#posts from afar

[preyingforsnuff]

Mmm... thinking about cock sleeve transgirl 🤝 digesting in tummy transgirl solidarity.

Being tied to your monstrous owner all day, barely cognizant as you feel her inside you, orgasming a little every time she twitches. Then you feel her harden more and look up as some adorable girlthing is getting gulped down. You meet her wide eyes for a single beautiful moment before your owner's maw closes over her with a snap. And as she's absently rutting you, you feel the adorable prey girl on the other side of your owner's stomach, pressed against you so firmly you can almost make out her face from the bulge. Feeling her weight grow softer against you as the day goes on. Holding her by hugging your owner's belly.

Eventually your owner picks up speed and fills you so much that your own belly bulges from the load and you feel that sudden press of weight break up the cute girlthing on the other side.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

It's just guys night talk! Don't worry about it!

(Read Tiger Tiger and shake this man awake so he can finish that thought!)

[leragoessouth]

Thought it'd be nice to dump everything I drew of them but I only have 2 good sketches so nvm

[thegreatpeanut]

senpai 🌸

[chasiufan]

Nobody’s gonna buy ur 599$ marketable plushie stop tryna sell it to us -_-

[adhdevankinard]

Thinking about how in the funeral scene, Tommy is in perfect Buck Watching Position

[collophora]

@devinsisland apocalypse AUs, but it's just chill gardening between two raids outside to scavenge seeds

[icantdothistodaybruh]

Day 2, Brighton Hotel

[marielism]

daniil gives me insaaaane “has a little sister” vibes

[lynnetendo]

TRIED DRAWING SIFFRIN FOR THE FIRST TIME!!! FINDING MY STYLE FOR FUTURE ISAT FANART BLAH BLAH!!! NEED TO PRACTISE DRAWING SIF. SIF IS INEVITABLE

[preyingforsnuff]

Preds helping prey put on their halloween costume (ghost)

[ghostlysoaps]

Inspiration - @ghcstao3

There's something to be said about the way John "Soap" MacTavish, notorious for his fleeting fancy of any given subject when off an op, hasn't been able to get Simon Riley out of his head. Granted, even before "The Incident" his lieutenant occupied his thoughts frequently. But now, oh, not a minute goes by where his attention doesn't stray, where his eyes aren't drawn to Ghost’s hulking figure, and he wishes they'd been stationed literally anywhere else but the monotone grey of autumnal England.

His sketchbook is filled with pages upon pages of studies. Greens and browns and gold – the myriad of colours hazel can be – despite how none of them feel right. Too saturated, too dark, too light. Too much or too little. Then again... it is near impossible to recreate a work of art after a mere fleeting second of studying the original. La Gioconda del Prado wasn't made with a peripheral glance at Da Vinci's subject – so how is Johnny to do the impossible?

-

"Spar with me."

Ghost pauses with his fork mid-way to his mouth. A mouth Johnny would gladly analyze at length, or map with his own one day, if not for the unhealthy obsession he's taken with Ghost's eyes.

One thing at a time.

His irises are shadowed by the tilt of his head and the presence of eyeblack but there is a subtle difference between them. Johnny is fool enough to think he can see it no matter how shit the lighting. Deluded, even, if his long-suffering best friend is to be believed. They're also dark with question, narrowed with thoughts and opinions kept close at heart.

"Alright," Ghost says and pushes the rest of his dinner away, pausing briefly as if to say something before ultimately deciding against it.

Johnny follows him with a pronounced bounce in his step and speeds through stretching and warming up. It'll be a killer tomorrow but that's a problem for future Johnny. Sore muscles are a small price to pay if it means settling a mystery.

They take their places, circling each other lazily. Johnny, ever the impatient one, lunges first and ends up with Ghost's heavy weight straddling the small of his back a couple minutes later. He grinds his teeth and heaves himself back to his feet. Sweat beads at his temples, his neck, trickling down his spine. Alight with purpose, he throws himself back in the fray.

He sways out of Ghost’s reach, blocking and evading, bouncing on the tips of his toes, throwing punches when it's fitting while he awaits the perfect time to strike. They're both grinning. It's plain as day on his own face, more subtle on Ghost's. The way the corners of his eyes crease gives him away, the shift of his plain balaclava as his lips twitch.

Johnny is focused on them like a bloodhound on a scent and when Ghost tosses his head, tilting it up with a roll of his shoulders, the florescent lights catching them just so.

Oh, is all he can think with the truth of him laid plain to see – how Johnny had been right all along. They differ subtly in darkness but when cast in either sunshine sepia or lightbulb white the contrast between them is stark. One is the deep, dark of pine, a forest green with too many hues to accurately count. It compliments the wooden brown of tree-trunk bark, flecks of whiskey-gold therein framed by pale lashes of nearly the same colour.

A modern day Medusa who stops him dead in his tracks, mesmerised, as Ghost's fist slams into the side of his face with the concentrated power of an eighteen-wheeler barreling into a concrete wall.

-

Ghost's face swims back into view an undetermined amount of time later. Worry etched into the tense way he carries himself. His hands are cupping Johnny’s cheeks, thumbs stroking once under his lower lids before they tilt his head back a fraction. He hovers close, peering into Johnny’s eyes as if they hold the secrets of the universe therein.

