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#bare with me
tshwrld · 15 hours
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'Cause I don't even know what we are. I don't even know where to start. But I can play the part
We say we're friends, but I'm catching you across the room. It makes no sense 'cause we're fighting over what we do. And there's no way that I'll end up being with you. But friends don't look at friends that way.
Overthinking us, until I'm drunk. And sick of this whole city. Don't know where to start. Don't know how to hold my heart. And if we're really what we say we are, then why is this so hard?
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richardgrimes · 6 months
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BARBIE (2023) dir. Greta Gerwig + favorite outfits
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ch3rry-kisses · 13 days
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closedownregulus · 1 month
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Prompt: Feb 14th - Lips | 1183 words | @jegulus-microfic part two , three and four :)
Barty Crouch is an idiot. The first time James came to this conclusion he was only 11 years old and Barty was refusing to give him back his football cause “football is not for losers, weirdo”, since then, the thought crosses his mind from time to time – Barty Crouch is an idiot. Not only an idiot, but also stupid, not only fucking stupid, but also deadass ugly, not only ugly, he is also an arrogant piece of shit, not only that, he’s also a- argh, James could go on and on about all of Barty Crouch’s flaws, he could go for hours, days, damn, even weeks if someone gave him the time of day to do so. Honestly, he can’t think of one good thing to say about the guy, nonetheless, Regulus’ been kissing him senseless for the past 7 minutes – not that James is counting or anything – seeming fucking dead set on finding Barty’s hidden qualities, if he has any, in the inside of the boy's mouth. Not that James cares that his best friend’s baby brother has been snogging the most annoying man to ever walk earth for 7 minutes and 36 fucking seconds, like they´re stuck in a game of 7 minutes in heaven or something, or, more accurately to James, 7 minutes and 49 seconds in the deepest pit of hell – not that he’s counting (whatever).
Part of him, the hopeful part, is kind of holding on to the idea that this is some weird kind of practical joke Regulus is playing on Barty, he knows James' football story, maybe that’s the way he’s found to revenge him, making Barty fall in love with him and then leaving the guy tormented by the memory of a kiss with a boy he’ll never be able to have playing in loop in his head. Part of him, the protective part, hates that fucking Barty Crouch has even the memory of a kiss to play in loop in his head, part of him wants to yank it off. Part of him, ugh, part of him is scared that Regulus is not some boy Barty can’t have. Part of him – the possessive, petty and kinda insane part – hates that it’s Barty instead of James, who has known Regulus for years, he’d know what to do to make him feel good, he’s sure he’d figure out the right buttons to push in a matter of seconds. Instead, it’s another person in what should be his place, touching Regulus in places James never will, running his tongue over his lips and tasting Regulus in ways that James will never be able to – he hates to think about the sounds that he’s dragging out of Regulus, sounds that he’s getting to hear, swallow, save for later. Fuck. James might kill the fucking guy.
It’s not like James wants to be in Barty’s place - or whatever, it’s more of a protective big brother's best friend thing, he’d rather kill himself than actually kiss Sirius’ baby brother, it’s literally the most disgusting thought that could ever cross his mind ever, literally. Which, if he’s being totally honest, it does from time, but it only causes him to experience the deepest feeling of disgust, he can literally feel his stomach doing weird loops and stuff, which can only be translated to pure and utter repulse, literally. It’s not like it’s a recurring thing or anything, it’s just that he’s a fucking 17-year-old, of course the idea of kissing people he’s always hanging out with is gonna come to him out of fucking nowhere. And like, Regulus does have this freakish pink lips that look really soft and it's kinda hard to not stare at them when he's been going on and on for hours about some book he's recently read, specially when he keeps biting his lower lip every five minutes before saying the next sentence. Not that the thought crosses his mind in a weird, out of ordinary, creepy constancy or anything, really. It's just, you know, your ordinary 17 year old boy next door normal amount of thinking about kissing your best friend’s brother – which he doesn’t by the away, just, rarely, sometimes, in a daily basis, rarely.
The point is, James is Sirius’ best friend, and Regulus is Sirius’ baby brother, James remember him as a toddler, with his big grey eyes and messy dark hair all over the place, so of course he’s gonna be concerned about Regulus’ well being and not want him to snog some dumbass just cause he found the free time to do so. He wants Regulus to be with someone that is worthy of him, not that James can think of anyone that managed to meet the criteria so far, or that ever will. Well, if he stops to think about it, in an ideal world Regulus would grow old alone and a virgin, but is that really so bad? James will visit him everyday and they’ll play videogames and do star wars marathons. Fuck it. He’ll even listen to Regulus talk about his pretentious books and let him put his depressing emo music, he already does that all the time anyway, he might even sing some of the lyrics that he’s already learned from having to listen to it every time they hang out. Well, and if from time to time Regulus happens to feel kinda alone and horny, James would even be ok to helping him out with that, you know, in the sole interest of keeping him away from losers. If that’s what it takes to save Sirius from having to endure life as the brother in law of some dumb, ugly idiot, James doesn’t mind sacrificing himself for his best friend, call him a fucking altruist if you will.
