Anyways Enjoy - Tumblr Posts
every training session is a life or death scenario for both of them
I saw like 2 posts of this ship and knew what i had to do
Yo, I made a scene select for the entirety of part 1 for In Space with Markiplier and I also have other scene selects for the past CYOA that were done! Feel free to browse every single video we got so far- In Space with Markiplier: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLj8dzd_QoZrbYFpmEY0Vbzf1zwpEbg9rz A Heist with Markiplier: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLj8dzd_QoZrau2Mbl1XPcnuiHNc6watg7 A Date with Markiplier: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLj8dzd_QoZrYt3oui3lBt8Qmi-OxityBk Warfstache Automated Interview Automaton (W.A.I.A) https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLj8dzd_QoZrbreKS69GC8VXr4wULArXMM Don’t open the door https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLj8dzd_QoZraz66U17O-6tzT_a21PijDq
Fortnite:
Me, stressed and trying to figure this shit out:
Just realised they passed off Leo’s voice actor changing and damage to his vocal chords and I’m CACKLING
Man, I really need to stop projecting my own medical trauma onto Gaster.
Anyways, new fic is up that does exactly that.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/31290404
yesterday I had the best grapes ever the kind of grapes asmr content creators look for all crunchy but sweet and juicy
Anyways: knuckles
im alive. I was busy being gay and failing my classes but im back with some freaking radical art babey!
yeag :]
HANA AND KITTY FROM DANGANRONPA?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
YEP! I finished them today!!!!! Im super duper proud of Kitty!!!!!! ^^
Hearts and Gods
Tw: blood, gore, illusion to sex at some point i think, mild cannibalism, does blood licking/consuming count? eh whatever. no use of y/n. y/n is just as bad as homelander. deadpool esque powers. r's eyes are gold. not beta read.
880 somethin words, aint got a good way to summarize it. y/n is gender neutral, nothin described aside from eye color as aforementioned.
Loving him was dangerous. That you knew, everyone knew. He himself was dangerous. A devil disguised as an angel for the public. Unpredictable yet predictable at the same time. He loved with all consuming violence. To be loved by him was not unlike being loved by death.
Death followed him everywhere. Whether he was covered in the blood of a criminal. The viscera of some unlucky employee who triggered his wrath, just another body shoved under the rug by Vought. You knew he enjoyed it, the killing, watching the life drain from a person's eyes as he crushed their heart in their chest. Or watching their body crumble in half without its spine. You knew all of this, you couldn't claim innocence when you were just as bad. Just as bloodthirsty as him. It's what made you two so compatible. That and the fact that if Homelander ever lost control with you, you would just bounce right back.
You should be dead. But you werent. You could heal any and every injury you endured. Vought made sure of that. You weren't invincible by no means, you could be injured, though that wasnt done easily. A slight squeeze pulled your wandering thoughts back to earth. You sighed softly as the hand around your heart loosened its tight grip slightly. Blue eyes met gold. Homelander cocked his head looking at you, lips pulled in a frown. His eyes dropped to your chest, gaze a mixture of disbelief and curiosity as it usually was. You ended up like this often, when he grew angry, or paranoid. So you stood, sternum cracked open, thumping heart exposed. Does it hurt? Some might wonder, at first, it does, but then it's a sweet pain that no one else but you and he would understand.
His gloves were long discarded on the table. Preferring to feel your heart in its entirety against his skin. His hand wrapped around behind the muscle as it beat. Blood coated your front, soaking onto the floor. Your lips twitched in a wry smirk at the thought of poor Ashley walking in. No doubt she would have a heart attack, thinking Homelander was in the midst of killing his team member. You let out a soft laugh, heart jolting in his hand as your lungs contracted. He looked at you his own amusement playing in his gaze as his thumb stroked over your ventricle.
"Thinking about Ashley again?" He questioned his other hand situated on your hip. "Mhm." You hummed in confirmation smiling at him. His grip tightened momentarily and you fleetingly thought if he was going to tear your heart free of your chest. You wouldn't mind, only remaining dead for a few seconds before another one grew back. He looked at you, you looked back. You clashed as much as you melded together. Each testing the other. You smirked and leaned backwards, your heartbeat strained as a familiar tugging sensation pulled in your chest. He stood there in silent contemplation, arm in your chest, heart in hand.
"Not today." He muttered his grip on your hip tightening as he pulled you closer. He leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss. It was messy and hungry, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip drawing blood. You groaned low pulse beginning to race, heart thrumming in his hand as he licked the blood from your lips as the small punctures closed. You kissed back, arm curling behind his neck, hand buried in his hair as you tugged him closer. You parted for a second a string of red tinged saliva connecting your mouths.
"I love you." You whispered gazing into his eyes. You kissed him this time. slowly, firmly pouring your feelings into the kiss. "I love you." You repeated, voice a low murmur. You said it like a mantra, like a prayer. A loyal worshiper at the altar of their deity. You clung to him as he clung to you. You needed him as he needed you. Homelander let go of your heart, removing his hand from your chest with a gentleness most wouldn't expect him to have. You exhaled slowly as your skin and bone grew back and the only trace of what happened was the blood staining your stomach and clothes, the blood and bone on the floor and the blood on his hands. He looked at his hand in silent awe almost before sucking the blood off two of his fingers. Pulling his hand from his mouth he wrapped it loosely around your throat pulling you in and kissing you harshly once more, shoving the taste of your blood from his tongue into your mouth. He pulled back with a smug grin as you panted. You looked around chewing your bottom lip.