"Fuckin' hell Johnny. Anything broken?"

Johnny blinks at him, a dopey smile spreading over his lips like molasses.

Ghost, if anything, looks even more worried.

"Talk to me, Sergeant."

"You've beautiful eyes."

Ghost freezes in place. Gobsmacked, if Johnny were to put an expression to it. He murmurs a string of delightfully innovative curses under his breath, manoeuvring Johnny to sitting upright, and the change in vantage point only makes him a little bit dizzy. The dark spots dancing before his eyes is nothing new, honestly, but they are annoying when they're ruining his view.

"Knocked what little sense you had left right out of your head, huh?" Ghost sounds amused and Soap realises, belatedly, that he might've said all that out loud. "Price'll have a field day with this."

"Take some responsibility an' kiss it better then."

"You're concussed."

"Och aye, an' whose fault is tha'? You and yer bonnie eyes. Could get lost in 'em, y'ken?"

"You're off your head, mate."

"Ahm'nt! An' if you'd jus' stay still for a moment an' lemme look at ye, this wouldn't 'ave been an issue," Johnny grumbles indignantly. Grumbles, because whining is for children and it never works in getting him what he wants anyway. Ghost usually looks at him with the flattest stare imaginable whenever he tries. Horrid man. Johnny kind of wants to kiss him about it.

"Tell you what, Johnny. If you're good–" Ghost slings his arm over his shoulder, kindly ignoring the way his words leave him shivering, "–i'll let you look all you want."

Johnny leans against him when he's levered to his feet, swaying like a branch caught in the wind. "I can be good."

"Mmh. You're gonna listen to the nurses once I drop you off at medical?"

Soap groans and smushes his face deeper into Ghost’s surprisingly comfortable shoulder.

"I'll take that as a yes."

-

Ghost keeps his promises, it is an irrefutable fact, and Johnny can and will take advantage of that with shameless abandon.

Crawling into Ghost's lap with a shit-eating grin, paints and brushes well-within reach, wobbling precarious on his perch until Ghost takes pity and steadies him with scorching hands on his hips feels like a victory despite the dull throbbing in his temple and purpling bruises lapping up the side of his face. There are no protests when he guides Ghost's head this-way-and-that. No complaints are heard even when the warm glow of his bedside lamp shines at his eyes and their kaleidoscope of colours become present again. Ghost keeps his gaze unwavering focused when Johnny's hands rest on his face in a mirror of the day prior – though his eyelids droop down the fraction of an inch. It's intense and intimate and Johnny, no stranger to selfishness when he can get away with it, can't help but be greedy.

"Can you be good for me now, Simon?"

His lieutenant nods as far as Johnny’s hands allow and though him closing his eyes is the opposite of good, Johnny can't fault him when his own slide shut as he brings their faces together for the first time – a new obsession flaring to life in the wake of lips brushing fabric.

[pearsandrust]

in the 2.1 quest, aventurine has this interesting bit of dialogue with his future self:

??? (Aventurine's future self): Haha, of course, I know you all too well... But, it's strange — why did you decline that invitation? You had the chance to embrace Elation. Was that not what you most wanted? But you chose the IPC instead... ???: For the Preservation? Hmph, I doubt it. Do you even have anything in common with the Preservation? Aventurine: I thought you knew... Didn't you say you had me pegged?

aventurine's future self is snarky, cynical, condescending. he's fully committed to the "reckless gambler" persona, abandoning all else for the sake of keeping up his facade. he never stops acting, and so his beliefs align perfectly with those of the elation, an aeon associated with trickery and theatrics. what aventurine's future self fails to take into account in this conversation is that present aventurine is not only him, but rather a superposition of his past and future selves. in other words, he's forgetting that kakavasha is also a part of the present aventurine. and while aventurine may not have much in common with the preservation, kakavasha does.

kakavasha bet his life on his sister's necklace. he kept his father's shirt, even after it was drenched in blood. all he wanted was to preserve the lives of the people he loved, and that is why aventurine believes in preservation more than elation. because he is still kakavasha at his core.

so when aventurine says "I thought you knew", he's not trying to mock his future self. it's more of a hopeless statement, a final admission of defeat. he says it because in that moment, he realizes that he will one day forget his origins. he says it because he looks at his future self and finds no trace of the person he thought he was. that's why he's so angry in his next line:

Aventurine: We're done. Either stop talking, or disappear from my sight. ???: That's fine. But, who exactly is about to disappear here?

and his future self's reply just solidifies his biggest fear: that he really is going to lose himself in the act.

aventurine is always, always losing. every passing day takes him further away from his family, his home, and the person he used to be. and as terrible as it is, he knows his future self is right -- he will eventually disappear underneath the facade. kakavasha, the only version of himself he loves, will die. and then he'll truly have nothing left.

it is all so ironic. the universe's luckiest man, and he couldn't even save himself.

[cedric-k-rossignol]

[hipsternumbertwo]

Smosh Mouth Live

[jupiter-pls]

happy birthday @ahappydnp , my sweetest peep! my goodest of eggs! 🥰 im not sure where this little guy came from but he is just for you. have the nicest, bestest day 🧡 and also SOON! 💖