#i got this last night but i fell asleep

[atopvisenyashill]

aegon vi x sansa

when you’re fucking the same guy and that guy is your mutual half brother.

anyways this exists in my mind as like “asoiaf but more overtly subtextually gay” where aegon/jon is show!visaemon levels of intense but jonsa still happens. those two are straight up secret married in front of a weirwood and bran officiating as a crow, then jon gets sent as an envoy to treat with the hot new claimant to the iron throne and immediately falls ass deep into another identity crisis surrounding wanting to bang his sibling. enter sansa, who does not like aegon’s weird incest vibes bc HIS are rancid, hers are fine bc it’s not incest anymore thanks very much, just absolutely managing to third wheel this burgeoning targaryen mutually assured destruction spiral through the power of passive aggressive messages alone. becoming fond of each other solely bc of their relationship with jon (see “what you did for her is the only reason i’m not killing you” but apply it to sansa/aegon snarking at each other over jon). this will never happen tho so it only exists in my mind!!!!

[ledzeppelinmixtape]

wish house was a real doctor so i could be his mystery insomniac patient and after giving me horse tranquilizers and still not falling asleep he just hits me in the head with his cane and im out like a light

[spiribia]

art party for @antariies. lets all get carried away by raven

[m00ngbin]

TFS TUESDAY!!! (WEDNESDAY??)

[crossedwiress]

i wish we were all rose-colored too, my rose-colored boy

[posthumanwanderings]

Jerma Streams - Lifeline (Sony / Konami - PS2 - 2003)

[heavnlyhetfield]

I’m seriously in love with like current James. Tbh with you, being his like younger on and off fling/gf/sugar baby 🥰🥰🥰 even thought, how he is (now mainly) he wouldn’t be that way, but would you fucking imagine how soft he is and how sweet that guy is has me spiraling.

i think about being his sugar baby all the time.

is it realistic? not in the slightest. but i like older men and i like james and i’m constantly worried about money so 🤭 i’ll keep being delulu.

god he’d be so sweet to you ;-; i can’t explain it rn, brain empty, but he’d just,,, aAAAGGHH he’d buy you whatever you want and help pay for your classes or rent and he’d take you to shows occasionally (you always ask to be up front where all the action is, and sometimes he comes over to that part of the stage to smile at you)

he’s so gentle and idk i feel like he’d be a good friend too. it doesn’t always have to be sexual or romantic with him and i think that’s part of why he likes spending time with you

anyways yeah

[theloveinc]

I feel like Bakugo tells you he voluntarily doesn’t go on his friend group’s winter vacation for the same reasons he usually complains about them…. But then u find out that actually he’s not allowed to because the cold makes him way too grumpy to tolerate and he hardly ends up leaving the house anyway.

It’s the first time in five years that they agree to him coming because you’re gonna be with and hopefully that will calm him down😭

[o-wyrmlight]

A Toast to the Pigs: A Disco Elysium fanfic that explores the concept of Harry Du Bois waking up in Martinaise with his memory intact and still having to solve the case. Chapter 15: The end of Day 1; an Intermission. I hope you enjoy. Content warnings are found at the top of the chapter. Please do mind them.

In the 41st Precinct, Satellite-Officer Jean-Heron Viquemare is working a longer night than usual in the office. The sound of typewriters and conversations float familiarly throughout the night. He has a large stack of paperwork at the corner of his desk to keep himself busy. He won’t get through them by morning—but when he wakes, neck sore from where it lays at his desk, the first person he’ll search for is you. In a café east of the traffic jam in Martinaise, Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi is sitting at a table and enjoying a light dinner. He flips the newspaper to the sports section and shakes his head. The Stormers have lost again. He sips his tea and moves on to the crossword, pondering the man he is temporary neighbors with. You wonder, briefly, what the café is. It’s a chain: Coraline’s Crépes and Coffee. And yes—it would come across as stalker-ish if you just showed up there. Why do you want to be there, anyway? Because you’re alone, Harry. Everyone’s doing something without you. You’re greedy with want to be around other people, but all you ever do anymore is hurt. There’s only one company you can keep: A bottle of Commodore Red. So you nurse that bottle, baby. Hurt yourself instead.

Or you do not.

[elo-h]

I woke up in the middle of the night holding a hardboiled egg and got so confused I almost cried....

[winterspiderpurrs]

Request on Peter dancing through dance again (salena Gomez) with a silky dress and tony saw it. He was horny

It's not often that Peter gets to stay at the Tower. He normally just returns home, only staying if he had to be there early the next day to leave on a mission or if he wanted more lab time with Tony.

The tower was oddly empty, most of the team out on other missions or on leave for a bit. It was late, Tony was still in the lab so Peter decided it was time for " me time" which meant he could lock himself in his room at the tower, specifically built to be sound proof. Where he could play his music loud and dance around without anyone catching him. And of course indulging in his more feminine side.

Once he was secured in his room, he quickly pulled out the black silky gown, trying to straighten it and get the wrinkles out from being crushed in his backpack.

