,” Fjord admits. His voice cracks, “but I don’t want it. My name is Fjord.”

Captain Vandran nods slowly. Looks to Sabian, but Sabian can’t hold his gaze.

“We can work,” Fjord says again. Sabian’s gone mute, so it’s up to Fjord to save them, “whatever needs doing—cleaning, cooking. I’m-- I know how to mend. I can sew. Or—or I learn fast. Whatever you need.”

The captain nods slowly, strokes a hand down his pointed beard. Looks up to the quartermaster again. Fjord turns his head to watch the silent conversation play out. He doesn’t know them well enough to read them. The captain is too stoic to gauge his emotions.

“Do you know what the policy is for stowaways, boy?” Captain Vandran asks.

Fjord thinks carefully, “They—they get reported to the zhelezo? When you dock?”

Vandran taps his fingers on his desk, “That’s what they say, yes. But how often do you think a stowaway actually makes it back to shore?”

Sabian whimpers. Fjord digs his fingernails into his palms. Thinks about all the kids at the Driftwood who caused too much trouble, and were “adopted”: never to be seen again. Thinks about slinking around the docks and staying near crowds so the zhelezo can’t use him as a scapegoat. He’s been one step ahead of a world that doesn’t want him his whole life. Fjord tries to convince himself that this threat is nothing new.

He’s also aware that you can only run for so long. Death only has to catch him once.

“Are you—are you going to kill us?” Fjord asks.

Captain Vandran stands up. Fjord’s heart leaps into his throat. The man makes his way around his desk without breaking eye contact. He stops in front of Fjord. Fjord can’t take his eyes off of him. He feels the same kind of shame that wells up in him when he’d be singled out for games of playing hero, when Fjord was always picked to play the monster the other children would kill. The kind of shame that can still bring tears to his eyes if he lets it. He won’t give anyone the satisfaction of making him cry ever again.

Captain Vandran stares at Fjord. Fjord balls his hands into fists. He’s tall, but he doesn’t have the same kind of muscle as working men. He can’t win this fight, but he’s going to give it his all.

Captain Vandran glances again to his quartermaster. The corner of his mouth curls upwards. One of his teeth is gold-capped.

“It’s a nice day. I’d hate to ruin it with some killing. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Dhelir?”

“Aye,” the quartermaster says, “bad luck to do something like that, with the weather as it is.”

“So Mr. Fjord. And Mr. Stone,” Captain Vandran says, “I’m not going to kill you. Not today, at least. While the weather, and my patience, still holds.”

Sabian sighs in relief. It comes out as a whine. Fjord keeps his eyes locked on the captain. There’s going to be a but, he knows it. The captain watches him right back.

“Get them some food. They look like they haven’t eaten in weeks,” Captain Vandran orders, “and then find them some work.”

Captain Vandran leans back, breaking away from Fjord. Fjord keeps his fists tight to keep from shaking. His chest aches like he ran a marathon, and he’s lightheaded with relief.

“Thank you,” Fjord hears himself say. Sabian has the sense to find his tongue again and blurts out a thank you as well. This has to be a trick. There’s no way this isn’t a trap of some sort.

Fjord can’t tell when the hammer is going to drop. But for now, he’s alive.

“Don’t make me regret it,” the captain orders.