#(im in bed and about to sleep)
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napping-sapphic · 2 months ago
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take your clothes off and get on the bed what no we aren’t having sex right now we’re cuddling and pressing every inch of skin together as close as possible for the next six hours
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binary-bird · 8 months ago
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haha yeah alright, this sounds fun ...
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oh. oh no
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feral-peacock · 7 months ago
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This season OPENED with Christopher leading on multiple girls because of unresolved emotions about Shannon.
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callsignchicha · 6 months ago
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Sorry that its kind of a long post, too tired to figure out why the ‘read more’ thingie isn’t working :’3
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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 1 year ago
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themthemthemthemthemthemthem-
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raineandsky · 6 months ago
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#120
When the villains caught wind of a new hero on the team, they’d all taken interest. When someone came back claiming he’s blind, it’d sparked a whole new debate.
Straightforward, they’d all said. He won’t even see us coming. They’d laughed at how easy it’d seemed.
The villain feels like they’ve stumbled on a pile of gold when they come across the hero. He’s running his hand along something on the fence in front of him, something that the villain will later realise is a braille description of the view ahead of him. A white cape drifts around his ankles, an equally white suit flattering against his typical heroic body, the lightest of smiles on his face as his fingers trace the patterns of dots along the railing.
The villain can’t help but grin as they slowly make their way towards the poor hero, so oblivious, so stupid. They’re barely a hair breadth away, their dagger practically unsheathing itself, when the hero spins towards them with a swish of his cape and a flick of a blade.
The villain barely reels back in time. Staying quiet doesn’t occur to them when they’re startled. The hero looks like he’s staring right through them, an arrogant smirk on his face.
“Ah,” he says brightly, “you’re one of those criminals I’m meant to be looking out for?”
The villain sidesteps, careful to keep their footing quiet, but it doesn’t matter. The hero’s head cocks towards them as they try to step out of his blade’s path.
“You’re almost silent,” the hero continues. A smirk adorns his face, intrigued. “Incredible.”
The villain is close enough to strike, the hero looking slightly too far beyond them to be right in his assumptions. The villain shifts in fast, their dagger poised. The hero dodges back and retaliates with a swing of his own.
The villain stumbles out of reach and the hero follows. The villain’s unprepared; they were expecting a hero who’s unsure who they’re looking for, where the villain is. They were expecting an easy plaything that they could stab when they got bored.
But this—the hero is nothing but brazen confidence.
The villain shoves their dagger up to meet his blade, throwing his arm out. They move in for another strike but the hero’s already recovered. His blade easily tucks under their arm and slices into their side.
Something of a strangled gasp escapes the villain before they can stop it. They stagger back, a hand touched timidly to the wound, their eyes flitting back up to the hero. He simply waits, his blade crimson and his eyes blank. How? How?
“Would you do me the honour of telling me who I’ve met?” he asks, as if this is nothing more than a casual meeting between friends of friends. The villain wants to snap him in half for the audacity.
“That’s none of your fuckin’ business.”
“Aha,” the hero says, almost a laugh, “You’re [Villain].”
The villain can only stare at him in horror. The hero seems to feel the tension in the silence, because he continues. “You’ve a bad mouth, favour in the blade, light on your feet.” A teasing smile. “And you’ve a smooth, caramel voice I haven’t heard in many like you.”
“Wh— Excuse me— You—” 
The hero just smirks, the stupid smirk of someone who knows he’s untouchable in every sense of the word. “Flustered by compliments, too,” the hero finishes with a laugh. “Good to remember for next time.”
“I’m not flustered!” the villain finally manages, “and my voice isn’t caramel. That isn’t a thing. You sound stupid.”
“I’m happy to be stupid if it means I can recognise you as the villain who speaks in caramel.”
The villain’s side is beginning to really ache. They need to be somewhere that’s not here when it inevitably gets worse. “Do what you want. I’m going home.”
“May I escort you to a prison cell?”
The villain barks a laugh, their side practically splitting with the forced fakeness of it. “As if you know where the agency is from here.”
“I always know where I am, [Villain].” A smile again, softer this time. Knowing. “You underestimate me for a characteristic I think makes me as interesting to you as you are to me.”