James bets Barty Crouch has never touched a single episode of Star Wars, or a book in that matter, maybe he can’t even read anything with more than fifty pages or pay attention to any movie that's longer than one hour. Also, he doesn’t look like the kind of guy who’ll be able to appreciate Regulus’ music and try to actually understand and connect with the lyrics, which is the most important part to Regulus, he’ll probably try and change subjects every time Regulus tries to explain his interpretation. Basically, James is pretty sure they don’t even have anything in common to talk about, they won’t even be able to have a proper conversation! What are they gonna do? Just kiss the whole time they’re together? Every single minute without stopping so they can avoid awkward silence breaks? Ha.
The thought makes James want to instantly puke.
He hates this party, but he doesn’t want to, actually, he can’t, leave Regulus here with this idiot to do to him whatever the hell he pleases out of James sight. Fuck. He doesn’t even want to think about that. He hates absolutely everything that’s happening right now, but, most of all, he hates Barty Crouch. The reason? Barty Crouch is an idiot.
And he stole James’ football.
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captnbas · 1 year
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at the coronation of aragorn elessar
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katydoodles · 3 months
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For @lukacouffaineappreciation event, The 7 Days of Luka’s Christmas.
Weird crossover but is the grinch a thing that exists or is the grinch a person akumatized😅
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tanked-up · 1 month
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Can we like ALL agree that this is like a- yk… hear me out type of situation.
*googles how to turn into an aircraft*
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roki-roki-roll · 24 days
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My favorite character that isn’t one of the Mendies lol
It’s always a delight to hear about him :)
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walnutmistjamie · 6 months
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He is not my best friend.
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shkika · 10 months
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Idk if Prodigy feels the same way about grooming as Saint... but if she does... what would she look like clean?
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She's prooobably eventually gonna grow tired of it. Saint at least thinks so.
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kane25 · 6 months
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Where is Sky?
He waits for the others to return and gives them those letters. I don't think Sky is looking for them since he doesn't know where they are. Let's not forget he recently had woken up from a long nap.
Sky wouldn't be able to read those letters since he doesn't understand other heroes' languages and dialects.
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What is the content of those letters? It is an assumption and speculation on my part.
1) "I am pregnant, Link” - Malon
Is she pregnant? It might be a catalyst for Time’s hero shade moments.
I guess Time would have his head in another place. He probably would think about how to protect Twilight, the descendant, his only connection to his future children that he may not see them grow old.
He is getting shade and not exactly glasses
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2) Ilia - Twilight’s childhood friend and future wife.
She may want to know where Twilight is. Let's face it Ilia knows him too well.
Is she mad that Twi gets Epona into the fight?
I couldn't help but wonder how Jojo planned to develop their romance.
3)Zelda - don't know which Zelda
We know Dark Link is going to places (different eras of Hyrule) via portals.
Maybe, he is starting problems in a specific time. So she needs help from Link.
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imaushuyuna · 1 year
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Dabi: just wanted you to know I’ve been looking at your boobs the whole time
Y/n: and I’ve been thinking about how I want you to fuck me on this table
Dabi:….let’s go home
Y/n: I can’t wait that long let’s do it in the car
Dabi: *shrugs shoulders and starts getting up to leave*
The waitress that was about to take your order:……🧍🏾‍♀️
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sidver · 5 months
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Cold rainy night at Biotechnica Hotel
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chxrrylime · 11 months
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❝ PART I: 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗧𝗘. ❞
PART TWO.
So I decided to break this into two parts. I don’t like leaving work unfinished, but I don’t have the energy to get this done tonight, so it’s easier for me to post the first half now and the rest later. Enjoy :)
Soap x Gaz x Price x M!Reader  ↪ 1776 words — 18+ / SMUT
Content tags — cis male submissive Soap, cis male switch reader, cis male switch Gaz, cis male dominant Price , sub/dom dynamic, polyamory, bit of angst, subspaces, jealousy, unhealthy handling of said jealousy, nothing explicit until part II.
Key — C/S for callsign.
Soap never thought of himself as the jealous type.
It’d been the result of growing up with five older sisters in a house barely big enough to house three of them. Everything was shared amongst them, begrudgingly or not, and so it set the precedent for Soap early on.
