#I feel like I'm in a fever dream

[cookinguptales]

[source]

no one told me the end of 2023 would be so fucking funny

[cowboylikedean]

wait i was today years old when i learned y'all don't understand thr lyric "hang your head low in the glow of the vending machine, I'm not dying" its so picturesque in its literal sense which makes its figurative narrative purpose so clear

he literally hangs his head and looks down in front of a lit up vending machine and she realizes she's not dying

"this summer is the apocalypse" but she realized she wasn't dying when she saw him look down in the light of a vending machine.

like its one of the clearest lines in cruel summer???

[oh-home-sweet-home]

Epiphany followed by Best of Me😭😭😭 and then Pied Piper😫😭😫😭😫😭 I hope the curator gets sugar spuces and everything nice omgggg

[paintedcrows]

they make me feel unwell

[canisalbus]

I was watching a comp video of Barbie Nutcracker and about choked when I saw this dude

MACHETTE?!??!?!?!

Love your lil guys 💚

That sure is a creature.

[sakuraspoke]

31 days of ghost // day 4 - favourite song from: infestissumam ⸸

He is divinity omniscient Seeing the world revolve with spite The surge of humanity oblivious To the divine whom bringeth light Let there be night Weave us a mist, fog weaver Hide us in shadows, fog weaver Come, mist eternal Come, mist eternal Come, secular haze

[microtyalm13]

there could be grammatical errors here 'm sorry i wrote this at like 2am. there's a pretty brief mention of fingering but overall vague description of getting hot'n'bothered & dicked down while watching at yourself through the eyes of a godly creature in a form of a.. i dunno? hypnosis? anyways have fun :З

he hovers over you in the deafening silence of the empty room, his palms holding your face. the eyes on his little wings slowly roll back and close as the feathers twitch faintly... the sight would be haunting for anyone else, but not for you. finally, he bares his countenance and whispers:

"let me into your mind."

and with a simple nod of your head, you let him in. you let him see through your eyes, and in return, he lets you see through his own. he loves to get inside your head, making you watch how he gets you worked up. your mind already left your body by now, but you can still see and feel yourself. even if there's not a single though in your head, just a white noise in the background, you can still feel how he presses his whole body against yours while his hands roam all over your smaller frame. it's suffocating, yet somehow hypnotizing.

you know you're not helpless right now, you can snap back to reality at any point. he doesn't want to overwhelm you too much or do something you wouldn't be comfortable with. but you choose to sink deeper anyway, further into his touch, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and exposed to the creature before you.

he takes it slow at first, allows you to watch how he stretches your pretty cunt with his fingers. the look on your face, combined with your dilated pupils, was so feverishly mesmerising. timid, but so shameless and obvious in expressing your own desires and needs, you writhe weakly on your bed, lips parted in a silent plea that doesn't go unnoticed by gavriil.

by the time he's done with you and carefully leaves your conscience, he's already admiring you from above again. your hair, now messy and tangled, your flushed, sweat-soaked skin. there's nothing more pleasing to him than helping you come back down from your high. as if it wasn't him who stripped you away from every bit of your guilt and shame, ravaging you so intensely immediately afterwards, he gazed at your face with such an affectionate look in his eyes. everything about you felt so raw and real to him.

everything felt right.

[somnimagus]

did some vesperia chibis, i always forget how happy i get drawing these guys. i love them dearly

[id in alt text]

[lazykurocat]

it honestly baffles me that Transphobes or general anti-LGBT will be pro Israel anti-hamas... it makes no sense, and as glad as I am people support Israel it confuses me... all the people who hate me stand for a place I could be safe. yet all the people who should love me stand for a place we would be killed... we live in a mad world... it makes me feel so lost... I don't want transphobes to have my back in one way and then not in another... because I'm scared of transphobes for how they see me and treat me and how much trauma they've caused... but I'm also scared of my own community for playing into their hands and giving them a valid reason to think we're insane when before they had none... I don't know what to do... I feel like as soon as the world moves on from the war the transphobes will just turn on me as they always have... so I find it hard to accept they support Israel and hate Hamas...

[ashtcnirwin]

let me see all the things that i was supposed to see

[feroluce]

Lucid Dreamer (2/2)

part 1

Gepard stalls almost a week before he finally goes out to the safehouse, and it takes him a couple days to find it because Sampo didn't have the time left to be wasn't super specific about the location. But he does find it.

It's pretty bare bones, really. Gepard knows that was probably to be expected, but… It feels crushing, when he realizes there are so few personal things here. It's nothing specific to Sampo. Just some food, some medical supplies. A cot and a heater and a lot of mismatched blankets. Nothing to remember someone by.

