#pow sky

[pinkyberet]

Seec Nihbor (Martz, Enz, Trin, Fin, Del And Iv)

Finally *pow*-fixed The Secret Neighbor Kids :3

[primehusk]

for your consideration: another ski

[askskyverseandchill]

Introducing Ask Skyverse and Chill!

Sky: Hello internet! Skyverse and Chill crew here! Welcome to our new ask blog! We're all generally pretty new to this sort of thing, so please be patient and ask us anything! Anyways, I'm Sky! I'm just your average BF fangirl from one of the best mods! You've probably heard of me, so I won't linger too long. UwU Hey girls...and Skychi, go ahead and introduce yourselves! Skyblue: Oh, hey guys! I'm Blue...u-uh...I've never really done this sorta thing before either, so uh...w-well I like good food and funny j-jokes and...uh... Faker Sky: Psht, relax. We all know everyone loves you because they're horny. Skychi: Okay, who the heck let HER onto this blog?! Faker Sky: Ski. Ski: Hi guys! ^w^ Skychi: [sigh] ...why did we let her run the account? Sky: Because she's the most friendly, ALRIGHT?! Now can you all PLEASE let Skyblue continue? Skyblue: ...o-oh...I-I was pretty much done already! S-sorry! Sky: [sigh] ...then let's move onto Skychi, please? Skychi: Okay, sup anons? I'm Skychi, the cool and based one. My interests are anime, manga, technology, and guns.

Faker Sky: Wow, kinda cringe, TBH.

Skychi: Bitch, SHUT UP, I'm talking!

Faker Sky: Fine, gosh. Sky: You're going last now. Skychi, continue. Faker Sky: OH MOTHERF- Sky: SKYCHI, CONTINUE! Skychi: So uh...yeah, anyways I'm probably the only one here besides Ski who isn't relentlessly fucking horny. Any/all pronouns are fine, but I prefer they/them. Sky: Oh that reminds me, everyone else, list your pronouns. I'm she/her. Faker Sky: Bitch, ALL the rest of us are she/her. Neeeeeext! Sky: [sigh] Skychi: Anyways, I'm a genderfluid, badass memelord. I don't drink, but I occasionally smoke. Also I'm the most fourth wall aware. Skyblue: Ohhhhh, is that what this is? Faker Sky: Oh god, please tell me we didn't fucking invite Miko to this. She's a fucking terminally online loser. ...no offense Skychi. Skychi: None taken, and GOD no, don't worry. Ski wanted to, but it didn't pan out. Ski: She's just kept screaming and saying "Get that thing away from me!" when I tried to ask her, and she seemed so scared, and I felt so baaaaaaad! 😭

Faker Sky: Heh...dumb bitch thinks you're dangerous because I like you, lol. Sky: Fak-...Sky, shut up! Faker Sky: Fiiiiine... Sky: Skychi? Skychi: Eh, I'm done. Ski? Ski: Hi everyone! I'm Ski and I wanna meet new friends here! 😄 I like to sing and make lots of arts and crafts! But my favoritest thing is to spend time with my friends! ...that's it! ^w^ Faker Sky: ...that's it? Ski: I am a creature of simple comforts. Faker Sky: Okay, baller. Sup, dorks? I'm just your totally normal, ordinary Sky. The best Sky, and don't you forget it! I like eating creepypasta (the edginess and negativity soothes my soul) and also hanging out with these weirdos sometimes, I guess. Anyway, I'm single and ready to mingle, so- Sky: Sky, this isn't a dating app. Faker Sky: Oh, I know. Skychi: [sigh] ...this isn't a lewd roleplay account either, Faker. Faker Sky: Then why the fuck are we on tumblr in 2023?! Ski: Elon Musk killed Twitter. Faker Sky: Oh yeah, I forgot why I agreed to this. Yeah, that makes sense. Still, I'm gonna miss that god awful bird site. Skychi: Don't. I almost made an account there, but decided not to. Best decision of my fucking life, lol

