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do-rey-me · 5 months

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if murderbot learned what autism was i truly believe itd go "wow humans are so ridiculous they cant even agree on their own stupid human social rules" and then never think about that or its possible relation to its own behaviors ever again

#mensah: secunit here are some accessibility drones so u can interact with the world more comfortably #mb: its super impressive how she can make up reasons to get around the 'no drones allowed rules' just so she can bribe me #ratthi has his head in his hands. like deities send me strength i cannot fucking deal with this #tmbd #mbd #murderbot diaries #i dunno the tags man. i also do not know if its even funny anymore #im so tired #lost track of my life and didnt realize i ran out of sleep meds haha. fuuck #tomorrows gonna fucking suck balls #my posts

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mdzs-is-rotting-my-brain · 4 months

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Once again, for the people on the back!

✨Wei Wuxian was not Bi✨

As someone that did the bi to ace pipeline I LOVE Bi rep. There isn't enough of it.

HOWEVER!

You cannot assign sexuality to a character that is clearly gay.

@mxtxfanatic @ladypfenix and @jiangwanyinscatmom have done some absolutely beautiful metas about Wei Wuxian's sexuality and how his flirting was compulsory heterosexual ideas he grew up with and was the behavior expected of him.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #the untamed #wei ying #lan zhan #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #based on a real conversation #im so sick of this narrative #if feels like gay erasure #making Wei Wuxian gay #makes him “more tolerable”#i think is the thought process #the james somerton effect #the character has to be palitable or his “not good”#i dunno.#its been a long week and im tired

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fox-grave · 24 days

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couldn't get this page right and I'm honestly just rlly tired of it so here u go tumblr!!! Messy wip i might pick up later!!!

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gatertots · 1 year

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lionblaze

#i havent done a design in so long...#gonna stop doing the lyrics im too tired to do it anymore LOL #dunno if ill design a lot more... but this was fun to do :)#lionblaze #warrior cats #warriors #warrior cat design #warrior cat designs #my design #my designs #my art #wc #warrior cat #warrior cat art #artist #digital artist #idk why i designed lionblaze thought itd be fun ig #i finished this like a week ago ive just been playing pokemon so much i havent gotten around to posting it

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sentientsky · 5 months

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"I forgive you." It came out like a blood clot—like an artery dripping gore—like an oil spill. Crowley felt his shoulders rise, fall, fall, fall. The air between them hummed, the tension of six thousand years turning every atom electrified and silently screaming. Breath shuddered out of him, human and terrible and hollowing. He had never been more grateful for the swallowing darkness of his glasses, for the way they hid the centuries of pre-emptive grief and wicked terror. The air was suffocating, the once familiar bookshop turned catacomb.

And then, hating himself for it but seeing no other way forward, he spoke the words aloud. "Don't bother". And then he was out in the middle of Soho and the breeze was harsh against his too-warm skin. Stepping out into the sun felt like rising to the surface of some great ocean—the gasping, desperate feeling in his lungs, the sudden crash of noise. A woman across the street called for her wife. A car horn. A dog barking. Laughter, cruel and far-off. He pulled breath into lungs that didn't need it, winced as he felt slivers of cold drive into the soft flesh of his throat.

So that was it; five and a half million years of want and need and burning, aching somedays, cyphered pleas for "our side". All gone in the space between shaking half-breaths and a kiss still seared against his lips.

Fuck it.

He'd ruined it the first time, had forced them both to look directly into the sun, to face the thing they'd been dancing around for the better part of six millennia. He could do better—would do better. At a music café some years ago, a human had been playing the piano—something soft and slow. A jazz number, if the demon remembered correctly. But the remarkable thing wasn’t the song itself, but that they were playing it with their eyes closed. Aziraphale had pointed this fact out to Crowley, excitement lilting in his voice (even then, the sound had thrilled him, sent a stab of warmth through his heart). It was only after the final note reverberated through the room that the artist opened their eyes, blinking in the sudden rush of stage lights. Aziraphale, ever the music connoisseur, approached the musician. The pianist had explained that, for them, reading music never came easy. Rather, they learned by touch, by the way the keys felt on their fingertips. In fact, the only way they could play a song was with their eyes closed. If they watched their hands as they played or thought too hard about their next move, they got confused and tripped over the notes. Muscle memory, they’d said. It was muscle memory—the galactic familiarity of finding the space between seconds and prying—that guided Crowley now. He hadn’t done it since Not-Armageddon, but it came easily to him just the same. Time, you see, operates kind of like sound, like music; it loops and sways and carries forward in waves. If you know where to look (as the demon did), you can disrupt the flow, send it back towards the shore.

