#'imagine me with a sofa'

[evilkaeya]

skk official art of that day !! Can they behave for like five seconds

[pixelatedraindrops]

The NDA afflicted with different illness 😷 + sprites :3

Yuma: Influenza/High Fever

Yakou: Stomach Virus

Halara: Bad Allergies

Desuhiko: Laryngitis

Fubuki: High Fatigue/Dizziness

Vivia: Severe Anemia/Dehydration

Kurumi: Common Cold

~

[quicklyandrogynousfox-blog]

(x)

[mukuberry]

suddenly overwhelmed with longing for kazui mukuhara

[buildoblivionthenwewilltalk]

See, the thing about Crowley living in his car in s2 is that I left the s1 finale with the impression that both of them finished their lunch, staggered their way back to the book shop (gently sloshed) and spent the night getting absolutely hammered. Like drain the wine cellar, night on the town, capital-P Pissed.

It’s all a bit ‘rambunctious’, as a fussy and well read angel might say.

Crowley wakes up on Aziraphale’s sofa a week later - covered in a blanket, various papers and a copy of the Sunday times.

A pot of tea’s just finished steeping, there’s cake in the tin. Somewhere across the shop, a tartan-clad figure hums (rather untunefully) to himself as he pours over a crackled hardback book.

If you asked Crowley, it’s all quite civilised, if a tad “country living magazine”. A little gauche. A bit twee - not really his ‘style’.

But he doesn’t reach for his glasses, or pat his jacket for his keys.

After all, he thinks, stretching what’s probably the correct number of limbs and reaching out for a bone china cup, why on Her green earth would he ever want to leave?

[hanalwayssolo]

i’ve allowed these random hfw headcanon things to gnaw and nibble away at my hyperfixating brain like a bunch of starving squirrels and god (by the forge! by the sun! by the ten!) i might as well write it down before i go insane during this long holiday weekend:

erend, in his thorough research of the ancient ones’ history with music, begins to use phrases like, “this beat is sick,” “this bop slaps!” or “this is a banger!” to describe the songs he thought are good. which are mostly heavy metal. in his defense, the only reason why the genre appealed to him was because it’s “the oseram blood” in him. (“it’s metal??? get it??? by the forge my people would love this!!”)

varl, to keep erend from blasting his questionable music taste in the base, often hijacks his focus with classical music he discovered along with zo and alva. mostly, varl plays vivaldi’s winter. erend was pissed at first but after being forced to listen to it on repeat, it’s actually… not that bad. in fact, his words were: “the beat drop in the middle? a solid 10/10.”

kotallo asking aloy about seashells has been a thing, but honestly, this was not at all a random question, nor did it come from nowhere. truth is, when he was a kid, he often traveled with his parents to the long coast, where he would watch the sea’s ebbs and flows, would listen as the water foams and makes a rustling sound as it meets the shore. he found it so mesmerising, somewhat resenting that he was not born in tide’s reach. now, after watching all the data that aloy has gathered in her travels and having learned that this strange object called a seashell carried the sound of the ocean in its body, he remembers a time when he told his mother how he wanted to “keep the music of the crashing waves in his pocket” so he can continue listening to it even from the bulwark. she only smiled at him and gave him a hug so warm his mother could have been the sun itself. anyway. this seashell seems like lovely thing to have, not just to have the ocean at his fingertips, but perhaps something to remember his mother by.

alva learns this thing called scrabble from the archives, a game played by the old ones to enhance their knowledge of the glyphs. (their word for it was vocabulary. or something to that effect.) she explains the mechanics to the rest of the gang, says that it’s similar to machine strike given how it’s played on a wooden board, but instead of machine pieces, it’s glyphs on a wooden tile. this discussion with the gang happens to coax beta out of the basement.

beta, of course, knows a thing or two about scrabble through the apollo training interface. she’s been so keen to try it out except she didn’t have anyone to play it with when she was still with the zeniths. here in the base, she offers to help in making the board, which more or less astounds everybody considering how… well… she’s been keeping mostly to herself, an isolation / kind of introversion worse than kotallo’s. this makes erend and varl immediately volunteer in carving the board. even kotallo promises he would find the best pigment to paint the glyphs on the tiles. zo and alva exchange a look that’s like, “did we just witness a nora, an oseram, and a tenakth agree on… collaborating?? for a board game??”

zo discovers the recipe for this thing called coffee and chocolate frosting, which she has heard kotallo mentioned during one of his machine strike sessions with erend. (“an oseram forging an unlikely friendship with a tenakth marshal? can you believe??” erend exclaims proudly one night, sharing his piss-poor ale with kotallo.) she lets erend, varl, and of course, kotallo, taste-test for her. the results yielded positive, if not close to catastrophic results. positive because they all seemed to thoroughly enjoy the coffee and the chocolate, but by catastrophic results, she supposes that maybe she added too much sugar and cacao beans? because somehow, the guys kind of… went berserk. they were so awake and alive and burning with a rush of energy that the trio decided to go out to train and hunt that by the time they came back, varl left a trail of dead burrowers outside the base. erend managed to collect a dozen of apex bristleback hearts. and kotallo… returned with a carcass of a stormbird and a massive boulder from the bulwark. zo will have a lot to explain to aloy about this.

