#''Men I Trust''

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Two VERY different approaches to history and memory: ft. Eternal Duo

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

i vote that next year instead of reading Dracula we do a Jeeves & Wooster Book Club. those two never got the rabid tumblr shipping fandom they deserved (disqualified for the sheer technicality of being published a century too soon). we must correct this injustice

[strawberrygardenkisses]

Bonus if you list them in the tags!

[nothatsmi]

Good morning. Can I serve you anything? Coffee, tea, whiskey?

I'm posting that after Kevin's morning routine post cause it makes sense.

The sad thing is that I would have made Muse animatics on them if I didn't have that much work. I swear some of their song fit so well (especially Undisclosed Desires and Newborn, for those who know), I'm probably gonna have to something about it eventually.

I have to notice the domesticity they're soaked in once they move in together, it's just so easy to picture...

[inquisitor-apologist]

Thinking about how, at the end of the day, at the fatal moment, the sunset of the Republic, it wasn’t Yoda, or Obi-Wan, or even the Chosen One himself standing in the way of Palpatine. It was Mace Windu.

Mace Windu, the inventor of Vaapad and Master of Form VII, the Jedi's strongest duelist, the only person to ever defeat Palpatine in combat. Mace Windu, Master of the Jedi Council and the youngest Master ever appointed to it, the revered leader of the Order. Mace Windu, who forgave even those who tried to kill him, who risked his life over and over again for his troops, who, after 3 years of desperate war, tried to negotiate with battle droids. Mace Windu, who knew the clones were created by the Sith and chose to trust them, who saw every Shatterpoint in the Republic, and loved it still, and fought for it until his last breath, until he was betrayed by Anakin, who he believed in and trusted despite everything.

Mace Windu, High General and hero of the Republic, the embodiment of the Light, the last and greatest champion of the Order, the best Jedi to ever live.

[almondpiglet]

local con man flirts with multiple terrorist organization members

[bakubunny]

denki is the first to admit he gets so pussy drunk on you that sometimes it’s hard to focus on your pleasure. if he’s honest, he feels a little embarrassed about that even though you’ve told him time and again that you love how much he needs your pussy. in fact, you’ve done the courtesy of reminding him more than once that you feel more pleasure and satisfaction when he lets go and fucks you, even if it means he ends up fingering his cum into you until you’re shaking for the first time that night.

still, sometimes he’s self conscious that he’s not like kirishima or bakugo; he’s heard stories once or twice about how kiri’s stamina is unmatched, and bakugo can easily go multiple rounds without blinking. but denki? while he might have size working in his favor, he’s always been a “one and done” kind of guy, and his stamina doesn’t rival the gods. he figured out a while ago that he wanted a solution for that, and he’s certainly found one or two.

denki’s big, soft, manicured hands have made you cum harder than you ever have with anyone else, the way he curls them just right as he rubs against the sweet spot of your soft walls. his long, thick fingers massage and tease tender places inside of you in ways that make your limbs go weak as your head spins. and gosh, seeing his eyes twinkle with pride the first time he successfully made you squirt all over his hand was almost as euphoric as the orgasm itself.

he also has surprising amount of skill and patience with his head between your thighs. he’d stay there all night if you let him. and the way he whimpers and groans when your fingers are tightly wound in his hair, your hips grinding into his face is sometimes all it takes to push you over the edge. you’ll never forget the first time you really sat on his face and pushed your hips into him; he came so hard that a little bit of his cum hit your ass and you hadn’t even touched his dick yet, which soon left you shaking in return….

denki may not be like his two best friends, but he will make damn sure he worships your body, that he still leaves you moaning his name as he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re completely spent.

gremlins: @callm3senpaii @arlerts-angel @dcsiremc @darkstarlight82 @bookcluberror @breadandbutter33 @i-literally-cant-with-this @she-who-writes-for-multi-fandoms @rinalouu @stvrfir3 @r4td0lll @emmab3mma

if you’d like to be added to my tag list, let me know. ♡

[loronoazoro]

Not really a spoiler but one of my fav parts of film red was when Jinbe asked why they were wearing weird clothes and Usopp explained, and Zoro was just like “oh THATS why we’re dressed like this.” Man didn’t even question it. Truly the king of putting on whatever shirt gets thrown his way. 