And this was what Crowley did now. Drawing his hands through the ripples of minutes and seconds and hours and millennia, time stilled around him. It was natural. Easy, like breathing or sleeping. Or loving Aziraphale. Slowly, the world turned backwards; humans retreating from whence they came, cars driving in reverse, the wind blowing in the opposite direction. If Heaven had taken notice of their "half-a-miracle", Crowley expected them to be able to see this from every edge of the universe. He likely only had one shot at this.

The world aligned itself once more, and time returned to its regular, steady gait—a rubber band snapping back into place. Something hummed in Crowley’s chest. Something bright and burning and the shape of a neutron star. Hands shaking, he reached for the handle of the bookshop and pushed. The bell above the door rang, clear and and too-loud in the morning air. Aziraphale whirled around, a trembling half-smile on his face. Oh. Oh, somebody, this was going to be harder than he thought. It felt like all the oxygen, all the courage, had been punched clear out of him "Crowley!" A beat, a shuddering breath. "Angel". He pressed his still-trembling hands into his pockets and strode forward. "Oh, Crowley, dear, I've been looking for you. I have excellent news." His stomach did a little flip, something deep within him growing hollow and fearful. "We have to talk," he managed to choke out around the heart still lodged in his throat. "Yes, I quite think we do. I have something to tell you." Aziraphale strode forward, all grins and beauty like a flickering star, all plasma and heat. He could practically feel the agitated warmth roll off of his angel. Crowley shivered. "I just met with the Meta—” "No. Wait," the demon held up a hand, pausing the rushing torrent of Aziraphale’s words. "Just let me say my thing, please." "My dear boy, just—oh, what is that lovely human expression—"

"Hold that thought," Crowley muttered. His eyes burned behind his glasses. Aziraphale looked pleasantly taken aback.

"Yes, how did you know? I—" "No." The angel's eyebrows crinkled in confusion. "No?" "No," he repeated, enunciating each letter with perfect clarity. He was going to do it right this time. He was going to keep him from leaving. He could be good. Right? "I’m gonna speak, and I want you to listen to me without interrupting, m'kay?" Words were building in the basin of his sternum now, pushing up on his airways. He was going to have to say it outright this time; no more waltzing around this frenzied galaxy of emotion. Willing his hands to steadiness, he pulled his glasses from his face, and tucked them into the collar of his shirt. Aziraphale's breath seemed to catch for a moment, meeting the ferocity of the demon's gaze head-on. A deer in headlights. And then, "Crowley, I really—" (Eons hurtled through his mind in a split second, the serrated knife's-edge of want like a being all its own. Aziraphale in the garden. Aziraphale in the tavern, on the cliffside, on the West End stage, in the Bentley, in the bookshop, in the very marrow of Crowley’s bones.) "I love you," he rasped, ichor writhing in his veins.