aside from varl, the other person who enjoys talking to beta is actually alva. alva is very much fascinated with how beta knows a lot of things!! they spend evenings reading through the archives and talking to gaia, with beta often correcting alva’s quen version of things. of course, alva understands how beta might somehow come off as blunt and rude; after finding out how beta has been treated by the zeniths, alva would raise hell over these immortal jackasses if she could.

zo religiously tends to her garden outside the base by the cliffside facing plainsong, but every now and then, she’d notice how the plants are freshly watered just before she can get to the task herself, or how there’s often an unfamiliar addition to her pot of flowers. she doesn’t mind this at all; frankly, she appreciates it. she assumes varl might be behind this as he’s the only one who lends her a hand to keep their little lush space alive and to bring in more plants for the base—until gaia points out a fun fact in their passing conversation that the new flowers blooming in her garden are only native to tenakth soil. specifically, it only grows in the sheerside mountains. well. with that in mind, it doesn’t take long for zo to put two and two together. besides, it really doesn’t take a genius to figure out the identity of this secret gardener. 

so yeah, sure. sure. kotallo takes care of the cliffside garden in secret. i mean, why wouldn’t he? it’s on the way to the sunwing site where he often trains, and erend usually forgets to water the plants, anyway. and about the flowers... he wanted to bring something that reminds him of home and to honour the friends he lost. truth is, this was all gaia’s idea. ever since he told gaia about how he lost his arm and what happened in the embassy, she mentioned that one of the many things the old ones did to cope with the kind of thing he’s been through is to make a garden. (and by ‘that kind of thing’, the words that gaia used specifically were trauma and grief. he knows she means well but this didn’t make sense to him—he’s pretty sure he’s neither traumatised nor grieving. of course not. he’s fine. he’s absolutely, totally fine.)

(of course he’s NOT fine but by the fucking ten why would he dare to admit that out loud? and what is he if not in denial? yes, he felt this when he lost his parents—but how come this is different? how come this feels a lot heavier than when he was a kid? does grief change its form the older you get? what if he’s struggling to process these big and complex feelings because he grew up being taught how to fight and not to sit with grief? to only bury the dead and to keep moving forward? besides, who has time to grieve and to wallow on losses when his tribe is at the brink of another civil war? this has always been the tenakth way: to keep a stiff upper lip, to never let sentiment get in the way of duty. to mourn is as unnatural as a dreadwing being docile. so how, pray tell, could he ever let himself have a say when he’s hasn’t been taught to do so?)

so instead, kotallo learns how to plant flowers to make room for grief. he makes space for another when they lose varl in gemini. he realises later on that he might have been unkind to erend, how easily he let go of the words “we can’t sit around wallowing in our losses” as if varl was a thing and not a friend, because truthfully, he was coming from a place of fear for his tribe, which, in turn, diminished the way erend was dealing with this loss, who’s taking this harder than the rest of them. of course varl and erend go a long way back. this time, kotallo is the outsider to their friendship. and kotallo of all people should know what that kind of pain feels like. he lost an arm, yes, but to lose your friends, to be the only one to survive… isn’t the grief from all of that a kind of maiming, too?

[ejfarm]

I want them to have dinner together 🩸

[captainshadowshifter]

Me still being up at 5am and hearing my brothers alarm go off is peak opposite schedule shenanigans

[zakurohampter]

Boutta take a shower went “where are my pajamas” girl I’ve been wearing them. It’s been that type of day

[thickest-slimiest-malware]

today is the day i will go to the library and ask how to make a card

[whump-captain]

No. 6 - Proof of life

Ransom video | "I've got a pulse." | Screams from across the hall

OC: Kintsugi

another one of kinda just character stuff and once again i hope it makes sense lol. it's late and im ill so im just glad i finished it tbh ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

---

CN: swearing, past torture mentions, implied long term captivity

---

The door behind Lucy's back was heavy and its latch was undone. As she leaned against it, cold seeped from the metal through her thick tactical vest and reached deep into her body and mind. 

She held her hand loose on the stock of her rifle, even though there was nothing to guard at the moment. They had dragged the prisoner out a while ago and before they pulled the bag over his head, Lucy had caught a glimpse of his terrified gaze. 

His name was Ethan Lythmer and he was a meteorologist. Of that Lucy was sure, because he had repeated those words over and over as his only answer to captain Linde's increasingly inane questions. Poor idiot, she thought, he'd be better off making up some story that he could pretend to give up under interrogation. Linde would get his ego boost, stage a court martial, and then hand over his prey to Response Group Memory brass - and that would be the end of it. The lie would come out in the end, but maybe at least somewhere far away from Linde's self-congratulatory barbarism.

