#tagged john for mention

[swanxlegacy]

@thenightmareofyourdrems for stiles

distraction had engulfed the day. the headlines on area newspapers-- the campus paper too-- had been about another student missing. that was the trouble with dorms, they were public, not an owned domain. anything could get in, no invitation needed. parents wanted to pull some of their kids from campus, she couldn’t blame them. a part of her wanted her father as far away from seattle as possible, but she knew that wasn’t an option. he was as involved in this now as she was. dad’s text message had taken her from a lecture on shakespeare to contemplation of resources. the pack’s tracking ability provided no aid in seattle and a sea of humans under her father’s direction with experience in tracking the eldritch had little success in pin-pointing the red-head’s hideout. perhaps @myersbprd​ ‘s organization could do what they couldn’t, they certainly held the resources when it came to the occult. math class skipped and stray thought considers that she never used to have absences before forks. always responsible. she had loved her mother but bella had always been the adult of the duo. mature. determined in her academics. 

bag is gathered, switched out from her red truck in-between glasses. it didn’t matter she was in a city now or how poorly it ran at times, that truck was going to be with her until the day she died. funny how she had glossed over that meaning so readily once upon a time. so willing to become something more because she had allowed herself to become so consumed by the pull of someone that could so easily leave her. dad catches up with her, brings her a sandwich she eats on a bench with him as he tells her of the latest report. it’s going to hit the news by the next cycle. she’s late for class, that in-between time that finds one of the courtyards of the school fairly empty. she rushes after parting words and while there’s a rather large amount of free space on the sidewalk she manages to run right into a boy she’s fairly certain is in one of her classes. she falls and her bag spills across the ground scattering what looks like a police file a student shouldn’t have-- the name of one of the missing on it, two wooden stakes, a mini, foldable crossbow. she makes an excuse about a theater class but she’s not great at lying when her mind’s so scattered so she gathers her things and scurries away. 

she doesn’t go to class. 

she spends twenty-minutes in her truck in the parking lot before she notices the paper on the seat next to her. a smear of blood on the side of it. had she been more aware of her surroundings like her dad taught her to be, she’d have noticed the jeep that follows her truck when she drives away. she knows better than to do what she’s about to, knows she should have at least contacted her dad or one of the deputies that’s in the faction but she’s so incensed, perhaps a little over-confident, and so tired of other people put in danger over something that’s ultimately because of her that she surges ahead. her dad trained her and she knows victoria isn’t going to make an appearance herself. she’s toying with her. victoria’s fledglings are nothing more than a means to an end and now bella’s going to have more blood on her hands. blood that never seems to wash off because yes, in the state the fledglings are in they are killing, it’s kill or be killed for anyone in their path, but they hadn’t chosen to become what they were made to be. they hadn’t chosen to become pawns in a horrific game that bella wanted nothing to do with. a game that she had been left to face by the people that had once proposed to protect her. now she needed to protect herself. 

warehouse is dark. the creeping realization that she’s allowed herself to be particularly stupid this time, when she wasn’t stupid, is ever-present when fog seems to drift through the indoor space. that was new. they usually lacked the control needed to use those kinds of powers. hand tightens around stake, she whips around and pushes the person behind her into the wall with the stake inches away from their chest before she stops, lowers it confused. “what the hell-- you shouldn’t be here. why would you follow me?” this was bad. and she didn’t even know bad’s name. god, she was so done with being followed, watched. 

[soosoosoup]

rewatched treasure planet

[ultravioletness]

gay knights and dames collages part two

[hiding-in-my-blanket-fort]

In case anyone needed this reminder:

Your fav COD man does not get off on your pain during sex. Ever.

So much of male-dominated language involving sex glorifies a woman's pain for his pleasure. She's expected to "just take it".

Your fav COD guy does not want that when he's with you. And if you've come to think of it as normal - because of previous experiences, because that's what everyone tells you, because you don't want to make a fuss and disappoint him, whatever the reason - he'll put a stop to it and have a serious talk with you about it.

These men have seen and experienced horrible shit in their lives.

You are their safe space. Their home. The one person they feel like they can be truly vulnerable with in a world that has made them battle-rough with scars, misery, and grief.

They want you to stay soft with them. They want you to have the safety of completely pure pleasure. They never ever want you to force or endure anything, let alone for their sake.

If it's a kink you're into, that's a different story.

But if you're not into it, your fav won't go anywhere near it. They won't pressure you to "just try it, maybe you'll like it". It's completely off the table, never to be mentioned again, and they'll be sure to lavish you in all the things you really love to show that you can relax with them.