But he does find the letters, in a metal box stashed away under the bed.

There are two for him. Three for Natasha, and two for Seele. One for Hook, one for Serval, one for Pela, one for Bronya.

Bronya's is mostly business. They knew each other from the whole Stellaron incident, but not much beyond that, and the incoming catastrophe is a more pressing matter. Seele's is actually two copies of the same letter, and Gepard realizes why when Seele is so angry she rips the first one up without reading it. He gives her the copy a couple days later, and she slinks off without a word.

Pela seems completely normal after hers is delivered, but Gepard knows better than to trust that. The next day, he finds her asleep in bed with Serval, bottles abandoned on the floor, both their eye makeup smeared and running and Pela's glasses horribly smudged and crooked on her face. Serval doesn't read hers in front of him, but she's clingy with Gepard, Pela, and Lynx for quite a while after. She throws herself into her work a lot. She insists the heater from the safehouse is busted and she needs to keep it. It's too dangerous for use by someone who's not an engineer. Might burn their house down or something. Gepard doesn't argue.

Hook's letter is short, with easy to read words. The rest of it is actually a treasure map, and she and the moles spend the next several days running through the Underground, finding hidden candy and toys. Hook asks them when Sampo is coming back, because one of the marbles she found from his map looks green, just like his eyes, and she wants to give it to him. Natasha shoos Gepard out of the clinic before he can even begin to think of an answer.

Natasha refuses to let him see what's in her letters, which ok, fine, he'll respect that. He hears from Bronya who heard from Seele who heard from Natasha herself though that one of the letters was a map and the other a catalogue, with all of Sampo's hidden "warehouses." Gepard promptly marches himself back out to the frontlines, where he can turn a blind eye. If a ton of stolen goods suddenly enters the black market, and if the orphanage and the clinic suddenly have new supplies, well, technically that's none of his business.

Gepard goes to bed, curls up under mismatched blankets and closes his eyes.

He doesn't dream.

One of Gepard's letters was also business, like Bronya's and Natasha's. He and Bronya follow everything meticulously, down to the letter, because there has to be some good to get out of all this, there has to be. Gepard can't let it all be for nothing, it would bury him.

And so the catastrophe passes. Not without casualties, and not without a lot of damage and destruction. But Belobog survives.

And after that, time just kind of…goes on. Gepard has been a part of the Silvermanes since he was old enough to enlist. The Fragmentum had gotten so much worse in the years before Welt sealed the Stellaron. He knows the statistics, it is literally his and Pela's jobs to keep track. He knows when he sees a face everyday in the camps and then it's suddenly gone. He's not unfamiliar with things like grief and loss.

He still catches himself checking the trashcans and the supply crates and soldiers' footprints sometimes, though.

But there comes a night where Gepard goes to bed, holding the mismatched blankets to his face, and he dreams. And it's strange, it's off, it sticks with him. Sampo doesn't look the same. He's thinner. His muscles have atrophied. He looks like how Gepard has seen soldiers after months in the hospital.

The most unsettling difference is there's a scar across the left side of his head, Gepard can see it over his ear, peeking out past his hairline, carving towards his cheek. Sampo is always careful about his face. Gepard once saw him dodge a Fragmentum monster and literally let it cut across his neck just to keep his face clear. He wouldn't let that happen for nothing.

Their actions in the dream itself aren't new. Sampo seems tired, run down and worn out, but he announces his presence with aplomb by lobbing a bunch of smoke bombs off the rooftops and sending his soldiers scrambling. Same shit, different day.

The new part is what he says when Gepard chases him out to the edges of the camp, tackles him into the snow. Gepard pins him to the frozen ground to detain him and Sampo doesn't even fight it, just looks up at him like he's seeing sunrise for the first time in months.

"I'll be home in one week."

[youling-the-ghost]

I don't check up on the theorist fandom for a couple weeks and apparently both Tom and his wife read the Santom mpreg fanfiction??? And apparently the official Team Theorist twitter account made a tweet about their ship name??? I clearly missed a few chapters here 😭

[blindmagdalena]

Hiii, Amy, how are you? Like really, how are you? I hope you're well.

I saw you reblogged this post and a fic about Homelander literally eating a supe!reader who has fast healing would be awesome! Imagine, she's not bulletproof, she can't fly, her thing is just really fast healing, like Wolverine. One night, she offers Homelander her fresh because she loves him so much that she wants him to literally consume her, would he accept, would he say no, what would he do?

girl. i cannot believe you inspired me to write straight up erotic cannibalism. (yes i can.)

dead dove! do not eat! smut and literal eroticized cannibalism under the cut. lite blasphemy? 18+.