There, he'd said it., said it fully and completely, without so much as flinching. It was the same love he'd expressed for the past several thousand years in a million little, unspoken ways: an ox rib, a revolution, a church, a burning bookshop and the bottom of a glass and a lost best friend. A yellow Bentley, a lifetime of tethering his life to Aziraphale's, of trailing after him like a moth to flame—like a dog to its owner. "I love you," he pushed on. They were both looking directly into the sun again, Crowley urging them to stare straight into the heat of it all. The words were spilling out of him now, a heaving, thrashing current falling to the bookshop's hardwood floors. "I love you and you can't go to Heaven." Aziraphale froze, pupils blown wide and unblinking, for just a moment. Tension stretched out like a thread between them. And then he pulled in breath like a drowning man (who wasn't really a man at all), and tears were gathering in the corner of his eyes, and oh god, he'd made his angel cry. Fear and guilt and horror slammed into him at a million kilometers an hour and left him halfway between dizzy and nauseous. His fingers tensed at his side, desperate to do something, fix what he'd so obviously broken. Heaven would be on the front step any moment. It was too late, wasn't it? It was always too late. "Crowley—what?" Aziraphale breathed, mouth twisting into a brutal, terrible, heart-wrenching sob. Crowley ached, panic lancing through him like a knife. "I—I really, I can't. You could come with me." He stepped forward, moving to place his hands on the demon's shoulders. Crowley leaned into the touch, almost unconsciously. "Don't go," he croaked, tears beginning to prick his own eyes once again. This time he didn't reach for his glasses, didn't try to hide his fear. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. And then Aziraphale could hate him and his desperate, hungry, reverent love in the aftermath. "Don't go where I can't follow. Please".

His angels blue-grey eyes searched his own, and the weight of his gaze was impossibly heavy, pressing down on his chest like a river-smoothed rock. "Crowley, please. I don't understand. The Metatron said—" His palms found the sides of Crowley's throat, thumbs resting gently on the side of his jaw. Crowley sucked in a breath. "Angel," The scent of earl grey—of old books and soft tartan chairs. Aziraphale's hands were shaking. "I know what the Metatron said," he intoned, soft as rainfall. "You can't go. It's not—they won't change. You're better than that." "But you could be an angel. With me," he murmured, soft thumbs running across sharp cheekbones. "Be my second-in-command." "Don't want to be. Want t' be an us," he felt tears—traitorous, burning tears tip over the edge of his lashes and fall against his face. "Crowley, darling, please." A beat. "I love you." The bottom of the world dropped out from under him in that moment. Aziraphale loved him. He loved him and he'd said it aloud and now it was out there in the world and it was as though every nerve on his body was on fire. His angel pushed on, "Truly, I love you. I need you with me. Please, come with me. We can do good, I know it." He could never say no when his angel asked something of him. Especially not when his kind, gentle hands were holding him like something good, something precious. Especially not when Aziraphale had just admitted to needing him, had injected the word with so much warmth he thought his all-too-human heart might beat clear out of his chest. But there was a first (technically, second) time for everything. He drew in a heavy breath, and tilted his head, breaking his angel's hold on him. Aziraphale's hands—now empty, still shook. He made a soft whimpering sound, and Crowley ached to kiss his fingertips, banish the fear. But instead, he looked up towards the ceiling, to a God who was not there—who maybe had never been there at all. He felt the Heavenly Host drawing near, a sense of hollow emptiness, the scent of absence. This was the time of last-ditch efforts, of holding his heart out and hoping Aziraphale might take it as it was, bruised spots and all. "I can't. I won't. I need to be here, on Earth, with you." "Crowley, please. I don't think you understand what I'm offering you," he huffed. A residual shard of anger stabbed at him then, and he turned his gaze sharply back to the angel before him. "Oh, I understand perfectly well, angel. I'm fairly certain I understand better than you do." Aziraphale's mouth drew into a thin line, tears welling fresh in his eyes again. And still, Crowley ached. A beat. Something in the angel shifted, then, turned on its edge—the walls beginning to go up again, and it was just like it had been not fifteen minutes ago. He was watching the same moment play out over and over again; some cyclical, torrential nightmare. "I would like you to come with me, but," Aziraphale paused, voice breaking in the middle. "But I'm leaving, with or without you." And there it was, like it was predestined. Despite the love, despite the want, despite every shared bottle passed between them, every half-accidental touch and glance and whispered word—despite the way he would’ve let Aziraphale run a sword through his chest... It wasn't enough. It was never enough. They were re-enacting their old magic trick, right there in the bookshop, this time with Crowley staring down the barrel, letting Aziraphale pull the trigger. Aim for my mouth, but shoot past my ear. Aziraphale wasn't shooting past his ear. His bloody ribcage felt as though it might splinter apart. Wingbeats in the distance, a grief wide enough to drown the sea. Crowley reached down, pulled his sunglasses from their resting spot against his clavicle. And then the hunger in his eyes was once more hidden, and he was walking towards the door like a man headed to execution. "Crowley—" Aziraphale nearly keened, the wall crumbling for a split second. Without turning, Crowley said the only words he could think of. "I forgive you."