Just as you have allowed them to lower their guard and let down their walls, they will do the same for you. When you are with them, you are safe in every sense of the word.

[butchsaint]

[ohgeesoap]

Soap's journal entries concerning dogs. Typed out under the cut in case they're difficult to read.

Consider me a cat man now.

We overcame ultranationalists, chopper crashes, danger close with gunships, but a goddamn dog is what'll get me into an infirmary? Rabies, ridiculous. What a waste of time. Obviously can't tell Price or Gaz. Nikolai seems capable of keeping a secret. Probably keeps vials of vaccine vaulted with manifest intel, secretive bastard.

--

And no, I haven't exactly been on my booster shots. Think Nikolai said every two years but didn't think I'd be back in Russia so bloody soon. So yeah, was happy to follow Price and Roach over the net. Not just because it meant I was far from the mutts, but because I got to listen to the two of them working together like we once did. There was the same option: take out the target or let them him pass. Nice to hear Price taking Roach under his wing. Know the effect it can have.

[pippynsworld]

[lishenkaaa]

i think something we sometimes ignore when we talk about tlt's themes of love is its incredible focus on familial love, like the books' romantic and sexual themes are very clear but also it truly is a series that questions what a family is from the very beginning. gideon's lack of both a biological and chosen family (at least in her eyes) and harrow's almost decade-long attempt at maintaining the illusion of one in gtn. the fifth and the fourth, filling in the missing parts of their own families with each other. coronabeth, ianthe and even naberius' entire deal. the focus within silas and colum's dynamic of their biological compatibility as a necro/cav pair. john's desire for a daughter in harrow and then discovery of one in gideon, as well as pyrrha's desire to find out why her kid had to die only to find out 1) not her kid, 2) didn't die originally, 3) still died in the end. nona and pyrrha and pal and cam, which tazmuir herself has specifically highlighted we should question if it even counts as a family at all, but has also made sure we know they loved each other anyway. kiriona as her mother's daughter and her father's son but ultimately neither and how it kills her even as a corpse. and anastasia, the series' godot who despite making no appearance is felt in its every corner, who pyrrha painted a nursery with and who started the lineage that opened the legendary tomb.

can't wait to see how this is all explored in atn, especially when nona's family is only a "dress rehearsal" for the real horrors of love.

[justscrolllling]

Little Dory pt: 3

First —> Next (soon)

Branch is feeling things about their predicament at the moment, bc our boy is still processing stuff <3

Little Dory seems to be doing pretty well with the situation and is enjoying his time with his ‘new’ brothers!

And Clay and Floyd are trying to keep their cool and just roll with it as to not concern Little Dory or Branch.

(Cough, cough, off in the distance a very large boat with a small passenger makes it to shore just as the hugtime bracelets chime noon. Our little passenger eagerly steps off and heads towards pop village, excited to see his brothers after a couples weeks away…) 😉

Dude I swear my art style shifts every time I draw- I JUST REALIZED I FORGOT CLAY’S ARM WARMERS NOOOOO-

Also I can’t draw branch for some reason 🥲

Also should I start linking the little (heh) comics together? Like adding a link to the next part?

Lastly please excuse any spelling mistakes!

Anyway have a good night everyone! :D

[merrysithmas]

how john and paul referred to their music as "their children" - last night i was watching some old interviews on youtube and john referred to eleanor rigby as "paul's baby but i provided the education"

like the way they cleverly rigged the legal system into marrying them as Lennon/McCartney via business & the way they referred to their music as their children (and the breakup of their legal musical partnership as a literal Divorce) ~~

it's just so big 1960s vindictive queer galaxy brain and deserves an award

[pfhwrittes]

oh god here we go. alright read the fucking warnings. 

TW: noncon, somnophilia, male masturbation, spit, facial, alcohol mention.

pairing: john “soap” mactavish x female reader

word count: 966 words of smut.

AN: this is @kaadaaan's fault. also i wrote this all in one go with minimal editing because my brain was being rotted and i needed to get it out. poor grammar and typos are likely, for that i apologise.

johnny is your friend, he’s been your friend for a long long time and as such he has a key to the door to your house to use and your blessing that he can just drop in whatever time he likes when he’s on leave. it’s not uncommon for you to come downstairs in the morning to find him sprawled out on your sofa wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, one foot planted on the rug under the sofa and the other hanging off the armrest. 

he’s larger than life, your johnny. the other half to your brain sometimes. jokingly referred to as your brother from another mother. you love him, but only as a friend. despite that, he’s got a key to your house and a piece of your heart because you know he’ll never do anything to hurt you.

johnny on the other hand doesn’t love you like a sister. he loves you with a capital L and something feral behind his eyes. his smile always goes a little too sharp whenever you crack that “joke” that you love him like a brother because he knows if you knew the way he’d been thinking about you for years you’d have locked up your heart and house tight instead of inviting the wolf to stay. 