The burn in the villain’s skin is an ode to that. “Sure.” The villain turns on their heel before a thought occurs to them. “I’m going to walk away, loudly. Do me a favour and don’t fucking shank me when I do.”
The hero’s face twists back into a smirk. “As long as I hear you moving away. Until next time, [Villain].”
A blind hero! everyone had cried. It’s almost too easy!
The villain scurries away with a gash to the side and a slam to their ego, and they know now to know better than that.
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kittysquire · 6 months ago
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An angel of music 🪽
So anyway i had this AU idea that Tatsumi was hired to keep watch at a theatre that is haunted by a phantom, and then realizes the phantom actually was very pretty… but yea a priest Tatsumi cuz it felt appropriate… anyway *goes back in hiding in my cringecave*
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sleepyvinegar · 4 months ago
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their swagless looks and autistic personalities have captivated me 🥹🫀
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rudeboimonster · 1 year ago
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~help your local rat get stable housing~
edit post nov 2023: I GOT THE HELP I NEEDED THANK YOU SOSOOSO MUCH
dramatically sprawled out on the floor
so i gotta move for the third time in that many years. unfortunately between health problems and the General State of The Economy, I have been unable to find work to be able to save any money. i have no choice but to leave the entire state. i thankfully have somewhere to go, however I need help getting there. i've been trying to do the math to get what I need to its lowest amount possible, but even that is still at least $2.5k.
after this move, i should be able to get things more stable and I might even have a couple job prospects lined up in that area, but right now I'm really scraping the bottom of the barrel funds wise and desperately need help.
if you're able to spare anything, i've set up a goal through kofi so i can track it publicly. i have trouble asking for help but i really need what help i can get. thank you, so so so much.
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cyanorth · 5 months ago
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me if shoving my interests together was a job (id be rich)
anyway malevoff is real
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napping-sapphic · 9 months ago
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Good luck trying to casually cuddle with me if we date we’d lay down and get nice and cozy and then i would fall asleep in two seconds flat and trap you for four hours
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xxplastic-cubexx · 17 days ago
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it doesnt need to be said but its genuinely so funny how at-the-hip charles and erik are in krakoa like they really had the green light- the OBLIGATION- to be as obnoxiously close to each other as possible and abused that right to the fullest extent
#xmen#xmen comic#krakoa#cherik#snap chats#until the divorce of course but until then its actually so funny#how you really couldnt go a page or two without one or the other and the other one was close behind#ice climber ass duo over here. the delightful children from down the lane kind of proximity what the fuck was their PROBLEM#i feel like if one of them was teleported the other would just materialize right next to them thats how close they were#fuuuck what was the issue where sabretooth and co are in like. Brain Prison or something#and victor imagines charles but everyones like 'wait its weird if its just him where's magneto'#ITS SO FUCKING FUNNY and i NEED to know what issue that was .... to add it to my collection ....#also killed me how in immoral x-men issue 1 charles was yappin bout erik bein gone#and- God Bless Who i forget i think it was hope- was just 'can you please shut up about your dead boyfriend im begging you'#moira stronger than me if i had to deal with thing 1 and thing 2 on a daily basis i woulda snapped sooner frankly#ig when you live ten times through The Most Bullshit ever youre numb to most things but still. my god theyre so obnoxious#sorry im cackling at the bit in HoX where charles is about to announce krakoa to the world and erik's putting his hand on his shoulder#and you justs see moira in the back like dawgggg right in front of her .... can you two get a room#GENUINELY no im GENUINELY surprised they dont share a bedroom#im not even talking sharing a bed im taking my shipper goggles off im actually baffled they dont sleep in the same building#obvi id be lyin if i said i didnt love it tho To Be Real .. genuinely love seein them work together as a team .. until they werent </3#in every timeline they WILL divorce each other that's just the rule. actual canon event it cannot be changed or stopped its integral#ok ramble over. but not really not in spirit cause ill never be over this ill die before i am#im gonna go eat now i think i think thats something i As A Human has to do at least once a day
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silverskye13 · 2 months ago
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The Best Seat in the House
Summoning Helsknight is easy. Their souls are so inextricably tangled, they are nearly the same person. It's terrifying. It's exhilarating. Its
Welsknight is flying through the end. He has the coordinates to his destination memorized, like a lodestone in his heart. There is something about a person's blood sweeping so deep into the ground that makes the connection almost physical, like a thread pulling. He thinks this must be what sends doves and pigeons home. Why salmon swim upstream. There's something about blood
It's mutual, this dance. Hatred and disgust and thrill. It's beyond words, somewhere deeper, in the roots of teeth and the marrow of bones. Inextricably tied, souls and blood.