#did i steal some lines from one of my own fanfics??? yes. yes i did #because im tired and i don't want to come up with more metaphors for time warping rn. so hush <3 #good omens fanfiction #good omens angst #THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE 300 WORDS LONG #FUCK I FUCKED UP IM DEHYDRATED AND IM SUPPOSED TO BE WRITING AN ESSAY WHAT THE FUCK #idek what this is i literally have not edited one tiny little bit of this. i just came up with everything as i went along so i apologize #ignore the fact that the dialogue/pacing/ideas diverge from canon shhhhhh im too tired to look at source material #ehhh dunno how i feel ab this but whatever here's something (???)#take a shot every time i say chest or heart or ache or tremble #good omens #crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #aziraphale #aziracrow #go2 #ineffable lovers #ineffable wives #good omens season 2 #crowley angst #final fifteen #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x arizaphale #david tennant #michael sheen #ineffable divorce #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #gomens

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silverskye13 · 9 months

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There’s a saying: Character is what you are in the dark. Its meaning is simple. Anyone can be a hero when the world is watching. When the world isn’t, when you could get away with murder or mercy and it wouldn’t matter, when there is no one to point and judge… that matters. That is the measure of your humanity.

Helsknight is sharpening his sword. He has been sharpening his sword, alone in his home, for over an hour. It was already sharp when he started. The edge hasn’t seen enough wear to be anything but. It’s been days since his last bout in the Colosseum. He made a ruthlessness of himself there, in front of hundreds -- thousands of people. He shouldn’t have done that. He remembered the showrunner criticizing him as he fled down the steps into the cells below.

“You could have at least tried to put on a show, Hels!”

He hated when people called him that. Hels. It felt… wrong. The place, hels, was the pit of everything left behind and unwanted. Stuck in some facsimile of the nether, inhabited by the dark unvirtues of a thousand different worlds. The place, hels, wasn’t even important enough to warrant a capital letter. It was a proper noun wasn’t it? A place. Calling it hels made it feel like something lesser, made it feel like a nonplace. Not the World, land. Not a God, deity. Not a living Hels.

He was knighted for a reason.

Knighthood puts a lot of stake by character. Doesn’t matter what kind, really, as long as it follows rules, and Helsknight is good at following rules. Putting order to the universe feels… nice. Like scratching an itch. That’s another good saying: scratching an itch. An itch on the skin is so easy to underestimate. It’s just an itch, until you can’t scratch it. Then it’s agony. Then it’s skin crawling off skin crawling off sinew and bone. An itch can be anything. It can be an allergy, an insect, a mortality. Once his only warning before a respawn in the Colosseum was the itch that told him a hit to the back of his head had gone through his skull instead of skipping off his helm. The itch had been blood running down his neck, before realization and void. Finding order felt like that; the itch from a trickle of blood, felt like scratching the itch and mending the wound.

It’s an interesting exercise in restraint, not scratching an itch. It’s also an exercise in madness, futility, and pain. The itch gets uncomfortable until it hurts. Sometimes it spreads. Your body twitches. You start to convince yourself you’ve never known what it's like to live itchless. You start to feel empathy for people that you’ve never met -- those mystical people with skin diseases or allergic reactions or plant rashes. You start to wonder if pain is really, actually the worst thing you can inflict on someone.

Sometimes, Helsknight itches underneath his skin. That is real madness. An itch so deep even peeling your skin can’t scratch it.

