#chapter 47 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dungeon-meshi-tournament · 5 months

Text

Masterpost

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #best chapter cover in the manga tournament #chapter 47 #chapter 73

793 notes · View notes

spyxfamilysmol · 9 days

Text

#spy x family #sxf #sxf smol #anya forger #loid forger #chapter 47

311 notes · View notes

manga-meow · 6 months

Text

#blue period #chapter 47 #seinen #manga #manga cap #my edits #monochrome #mangacap #manga panel #popular

330 notes · View notes

loppiopio · 2 months

Text

out into the world.

#durarara #izaya orihara #shizuo heiwajima #shizaya #a cheap imitation #i made a thing #chapter 47 #actually sat down to colour correct these images a bit #and they look soooo much better #yay #also it wasn't intentional but the background colours sort of transitioning into each other with the scroll format #kinda cool #anywayyys #working with physical media is such a pain #for me #in particular #(foreboding)#let it be known that i got this camera like the weekend of making this #i didn't know how to use it at all #so the camera settings were far from ideal #colour correcting makes me feel better about them though :)#oh yeah btw #big inspo from @lunchbagmonster for this one #their demoncism promo poster #literally the whole pitch for this one in my mind was #i wanna do a fun craft jars thing for one of my marketings #i can make it work with this one #and i think i did #i like the interpretation in have in my mind for it

89 notes · View notes

sairee · 4 months

Text

Together (Ghost x Soap)

Ghost and Soap destress after a mission together. Ghost takes care of Soap.

Chapter 47 excerpt from Don't Let Me Go on ao3.

Soap walked down the hall side by side with Ghost. The rest of the morning had been a blur of soldiers, debriefs, and the nurse’s office. Soap’s body felt tired, but his mind was still wired with adrenaline. Every move replayed in his head over and over again. Everything that was said or every shot that was taken was constantly occupying his mind.

In some ways it still didn’t feel real. They’d done it. Months and months of chasing down Jürgen, decommissioning every facility they could, droves of people finally getting rescued, and it all just… ended. This had taken up all of the 141’s time and now there was nothing. They weren’t waiting for intel. They weren’t waiting for victims. They weren’t waiting for new orders.

Soap could take a deep breath and see a clear future in front of him. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring or what he would be doing but this never concerned him. In fact, when he looked ahead, he felt comfortable with this uncertainty. He pictured a blank canvas, one that begged for him to mark it with dreams, plans, and aspirations.

He wanted to paint his future together with Ghost.

Simon.

They walked back to their assigned room and made their way inside. With a gentle hand on Soap’s lower back, Ghost silently led them to the washroom.

“Sit on the counter,” Ghost ordered softly.

Soap sat up on it without argument. Ghost looked up at him with intense concentration, focusing on the bandage that rested overtop of Soap’s eye.

Ghost had made sure that Soap was immediately seen by the nurse on duty, everyone else a part of the infiltration also being checked for injuries and wounds in the infirmary. The nurse had a terrible poker face and the concern was written plainly on her face. But she didn’t let that affect her job and she was able to skillfully stitch his face back up together again.

Ghost hovered behind her shoulder the whole time, almost seemingly like he was one step away from backseat nursing. Soap thought it was funny, although he bit back his tongue from making jokes, it really wasn’t the time.

The nurse said that Soap was incredibly lucky that the knife had only done superficial damage to his eyelid. A few millimeters deeper and Soap could have lost his eye for good.

Ghost slowly reached forward and his fingertips softly brushed against Soap’s face. He carefully gripped the bandage and began to peel it off ever so slowly. Once it was off, Ghost’s eyes softened as he trailed them up and down the wound.

“How’s it look?” Soap joked, the light-hearted comment hiding the small amount of concern he felt.

“Not bad,” Ghost said confidently, although Soap didn’t know how much he believed that.

Soap looked over his shoulder and leaned his face in closer to the mirror. A line of jagged, black stitches ran down his eye. The smooth cut from the knife was still visible and the skin was pink around the edges. On one side the skin was raised up slightly as it was pulled across to stitch together.

“Steamin’ Jesus…” Soap muttered. The easy smile on his face fell slightly as he moved his head back and forth to get a better look at it.

“That’s going to make one hell of a story,” Ghost said lightly, catching Soap’s eye in the mirror. It was a casual joke, but there was also a tender softness behind his eyes that displayed an immense amount of relief.

Soap turned back around to face Ghost again.

“I’d somehow managed to avoid facial scars this far…” he lamented. There was a small, small part of him that was serious despite their joking. If Soap was being honest with himself, he was probably still a little shaken up by the close call.

“I think it looks good,” Ghost said sincerely.

“It hasn’t made me completely hideous?”

Ghost hummed. “Nothing could ruin such a pretty face…”

He stepped in between Soap’s legs and placed his hands on either side of Soap’s thighs. His hands leisurely rubbed back and forth as Soap tightened his knees around Ghost’s waist.