Faker Sky: Yeah, but I like to feed off the negativity and engage with assholes while also being a bigger asshole...anyways I'm here if you wanna ask me or my dork friends any questions. Also, did I mention that I am absolutely not a lovecraftian monstrosity in disguise, and anyone who tells you otherwise is lying? Skychi: Dude, we've already seen your eldritch form. Faker Sky: ...you have? Sky: Yes?! Skychi: SEVERAL times! Faker Sky: ...when? Skychi: Bitch, you tried to eat Blue! Faker Sky: ...oh. ...shit. So anyway, Skychi is lying. Skychi: [groans and facepalms] Faker Sky: Anyways, we'll be here whenever we feel like it, so I guess ask your silly questions, dorks! Sky out! Sky: [sigh] ...Skys out.

[muggycuphead]

Ski on skis by PinkieDiamondstone15

[flickynightdarkness]

NuSky & Ski

[heliosphere-underthesky]

Uranus quite literally can never get a break, he's going to break something

[mayo-advance]

*Gives you a big fat kiss and you find this bts image in your pocket afterwards*

*I love them*

[temper-temper]

September Day #15 Today is National POW/MIA Recognition Day and in honor of that I drew September in the mint and white uniform worn by the nurses of Vietnam. Though POW and MIA have been missing and captured for many many years it was Vietnam that brought it more into the limelight hence my choice. Remember those who are continued to be counted MIA and continue to be imprisoned.

[a-shrieking-cloud-of-bats]

elder lemurian’d

[moondirti]

Your ghostsoap x preg!reader!!??? I'm in love I need more of this. You have more thoughts for that universe? I just fell in love with your writing.

Let me camp in this corner of your blog, I'm friendly and don't bite (⁠~⁠￣⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠~

they're all i've been able to think about all day. of course i have more to say <3 if you're curious, anon is referring to this, which should be read before this part.

tags: DARK FIC. manipulation. vehicle tampering. planned abduction. pregnant fem!reader. established ghostsoap – who are not the fathers but would definitely like to be. mentions of somnophilia

Delusional as they might be, it's hard to justify something as egregious as blunt-force kidnapping. Though it briefly occurs to Simon – to pluck you from the parking lot and drive off the hour after they decide to keep you – the logistics don't iron out. Of chief concern, you're six months pregnant. What they'd typically use for POW's thus become's inconsiderable for you; Johnny's the wiz, but even he knows the effects chloroform can have on a foetus. The alternative isn't any better, either – his partner just balks at the idea of tying you up and throwing you in the trunk. (She'll never git ower it, Si. Dae ye want her tae hate us?)

So, things unfold in a far subtler manner.

They go home that night they first meet you. Can't coordinate without resting on it, they rationalise, without scoping their place to assure it's suitable for their soon-to-be-mother. They tuck away the knives laying on random countertops, air out the quilts gifted to them by Johnny's ma in an attempt to make their room cozier. And when they sleep, they dream of you tucked in between them, knocked out, sex-drunk. Dressed in nothing but a shirt, cunt bared for either of them to toy with throughout the night.

Hours upon hours later, well into noon the next day, Simon wakes to find his boy rutting into his thigh, still somewhat comatose, and sneaks a rough hand into his boxers to tug the tension out of the poor thing. They only get up as the fissures of dusk begin to spread across the sky, loading their car with a toolbox and making the drive back to The Dahlia, staking out in the parking lot as they wait for you to arrive for your shift.

(Johnny had deployed the old charm as you brought out their food in two baggies last night, disguising the trap with a lilting laugh as he audibly wondered why you picked up such a late shift.

You’d only shrugged and said you preferred to work nights.)

Sure enough, you pull up in a beat-up Kia at 2200, fussing with your bag as you stumble to the back entrance of the roadhouse.

"Forgot to lock it." He mutters, following your form until it disappears from view. Johnny only frowns, tightening his fingers over his thumb. A little nervous tick.

"Should we be doin' this?"

"And what is this?" Simon turns to appraise the scotsman, larger hand enveloping his, calloused fingertips smoothing over scarred knuckles. "Y'think they'd be kinder to 'er? The type of scum we know grace this earth? It's a wonder she made i' this far, Johnny."