Helsknight takes his sword off the whetstone, holds it up to a lantern to inspect it. The blade is sharp. The netherite is pristine. The enchantments glitter. He tosses it none-too-gently to the floor, listening to the ringing clatter as it tumbles across the floor. One of the tiles chips and goes plinking off like a dropped penny. The netherite stays sharp. It’s a good sword, the kind that feels indestructible. He was told once by a smith that a good netherite sword with the right enchantments can cut through iron like a knife through butter.

Helsknight always has a sharp sword. It’s expected of him. It isn’t a knight’s expectation, not really. Knights do more law keeping in hels than the lawmen, and less dangerously. There’s something to be said about a person in plate armor. No, people just expected Helsknight to have teeth. He couldn’t blame them, when he reacted the way he did on the Colosseum floor. Temperamental people have teeth, get dangerous, and bite. Even people who like him treat him like he’s rabid, only docile and slow right before the lunge. He doubted any of them had ever really seen what a rabid animal is like. Uncanny. Or maybe they had, and that was why they tiptoed like that. Maybe he is uncanny.

Helsknight stands and runs his hands through his hair. He doesn’t like sleeping in this house. It’s too quiet. That’s why he’s awake, sharpening his sword, but it doesn’t feel right staying in the Colosseum cells. Unwelcome. People talk about him, or they don’t. It’s hard to tell. People just kind of… fall silent. Paranoia dictates they’re talking about him. A rabid animal itching in its skin longs to bite and spread the disease. They watch him like he’s about to bite.

He doesn’t know how to smile, put them at ease. It feels weird on his face. Besides, it’s not expected. Helsknight doesn’t smile. When he does, surely it's a bad thing. Helsknight doesn't talk. When he does, he must be angry. Helsknight carries a sharpened sword. If he doesn't, something is wrong. Helsknight is. Hels isn’t.

Helsknight was knighted for a reason. He’s good at following rules.

Helsknight crosses to his lantern and turns out the light. In the dark, he stands alone in an empty room, listening to the world outside, and suddenly very aware of the sword he’s sharped and cast away so carelessly on the floor. He could stand here forever and it wouldn’t matter.

Outside, a group of people laugh uproariously as they walk down the street. It’s night in hels, or a late hour at least. They sound happy. They talk so easily to each other, conversations rolling around hiccups and stutters of joy, rivers running. There truly is still water in hels, nether or not. There’s an itch under Helsknight’s skin.

There’s a saying: Character is what you are in the dark. Its meaning is simple. Anyone can be a hero when the world is watching. When the world isn’t, when you could get away with murder or mercy and it wouldn’t matter, when there is no one to point and judge… that matters. That is the measure of your humanity.

In the dark, Helsknight wonders if he even exists.

#the barking writer #helsknight #character study #loneliness #kind of #i dunno #vent #kind of?#its been a complicated weekend emotion-wise #sometimes you just feel trapped and lonely you know #i spent too much time as a kid being happy for solitude #now people expect me to enjoy it -- and i'm too awkward to prove them wrong #anyway this is somewhat inspired by sleep token #ya'll cant just drop a phrase like 'im a waking hell and the gods grow tired'#and expect me not to get emo about it every time i have 3 seconds to myself

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pigeonneaux · 2 years

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stargazing 🥺🥺🥺

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this-should-do · 9 months

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what if we kissed in a matinence closet at the black mesa research facility and we were both boys

#gordon freeman #barney calhoun #freehoun #idoindeeddraw #ponderingradioactivedecay #i dunno felt like it #im tired

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opens-up-4-nobody · 2 months

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...