He had a healthy relationship with sharing, he felt. Most of the partners he’d had in his life, which weren’t many outside of one night stands, he had shared. He liked to date people with the same libido as him, and so that meant he came to terms quickly with an open relationship. He wasn’t going to make a lover wait around for him for months on end just to get laid.
None of those relationships had worked out, ending ugly and often with a lot of yelling, and Soap really didn’t have the time of day to consider if that had ever played a part in it.
Now, though, jealousy was clawing through his body like a fuckin’ parasite. 
Amongst the one-four-one, it wasn’t any secret Price liked to have his playthings. They kept it between themselves—it wasn’t anyone else’s business as long as it didn’t affect their work. Sometimes Ghost would join, but he lacked the sex drive to keep up with the group consistently.
Soap fell into the category of plaything—it came easy to him, he’d be wrong to deny the hero worship, and for fuck’s sake, the daddy issues, that drew him to the older man. Casualties of a single mom, he supposed.
Gaz was the other one. Soap respected Gaz. He’d been there first, before Soap, and so while sometimes Soap felt a little left out—felt like Price was playing favorites, he also acknowledged the Captain had full right too. Even when Price reassured him, Soap knew he’d never lose the feeling he had to work to earn his place beside Gaz (and beneath Price).
Soap and Gaz meshed well together. It wasn’t much of an issue. Nothing that kept him awake at night—more like an angry little tingle at the base of his spine when he saw Gaz and Price alone together. That, he could handle.
But you. He wanted to fucking strangle you.
The second you were assigned to the one-four-one, Price took a shine to you. He always seemed to favor you—give you the most attention, the most leniency—even in the fuckin’ field, which he never did with anyone, so careful to keep the ruthless dynamic of the task force stable—to keep play from leaking outside of private quarters and offices. You were Price’s new favorite, and as far as Soap was concerned, you hadn’t fuckin’ earned it. Not a single bit of it.
It would be a lot easier for Soap if you were a fuckin’ prick, too—except you weren’t. Ruthless maybe, on the field, but outside of that you were sweet as ever. Real fuckin’ bonnie. You were sweet, and it made Soap’s skin crawl. No matter how dismissive he was of you, you would always offer to share your sliced fruit, or bring him cold water after drills. You wanted Soap to like you, and so did the rest of the one-four-one, but to everyone’s chagrin Soap just wasn’t having it.
Price had chalked it up to Soap’s territorial nature. The lad shared with people he considered equals. People that gave him a good vibe off the bat. He was like a guard dog, sniffing the air for signs of danger—licking the hands of those he deemed good. He didn’t trust you initially, and Price couldn’t blame him, most of your file was black ink for anyone below Lieutenant—he had no basis for you. As far as Soap was concerned, you were invading the one-four-one's hard established dynamic—threatening to dislodge it. 
And so Price gave it time. He paid you extra attention to make up for Soap’s cold shoulder, assured you you just had to be patient with him—just had to keep trying, and eventually he’d warm up and get over whatever preconceived notions he’d had of you.
Except, Soap wasn’t warming up. He wasn’t taking the olive branch, and it was starting to grate on Price’s nerves. Soap was more petulant than usual, bratty, and so Price told him he wouldn’t play ‘till Soap cleaned up his act. That meant more time for you, and more unfounded reason for Soap’s jealousy to grow at his own foolish behavior.
Gaz tried to talk to Soap first, at Price’s urging—knew the only time Price butted in was usually when Johnny was at the point of punishment, and he didn’t want to make this worse if he didn’t need to—but Soap pushed Gaz away. Changed the topic. Refused to admit there was even an issue. Deflect, deflect, deflect. 
It was becoming too much for everyone involved, Price had started letting you share his bed almost every night since the stress dreams started. Even Ghost was right fucking irritated with Soap’s recent behavior, going on a long tangent in the Captain’s office that ended with an angry “sort him out,” and an even more forced “please, sir,” remembering he was venting to his SO.
*
Soap is antsy when he’s called to Price’s office. He walks down the bland halls with a quick stride, already chubbing up in his fatigues. He’s pent up, hoping Price has missed him—that he’s still mad at him—will bend him over his knee and make him have to sit at the edge of his chairs for the next few days. 
He raps on the frosted glass of the door, waiting for his invite in before pushing inside. The door swings shut behind him with a loud click as he takes in the view in front of him, any feeling of excitement and anticipation draining from him in an instant as his eyes harden. 
Price is at the front of his desk, leaned up against it, ankles and bulky arms crossed as he puffs a cigar. He’s in civvies, hair mussed and face the slightest bit flushed. Behind him, behind the desk in his chair is Gaz, with you curled up in his lap. Soap can tell from the both of your kiss swollen lips that he’s apparently interrupting something, despite having been invited. Something churns in his stomach and tells him you two are the ones that shouldn’t be here. That Price wanted him.