[ihavebadtasteinmen]

[charles-jpg]

charles leclerc & max verstappen | il predestinato & the inevitable

1. unknown / 2. hanif abdurraqib/ 3. leonardo da vinci / 4. unknown / 5. yves olade / 6. joan tierney / 7. alice oseman

[iceman-soup]

amab reader x bot!ghost

It took years for Simon to trust you enough for this. It was a slow process, neither of you rushing, instead taking your time with your relationship: building it up over time, his and your confidence gradually raising with each new thing - small kisses, hugs; then eventually occasionally making out, regular cuddles.

But this? You'd thought about it, sure - but you couldn't quite believe it was actually happening until your lips were on his in your bedroom, hands delicately on his waist as if terrified he would break. Cautiously slipping under his shirt, pulling it over his head slowly to give him time to yank it right back on again if he needed. Eyes open, watching him slump back against the wall as his gaze follows you dumping his shirt on a nearby chair, then taking off your own and chucking it on top. His balaclava crumpled on the floor next to it.

"This alright, love?" you check. One hand moving to cup his cheek, the other hovering in mid air - unsure what to do. Ghost doesn't respond. His eyes are fixed on the carpet; scared. "You wanna stop, Si?" You shove your hands in your pockets.

His head snaps up, stare suddenly on you, laced with curiosity and still, slightly hidden away, fear. "No." His voice is blunt yet whispered, and he tilts his head slightly, "do you? We- we can, if y' want."

Your heart beats in your chest, trying to read his face. You shake your head. "Need you to be comfy, sweetheart," you insist, tentatively moving your arms to wrap around his waist, studying his reaction, "tell me what to do."

He hesitates, leaning into you, chest to chest as he lays his head on your warm, bare shoulder. Your fingers run absentmindedly up and down his back, tracing various scars like you have a million times before. His lips press to your neck, pausing a second more. Simon kisses your flesh, open mouthed and nipping a little, hands in your hair as he leaves a trail of marks up to your jaw, where you turn your head to capture his lips with your own.

"Gonna show me instead, pretty boy?" you murmur against his mouth, and he chuckles quietly; genuine, soft laughter for only your ears to hear. He brings you both together again, tongues in each other's mouths as you stumble towards the bed, clumsily sitting down on it with him straddling you.

Your hands drift to hold his belt, fingers skimming his body so he knows they're there; he breaks away for a bit to look down at you undoing it and his trousers, lifting himself up onto his knees so you can attempt to shimmy them down his hips.

"Stand up, love," you instruct gently, and he does, allowing you to take off his trousers and throw them on the chair - then doing the same with your own again. You'd seen each other in only boxers before, to change or go to bed, but this was different; of course it was.

"You're hard," he comments as if it's normal conversation. Taken slightly aback, you look down at yourself through the fabric then glance over at him.

"So are you," you grin, sitting back down on the bed, "want me to help with tha-"

"Yes."

Simon steps over to you, leaning down to kiss you again - slightly desperately, you note - and tugs a little at your hair. You hold his thighs, breaking away from his face to press small, loving kisses to his stomach and hips, your lips against the soft fabric of his boxers as you kiss his thighs. He doesn't make a sound other than slightly heavy breathing, but his hands massage your head, holding you close to him as if you're the sun on a cold, dark day.

You run a thumb between his skin and the waistline of his boxers, looking up at him. "Can I?" Waiting til he nods, then taking them off; noticing how he doesn't look down as he crawls properly onto the bed.

"Yours," he whispers simply, gesturing with a glance. You nod once, taking yours off too, shuffling to sit nearer to him, a hand on his chest as you lean in, kissing him deeply.

"Gonna prep you, okay?" you kiss his cheek, reaching for the lube on the side table and putting some on two fingers. "One at a time, and you say if I'm going too fast or anything, yeah?"

He lies down a little, tentatively spreading his legs; your heart skipping a beat realising how how vulnerable he feels right now. You open your mouth to reassure him, but he shuts you up by taking your clean hand in his own and giving it a light squeeze. "Ready," he murmurs, face turning red as you gradually push a finger into his hole.

"Relax, Simon," you coax, your index halfway in him as he holds your hand a little too tight for you to know he's comfortable. "You're okay, baby, promise."

Ghost cracks open one eye, staring at you. Relaxing - just a tiny, tiny amount. His voice is husky and shy. "Hurts."

"It'll feel better in just a minute, sweetheart." Reassure him. Kiss the scar on his ribs. Wait until he calms down then ever so gently pushing the finger in all the way; thumb stroking his knuckles when he groans quietly.