#i walked into a situation today where my mom was effectively already dead. effectively bc her body was and is still alive. still breathing #painful groaning purrs. but her mind was gone yesterday. my dad said he showed her a picture of the mountains i took that day and told her #i loved her and she smiled. thats what he said. maybe he was just being nice. or maybe thats the last time she thought of me. i dunno. but #the human body is an incredible thing. shes got a heart still powering a broken body. too full of tumors to function anymore. stomach #streched like a pregnant mother. it happed really fast and now its happening very slow #im somehow probably better off than the rest of them. i only got here for the aftermath of a downslide. my daily life will b least effected #i only really saw her twice a year living so far away and she didnt text much. didnt call often. so life wont change much ill just kno shes #not there. which is sad. but theres nothing to b done abt it. life goes on. it hasnt been all bad tho. its nice to talk to my family abt her #how incredible she was. bc she was. wish her mom wasnt here tho. she doesn't deserve to b here. my mom wouldnt want her here. she didnt want #her here. but anyway. i wish her body would just let her go now. so we can sleep. so this can be over. so she can rest #but even like this shes stubborn and resilient. they say it could go on for days but i hope not. may the universe let her rest shes gotta b #so tired after 10 years of this. but i have no regrets. she knew how i felt abt her. and i dont think she had regrets either. she did so #much up to the very end. went out on a high note without the burdon of knowing it was coming #i dunno. its just such a strange experience to watch the empty shell of your mother sleeping like a gurgling baby #unrelated

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aurorangen · 1 year

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A special gift and a goodbye kiss ❤️

#ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #postcard legacy #postcard gen 2 #bailey reichmann #levi costello by estah #i dunno why i put it at the bottom it looks better like this?#yes? no it doesnt maybe im just tired haha #the necklace has a clock to show he values their time together!!#and that he can see her again soon #isnt that sweet??#im taking pics at different times but the lighting looks bad at night #bailey still has to go back home unfortunately :(

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mito-itokondrria · 2 years

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Sometimes, they make play rehearsals impossible.

Eachother distractions? Yes. But I need it in the "hold on guys, they stopped paying attention... again" way that makes everyone groan 'cus they'll have to repeat this scene a g a i n for this play they'll perform and-

#dunno can I offer you an Izuku laughing at Kacchan being Kacchan #with this small-sequence-thingy I made while I was still in exams in this tiring times?#bkdk #bakudeku #dkbk #ktdk #katsudeku #decchan #bakudeku fanart #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #I was originally going to post this at the end of June and tell you in a nostalgic tone something like 'woah a day like today a year ago #I was first joining this fandom and it was on fire 'cus everyone was still nuts over chapter 318 and there I was-#trying to catch up like crazy with everything right when I said I was just gonna have a look around ☺️👍'#but not it's kinda late and now we're nuts over something else aaah #yes im a drawer

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moeblob · 11 months

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Watching someone play Deceive Inc. and the best part is her and literally anyone willing to do voice call with her refusing to call the guy "Squire". Instead, using ANY other S-word you can think of.

#i have .... no idea how to tag this #uh its a vtuber va person uhhhhhh but i just dunno how to tag lol #anyway uhhhhhh here sorry im too dizzy to do anything more #these meds are making me so tired #also shout out to the time she forgot a different characters name and called him lymphnode #that was really funny too cause she was on call with someone who liked to play as the character #and they were like WHAT DID YOU CALL HIM???

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mcsiggy · 1 year

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Do yall like, know how to enjoy something w/o constantly criticizing it? don't you want to enjoy something-- anything for what it is? if it gives you joy and makes you happy, you dont have to be critical and pick a part about it to be a 'real' fan of the thing, or to show you're aware of the whatever problems it has.

just liking and enjoying it is enough.

#this has been on my mind for awhile cuz man #a lot of yall online really like to shit on others for simply enjoying any form of fiction especially if theyre not up for debating you lma #i dunno im coming from a place where im seeing so much awful legit bad things in the world that not only affect me #but people i love and strangers who are like me #i think it's good i escape in any form of fiction if it helps me digest my situation better #or even distract me from the awful stuff in the world right now #i just want to live without being overly critical and i guess so self-hating on myself for enjoying things #all for clout points or even pats on the heads by strangers who wouldnt give me the light of day if i said the wrong thing out of ignorance #or simple misunderstanding #dunno im just im not in a good spot mentally and im kind of tired of people trying to tell me how something is bad when i say i like it #even if you say you like it it's still annoying when youre nitpicking the thing #and no this isnt me doing hot takes this is me being genuine and actually concerned on the online culture of being critical #about everything