" Friday? Can you turn on my favorite dance Playlist called umm Pretty? "

" Of course Peter"

Music starts playing loudly, smiling peter picks up the dress, puts it on a hanger and then goes into the bathroom. Letting the dress hang near the shower. If he was gonna wear the gown, he wanted to be nice and clean first and the steam from the shower should help get some of the wrinkles out. While he was in his extremely hot shower, singing and dancing of course, Friday had alerted Tony of Peter being in the tower and that he was in his room.

Timing couldn't be more perfect, Peter had just gotten out of the shower, toweling himself off before slipping on the gown. When the Dance Again song started, Peter started spinning around, swaying to the music, pausing every now and then to put lotion on his legs, to stop and put a bit of mascara on, some lip gloss. All the while unknowingly being watched by Tony. Tony who had to beg and override Friday to let him in the room. Sure maybe the kid wanted some privacy, but when asking Friday if Peter was in a private moment *ahem* masterbating*ahem* she said no. So he wanted in, it was just odd that Peter didn't come to see him first.

Tony was shocked, sure he knows Peter is older now[20] and hey he had no problems with anyone dressing how they wanted, either as a lifestyle, trueself, or kink. He just never realized how... good looking Peter was. Sure he knows Peter was cute, those big brown eyes? Who could say no. But while he always appreciated Peter's form, he was always able to distance himself from looking tooo hard. But watching Peter dancing in that dress/gown? There was no denying it anymore.

He wanted Peter.

[unhinged-greed]

@lettherebemonsters made something for you because damn-... Mammon and Adam best friendenemies!

[thatoneluckybee]

bitches love me cause i sleep until 4

I'm stealing you melatonin I need some

[ashmp3]

ofc putting it under read more bc fuck do i look like a whore?… attention whore? 😒 but this is the only time in my life i didn’t look short and stocky on camera and i think it’s bc the mirror is mounted to the wall not leaning or anything. Fuck do I know but i rmr i showed this pic to nana and she said i look long 🚶🏼‍♀️… i miss this apartment a little bit

[scionshtola]

with certainty

summary: Corisande was forced to heal her own injuries following their battle in Cape Westwind. Y'shtola is none too impressed with the job they did. pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul (pre-relationship) word count: 1666 | read on ao3 notes: everything about healing in here i made up. and supplemented with things i saw on grey's anatomy. sorry in advance. and spoilers for the end of ARR. [divider credit]

Behind Corisande, Castrum Meridianum loomed in the distance, the glow of its shields bright against the night sky. Before them, the Alliance troops prepared for the next phase of Operation Archon, spurred on by their successes at the other Garlean outposts thus far. Corisande watched them work, running here and there, voices blending with the sounds of weapons being tended.

If all went well, the troops in front of her would engage the Garlean forces outside while Corisande snuck into the stronghold and disabled its magitek shield generator. If it did not go well, if Corisande let down all of the brave people before her, those willing to risk their lives on the misplaced hope that she succeeded—

They shut their eyes, pushing the thought away. There was always a way for things to go wrong. Now was not the time to dwell on the possibilities.

“Ah, there is our Warrior of Light.”

Searing hot metal closed over Corisande’s wrist. Rhitahtyn sas Arvina stood over them, yanked the chain that linked them and sent them stumbling toward him. She dug her heels into the ground, struggling for purchase in the mud and the grass, churned together by his relentless attacks. It was no use. He was far bigger than them, far more prepared for battle in close quarters, and the manacle on their wrist was blisteringly hot. Pain greater than any they had ever felt before radiated through their arm. She needed distance, needed time to cast, needed her hands free—

“Corisande,” he sneered down at her. Around them, the battlefield was ablaze, flames licking their body as they continued to struggle. She aimed her grimoire at his head, tried to shove him away, anything to create the time and space to cast a spell. If I can just summon Titan… “Are you well?”

They blinked, and the flames receded. The manacle fell from their wrist, leaving behind a phantom pain, as if their skin had been scalded all over again—but it did not truly hurt, not anymore. They had made sure of it.

“Corisande?” Y’shtola’s voice broke through the haze of imagined pain. Where Rhitahtyn towered over her a moment ago, Y’shtola stood peering up at her, her fingers wrapped loosely around their wrist.

“I’m fine,” they answered, and tried to cover the suspiciously quick response with a smile. She tugged her arm free, the tips of Y’shtola’s fingers trailing along the back of her hand, and let it fall to her side, fighting against the urge to cradle it protectively against her chest.

Unsurprisingly, Y’shtola did not seem convinced. She trained her gaze on them, unwavering, concern evident in her bright teal eyes, and reached for their arm again. She took it with a practiced hand, pushing their sleeve back to reveal the web of mottled scars encircling their wrist, a wide, morbid bracelet, the tendrils of which stretched across the back of their hand. 

“When did this happen?” Her touch was firm but gentle as she turned their arm over, examining the scarring from all sides. 

Corisande hesitated, reluctant to do or say anything that might distract from the next phase of the mission. Reluctant to relive the pain in the retelling of it. But she has kept little from Y’shtola in the course of their friendship and as much as she wished not to speak of it, she did not wish to hide it from her either. 