Helsknight is the perfect knight.
Tenets. Poise. Form. Kit.
Bloodlust.
Helsknight is the perfect knight.
They don't talk anymore. They don't need to. Words fail. Words circle and circle and circle and go nowhere.
It reads our thoughts.
Helsknight isn't waiting for him when he lands, but Welsknight can feel him on the other side of everything, like an itch beneath his skin. Like if he just found the right place, the source, where the itch is the most intense and bothersome, he could set a blade to his skin and dig Helsknight out.
In a way, that's what he's doing.
And yet they play the game.
By the time Welsknight has folded his elytra and put on his breastplate, Helsknight is there. The itch in his skin is crawling across the surface, spider legs and teeth; a brand, a flaying. He turns to face his other half.
Helsknight is a perfect knight. He's a fortress, a wall, and he's right there with a sword in his hand. Welsknight's strongest images of him are of blazing eyes in the depths of a blackened helm, all netherite and embers. Maybe it's hels that scours him black, the baking heat and unending fire. Maybe it's just that he's standing by Wels, and Wels is light and life and brilliance and
Welsknight is not a perfect knight. If he were, Helsknight wouldn't exist.
And the universe said the darkness you face is within you
There is something brutally honest about a battle like this, here, bared for the void, and the universe. A person can lie with words, but swords, like angels, can only speak the truth. In the face of death, they can only be who they are.
Helsknight is death and terror. He must be, because that is what Welsknight feels every time they meet.
One step, two, a mirrored circle across the end stone. There is no dust here to kick up, no gravel to throw. This island in particular is stark and flat. No upper hand, no useful terrain. Three steps, four, swords in hands. No shields, only armor, and the places it fails. Welsknight's breaths are long and loud and reverberate in his helm, wash back across his face with heat and condensation.
Helsknight is sparks and smoke and perfect form. The red plume in his helm sometimes sparks with the glimmer of his eyes. There is no moon in the End, and Helsknight's fire is an island of firelight in starry black.
Silence draws out between them like a blade.
Five steps
Six
And the universe said
Helsknight springs first, because he always does. Welsknight can feel his impatience like goosebumps, a phantom thrill of expectation. Welsknight meets him, because to be too far to one side is to be too close to the End. The ringing clash and slithering screech of metal on metal is like lightning and thunder in the perfect silence. They test each other, feints and parries.
Helsknight is impatient, and Welsknight shudders with it. He is always impatient. It's a thirst for blood, and a thirst for efficiency, and pride in the decisiveness of his hand. Helsknight would kill him gladly in one stroke if he could. His is not the joy of suffering, but the joy of superiority.
And yet they play the game
They break apart. Welsknight needs time to recover and reassess. Neither of them is wounded, but Helsknight is powerful and sure, and Welsknight's wrist stings, and his elbow twinges. Too many solid strikes caught instead of deflected. Too many tests done wrong. Mistakes. Too many mistakes.
Helsknight is humoring him. There is derision in the air like the scorn of distant thunder. It makes Welsknight mean, feeling it passing over. If Helsknight wanted, he could press his advantage until Welsknight was off the edge of the world. Welsknight can feel his other half's sense of superiority. It stokes the embers of Welsknight's own pride. He wants to rip the smugness out of Helsknight with his bare hands, bloodied to the elbow.
The red in Helsknight's eyes glimmer, a dare, an invitation. Come and try, he says, come and try. He says it with every line in his body, with the way he holds the point of his sword just a little too far out, a Fool's Guard. An invitation to where the plates of his armor gap at his armpit, reticulate near his waist. An invitation in the tilt of his head, slightly upwards, to look down. Slightly upwards, where the gorget and the helmet separate to show a hint of vulnerability.
