#im soooooo fucked

[minzbins]

🐱🔎

[zipstick-art]

hello doctor who fandom. look at this fucking thing

[andorerso]

Heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I.

JYN APPRECIATION WEEK 2024 | @jynappreciationsquad

↳ Day 3: Favorite Relationship: Jyn & Cassian

[smosh-mouth]

im brainrotting so hard about husband shayne like he's actually married like for real after talking about being single and his bad dating experiences for so long and after working on himself for the better and he was really playing with his ring on stream and he's officially a cat father now and he looks so happy and he's glowing...

[doodlebloo]

IT'S A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

sharing is caring <3

[figofswords]

planning a zelda dnd game with some friends yknow how it is

[soottea]

haunted one

[wisepuma23]

Knives and forks clink against the dinner plates, metal scraping and laughter, their base drips with water from above. Drip, drip, drip. Impulse watches. It seeps into the center of the table, a growing patch on the wooden grain. Right between the steaks and loaves of warm bread. Nobody pays it any mind. Drip, drip.

(…Nobody but him.)

Etho says something he doesn’t catch, a bark of laughter from Tango. Beads of water splash onto the surrounding food.

Impulse’s hold on his fork goes tight. 

He needs to fix that. 

“Impulse buddy, you with us?” Skizz shakes his arm, “You agree Scar’s acting weird right?”

“Yeah yeah,” Impulse answers on auto-pilot, “I heard rumors he’s been trying to get kills. Yellow Scar, man.”

Tango cackles and the conversation cycles on. Impulse steels his jaw, he can’t zone out again. Keep pretending, he reminds himself. It wouldn’t be good to stab his teammates at the dinner table. He’d have to clean the table out. Maybe pull out the entrails from the cracks in the grain of wood.

(Drip, drip.) 

No, focus. 

Focus.

(A faint, metallic scent permeates his senses– gone in a moment.) 

Impulse bites into a piece of steak. Buttery juice slides over his tongue and between his teeth. The taste of blood makes his grip on the fork creak. For what feels like the first time in millenia, his glamor itches at his skin. The careful control over his form twitches and squirms like a coiled snake poised to strike. 

Show them what you really are, hums in his mind. The dripping echoes like a wardrum. Show them your true face.

 Impulse licks at his lips, “You did a nice job, Tango. It’s delicious!” 

“Aww!” Tango coos, his flames crackling a soft orange-red, “Etho lent me some seasoning but he won’t tell me where he got the happy happy sauce.” 

Impulse takes another bite, canines digging into flesh and bone, and the rip is loud. Or is it loud for him? Again, infernal magic bubbles at the back of his throat. He swallows, appraising the flavor. It doesn’t drown out the sickly sulfur like he hoped. 

“Bdubs?” Impulse guesses with a tease.

“Oh come on,” Etho groans, “Ah I guess that was way too easy.”

“He married me too, remember?” Impulse laughs at Etho’s expression, “Can’t blame me for forgetting the best meals I’ve ever had! Bet he’s feeding his family around now.” 

Etho waves him off as they cackle at the blush rushing up past the mask. Impulse cuts another piece off the bone. Rip, snrk, clink. Idly, he wonders if human skin still made the same noise. 

The clink of metal against the plates, the dull pounding of water. The snap-crackle of Tango’s fire. Buttery-sweet blood coats his tongue.

He remembers the musky smell of Etho's burning hair and flesh, his screams turned into bloody gurgles as he flailed in lava in the first game. Just minutes before everything ended. 

Impulse tears off a chunk of meat.

(Snrrk, clink.)

People die in so many ways. It’s why he loves the variety poison provides— stomachs twisting and lungs seizing— and yet he wonders if anybody’s tried skinning someone, if the server would even allow it.

Impulse swallows a dark laugh, is vivisection on the table? His glamor shivers.

Metal catches the light, the smooth shimmer taking him back. To sharp arrowheads and snapping magma, to a castle reaching into the sky.

He remembers a golden clock.

(Rip, snrk, clink.) 

Impulse remembers the way Bdubs’ flesh bubbled and blistered from the Wither. The way his Red bloodlust sang at the way his corpse crumpled to the ground. Bdubs’ skin growing dark, mottled with blackened streaks and bruised from the Withering and regular battle. 