He isn't convinced.

"Look a' me." Blue eyes widen to meet his, dark as their owner battles intuitions that have always been straighter than the Ghosts'. "Wanna give 'er a good life, yeah?"

"Aye. The best."

"Would she be so convinced?" But he knows the answer. They both saw the way you withdrew after being hit on, losing the effusiveness you initially greeted them with. Avoidant. Classic case of hyper-competency, perhaps the very reason you put up with such shitty circumstances to begin with. A stubborn knot they'll have to undo themselves.

And Johnny likes the challenge.

"Lass's got something tae prove." Moments pass in silence. Then: "Ah’ll get th' wire."

"Atta' boy."

They only enter the establishment an hour before the end of your shift. It’s 0600 and space is sleepy. At a point that had escaped their notice, someone had made the choice to shut the overhead fluorescents, and so all that functions to illuminate the dinette is the pale dawn outside. Johnny finds he prefers it like this, grumbling a tired endorsement, before branching off in search of the bathroom, hand rubbing the sore column of his throat.

The softening mass in his pants jumps once Simon catches sight of you, balancing two trays in one hand as you wipe down the serving hatch. He doesn’t need to say anything. You catch the dark blur of him in the corner of your eye, shuffling into a booth, where he occupies an entire side with the mere spread of his legs.

“Hello again. Just you today?” You’re twirling your pen, cradling your belly, and he notes the perpetual shadow cast under your eyes. Poor pet.

He shakes his head, then cocks it toward the loo. “Think he’ll have a go at the toastie today.”

“Good choice. Hard to fuck up.” You give him a tired smile. “And for you?”

“M’good.”

“You sure? Look like you’ve been on the road again, and-" You pause, the water of your eyes rippling as you appraise his mask. Something seems to click just then, because you nod and tuck your notepad away. “I’ll ask again at the end. Maybe you’ll want something to-go.”

In the end, they do take something to go.

Not as greasy as the toastie Johnny spends the hour tearing into, glossing the pads of his fingers with oil. Nor as sour as the coffee he sipped on last night, burnt and way past freshness, just like you’d warned them about. But a much, much sweeter keepsake. Something that’ll sate them for much longer.

You’ve already clocked out once they leave The Dahlia, faces grim but as innocent as they can possibly muster. Sure enough, you’re out standing by your car, wiping tears with the back of your hand. They’re close enough that they can catch snippets of your conversation on the phone (No, I don’t– and It is old but never–).

They wait until you grow desperate, hiccuping – Don’t have that kind of money. Please – before intervening.

“Hey. What’s the matter, hen?” Johnny approaches first, concern no faux thing, smoothing a hand down your arm. What Simon said earlier comes back around (Wanna give 'er a good life?) and his chest tightens at the sheer despair he sees etched across your face. You shouldn’t be this stressed about anything this far along, should have someone taking care of you.

He, they, can be that for you. Could give you everything you ask for and more.

“M-my car. I-I don’t– I don’t know what’s wr-wrong with it, and–”

“Shhh, issalright. Not starting, eh?”

“No. And I have to- to get home before… before–”

Simon steps in, crowding you against the side of your car. You don’t have it in you to look for the red flags; the glances they throw one another, the subtle crinkle in the masked one’s eyes as he smiles. No, you don’t– can’t consider it dangerous. Not when these two wonderfully kind men, who tipped you 100% of their bill both times they came in, are one of your only means of getting help.

“Where do you live? We’ll drive ya if it’s on our way.” A lie. They’ll drive you regardless, and you won’t be taken home.

“Oh- no. That’s okay, really. I’ll just a-ask my boss if I can get a sub on my pay, and–”

Johnny smooths a finger across your cheek.

“Nonsense, hen. It’ll be a skoosh.”

next part

[pinkyberet]

Tedo, Din, My And Aro (Pow Neighbor)

*pow* The Pete Family :3

[primehusk]

SKIII I LOVE YOU SKIII

[montereybayaquarium]

P is for pelican…

The perfectly proud brown pelican patiently pilots the sky, perusing the Pacific waters for possible prey. Pow! It plunges purposefully, precisely positioned to pilfer a pescado or two. Perchance, this plucky predator filled its prodigious pouch with prey. Post-meal, the pleased pelican perches on a piling, permitting the sun to penetrate its plumage.