You're endlessly patient, letting him take as long as he needs to to adjust before topping up the lube on a second finger and carefully easing it in, pressing delicate kisses to his jaw and muttering praises in his ear; "doing so well, baby. Won't go faster than you want me to, love."

He rewards your care with half-held back moans and grunts, eyes opening every few moments just to check it's still you, hips bucking a little when he's ready for a third finger. And you give it to him, hesitating when he lets out one small sob; but then he whines a quiet "please," free hand nudging your arm to let you know it's alright.

Working gently to scissor him more than loose enough, terrified at the idea of hurting him, reassuring him it's okay when he asks if he can touch himself using as few words as possible. Easing him onto his side when he's prepped properly, facing each other cuz you know he'd hate any other position.

You put lube onto your cock; he watches, cuddling his head into your shoulder and his hands now tracing patterns onto the skin of your chest. You kiss his cheek, forming eye contact.

"Are you sure you want this?" You check, making sure he actually thinks for a moment before nodding. Your lips connect with his and you pull your hips together, groaning as he uses his own hand to put your dick into him. Giving him time to adjust before he's kissing your neck impatiently, big arms tenderly wrapped around you and little whimpers leaving his mouth that he needs you to move.

Rocking your hips into him, mixed moans filling the room, making sure to comfort and praise him and remind him to take care of himself as well. When he does, he's quick to cum all over yours and his stomachs, whining and pulling your bodies even closer.

"You want me to pull out when I cum, Si?" you ask, not stopping as you tilt his chin up to face you. He nods, smiling softly at being given the option. You slide out of him, kissing away his half-hearted complaints until you groan and thick white ropes of cum spurt from your cock, mixing with his on both your bodies, leaving the two of you panting and holding each other, sharing kisses every few seconds.

After several moments of just lying there, Simon grumbles and shifts uncomfortably. "'M all sweaty," he huffs, nuzzling his face into your chest even so. You run a hand through his hair, thinking. He pipes up again. "M' legs all shaky." You smirk knowingly.

"Want me to carry y-" he cuts you off with an eager nod. Cheeky bastard didn't even let you finish the sentence. Nevertheless, you haul his large frame into your (thankfully) strong arms, taking him into the bathroom and setting him down on the edge of the tub. "Bath?" He shrinks into himself a little at the exposure, but hums in agreement. Still vulnerable. Still scared.

You turn on the taps, getting the right temperature before sitting on the bathmat on the floor. Si slides down to curl up in your lap, clinging to you and scattering kisses along your jaw. When the bath is full enough, you let him get in after you. Keep him feeling secure. You hold his hand to steady him as he steps into the water and lays down. Cradle him in your arms, palming water through his hair and washing the half-dried cum off both your bodies.

Towelling yourself off afterwards as he does the same with his own; looking away when he asks you to. Changing into soft pyjamas that make him look as if he was never military at all, just your sweet, pretty Simon who loves you so, so much. He leads you by the hand back to bed, helping you quickly change the sheets before crawling under the duvet, cuddling up, his head snuggled into your chest.

[ohitslen]

Promises

He should know better. 

Wolfwood has seen Vash make promises, or hear about the ones he has made in the past. He has also seen the end of each one and how every single time the outcome is less than what was promised. 

Vash likes to say embellished words, with a soft and determined voice that lures you into his hopes and dreams, it almost feels like a spell, as if he was calling for you to come closer and believe him. But Wolfwood knows better.

He believes in him, but Vash is much closer to being an idealistic dreamer than a realistic person like he is. He might not be aware of it, but his beautiful promises of a better future give people hope, a hope that is usually embraced with things like disappointment and abandonment. 

He doesn’t think that Vash does it with the intent of looking for any of those things. Far from it, he might even do the impossible in order to accomplish said promises, but life is too short and humans are too mortal for his wishes, so in the end, most of Vash’s promises end up being empty or they come to haunt him as a reminder of his failed vows. He admires the man, for his perseverance and idealism, but he also hates the man, for his stubbornness and lies. 

Wolfwood knows all of this perfectly to a tee. And yet, he has also found himself being drawn to his world. Because he also dreams of it.

A world in where his always present calls for love and peace exist, a world that is far more kind than what he might deserve, a world in where the kids can be happy and roam around without any worry in their heads, a world in where he can peacefully turn grey with age and his hands can shed the harsh callouses of his life. Who knows, maybe a world in where he and Vash can finally know the peace that was taken away from them, in where they can share the calmness that comes with the passage of time, indulging in every tick of the clock welcoming with open arms whatever comes their way without any fear.