Helsknight is a fortress.
And yet they play
One step, two, circling. Swords pointing and guarding. Three steps, four, Welsknight only knows he's caught his breath, because the heat of it is rolling across his face again. His hair is sticky with sweat, and threatens to thread into his eyes. Five steps. Helsknight blinks slowly, boredly. The bloody red light of his eyes winks out and returns. Six steps.
Welsknight attacks first this time. It's a lunge he knows will miss, but he sweeps the blade up anyway and feels the clamor of disrupted momentum as he's deflected away. Helsknight bursts forward a fist and punches Welsknight hard in the center of his breastplate. It kicks away some of his air, surprises him, surprises him again when that same hand snaps up to grab his gorget and pull, threatening to drag Welsknight off his feet. Helsknight's knee comes up and Welsknight catches it, throwing his shoulder into Helsknight's stomach.
They fall hard on the stone.
And yet they
It's tangling limbs, and wrestling, and that little bit of air Welsknight lost is felt, because he can't catch his breath. They're both on top of and below each other. The horizon is yellow and black and stars and stone, twisting. Swords are useless this close, but they grip them desperately anyway, because to lose a weapon is to lose the fight.
Helsknight is the first one who manages to get to his feet. He is a dark tower rising, the kind of thing that eclipses and imprisons. Welsknight can taste blood in his mouth from Helsknight's elbow ringing hard against his helm. His vision is a spattering of stars and colors that aren't supposed to exist.
Helsknight waits, impatient and seething, for Welsknight to get back to his feet. Sometimes, Welsknight wishes the flower of chivalry wasn't so good at reducing him to a pile of steel and guts. He might bring himself to respect it, if it didn't.
Welsknight is tired. He can't catch his breath. His vision still tilts slightly.
Helsknight is a dark tower risen.
Take a breath now.
Helsknight springs. When his sword lands on Welsknight's, it sends lightning through every nerve. Welsknight retreats a step.
Take another.
Another. Another. Metal on metal. Welsknight's only thought as he parries and steps backwards, is that he continue to circle.
I will tell the player a story.
Helsknight's satisfaction is cloying. It fills Welsknight's mouth with a taste like vinegar and rot. Welsknight's guard breaks. He can see his mistake and do nothing about it. Helsknight's sword shivers and rings as it rebounds off his chest plate and plants its tip in Welsknight's armpit, where the plates in his armor gap. The wound isn't deep. It dips in and out of his skin so quick and seamless, Welsknight feels the trickle of blood long before he feels pain.
It contains the truth safely, in a cage of words.
Helsknight's two-handed stroke steals Welsknight's sword from his hands. Welsknight leaps the next sword strike, rolls, and gets a cut on his ankle for his trouble. Standing is a labor.
He still can't catch his breath.
Helsknight's blade has so little blood on it, only the handspan at its tip glitters darkly. Why, then, does Welsknight feel so shaky. Dread of the inevitable prickles his spine, and chasing it like a hound is Helsknight's vindication. I knew I was better, I am always better.
Why do we even play these games?
Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story
Helsknight waits for Welsknight to pick up his sword. He is a shark circling, mad for a few drops of blood. Welsknight stands in the center of the island and waits, turning, for Helsknight to spiral towards him. They are a disaster, a collision course, gravity pulling. They are the inevitable, and their blood pulls them to each other just as much as thought and wit and loathing.
A lodestone in their souls.
Helsknight springs.
And yet they play the game
Welsknight gets a single lucky strike. His sword tears between two of Helsknight's plates, and he feels the soft resistance of flesh against his blade. It's low on Helsknight's hip, painful, but far from deadly. Helsknight proves it by slamming the pommel of his sword into Welsknight's faceplate. If it weren't for the nose guard, his nose would be broken. His eyes still phosphor from the hit, a world of infinite, blinding stars. His feet are kicked out from underneath him.
And the player started to breathe faster and deeper, and it realized it was alive
Welsknight reaches for his dropped sword again. Helsknight doesn't back away from him this time. Welsknight deflects the stab that would have killed him, swings the pommel of his sword against Helsknight's knee.