The worst of it healed over, scars stitched into flesh. But he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t revel in it, the stained canvas left on Bdubs’ face and arms. 

He kissed that face. Peppering them along wither-cracked ribs and arms, tracing every dark and poisoned line with a smile. I’m sorry, he had said. I’m sorry.

He meant it. (Yes, really.)

Impulse hadn’t meant to curse Bdubs with chronic pain and scars, especially since he had to feel the echoes of it through the soulmate bond. He loved Bdubs. Loved him since the beginning.

And he remembers the rip-schk! of the ax in his back. 

The way his blood pooled on the grass as everything went dark.

The phantom feeling of Pearl’s wolves tearing flesh from bone in long strips and bites. Riiiip-snrk-crunch.

Blood dripping from between their teeth.

(Drip, drip.)

Impulse stabs his fork a little harder into the next cut, picturing a handsome face with a cute and crooked grin. Damn him. He glares down at his plate. No, focus. Pretend, he tells himself, you’re good at that, aren’t you?

There’s a hand over his, warmer than it should be. He looks up.

Tango has cocked an eyebrow up with a cute little nose crinkle, “You in?”

Impulse blinks, the words registering in his head.

“Yeah, sure,” He grins, “A walk sounds great. I think I’m tired of Skizz’s stink overpowering the place. We really need to install some ventilation.”

“Hey!” 

And they laugh, bright and loud as Skizz pouts, checking his armpits. The glasses shake as Tango rattles the table with a smack, a cackle on his lips. Etho’s eyes twinkle with amusement.

Impulse’s focus drifts. Back to the present, away from the blood.

(Drip, drip.)

And yet.

(Rip, snrrk, clink.)

…The hunger prevails.  

[itsdefinitely]

you should draw simon how he got picked up in the new ep

a goddess and her saint. btw. if you even care

[fairyhaos]

SCREWAMIBGGGGGGG THE HOUSE DOWNNNNNN OH MY FUCKVIGBF GOF LEE SEOKMIN ???!!!!???? ;:;!! ())) ///??????????

[beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff]

sometimes i think about this picture and have to do meditative breathing exercises

[calciferstims]

“you don’t know the first thing about piracy. it’s not about glory, it’s about belonging to something.”

– our flag means death (2022 - ?)

sources: 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 | ☠️🏴‍☠️☠️ | 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

[skitskatdacat63]

2023 Brazilian Grand Prix - Parc Ferme - Fernando Alonso

[sunflowercider]

there are three very dumb things about writing llojavi fic that drive me nuts

1) i just know in my heart of hearts that lloyd would not start anything with javier without revealing who he was, at least not on purpose. Lloyd struggles to pretend he's actually the count and countess's son, which he had no say in happening in the first place, you can't tell me he would purposefully get into a romantic relationship without being guilty as hell not telling the whole truth.

So okay, alright, what would make lloyd purposefully reveal his secre- NOTHING. CANONICALLY NOTHING. BITCH TAKES THAT SHIT UNTIL A BATTLE WITH HELL ITSELF IN WHICH HE'S PRETTY SURE HE WONT SURVIVE ANYWAYS.

So it's either post-canon, or you better figure out how to accidentally trip them into a relationship OTL

2) there is no way on gods green earth lloyd would even entertain the idea of starting a relationship in the second half of the novel THAT MAN IS BUSY SAVING HIS FAMILY ROMANCE CAN WAIT

So it's either the first half of the story, post-canon, or you gotta figure out what on earth it would take to have that man think about having a partner when he's racing against the clock to save the people he loves.

3) Javier i am so mad at you. Why are you so powerful. Where's my dramatic tension. By halfway through the novel the man can instantly defeat a bone dragon and can heal worrisome wounds within minutes. How am i supposed to work with this. Fucker.

So you either gotta do the first half of the novel, really fucking AMP up the power levels of your antagonist (you gonna make something stronger than an angel??? huh???), or entirely rely on making a political drama where his power isnt helpful.

probably a good thing that the novel is so tight that finding cracks to play around with in the second half is tough for me to do but like also. ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

some hasty Laughingstock ft. butterfly!Howdy for your mild enjoyment...