-

that obsession is how he ends up in this position, just like he has countless times before, standing like a sentinel at your bedside. the only light to see your gorgeous face is the streetlight that curls probing fingers through the thin curtains of your bedroom window. you’re beautiful like this. he honestly doesn’t know how his gaze hasn’t woken you yet, surely you can feel the way he traces every shadow and highlight on your face. surely you can feel the way he stares at your open mouth, driven to madness by the slight spit at the corners of your mouth. fuck it’s almost too much for him. but still he stands frozen, just watching. never touching. not until tonight.

you’d both been drinking. johnny had switched to water part way through the night, you hadn’t and so with johnny’s help you’d stumbled up the stairs to your room and passed out flat on your back. not terribly unusual, he’s seen you do it before when you’ve been drinking. he’s heard your snoring through the walls before. but tonight is different. 

later, when he creeps down the stairs to slump onto the sofa, he’ll blame the lingering buzz of alcohol in his blood for daring to do what he’s thought about for so long. but right now, he’s staring at your open mouth watching a faint glimmer of light hit your wet pink tongue and fisting his cock over your sleeping face. grateful for the fact that you always sleep like the dead when you’re drunk and nothing except the world ending could possibly wake you. 

despite the reassurance that you won’t wake - can’t wake - the sound of his hand moving over his cock is loud in his ears. he’s sure the slick noises are drowning out even the gentle open mouth snores you offer into the air. he positive that in mere moments your eyelids will flicker open and you’ll look up at him, your corrupted sentinel, to see the way he’s gripping his cock desperately. his hips jerking in aborted thrusts as he thrusts into the tight fist he’s made around himself.

a groan slips through johnny’s gritted teeth as his thumb swipes another bead of precum over the flushed head of his cock. 

fuck. 

if he doesn’t slow down he knows without a shadow of a doubt he’ll end up coming on your sleeping face. a spurt of precum dribbles from his cock at the thought. oh fuck. he wants that. he wants to come on your face. he wants to let the thick white ropes coat your cheeks and chin. maybe even cover your open mouth with some of his come so you wake up with the taste of him on your tongue. 

johnny’s hips jerk forward as his orgasm blindsides him completely. his eyes roll back into his head and he whines desperately through his nose, teeth sinking into his lower lip to trap the moan that's burning his throat. 

moments or maybe aeons later, his vision clears and he looks down at you. 

“fuckin’ hell” it’s whispered, part reverence for the sight that greets him, part fear of waking you prematurely. 

your face is covered. johnny’s come drips from your cheeks. it slides down the curve of your jaw onto your neck where it pools, glimmering in the low light, before dribbling onto your pillow. a pearlescent string clings to your top lip and then - and johnny swears he feels his cock twitch out another dribble at the sight - you lick it off.

johnny takes a step backwards from you on shaky legs. he needs to leave, now. if he doesn’t, christ he doesn’t know what he’d do to you. he doesn’t want to find out how far the depths of his depravity go. he doesn’t want to know if he could get away with scooping some of his come off your chin and pushing it into your mouth. he doesn’t want to know if that would be enough for the taste to linger in the morning when you wake up.

with one last lingering look at your face he tucks himself back into his boxers and leaves you. covered, marked, his. 

-

in the morning you wake with blurry eyes and a thick head. god you’d really had too much to drink last night. you smack your lips together and frown at the taste in your mouth. it’s sour and slightly musky. 

oh well, you must’ve fallen asleep with your mouth open again.

[minecr-afton]

my fnaf fanart that i will post with zero context whatsoever

[brookbee]

David Bowie talking about John Lennon, 1983

[breadtheend]

Dumbass has no identity and serves no purpose but to die again and again lmao

Bonus Doodle:

*yes it's misspelled my bad :|

[1343-40]

He finds out Brady is gay. Well— Brady tells him, compelled by something as the both of them escape the chaos of the lounge room their teammates have taken hostage and settle on the back porch, heads thrown over the back of the sofa to watch the starry sky. Gale is silent for a long time, at a loss for words. He wouldn’t have guessed—he doesn’t know any other gay guys in the league, always shied away from the opportunity to find out, to seek them out. Not like there’s a fucking group chat he could join, anyway, just a careful word of mouth at best, one Gale has carefully steered clear from in his attempt to avoid self-sabotage, utterly futile in the end.