You. You.
Helsknight drops, a hand on his battered joint. Then he lunges, and they are wrestling again. Blood from Helsknight's wound spatters Welsknight, makes one of his hands slick. He holds his sword in both hands and uses it as a staff, trying to ward away Helsknight's blade locked against it. With the force of his shoving, and the weight of him bearing down, Welsknight's arms are giving.
You. You.
His arms are giving. The crossed blades are too close to his neck. He kicks. He grunts.
Helsknight is a dark tower, the kind that eclipses vision. His eyes are red stars in the dark, distant and bloody.
You are alive.
One of Welsknight's arms collapse. His brief hope this might pitch Helsknight off-balance flickers out before it can really settle.
Helsknight is a perfect knight. Tenets. Poise. Form. Kit. Bloodlust. Bloodlust. Bloodlust. Welsknight can feel it like a wound on his skin. Like blood in his eyes. Like iron on his tongue. Like a netherite blade so close to his neck he can't catch his breath.
I want to help them speak the word they fear.
Helsknight kept his blades sharp. It probably had something to do with perfection. In the moment before blade touches skin, Welsknight searches his other half. He finds what he expects to see.
Disgust at what is happening, and blood and pain and struggle. Resentment at being brought here only for this one thing, for this spiral to an end. Vindication of his skills, pride in his efficiency, disdain for Welsknight's clumsiness.
Welsknight does not find what he expects, as well.
He does not find remorse.
He does not find guilt.
He finds only a subtle annoyance where those things should be, disdain that Welsknight bothers to search at all.
Welsknight smirks. He doesn't need the reminder that his other half is evil, but it is nice to know, even if he's lost, he's still right.
The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.
Helsknight is alone on an island in the end. He is surrounded by the remains of Welsknight's gear, and the spattering of his own blood against the end stone. Whenever Welsknight dies, when they fight here at the end of the world, with nothing to distract each other from each other, it feels like Helsknight has woken up for the first time in a long time. The smothering thoughts, emotions, intensities of his Hermit lift and dissipate, and it feels like he has finally caught his breath for the first time in years.
Helsknight sits on his knees on the stone until his joints ache, and his hip burns, and his leggings are a mess of blood, and he breathes. Long, deep, like cold water in a desert.
Finally, he stands. It takes effort. He has to use his sword as a crutch. But he stands. He looks out at the nothingness, at the end, at the jaws of the universe in every direction.
And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream.
Helsknight snorts derisively.
"I would rather sleep," he says.
He vanishes back to hels.
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b4kuch1n · 1 year ago
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siren
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varilien · 1 year ago
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doodles from like. may or smn lol
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worstloki · 10 months ago
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love the idea of the Avengers adding new members but being stingy about rooms so the OG Avengers each get their own but Bucky and Loki are forced to share one under the guise of it being 'healthy interaction'
#Bucky and Loki being friends but in a weird way and now Thor is concerned like 'i don't recognise my brother anymore T-T'#and Steve is grimacing and sighing like 'my chemical romance isn't that bad Thor you just have to acquire the taste'#Bucky and Loki bunking in a room together and people just forgot to give them a second bed but it's ok because they both sleep on the floor#they wake each other up from nightmares and when it's done/conscious they look at each other in slight alarm and just give '👍❓❗' '👍👍❓'#aggressive thumbs up before returning to bed still communicating with thumbs up like 'all good??' 'all good??' 'all good!' 'go sleep?!?'#they both are convinced that oily hair is a way to keep it healthy and dandruff free and like they're not WRONG bc it works for them#but people also hate listening to them corroborate such experiences with each other#like you can't deny their hair is healthy and silky when they wash up and get dressed for something. BUT. STOP TALKING LIKE THAT.#they talk about how the bath they share is so comfortable for two people and it's driving people up a wall#Natasha opens the door and sees Bucky in the dark propped against a wall looking half dead with earphones in#(he is watching a nature documentary Loki recommended)#they bond over times they were being controlled and/or suicidal in Tony's lab and Tony who was working nods along absently long used to it#Tony: ah yeah I have PTSD but im managing it okay for now with meds#Bucky and Loki: *making faces* boo 👎
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