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camels-pen · 5 months

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can't sleep so have vampire Usopp drabble with sanuso~

Just imagine Usopp showing up after exploring some island on his own, bloodied, limping, leaving streaks of blood all over the place

Sanji left on ship watching duty, is cooking in the kitchen, idly checking with Haki every once in a while to make sure no one unfamiliar shows up

He notices Usopp coming but is right in the middle of something- making food for lunch when everyone returns, but also hashing out food supplies he'll need to buy once it's his turn to leave the ship

So when Usopp shows up, Sanji's distracted, maybe looking at his list, and maybe there's something like this:

"San...ji." There was some odd dragging sound. "Blood."

"Blood?" Sanji looked up from his list and nearly jumped out of his skin. "What the hell happened?!" He jumped the railing to land in front of Usopp, hands uselessly fluttering about his bloodied and broken body. He had to be standing just through pure willpower alone.

"Hun...gry."

Food. Right, yes, Sanji could do food. He could take Usopp up to the infirmary and bring him a plate.

Sanji settled on putting his hands on Usopp's shoulders. His skin was freezing through his shirt. "I've already made heaps for lunch, but I need to patch you up first. Just tell me what you want and I'll bring it to the infirmary."

"Wa...nt."

"Yeah,"-Sanji nodded, starting to get more concerned with the slow responses-"anything you want, Usopp."

"Any... thing?"

"Anything."

With a strength and speed Sanji wasn't expecting, Usopp slammed both of Sanji's wrists against the wall.

"Blood."

Before Sanji could say anything, before he could even take another breath, Usopp surged down to his neck and bit him.

Sanji was about ready to kick him away, regardless of Usopp's current state, and fuming about being caught up in some stupid prank, when he felt the first suck.

"H-Hey Usopp, are you..." serious? Conscious? Under some weird devil fruit power? Sanji didnt know what to ask first.

He never got the chance to figure it out either, as a wave of pure, toe-curling pleasure washed through him. In his surprise, he didn't have time to tone down the full blown moan that slipped his lips.

Usopp continued sucking, though his grip on Sanji's wrists had slackened. His own pleased groans were loud as he drank, the noises right next to Sanji's ear and making it burn with a growing heat.

Whatever this was, Sanji needed to stop it. As a man who needed to defend his love of women, and only women, he couldn't get worked up just by some stupid-

Hun... gry. Usopp had said. Blood.

That- there's no way. Sanji was far past not believing in legends and myths, and his old man was never one to pull his leg on that kind of stuff.

But even Sanji had thought, or maybe hoped, that vampires weren't real.

And for it to be Usopp- Usopp of all people. Sanji knocked his head back against the wall, tears falling freely as his lip wobbled.

"Fuck, fuck!"

The sucking stopped.

Usopp pulled away just enough to look up at Sanji. The way his head was angled, Sanji could see horrific looking bite marks all along his neck, shoulders, under his jaw, down his collar, and disappearing under his shirt.

He had to pause a moment, imagining Usopp having stumbled into a coven's territory. Alone. Probably looking for cool bugs or something else inconsequential, unknowing that he would die within moments.

Sanji hoped it was quick, at least. He hoped this coven wasn't like the one in his books; the ones who would draw it out for as long as possible. Usopp had been gone only a few hours and he must've hobbled to the ship on his own, which could've taken a while, and-

And Usopp was still staring at him, silent, eyes blank, and lips stained red with blood. Sanji's blood.

It hadn't been long since breakfast, but being killed and having all of the blood sucked out of him would probably work up a big appetite.

And, well, Sanji would never let a crewmate go hungry.

So, he put one hand to the back of Usopp's hair- his hair, not his hat, free of it's usual ponytail and covered in leaves and dirt and blood- and guided him back to his neck. Usopp made a questioning noise.

Sanji closed his eyes, let a shaky smile show on his face. He brought his other hand up to press Usopp closer.

"I did say anything, didn't I?"