Suddenly, sharing sounds like the worst thing on Earth.
“Sir,” Soap tries, carefully, though there’s an edge of annoyance to his voice that Price doesn’t much appreciate. He takes in a sharp breath and puffs a steady stream of smoke out through his nose, looking all the intimidating dragon as he glares.
“I’m tired of your attitude, lad,” Price begins, taking one last drag of his cigar before putting it out in the ashtray behind him. He moves to stand in front of Soap, that one looming inch coming in handy as he presses near chest to chest with the younger.
Soap makes the mistake of refusing eye contact, keeping his gaze straight forward, glaring a hole into the center of Price’s throat. He can feel the growl emanating before he can hear it, Price’s hand shooting up to grip Soap’s jaw, jerking his face up.
“Look at me when I talk to you,” Price chides. He doesn’t miss how Soap’s eyes seem more gray than blue as they meet his, jaw clenching tight, his nostrils flaring in rage as he holds brutal eye contact. He almost looks like he’s challenging Price, and something about it makes the man’s heart twists, frowning.
His grip softens ever so slightly, his voice equally so as he next speaks.
“Where’d my good boy go, huh?”
Soap looks sad at that, brow furrowing and eyelids drooping, letting out the quietest little breath through his nose. If he could look down, he would, feeling shame run through his blood hot. 
“Dunno,” he murmurs, and for a blessed moment it’s just him and Price in this room, “m’sorry.”
“I know,” Price says, humming in consideration before continuing, “you don’t trust C/S.”
The mention of your name has Soap tensing up again, and you nuzzle closer to Gaz who’s arms wrap a bit tighter around you in response. 
“No, sir,” Soap grits out.
“Why?”
“Dunno.”
“Do you know anything, sergeant?” Price chides, jostling Soap a bit with the hold he still has on his face. Soap has half a mind to shove his hand away.
“I don’t know,” Soap emphasizes, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he takes in a ragged breath, hoping the oxygen can help pull apart the mess of jealousy in his brain. He doesn’t fuckin’ know. He doesn’t know what’s possessed him. He could argue in the beginning that you hadn’t earned it, but at this point you’d probably saved each of the one-four-one’s lives twice over. He didn’t have any more excuses, caught in his own anger like a spider in its own web.
“‘Am tangled up. In my head,” Soap tries, opening his eyes to see Price give him a reassuring nod, prompting him to continue as the hand on his face slides to his shoulder, gently pushing. Soap tenses for all of a second, the fight leaving him as quick as it came when Price squeezes. Soap drops to his knees.
The hand moves to his hair, tugging at the short strands until Soap presses his face to the Captain’s thigh, letting the loss of vision desensitize him, breathing in the smell of generic fabric softener and Old Spice cologne, soothing him down ever so slightly.
“I earned this,” Soap grits out, nuzzling, “how do I know… he’s good enough.”
“You trust my judgment, don’t you, Soap?”
“Yessir.”
“He’s more than earned his place here, he’s more than good enough, or else he wouldn’t be here. That’s not your place to decide, not your decision to make. You’re out of line.”
“Yes, sir,” Soap breathes again, spaces between his words as he drifts ever so slightly, fingers clenched tight at the bottom of Price’s jeans. He nearly topples forward as Price steps back, fabric ripping from his grip as strong arms wrap around him from behind. Gaz shushes him when he whines, warm lips pressed behind his ear.
“This dynamic doesn’t work if we don’t trust each other,” Price continues, tone hard, and Soap can feel his skin heat up in equal parts shame and anger as he looks up to see Price once again leaned against his desk, you curled up against his side, “and you need to be punished for your behavior towards our boy here, Johnny.”
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sonikkublue · 6 months
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Ifykyk
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youryurigoddess · 7 months
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Aziraphale and Crowley’s elevator photo shoot is inspired respectively by Mary and Jesus
Just leaving this here in case it wasn’t that obvious for someone non-affiliated with the Catholic Church. Aziraphale’s pose is based on the most popular variant of Madonna Immaculata statue from 1830 Marian apparitions in Paris, France. Crowley’s — well, he’s crucified Jesus.
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You know the second one and its meaning (absolution of sins and promise of eternal life after the Second Coming and the Last Judgement), right? The first one is all about shedding graces, interceding for sinners and protection from evil by Mary, who’s been bodily taken to Heaven. Just like a certain angel.
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So there’s obviously a lot to unpack here in the context of the possible S3 Second Coming scenarios, but in terms of religious imagery alone it’s worth to notice how the Pietà seems like a logical consequence of adding these two elements together:
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And I don’t know about you all, but I’m excited at the thought of potential angst as much as the possible tomfoolery.
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