#even if im right next to her

[deathricedrawn]

i'm ready to try

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

my mum keeps responding to my covid precautions with “i get it, you’re not ready yet”. like no i just don’t do them anymore. i don’t really need to eat at restaurants or go to crowded places or be in public without an n95. i can watch the movie at home. i can get take out. an n95 is just uncomfortable sometimes but doesn’t stop me from doing anything. i love not getting sick

[umblrspectrum]

still thinking about it so heres a bunch of stuff

[xxplastic-cubexx]

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

[b4kuch1n]

siren

[cloudellesims]

oh hey it's me

[thepettymachine]

No you don't understand.. they love reading next to each other. .

[byfulcrums]

HOW CAN YOU LOOK AT THIS PICTURE AND TELL ME THEY'RE JUST PLATONIC

[dreamersdwell]

Chest and old scars jumpscare under the cut btw, if you don't wanna see.

Also I ramble about my hc the tags 👍

Jumpscare, boo!

[lovesickeros]

☆ i dream of embers

{☆} characters arlecchino {☆} notes no au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.1k

The House of the Hearth is quiet — or, if you really wanted to be precise, the rats scuttling through the walls are working around the bubble you exist in. The children dare not tempt fates hand unless you asked for them by name, a contradiction. An order to the rules — they mustn't approach you with trivialities, but they must listen if you speak. Your words carry more weight than gold in this house, whether you know it or not.

A tenuous position.

You haven't done anything to earn their reverence, their almost acrid fear — but Arlecchino has. She wields her silver tongue with as much ease as her polearm, ensuring your care in her absence. Her devotion, her service, is felt in the warmth of her chambers, the silks she adorns you with, the bed so soft you feel as though you melt into it. A gift, a promise — a gilded cage need not be something undesirable.

You've grown used to the encumbrance of her presence, these days. The deep timbre of her voice, honeyed yet melting into something rougher, quieting into haunting silence as if she seeks not to disturb you. Dim candlelight is all that illuminates her broad frame as she slowly presses the door open and closed behind her, pallid skin streaked with darkening red, her bottom lip smeared with it like lipstick. There is a tension to her shoulders even when she sets aside her polearm, out of sight and out of mind, harsh lines on her face visible in the deep furrow of her thin brows.

Here, she let's the weariness settle deep into her bones — it's just the two of you, even if she hasn't acknowledged you at all. Still, it's a vulnerability she shows no other, even if that vulnerability is hidden behind layers of barbed wire and teeth.

You watch rather idly from the bed as she wets a cloth in a basin of water, the bed creaking beneath you as your feet sink into the plush rug beneath. You know from experience that trying to help her is like trying to soothe a wild dog, but your knuckles brush over the sharp line of her cheek anyway, free hand stealing the soaking cloth from her hands when her jaw flexes and tenses beneath the pads of your fingers.

It is only then that she looks down at you, eyes as sharp as blades yet so indescribably warm — like a flame licking at your skin, burning so deep you feel it linger for weeks after. Arlecchino is not soft, far from it — but she blunts her jagged edges for you anyway, brushes her lips against your knuckles and allows you a moment of adoration. Carves her worship bone deep in the ghost of her touch against your lower back as she leans down, let's you wash away the blood certainly not her own, never blinking as if you'd simply up and leave if she stopped looking at you for even the smallest moment.

You are well aware she is caging you in. You let her.

Though she is still stiff as a board up to the moment you set the washcloth over the side of the basin, her jaw flexing again, a moment of consideration given. She is not used to soft and brittle things, though — not used to touch that does not lead to steel at her throat, in her gut, carving out softness like a butcher carves up meat, section by section.

But this affliction of affection is stronger than the discomfort, at times.

You almost half consider letting her take the room and have a night of proper rest, but she is faster than you — a calloused hand tilts your head back, half lidded eyes glinting beneath the weight of exhaustion, her thumb firm against your bottom lip. She could kill you without even blinking, you are aware, but she is nothing but careful with her touch — not soft, not Arlecchino, but there is adoration in her touch. Like thumbing a locket portrait, trying to imprint their features into memory by touch alone.

Her touch is fleeting, but the warmth lingers long after — you don't need to be touching to feel the weight of her attention. She stokes the flames of the dying fire, has one of the children bring a fresh pot of tea, lingers even when she doesn't have to. You're sure her desk in her office is far more comfortable to work at, but she'd crammed a small desk into the room anyway, stayed even long after you fell asleep most nights. You never did get to stay up long enough to notice her slip in beside you, nor wake up early enough to find her there with you, but the heat lingers — she leaves breakfast at your bedside table, a small note of affection if she's feeling particularly sappy. Even when you don't see her, she makes sure you feel her presence however she can.

Neither of you need to speak to express it. The silence is..oddly comfortable, filled by the shift of paper or scratch of a pen, the clink of a cup or crackle of fire. It's a little too easy to get lost in watching her work, masking a smile whenever she glanced back at you with a question on the tip of her tongue that goes unsaid.

It's better that way, you both think. The silence was best left undisturbed — as if trying to break it would be like breaking the mirror to each others lives. You don't busy yourself in the affairs of the House of the Hearth, and she doesn't make you. It's better that way, too. Maybe that makes you naive, blind even, to the bodies at her feet piled so high she could drown, but you don't want to give up this fragile tranquility.

So you let the dull scratch of a pen lull you to sleep, try not to smile too much when a hand reaches out in uncertainty to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your cheek with so much affection it makes it hard to breathe.

It's a tenuous balance, but come the next night you will wipe the blood from her cheek again and she will care for you the only way she knows how — distant service.