He doesn’t end up telling Brady what he would’ve two years ago, when the tone of Brady’s voice when talking about Blakely finally starts making sense. Doesn’t think Brady would appreciate it, anyway. He must’ve seen something in Gale, to take a gamble this risky. So Gale tells him he’s gay too, even though he suspects Brady already knows. He vaguely hints why he didn’t get re-signed with the Jets—figures Brady deserves to know. In response, Brady gets weirdly passionate about it, in his own way. Tells Gale he has his back, says fuck ‘em more times than necessary, but Brady’s drunk and Gale would feel bad making fun of him. He tells Brady he has his back, too, blushes embarrassingly when Brady places an arm around his shoulder and squeezes and doesn’t let go. He’s eternally thankful Brady is still staring at the sky and doesn’t notice—Gale feels too naked, bare under the weight of the confession, too unused to sharing this part of himself with people.

Curious, Gale asks him about Blakely and watches the way Brady’s usually impassive face transforms. Wonders, distantly, if he would look the same if somebody asked him about Bucky.

They spend the rest of that evening shittalking past teammates that never grew out of saying faggot and calling things gay, until one of their defense rookies finds them and tells them there’s a mandatory game of Monopoly starting in ten minutes.

Gale puts a hand on Brady’s shoulder when Quinn leaves and they muster up the strength to get up. He gets enveloped into a tight hug, immediately. He laughs, tells Brady that he’s too drunk and Brady agrees with a scoff, slaps him on the back one last time and promises not to steal any districts from him with a smirk.

- another excerpt from the running out of guts to spill. @swifty-fox sold me on brady/blakely so hard i had to include them lol. are brady’s feelings mutual? guess we’ll never fuckin know (we’ll know. we’ll for sure know. i’ll shoehorn it in idc. what the fuck is this ship. douglass i’m sorry for stealing your boyfie)

[wonderlandsakura]

Ok for some reason my brain is hyper focusing on Johnlock again like I won't regret it 2-3 business days from now when I come out of it with 5 new open AO3 tabs (out of my already 156 open AO3 tabs not counting other unfinished/unread fic/fic I've not caught up on, full disclosure) for fic that I probably won't finish reading and/or while being unable to find the. Very Specific. fic I want to read and just having like an open half-filtered tab... But Anyway.

Here's a Very Rare Johnlock Post from me lol

Imagine after all the seasons are over and Johnlock are old and have finally talked about their feelings and properly, actually, gotten officially together

(and subsequently gotten married in like 2 months cause Sherlock filled out the paperwork while John was not actually at home and then actually having a discussion about it when John finds out it happened cause Sherlock casually mentions it and actually agrees after Sherlock mentions (read: steamrolls over him, anxiously) them practically already being married by common law and just officialising it for the tax benefits... they only have a proper wedding, maybe on their/an anniversary when Mrs Hudson finds out probably 6 months later or sth and complains,, but I've gone on a tangent again)

Anyway Rosie is a teenager, with after-school activities and a phone.

I'm just imagining Sherlock dragging John out on a murder case (read: date) and deciding to feed him midway through (like always, tbh,, sth sth that post about feeding the depressed man that tends to forget to eat but I digress)

So Rosie gets a text and a voicemail from the two of them (cause Sherlock prefers to text and tell me John is not the sort to leave voicemails, like he would have put it on the voicemail machine if they had one he's so old man sometimes)

And it goes something like:

[Text from Papa]

Ragù Bolognese, Angelo's, 7pm. Hugs. -SH

[Voicemail from Dad]

"Hi honey, it's Dad.

Sorry we won't be able to make it to dinner with you, your father's got a case and you know how he gets...

Anyway, Mrs Hudson is going out tonight remember, so your Papa is booking the usual table at Angelo's for you... You still like the Spaghetti Bolognese right?

Don't worry about us, we'll eat before we get home. And the reservation is at 7, so don't be late. This will probably take a while so don't wait up either and go straight to bed young lady, you hear me?

Anyway I've got to go, loveyoubye."

Anyway I think it would be very cute, like they love and care about her, even if they're old men who laugh at crime scenes and whose ideal date is trying to catch a murderer together, and they show it by taking a moment to make sure she's fed with her favorite food even when they're busy solving crime, so yeah.