It is a beautiful promise. But Wolfwood is a person that has to keep his feet on the ground, indulging in “what ifs” would only make things harder than what they had to be. He can’t have any ifs if he can’t make it through the now. And by the way he is carrying his present, he is doubtful he will even get to see a shed of that promised world that Vash tries to drag him into. So why mourn something he doesn’t even have, or will ever have for that matter.

He hates the way Vash seems to promise things so easily. His tongue silky and pliant, slipping divine words one after the other, promises way too big for what that barren world can actually fit. 

But when Vash talks to him in that holy voice of his, when he hears him say “It’s okay, everything will be alright, I promise” so gently right on his ear, while he holds his face so tenderly making him focus on him and nothing else, he wants to believe him.

He has seen the end of his promises. He knows how impossible they are. But for once, he wants to believe it too. Believe in that loving world that will cradle them both until they fall asleep, listening to the soft sound of the wind laughing while the moons smile upon them. 

So he allows himself to indulge in the warmth of his palms, leaning into the comfort of his existence, feeling the soft air of Vash’s breaths against his skin while their foreheads meet in a touch that feels like a hot brand that will melt him.

For an instant, he allows himself to be selfish and believe that maybe, that is how living in that world Vash so desperately fights for would be. Soft and warm, making him feel safe in the hollow of Vash’s hands where the world seems to fit so well. A world where the blue sky is a blanket that covers the love and care that is nestled in it like the one in Vash’s eyes. He wants to see that world.

For now, he will selfishly think that the world that fits in Vash’s hands is right there in where he is holding him, where his blue eyes are drowning in the light of the sunset dripping with love and care while looking at him, that the gentle touch of Vash’s thumb wiping his tears is the same as the kiss of that laughing wind in that distant future, where the smile of his eyes overcomes the smile of the moons.

He should know better. But he loves the thought of that world. And he hopes that Vash will get to see that world, because that gentle sight is more fitting for someone like him than the one of his violent world.

He promises to himself that he will do what it takes for that day to be possible. Even if the end of that promise will be empty for Nicholas, he knows it will be a full one for Vash. So it really isn’t that empty for him after all.

He hates his lies, and he hates how true they sound, but Vash’s embellished words are far sweeter than his bitter thoughts so they feel better on his insides, almost like a balm that cares for the wounds of his throbbing, painful reality.

He should know better.

But aren’t humans weak at the promise of love?

[thisismisogynoir]

I love it when women hate men. I love it when women are allowed to vent to each other about how horrible and creepy men are. I love it when women form friendships with and prioritize each other over relationships with men(whether they're attracted to them or not). I love it when women put men dni in their bios and on their nude photos and on posts on their blogs. I love it when women refuse to mollycoddle and accommodate entitled male feelings with "but this doesn't mean I hate all men, I know a few men who are great, I love my father/sons/brothers/uncles/male cousins/guy friends" I love it when women complain about men WITHOUT "not all men" being a disclaimer. I love it when women avoid socializing with/refuse to be around/befriend/get close to men because they know men can't be trusted. I love it when women make "kill all men" jokes. I love it when women offer absolutely no concern or care for men's feelings and if their misandry offends men whatsoever because why should we, men are the oppressor class who have raped and killed and abused us and kept us as subjugated as second-class citizens for millennia, they regularly mistreat us and the women in their own marginalized communities still every single day and make this world so much harder and more awful for us to be in, and if we choose to hate them and not spare them any sympathy then so be it, and I don't just mean "men as a class" either, you can be a woman who doesn't want to have anything to do with any man on an individual basis and completely cuts off men from her personal life too and ykw I will love and fucking support you in that because men deserve absolutely NOTHING from us. If they're so tough and strong then they can handle it just like they can handle being lonely. If you are a woman who hates men, ESPECIALLY IF YOU ARE A LESBIAN AND/OR A TRANS WOMAN, then just know that I love you. I love you, I support you, and you are safe here.

[that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick]

They made Souta a chair for 97% of the movie because they knew we'd all pass away from his beauty if they didn't

[nothatsmi]

3/4

Please

This shit impacted me dearly. Lets say Andrew and I share some demons. I absolutely love the slow way Andrew manages to let his guard fall around Neil, how the trust grows between them, how Neil listens and care for him so much. It makes all the difference.

Here's the Museless version, cause I honestly like both..

[gunsatthaphan]

I'm having trust issues 🤨