[naffeclipse]

Champion

Gladiator!Reader x Gods!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse

Commission Info

This was such a fun and unique fic to write and I'm honored @drops-of-the-sun requested my writing for their AU! A mix of gladiators and gods with two offers and difficult choices. I also loved describing the boys as gods and how they interacted with their champion!

Content Warning for suggestive themes.

———

The domus, a large house, stands tall and grand. In the shadow of the colosseum, it is a mere footstep of smooth marble but no less imposing. The double doors are gilded in gold, and the guards escorting you speak not a word as they push you through the entrance and into the atrium. You gaze around, wary. A large central hall is open at the roof, allowing sunlight to stream down and open up what would otherwise be drenched in shadows. Lavish decorations of gold vases, jewel-bright pottery, and marbled floors scream of the high importance of those residing here. The walls are splashed in frescoes of deep blue midnights and burning yellow mornings; the glorious depictions of the astral beings who must use this as a villa during the god games.

Why do they summon you now?

Aligned with the front door is a dark curtain of blue speckled with tiny yellow stars separating a study from the rest of the building. The guard pushes you towards it. You glare back at the rudeness of your escort. Though you are still a captive, you are a famous gladiator. Your renowned skills earn you much recognition within the colosseum, and though fame does not grant you freedom, it provides you with status. Status that should keep from being treated so harshly, like a lamb led to slaughter. 

Unless that’s what you have become in such a short time. The god games are soon. Your heart cools like iron left out to crumble and crack at the thought of your patrons choosing to cast you aside for another—and forsake your chance for freedom.

A strong, steady voice speaks beyond the curtain.

“Enter, our champion.”

The guards step back in a unison beat of footsteps, standing tall and fearful of the gods they serve.

You however straighten with grizzled anticipation. You smooth down your chilton, a knee-length, short-sleeved tunic, and adjust the cloak carefully wrapped around your body. Stepping forward, you sweep the curtain aside and enter the study.

The room glitters lowly with the light filtering in from small square windows. A glow from the bronze couches, overrun with plush cushions, brightens the space. A center table piece of polished wood lies gilded in gold. The walls are finely decorated in frescoes of yellow ochre and blues so dark they’re almost black. 

Two astral beings fill the room with their radiance. You remain guarded as you bow yourself before them in reverence. Your patrons are powerful. You do not trust them.

One steps forward, his body flickering with living flames. He dons dark armor, cladded with a rich red cloak down his back. Gold chains bridge over his chest and attach to his shoulders with the rich symbol of the sun. Aptly decorated, for he is Sun.

A marking that is upon your lower back, a stamp of claim when you first became their champion, shares the symbol.

The second astral being leans against the wall, draped in shadows. Moon. You resist a shiver as his crimson, otherworldly eyes look over you with an expression you can’t read. He lingers on the scar on your face, and you nearly turn your head away in anger that he would openly gaze at the marred flesh you despise. His arms are folded, and his skin is the living flesh of the night sky, dark and deep blue, with tiny stars speckling his body. He wears gray linen, thin and climbing up his throat. A tendril not unlike a nightcap falls over his shoulder from behind his head, shimmering softly.

“Welcome,” Sun greets boldly. He gestures an open arm over the couches. “Make yourself comfortable.”

You silently pad to the bronze seat. Sitting down, you loathe how they stand over you, lording, commanding, an untouchable power radiating from their beings.

“You are stunning, our champion.” Sun steps closer, and draws his finger along the scar of your face, leaving a hot trail over the bridge of your nose. “Your physical prowess is lethal and your strategic cunning is a marvel to behold.”

You hold very still, jaw clenched and muscles pulled taut along the length of your body. The beat of your heart jumps.

“Yes?” you inquire.

Sun flashes a burning smile, his pale eyes flicking like candlelight.

“We have an offer for you.”