It all begins with a bite.

Your hand in his hair, moaning in his ear. "Harder," you gasp, his teeth at your throat, teasing the delicate flesh there. He thinks you mean for him to fuck you harder, and he snaps his hips hard enough to rattle your teeth, but you shake your head.

"No, darling–bite me harder," you urge, legs locked tightly around his waist.

He obeys without a thought, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and shoulder. It doesn't matter how rough he is with you, it doesn't matter if he shatters you, your body mends by the time he draws back for the next thrust.

He likes the way the pain makes you moan, and he loves the way it makes your pussy clamp down on his cock. He's not convinced you even feel pain, not with how wet it makes you.

"Harder," you say again, yanking his hair roughly. "I want you to taste my blood."

Homelander is delirious with his own pleasure, so near to the cusp of release, he doesn't question it. His sharp teeth slide through your skin like butter, and the copper tang of your blood fills his mouth in an instant.

It makes you scream. He fucks you hard and fast through your orgasm, lapping up the blood from where you've already healed. If not for the familiar sweet taste of you, it would be like it was never yours.

You take him by the face and kiss him with more fervency than he's ever felt, licking your own blood from his teeth.

"Take more of me," you plead against his lips. "I love you. I love you so much. I want to give you everything." He doesn't understand what you mean. He has you. More than he's ever had anyone before you, more than he ever will.

So he thought.

“Bite me harder,” you keen, digging your nails into his back. You’re frail by superhuman standards, only a little stronger than a human, but your regenerative healing makes you practically indestructible. “I want you to fucking eat me.”

He moans outright when you drag your nails along his scalp.

Because you demand it, he does it again. He bites down, and both your hands cup the base of his skull as if you're nursing him against your body.

His lids flutter.

You feel incredible. You taste even better. Your touch has always made him salivate. His love for you has not been an end to his loneliness, it has become an extension of it.

When you're gone, it's as though the sun loses warmth. Color loses saturation. Food loses flavor. Where he once thought love, ever present in his heart, would reinvigorate the world, he has found this is only true when your hand is in his, when he is inside you, when the taste of you is raw on his tongue.

He must always keep you near. Without you, the world feels too much like a sterile white box beneath fluorescent lights.

"Eat," you whisper, quivering in his hold. "Feel me inside you."

Yes, he thinks. Stay with me.

Your body gives beneath the press of his teeth like it was made to. Blood carries bite-sized portions of you down his throat like the tide brings driftwood to the shore.

"That's it, baby," you moan, voice breathy. You sound as you do on the precipice of release, a swelling of need and incomprehensible pleasure. "I love you."

He believes you.

He tastes it in the spill of you down his throat, and in the white-hot clench of your body. The wet of your cunt, your blood, the saliva you swallow back.

You're hungry, too. You're left drooling as he feasts. He thrusts faster, lips pressed deep in your sinew.

To love is to devour.

To give.

He will give unto you as you have given unto him.

From the moment he met you, he was animal-like in his craving of you.

Perhaps this was always his natural trajectory. He has never known a love he did not choke down, swallow, tear apart at the seams.

You are the first capable of enduring him.

Every bite he takes of you replenishes itself in seconds. He can drag his tongue along his own teeth marks and feel your flesh push back against it, mending itself, born anew to be swallowed again.

This. This is what he has always needed. Too long have love and affection been a finite resource dangled at the end of the very stick they used to beat him. He bore this gnawing emptiness for so long, it grew teeth.

How did you know how to feed it?

He screws his eyes shut, keening into the bloodied crook of your neck.

"Let go," you whisper. "Let's fill each other." Your fingers are delicate in his hair. Your tenderness is relentless, worming deep into the rotted thing that drums in his breast. You dare his heart to beat for you, and suddenly he can't remember a time when it didn't.

"Come for me, baby."

Climax hits him so hard, he forgets how to breathe. He thinks he feels you shatter beneath him, but he can't be sure. You're whole again in seconds, your arms around his neck, your lips against his, your hearts beating against one another like caged birds as he pours himself into you in load after load after load after load.

You're both left panting. Sweat, blood, come and tears all salty and wet between your bodies.

He has taken your blood and your body into himself, and given you all he can in return.

Is this what they meant by holy communion?

He's convinced that it is.

This is the closest he has ever felt to heaven.

[shannonsketches]

he's so important to me

[bucktommy-actually]

*stares at ao3 bucktommys*, y'all know the drill if for whatever reason bucktommy is not endgame, right? say it with me,

✨️fix it fic✨️

[dykrophone]

post exam clarity is hitting me like a truck I feel sick