But Lythmer insisted on the truth, day in and day out, through every beating and drugging. And so Linde's injured pride stoked itself higher and higher, and the pointless cycle continued. Nothing was achieved apart from the perpetuation of violence and delusion. 

But none of that was Lucy's business. Her business was to guard the door and to restrain herself from calling Linde a wanker to his face. Sometimes there were errands; sometimes there were more wankers. Day in and day out, as time trickled away and everything outside of the present moment blurred into a white noise of irrelevance. 

She let the numbing buzz fill her thoughts and erase everything but the cold behind her back. 

Then a scream cut through the air like an icepick. Lucy flinched. Slapped back to reality, she shook her head off and straightened her spine. The scream continued, rising and falling in a wail of pain and desperation, until finally it abruptly stopped. Quieter, almost completely muffled by concrete and distance, breathless, ragged groans filled the silence in its wake. 

Lucy tried to let the cold numb her again, but the present remained acutely sharp around her. Another scream came, through so many walls and doors that she couldn't tell where it came from. Not too far, she would wager. No use dragging a prisoner further than necessary. 

Silence fell once more and this time completely. But she could imagine the rest. The dull thud of a body hitting the ground. Linde's smooth voice which he never raised, composed through question after question. Desperate gasps for air, barely contained sobs. The clink of glasses on the bloodied floor. 

Lucy's hand tightened on the rifle and she chased the memory away. She lucked out with guard duty; she didn't have to watch Linde mentally jerk himself off with his authority today. It wasn't her arms lifting up a lifeless body to hold it upright for another punch. 

She leaned back and felt a stab of cold from behind her. She grimaced and shook her head at her own thoughts. When had she become so soft? That was part of her job, too - and one that she was very good at. She'd had practice. She had gained respect because she had made it known that she would not be held back by fear or sentiment. She had been ruthless and ruthlessness was a strength.

But the thing about strength was that if it was questioned, it dissipated. And those who were weak would be left to die in the cold haze of numb, irrelevant days. 

The air carried a cry of agony and Lucy forced herself to listen to it like music, interpreting the pleas and confessions contained in this wordless howl. Pointedly, she wondered what Linde's men were doing to their prisoner today. They weren't beating him; the screams wouldn't be as long. Not suffocating him either since that would strangle his voice entirely. Maybe they broke his other arm; or mangled the existing fracture even further. Lucy grimaced at the thought of how badly - if ever - that injury would heal. But she held that thought and dared herself to relish it. With the feeling of cold on her back, she let her violent memories flood in and scored the past with the sounds of the present. 

When a door scraped open somewhere in the distance, she was numb again. Impassively, she watched two of her colleagues drag forward the limp form of Ethan Lythmer, his face hidden behind blood-matted hair. A step before them marched captain Linde, wiping his hands on a clean towel. 

"Richardson," he said with a firm nod.

"What d'you want?" she answered. 

"Watch your tone. I have a job for you."

"I'm minding the door now." She pointed with her thumb. Linde's mouth twitched in a very satisfying grimace of annoyance. 

"Diaz will relieve you," he said, indicating one of the men behind him. "Make sure the spy is fit for further questioning by tomorrow."

Lucy scoffed. "And how do you want me to do that?" She looked Lythmer up and down, took in his ashen grey skin and clothes almost black with his own blood. She still couldn't tell what they'd done to him but he looked beyond the help of simple first aid. 

"Figure it out," Linde answered smoothly but with force. "The medical wing knows to expect you, they will provide the supplies needed. Questions?" 

Lucy considered getting in an argument. But it was going to be a long evening already. "No," she said. 

"Good. Carry on." 

Folding away his towel, Linde walked away into the depths of the complex. Lucy looked at Diaz and he gave a small shrug before making to move past her towards the door. She stepped aside and the grind of heavy metal shifting filled the whole corridor. 

"You need a hand with the meds?" Diaz asked, helping the other man carry the unconscious prisoner back into his cell. Lucy's eyes followed the trail of crimson drops on the floor, all the way to where they became a single, wide smudge leading back into the dark. She shook her head. 

Slinging her rifle onto her back, she walked away too into the silent cold. 

[ficsforeren]

such a shame zombie fighter himbo never got to watch top gun maverick

OH MY GOD YESSSS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 holy shit bro, he would've LOVED top gun maverick 😭😭😭😭 damn this is sad af this is even sadder than rockstar eren's death i'm gonna be thinking about this all day now poor baby himbo 😭😭😭

[vellichorom]

ur art has me fucking screeching and ripping up my couch I love it so much

can we get some f's for this anon's poor couch, I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS ASK SO MUCH & IT'S RAW FERAL ENERGY, THANK YOU !!!!

[elysiumcalled]

I thought I just saw a big spider walking across my bed but I think I imagined it I would of pooped myself frfr

[cheeseknives]

Downloading amazon prime video on my ancient Playstation 3 sort of vibe so I can watch it in my bed

[sweetsosos]

huh