"I feel bad for whoever they send up to clean the mess." You say as he scoffed curling his arms around your waist pressing his face in the crook of your neck. "No you don't." Homelander murmurs nipping along your pulse point. You laugh quietly, "Fine, I don't." You admit tugging on his hair making his breath hitch. Then you're in his arms and he's walking out presumably to take you home. You spent the rest of that evening in his bed, after you had showered of course.
Incorrect thg text posts 2
(Part 2 to say Ty for all love in the first one ❤️❤️)
Again Inspired by @imisslucasbaker + @swiftlark
Part 1
was at market today with my father (who is frankly a wild ape of a man) and i was trying to sell a single apple from my scrawny and shriveled tree. the apple itself however had a plump and rustic charm, almost flirtatious, and i thought to myself well surely someone will see the value in this apple and i can turn a tidy profit and go on my merry way. well no sooner had i attracted the attention of an interested buyer (a comely maiden to boot) than my father revealed to me that in his lackadaisical idiocy he had eaten the apple on the road. i asked him what exactly i was supposed to sell at market now, to which he responded im sure you’ll think of something, demonstrating to me that which i already knew: he was an imbecile with no modicum of grasp for the idiosyncrasies of mercantilism. but that was not the end of my troubles; nay, it was but the first chapter in a manuscript of misery, for as i turned to apologize to the maiden and endeavored to explain the predicament we now found ourselves in i could see stark displeasure writ plain across her previously affable visage. it was only then i realized her identity: marguerite, daughter of the baron, known for her fickle nature and her tendency to sic the village guard on those foolish enough to earn her ire, and though just minutes previously i had thought myself quite the intellectual giant (having nearly managed, you will recall, to sell a single apple to a lady of some means, sight unseen) i was forced to concede that i was said fool. it was then that i began to panic, and in my haste i offered the young mistress an apple even more enchanting than the first; one, i claimed, i had been saving for his majesty the king. well marguerite is nothing if not a covetous and prideful harpy, and thusly my promise quelled her bloodlust. she bade me fetch the apple at once, to which i replied that i’d need to return to my farmstead and i should be glad to present it to her at next weeks market. nonsense, said she, and insisted instead upon accompanying me and my incomprehensible dolt of a father back to our home immediately, escorted by a retinue of armed guards. now i imagine it is quite clear to those with half a head on their shoulders that i am in possession of no such apple, nor is it likely that a fruit of such splendor could even exist, and so frankly i am pretty much fucked
my september
(its so off timing im so sorry 😭😭)
At the Hook (Line, Sinker)
Augusnippets day 10: execution | fake execution | begging for mercy
Word count: 499
Trigger warnings: description of death, implied/referenced panic attack
——————(0)——————
Mag knows his face goes pale when he sees the man waiting for them, the thick, wicked hook in the ceiling. The assistant holding rope in a telling noose.
They absolutely don’t care if this man’s reputation is being used to frighten them into obedience. Either that’s the case, or talking will buy Cassander time to scrounge up a miracle to let them escape, or they’re both fucking dead.
“Please,” he whispers; louder: “Please, no, I don’t, I don’t—! Not like this, fuck, not like this!”
“Not like this?” the man—Marcus? Marius? Martin?—says, an easy smile spreading across his face. “That can be arranged. There are plenty of ways to—”
“What do you want?” Mag interrupts, because they really don’t want to know all the horrible ways maybe-Marcus has found to kill people. He already knows this man would see him hung slowly, death by strangulation instead of a broken neck. “What do you want?! I’ll do anything!”
They want to yank the words back as soon as they leave—it’s too much to give. But maybe-Marius wouldn’t accept anything less, anyways.
“Are you sure?” maybe-Martin says, nearly pouting. “I’ve been wanting to see what a destroying angel will do to someone. It eases up while it’s liquefying your liver—what does the anticipation do to you, feeling better but knowing you’ll die?”
“No! Fuck no! Please, I said I’ll do anything, please!”
“Oh, calm down. I can think of some ways to use a thief as famous as you, if you’re willing to do anything.”
Mag’s heart leaps in relief; his first guess was right. “Yes! Yes, I’ll do whatever—!”
“What about him, though?”
And back down their heart went into dread.
“He’s my partner,” Mag says, not looking at where Cassander was forced to kneel beside him. “He’ll do whatever you want, too.”
Play along, they think, please play along, don’t act out and ruin this, it might be our only chance.
“Of course, yes,” Marcus(?) says. His smile widens, goes sadistic and ugly. “But I want to hear him beg for it.”
Fuck, we’re dead.
Because the keyword with Cassander is proud. He’d fought every step of the way here, to the point that he was more heavily restrained than Mag now. He never apologized or said he was wrong. He’d spit defiance to someone holding a knife to his throat.
A tense pause. Then:
“Please,” Cassander grit out.
Marius(?) raises a brow. “Go on,” he prompts.
“Please,” Cassander says again. Then, picking up speed: “Please, please, please, please, áni, áni, áni—”
He cuts off. The only sound is his frantic breathing.
Mag tries his best to keep from gaping, because what the fuck, while picking over the last word. What was that, another language? Ahni? Ahani?
… No. He’s saying áni. Because that’s Áléen.
“Please what?” fucking Martin(?) is saying.
The answering jumble of syllables is foreign to Mag, but apparently it convinces the motherfucker.
“Well, then,” he says. “Here’s what you’re going to do.”