Moon steps forward. He studies you fiercely, eyes half-lidded before he speaks.

“Become our consort.”

You stare, struck by the astral beings. A thick haze takes over your mind.

They already claim you, a marking of a moon and sun sitting on your lower back, circled in black. You, their champion. But to become a consort would mean a fight you have never faced before. Would they use you? Bleed you dry of all your mortal love before casting you aside? Do they only care to preserve their favorite fighter?

You don’t dare lean into their silvered words. How can you?

“We are waiting for your answer, my champion.” Sun steps closer. He takes your hand and brings it to his mouth where the temperance warmth of his flames lick your knuckles. “You have never been so uncertain in battle. Why begin now?”

“If you accept, you will have freedom,” Moon rasps darkly. He slips like a shadows to your side. He gathers your other hand and drags the back of his finger down a scar that cuts the length of your forearm. “You may refuse if you wish.”

“And rot in the colosseum,” Sun punctures cheerfully. 

You shiver in equal parts fear and uncertainty.

Freedom. You could see your mother again, after all these years. She was frail before you were thrown into the gladiator fights. You have often imagined how unkind the years have been to her and your younger brother while you’ve been held away in the colosseum. How big has your brother grown? Has he moved on? Begun his own life? You hope so.

The two gods loom over you. You cannot keep them waiting.

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again. This is not the simple task of cutting another down. This is your fate of dancing between the will of astral beings and your desires. 

Can you trust your patrons?

“I beg, my lords, for time to consider this most gracious offer,” you speak, cool and cordial, but careful.

The flames of Sun’s being flare for a heartbeat, and the heat upon your hand creeps to an unbearable degree. Moon’s hand tightens around your wrist as if to place you in shackles. Would it matter to them if a consort is willing or not?

Sun grins and releases your hand. “Very well. A day should be plenty for you to understand what a gift this is. Moon?”

“Agreed.” He sets your hand back on your lap with a rubied stare. “You may go.”

You bow again and slowly rise. Without a word, you leave their presence, their stares cutting through your spine and into your very core before the curtain falls. You breathe out.

Is freedom worth the price of becoming two gods’ consort?

Your quarters are meager, dusty pale walls with simple wooden furniture strangely strewed with lavish gifts from rich contributors and sponsors of your battles. There are letters from those you celebrate your victories and root for more bloodshed by your hand. 

If you accept being Sun’s and Moon’s consort, you are then slotted in as their champion for the god games, and winning such a battle would win you everything. Your gods’ affections, freedom, and the power to choose your fate—should your lords treat you well and properly.

You don’t believe they will simply adore you. They yearn for something. They wish to use up precious life at their whim.

But do you stay and fester, fighting until you grow older and more unbalanced, and a blade catches your heart?

What choice is there when it is between two shared fates of doom?

You do not light a lamp. You stay in the darkness and contemplate how you will answer in the morning. 

A disturbance pulls you from your brooding. Under your door, darkness shifts. Before you can reach for your weapon, a column of smoke slips into your room. It spills and twists upon itself. From it emerges a god.

Your eyes widen before you throw yourself down on your knees, and bow properly. Never had you hosted such a guest in your pitiful chambers.

“Eclipse,” you breathe.

“Do not speak,” he growls. The god holds his two sets of arms wide. His skin is dark maroon, almost colorless. His loose brown robes expose his chest and the burning orange star set within his chest like an exposed heart. His one eye glows not unlike embers pulsing within a fire. A fierce marring on his other eye removes it completely. He glides deeper into the darkness of your room, standing before you.

“Rise, and sit with me.” He moves without confirming your movement. Draping himself upon the humble workings of your dull wooden couch, he waits for you. His head tilts expectantly. His sharp teeth flash, waiting. 

You have no choice but to answer. Straightening, you rise to your feet and stand before him. His relaxed, reclined position on the couch is too uninhibited for your liking. 

The god smirks up at you, his tongue running over his wicked fangs.

“Sit.” He pats his thigh.

You do, falling into the god’s lap. His arm immediately wraps around your waist. You hold your breath steady as if you tread black water, afraid of sinking into his abysmal mass.