And when you wake up to an empty bed, warm despite the fires long burned out, you'll still feel her presence in the allure of a warm drink and pastries at your bedside, a note tucked beneath the plate.

Just like the day before, and just as you expect tomorrow to be. But one day you'll gently pull apart the barbed wire and be let in — not today, no, but someday. It's a slow process, but you're patient enough to wait — and when she let's you in, you'll tend to the scars that it left like you've always done.

One step at a time, one day.

[moeblob]

idk if it's a fun fact or not but! Right's favorite color is green. He never wears green but it's his favorite color. then I've been working on silly emotes for my OCs and they're "disappointeddad" and "tryme".

(Also there is an AU where these two are knights along with Paul and Evelyn while Brent/Caspian/Atticus are princes. Chris is basically Caspian's personal guard while Right just runs around trying to do everything to stay busy even when not on duty which stresses Chris out. But since he's kinda busy with the crown prince it defaults to Paul having to babysit Right.)

[cent-scratchnsniff]

i was rereading the story dialog for the sephirah while ago (upper layer so far considering i have a doc to contain all of my ramblings and thoughts once looking it over and getting actual lines to be able to know exactly what was said to base my feelings off of rather than the pure unfiltered pain or i suppose somewhat shock at first and those garbled memories of what happened) and after reading tiphereth's and then going to netzach's again it's just.

imagine you have to see what is deemed your other half, the person keeping you sane, your only companion you actually love and like, your literal ‘twin’ have to get crushed but some bum that never does his job and can easily be seen as 'not meeting standards' does get the same treatment at all when your own brother had been destroyed for less like spiraling into some dangerous stains of thoughts (thought be fair he did end up not as respondent and at that point already had what i'll inadequately describe as 'memory leakage' . But from the general idea of the side of tiphereth). he'll be more better than that drug addict ever will be in her eyes, someone who can't even do a report on time and even then is half assed to where at that point they'd just do it themself in the first place. he'll be way better, someone who is quite literally her family. yet why is her brother the only one that needs to suffer through that constant degradation of the soul? the constant wiping of the self? the memories made and lost? why the hell is someone that should deserve it in her eyes, someone so unmotivated and lazy, someone who she deems as a person not able to do a single thing right, not having that happen to them? why is it the person she loves so dearly, so close to her that she wishes would've stayed instead of some now hollow husk and imitation of imprinted memories when that hasn't happened to Any One Else? why does she have to go through all of that, having to see someone that she used to know and adore turn into a hollow husk and imitation of what once was - having to feel as if shes already looking at a walking corpse with memories shoved inside - just for someone like Netzach to not end up crushed to pieces.

[perilegs]

my sweet little baby man is no longer with us

[epiphainie]

i don't see us getting further information about bucktommy's relationship in 7x10 (like calling each other boyfriends or haphazardly breaking up) simply because i don't think they know what they want to do in season 8 yet. they tested the waters with tommy's first four episodes and brought him back for the last two episodes to establish his presence a bit more but why would they write themselves into a corner with no farsight yet when they could instead leave it at this ambiguously good place which gives them more creative room for s8?

this way they could direct that storyline any way they want depending on what they wanna explore with it - maybe they'll wanna pick it up from the dating stage or it could be that they're established boyfriends once they come back. they could go with tommy being buck's big love or that despite buck wanting to exploring this with tommy it not working out etc. i think they have a lot of more things to consider with buck's romantic arc now, not to mention for how much and how long lou can commit to the show, that they'll want to take their time figuring that all out.

[cloudbends]

OH I AM INCONSOLABLE. DEVASTATED.

[chocottang]

disorganized ramble about cami

eak and ttrap's care for cami is what dooms her to stay with owyyn. both of them want to save cami but they don't actually take the time to listen to her, spend time with her and understand why she stays by owynn's side because they're too focused on saving her, as if she were a damsel in distress, to see her. they don't try reasoning with her because they know she's committed to owynn but they don't take the time to ask themselves why. and that's exactly why owynn has the upper hand, i believe. he listens to cami, he takes the time to understand her needs, frustrations and things that bring her joy and he weaponizes that. a push and pull, if u will. he berates her to keep her from questioning him, and then does something nice so she doesn't hate him. he sees her as a full-fledged person and plays into her ideologies, desires and pains to convince her that she should do what he says. ttrap and eak are too focused on the idea of saving her that they don't see her as a person anymore, they don't take the time to deprogram her. that dooms her. because she feels like they don't understand her, because they don't, so she turns more and more to owynn. who seems to understand her even better than herself, who doesn't underestimate her or take her as stupid, who takes her seriously and explains things she doesn't understand instead of laughing it off or thinking she's cute for being confused. who sees her as a person. as a person that is worth trusting on instead of just a girl that needs to be protected. maybe she thinks eak and ttrap have been blinded by the bullying she suffered and see her as an eternal victim as a result. so she thinks owynn is not as bad as they say, because they are too focused on seeing her as someone who is weak and can't handle anything on her own. in a way, she may want to prove herself, that she is not that weak little girl anymore. she is strong, has powers, can defend herself and judge if her relations are good or bad for her. being a threat may be cathartic: she is not the weak victim anymore, she has the control and the power now. she decided owynn is good for her, because he sees her as capable, strong, reliable. something eak and ttrap, no matter how many times she gets mad at them and threatens them, will never do. she is not capable to them, she is a victim that needs saving. and cami hates that.

kind of like that one post format. "i would kill for you" "i would die for you" okay but would you listen to me. would you remember the things that upset me and make me happy. would you explain things i don't understand. would you spend time with me even if i'm silent and don't even want to be with myself. that kind of ordeal