 “A few bells ago,” they finally admitted. “At Cape Westwind. I am afraid I got a little too close to my adversary.”

“A few bells...” Y’shtola prodded at the scars, her eyes narrowing when Corisande did not react. She turned their hand over and skimmed her fingers along the inside of their wrist, brushing the singed edges of what was left of their wrist wrappings. They had not found a moment to replace them since the battle, swept from one task to the next as they were.

“Pray, which healer is responsible for this remarkably poor work?” The sharpness of her words contrasted the gentle hold she kept on their arm. “I should like to have a word with them. A burn so deep as this one appears to have been would take hours to heal properly.”

Corisande would laugh, if it did not feel like so much work. If her skin did not itch, did not feel stretched taut over her bones, fragile and paper thin, at war with the ironic spark of warmth blooming in her chest. Still, that Y’shtola should take such immediate offense to the shoddy quality of care they received was enough to bring a small, fond smile to their face. If only they had someone else to blame. “I will keep that in mind for next time.”

Y’shtola’s eyes widened, gaze flicking between their face and their scar. “You healed yourself?” she asked, at once both incredulous and irritated. “Reforming the layers of skin, repairing the nerves, not to mention the debridement—the pain would have been excruciating. Even more so if not given time to rest between stages. Why did you not come to me?”

Corisande had hardly been able to take two steps after defeating Rhitahtyn, the pain had been so overwhelming. They had tried—one foot in front of the other, just until they reached the others, but they hardly knew where they were going, the pain blinding them to everything around them. Every step had jostled their arm, lightning bolts of pain emanating from their wrist. She’d held her arm to her chest, but every brush of her open wound against her clothes had set her wrist aflame all over again. It had been impossible to think straight.

They had only meant to heal it enough that they could think about something else. Anything else. But Y’shtola was right—the pain of healing had been excruciating, so much so she could hardly keep her eyes open to watch. But she had. She’d watched as the seared bits of her gloves fell from the wound, grit her teeth as the skin began to reform. They had meant to stop, meant to leave the rest until they could find a real healer—until they could find Y’shtola.

But they had never had much control over their healing, had always neglected the study of it for the more interesting act of summoning. She could hardly tell what she was doing, her own cries ringing in her ears, unwilling tears blurring her vision. It had been hard to see, so hard to think about anything but the pain—until there was no pain at all.

“I only meant to make it bearable,” Corisande answered, meeting Y’shtola’s gaze. Her expression flickered, melting from a borderline scowl into softer concern as she looked into their eyes. It lasted only a moment, and then she dropped her gaze to their wrist once more. She prodded at it with cool fingers, then pressed hard against their skin, almost a pinch, pursing her lips when Corisande gasped.

“‘Tis not the prettiest work, but your nerves are intact,” she said neutrally, and let their arm drop to their side.

“You could have just asked.” Corisande rubbed her wrist, though she could not quite hide her amusement at Y’shtola’s straightforward approach. In fact, she found something rather comforting in her lack of gentle bedside manner.

 “Had you proper knowledge of healing magicks, there would be far less scarring,” Y’shtola continued, as if Corisande had not spoken. “But we must make do with what talents we have on the battlefield. That you have healed is of greater import than the manner in which it was done.”

“Come to me should you need any further healing,” she added, in a tone that brooked no argument from Corisande, then narrowed her eyes at them. “But do not expect that I will let you get away with subpar healing forever. A mage of your skill should know how to properly heal themself.”

The laugh that Corisande had struggled to produce moments ago burst easily from her lips now. “I look forward to your lessons, Master Y’shtola.”

Y’shtola smiled, pleased, a touch of mischief in her eyes, and Corisande’s heart swelled with affection, an answering grin forming on their lips. Until Y’shtola’s eyes darted over their shoulder, at the fortress still looming over them, returning to the forefront of their mind all the worries that had fallen to the side when she had first touched them. 

“I would prefer that you rest, but there is still work to be done,” Y’shtola said, staring up at Castrum Meridianum with steel in her eyes. Corisande turned to face the fortress, and for a moment they stood side by side in silence, contemplating the task before them. One more step on the path to Eorzean liberation.

Y’shtola grasped Corisande’s hand. This time she did not look away when their eyes met, and instead returned their gaze with an assurance in her eye that calmed them. “I will see you when you return, Corisande,” she said, giving their hand a comforting squeeze before slipping away to resume her duties amongst the troops.

Corisande took one last look at the looming castrum and let the sound of the battle preparations taking place behind her wash over her. The fate of Eorzea, of everyone behind them, very likely rested on their shoulders. The thought was nearly enough to send them running for the forest they had come from. 

Instead, she turned toward the crowd of people working behind her. Cid was somewhere amongst them, beginning the preparations for the infiltration, and it was past time she sought him out to assist. 

They worked their way through the encampment, a certainty rising within them as they walked. Y’shtola was right—they would see each other again. They were as sure of it as Y’shtola seemed to be herself. 

And they found, suddenly, that they could bear anything, so long as they had that to hold on to.

[wayfinderships]

Good morning gamers! Hope you're all doing well!! As for me, I'm thinking thoughts... feeling feelings even👉👈