He smiled down at Ghost whose eyes shone back at him lovingly. Soap was happy just looking into Ghost’s eyes. Those expressive, comforting, and stunning eyes that gave him such undivided attention that he felt he could get lost in them forever.

The silence between them was comfortable and easy. Simply being in Ghost’s presence was comforting and eased Soap’s soul.

“What am I gonna tell my mum?” Soap asked with a chuckle, although the question hung above them with serious intent.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Ghost replied. “You’re not the one who’s often at a loss for words.”

“I am. Sometimes.” Soap smirked and leaned in close, his heart starting to beat faster like it did every time thought about kissing Ghost. “And anyway, right now I think you still owe me something…”

Soap raised his hands and gripped the edge of Ghost’s mask, feeling the fabric sizzling to life under his fingertips. He slipped a finger inside and felt Ghost’s warm neck under his touch.

“I thought you may have forgotten,” Ghost teased, also leaning in closer.

“Of course not. I’ve been thinking about this for hours.”

Soap slipped another finger underneath the mask and pulled it off Ghost’s head. He leaned in close and they finally kissed. It felt like it had been an eternity without Ghost’s warm lips on his – although it was actually closer to 14 hours. Soap never wanted to go that long again.

Ghost wrapped one arm around Soap’s waist and used his other hand to cup the side of Soap’s face. His touch was gentle, as if Soap were something fragile. He was especially careful not to touch Soap’s eye.

Their lips moved perfectly together, the sparks that Soap felt from Ghost’s touch just as strong as it was the first day. The kisses were soft and leisurely as they relaxed into one another.

Everything felt right when Ghost was holding him. He hoped he did the same for Ghost.

Full chapter ao3.

73 notes · View notes

mercyll · 5 months

Text

#chapter 47 #ranma ½ #ranma 1/2 #ranma saotome #akane tendo #manga #rumiko takahashi #girl ranma

94 notes · View notes

every-ciel-phantomhive · 21 days

Text

#every ciel #ciel phantomhive #black butler #kuroshitsuji #chapter 47 #sebastian michaelis #jeremy rathbone

38 notes · View notes

everymephistopheles · 4 months

Text

#mephisto pheles #everymephistopheles #ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #chapter 47

28 notes · View notes

cjthestoryteller · 3 months

Text

Who wants this to happen this week??? 😁

Click here to read 'Slash's Revenge'...

24 notes · View notes

itty-bitty-sxf · 9 months

Text

#spy x family #chapter 47 #anya forger

62 notes · View notes

socially-awkward-skeleton · 7 months

Text

tagged by @direwombat and @ivymarquis thank you both so much <3

tagging: @madparadoxum @jillvalentinesday @confidentandgood @afarcry5fromstraight @nightbloodbix @roofgeese @inafieldofdaisies @voidika @kyber-infinitygems @clicheantagonist @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @statichvm @neverthesameneveranother @peppertheferalraccoon @josephslittledeputy @marivenah @simplegenius042 @theelderhazelnut @josephseedismyfather @v0idbuggy @florbelles @poetikat @ladyofedens-blog @eclecticwildflowers @shallow-gravy @cassietrn @strangefable @stacispratt

writing tag list here to be added/removed

Work on chapter 47 of American Beasts has begun, and this is very much the chapter that kicks off the climax of the fic. The war between the cult and the resistance is about to come to a head, and Kit and John are about to invade Fall's End. But first, some of Kit's prepping for war and getting inside of her head:

With the sudden winter storm came the flood of freezing rain afterwards, washing away the snow and turning it to dirty gray slush instead. The calm and the quiet retreated with the pelting drops that fell from the sky. The bright white of the snow turning bleak as an unsettling amassing of clouds above seemed to block out the sun entirely. Hope County was thrust into darkness as if the end of the world was right on their doorstep.

God was watching. Waiting.

All Kit could do was prepare. The simple task of cleaning her gun relaxed her. She knew every step without thinking, memorized until her hands knew all the motions even when her mind was far afield. War was on the doorstep, and as much as Joseph could tell her that wasn’t her role anymore, being a soldier was what she knew. It was in her blood. Fighting gave her purpose, it gave her a reason to live. Fighting kept her heart beating, her lungs straining for another breath. It was why she was alive and she couldn’t forget that.

Back in Afghanistan before every mission (and before that night in the helicopter flying to Joseph’s church to arrest him) she had always had her ritual. Some prayed, some wrote letters back home to the ones they loved, some turned to vices – she relied on her weapons, they were the only thing she’d ever put any trust in other than herself.

Standing at the desk in Jacob’s office, covered in maps, plans and preparations set into motion long before the deadline would be struck, she stripped her gun. Sliding apart each cool piece of metal, her fingers ran over the notches and the knicks from wear and tear before taking out her cleaning rods. She sprayed the parts of her rifle with cleaner and swabbed them free of the carbon fibers and build up that had occurred with use, wiping them down with a rag. Each pin popped out with relative ease, the carrier group sliding free of the upper receiver. She worked meticulously, getting into every alcove, removing every hint of debris.