“I have come here to make you a most beautiful proposal.” His upper right arm finds your hair, cut short with an undershave, and strokes the scars over the back of your neck. It takes all your being to not shudder.

Your eyes flash to his in the darkness. 

He grins wickedly and snarls softly, “Become my champion.”

Your lips part, eyes widening. 

“Oh, I know,” he chuckles ruefully, “Sun and Moon think they can keep you all to themselves. But you don’t have to be tethered to them, dragged into their apathetic schemes. No, I will show you what a true champion deserves.”

You hold horrible still as his claws softly scrape over your hip bone. His eyes fall to your lower back side, where your chilton conceals the gods’ marking upon you.

“And you would not have to tell them you have chosen another,” he says, his eye half-lidded. “You need only to say you have accepted their proposal. Then you will watch them, study them, and tell me what you have found. What do they lack? Where do they stumble?”

You wish so horribly to speak but if an astral being commands you, you must obey. Your teeth grind softly together.

“Do this,” he lowers himself to your ear. His glinting teeth graze the shell of it, and you clench your fists, “and I will free you. I will adore you eternally.”

You hold yourself rigid under the god’s offer. That may be the ultimate demise. If you taunted Sun and Moon and betrayed them to another, how would they obliterate you? Your very being could be scattered to the cosmos like stardust. 

But Eclipse offers you something more. 

“You may speak,” he says and draws a clawed hand down your thigh. He clutches you close. His one eye admires you as if you were a golden crown.

Your mouth is dry. Wetting your tongue, you face the astral being as if he draws in the very light of the world into him. Nothing can escape, not even you.

“Do I have your sworn oath that no harm will come upon me should I agree to such a plot?” 

His single burning eye glimmers.

“Yes.” His hands tighten around you. “I give it now, pledging myself to you, gladiator. We will be equals. Though you will be consort in name, you hold the power of a god at your disposal when you accept my hand.”

You hold your breath. A god’s oath is too powerful, and unbreakable, even by their strengths. 

You could soon be free.

“I will give you the night to reach a decision.” Eclipse slides you off of his lap as if you were only a feather. He sets you sweetly back on the thin cushion of your couch. “By morning, when you return to Sun and Moon, I will have your answer. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Twisting smoke envelopes him. Again, the thick haze of his traveling form slips under the door, and you are left in the dark without his crackling orange light.

You don’t move. Your fate is in your hands, and you must choose.

[vee-nyx]

to celebrate 8 years since civil war release, let’s review all the ways tony stark was an absolute loser and actually the reason thanos won in infinity war:

created an omnicidal A.I. that the rest of the team warned him against creating

decided that the entire team needed to become government puppets because he felt guilty for creating said A.I. that, once again, NO ONE SUPPORTED HIM IN MAKING

(also the reason bucky was forced back into the fight bc tony caused sokovia and thus caused zemo’s need for revenge but i digress on that pt)

when members of the team who can’t disconnect from their abilities raised concerns about how the accords dehumanized them, he had them arrested or locked them in his tower

bribed (yes, bribed) a child into fighting on his side because he knew he was outmatched

instructed vision to shoot sam out of the sky and then shot sam point-blank when he avoided the blast that would’ve left him severely injured AND LANDED TO HELP THE PERSON IT HIT

wanda on the raft. this is its own point. he let her be restrained and collared like a fucking DOG as if he hadn’t already done enough damage in her life (killing her parents & brother)

proceeded to break the accords THAT HE HELPED WRITE to chase cap across the globe because he felt left out of the action

blamed a brainwashed pow for BEING FORCED to kill the starks AGAINST HIS WILL and proceeded to BLOW HIS ARM OFF and ATTEMPT TO KILL HIM DESPITE KNOWING THAT NONE OF IT WAS HIS CHOICE

mocked natasha’s trauma because she dared to disagree with his methods (he is, in fact, incapable of letting go of his ego for one goddamn second)

even after receiving an apology, refused to contact cap for three years despite KNOWING about the threat of thanos

in conclusion,