Usopp didn't respond. After a moment, Sanji felt him lick at the bite marks he left behind- pinpricks compared to the wounds littering his own dark skin- and then, carefully, fit his mouth into those same marks. Once again, he began to drink, this time at a much slower pace.

Regardless of the speed or the gentleness, Sanji still had to fight not to give away how much he was truly enjoying this.

(and then the crew shows up lmao)

#one piece #sanuso #sanji #usopp #vampire usopp #nemo the writing ho #nemotime #zoro will be ruthlessly making fun of Sanji btw #bc hes so obvious about how much he liked it lmfao #tho i suppose the question is: is this a sanji thing or a consequence of the bite itself?#dunno if ill continue this but twas a fun 3am thought that wouldnt leave my brain #thus here we are #also added in his majesty's internalized homophobia for spice. which like. would probably be addressed at some point #idk its 4am now om going to bed #feel free to send asks if u wan #i shoulda had sanji lament more about usopp experiencing death via vampire coven but im startin to get tired i think #if i do a folllow up or smth then ill do it there #and thattt would probably lead to an initial hint of 'hmm maybe i like usopp a little bit more than the other guys'#or some other queer baby step for him

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feline-evil · 1 month

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Aoetic desecration and S.O.S both having this rising section of guitar, but in AD it ends after just a few rounds whereas in S.O.S it just keeps climbing and climbing and climbing higher and higher; and the way that section version of that guitar section puts me in mind of the visuals of Nathan climbing that hill during Knubbler's training, making it feel as if S.O.S is triumphant not effortlessly but with great effort and exertion to keep rising and not falling- because failing or giving up is easier sometimes but that doesn't make it the right thing to do, same as sometimes persevering and succeeding and doing the right thing is sometimes hard fucking work but that doesn't make it worthless or not something you should do.

This isn't a hidden theme, its just textual it's literally what Nathan's arc entails, i'm not saying anything big nor smart lol- but i do just like how narratively the instrumentals of the movies music drive the movies themes home too in this way! It adds so much more to feel and sink your teeth into when it comes to this plotline about him having to put the effort in to be a better person and to grow and do the right thing instead of just resorting to giving up or falling back on old habits and what he knows and does best!!

#jay talkin #metalocalypse #army of the doomstar #aotd spoilers #i care him so fucking much i do i cant deny it and this movie is my fuckin everything #im so tired i got no idea if im making sense rn im rlly just saying shit. anyway. aotd fucking good #n also hey w the themes around nathans wellbeing in this movie i also fuckin connect to like #IDK. IN A METAPHORICAL SENSE BEING A GUY IN A SIMILAR POSITION B4. LESS APOCALYPTIC BUT YKNOW #yyouuuu can see some of this to be abt recovery to and doing better and it makes it feel like. acknowleged that YEAH ITS FUCKING HARD #and i like that triumphant feeling of 'we have to keep fighting. its fucking hard and youll want to give up but we have to' IDK ITS GOOD #DUNNO. s'not intentional probably but i can see smth thats meaningful to me personally in there #not coherent enough to figure this personal feeling out rn maybe ill ruminate and type it out another time. im tired.

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constantly-confused-queer · 7 months

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Another thing with Fionna and Cake: I find it kinda funny how many people are calling Marcy and Bubblegum enemies to lovers in episode 7. The vibes are so much closer to bitter ex-lovers who had a horrible falling out then they are to enemies to lovers. The sexual tension between them while fighting was way too strong for nothing to have happened between them yet

#what im thinking is that bugglegum was hunting vampires and vk hated that for obvious reasons #so even though marcy loved her they broke up cause she wanted her dads approval #bubblegum didnt like that and they began to resent each other cause they werent able to see each others point of view #ended up with multiple fights after the breakup where marcy took bubblegums eye and there was just no tuening back #or maybe vk was fighting bubblegum cause she was killing vampires and took her eye #marcy didnt do anything about it and sided with her dad so they betke up #i dunno. just some thoughts #im tired so sorry if its not very coherent #fionna and cake #adventure time #adventure time marceline #adventure time bubblegum #adventure time vampire king #I speak

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