Her mind stayed focused, narrowed and tunneled to remain on only one thing. The thoughts of failure were blocked, the darkness walled off. She was a warrior and this battle was the fuse that would light the fires of Hell in Hope County. Brother against brother, neighbors on opposite sides of the fight. Friends made foes. What she’d give for an angel to appear to the citizens outside the Project, delivering to them the word, but even then she didn’t think they’d ever listen. They didn’t want to see the end, they weren’t ready to believe, too blinded by their own sins to see the light. Devastation was all they wanted, so it’s what she would deliver unto them.

After cleaning was complete, she began to lubricate the bolt and its release, the trigger on the springs, and a little oil to the buffer spring. Her brow furrowed as she rubbed at the metal with the lubricant, her mouth pursed as she made sure to dig into every corner with her cloth, when warm arms wrapped around her and held her tight. Her eyes widened, her one track mind taken off course. She stiffened instinctively, muscles reacting to a threat. The fight kicked in before she’d come to her senses, the bite that had been trained into her.

Looking down at her waist she recognized the scarred and inflamed skin of the arms that surrounded her, but that didn’t stop her chest from squeezing so tight the very breath was stolen from her, the parts in her hand starting to shake as the tension in her grip steadily built.

His mouth rested by her ear, voice warm and smoky like campfire while his beard burned the soft exposed skin of her neck and shoulder. “Did I spook ya?”

Hands gripped her tight, her muscles shifting reflexively underneath his touch despite trying to remind her that she was protected. She was safe. That she was there with him. She was home. Fingers splayed out against her stomach, pressing in against her core. Her weakness.

“Kitty?”

She finally withdrew the breath she’d been sheltering inside her throat and her heart rate slowed. The natural instinct in her finally calming only for her to be left confused as to why now of all moments he decided to be here and to hold her. There had been no bloodshed, no struggle, no breakdown. It was serene, a moment to herself, and there he appeared during the mundane.

“N-no.” She shook her head, not sure if she was assuring him of her words or herself. “Just thinking,” she muttered while wiping off the excess lubricant leaving the exterior of the bolt with a sheen.

“I should’ve known better than to disturb ya while you were gettin’ prepped.”

Kit huffed out a sigh, blowing her bangs out of her face and he withdrew his grip on her, pulling back. Dropping her gun on the table, she grabbed his hands and curled them around her once more. “No. Don’t let go,” she said softly.

His brow furrowed, but he did as he was ordered, holding her tightly against him once more. “You gettin’ stuck in your own head again?”

“Can’t help it. Just getting in the zone. I’m gonna have to be sharp for this one. John and I, we both have targets on our backs. Just gotta hope God’ll show us a little mercy.”

He stood silently and she already knew he’d have nothing good to say about her hopes for God intervening, but he didn’t say a word. It was better to leave her with her faith if it meant she’d come back home. Jacob had that much sense about him, he still didn’t believe, but she did (in her own way).

As he held her she connected the puzzle pieces of her rifle back together, the upper and lower receivers, and the bolt carrier group. Each click and snap restoring further calm, things would come together, she had nothing to fear. She was ready for this, she’d been preparing all of her life for this moment. God was on her side.

The soft fanning of his breath against her skin as he watched her work helped ground her, that smell of cigarette smoke wafting up her nostrils reminding her of being in that cage, knowing he watched her then too. A force of nature, something worth beholding for a man who’d seen it all. War. Death. He was unfazed, until she arrived.

She took the cleaning rod and passed it down the barrel, plunging it in and out, slowly and thoughtfully. All the bullets she’d spent in all this time, the blood that poured, the lives stolen, she hoped they were all worth it in the end. According to Joseph there would be a day when she’d stop fighting and find her peace, when she would be wiped clean of her sin, the taint she carried with her finally flushed from her soul and scrubbed from her body. She couldn’t imagine it, being a leader without an outside force pressuring her to be, but if it was God’s will who was she to question it?

Wiping down the exterior of the gun with her rag of any excess oil and cleaner, it looked like new. Untouched. A weapon that had never once fired a bullet. She supposed that would be her fate as well once she was freed of the burden she carried like the albatross around her neck. Innocent and pure. Fit for Eden.

Testing the trigger and the safety, she made sure they worked just as smoothly as they had before. Taken apart, put back together. Tools shoved into the crevices, shards removed like shrapnel. None would be the wiser about how used this weapon was. The things it had to do for the one who controlled it. No one blames the tool, they blame the handler.

Except when it came to her.

#wip wednesday #american beasts #chapter 47 #oc: kit cross

35 notes · View notes

dungeon-meshi-tournament · 5 months

Text