#static cling my beloved

[mortalorder]

I just want to say I love Rocko’s Modern Life Static Cling with all of my heart and soul and I still can’t believe that it was allowed to be made

#rocko's modern life #Rocko’s modern life static cling #static cling #static cling my beloved

[circeyoru]

Cuddles of Another Kind = Requested

[Lucifer x Reader x Alastor] - Headcanons

The Request

Lucifer and Alastor doesn’t see eye to eye. Full stop. Just look at their rival when they were bantering on who’s the better dad for Charlie

Now, you. Are you the luckiest sinner in Hell or the unluckies. It’s up in the air

You blame it on your weak heart to fall for such charismatic demons. Both of them make you smile and laugh like no tomorrow and they live for your smile and laughter. Both of them also make you feel comfortable and safe, something they hold in high regard and with pride

It was somewhat established that you were the apple in Lucifer’s eye and the muse to Alastor’s broadcast, with such big figures, no one fought for your attention or affection. When it came to choosing who, you couldn’t and surprisingly Lucifer and Alastor compromised

(It was after them losing track of you in the middle of their argument and competition, then you were kidnapped by some mafia that wanted to have the King of Hell and Radio Demon begging on their knees to their boss. They saw that the other wanted you safe and happy, so when it came to you, they’ll bend a little)

You are a physical touch type of romantic, you love touching your significant other some way (not suggestively). Whether it was handing hands, or leaning against them, or playing with their hair

You also knew Alastor loves his personal space and his aversion to physical touch initiated by others, so you would turn to Lucifer for such clinginess (Surely you should have also know Alastor wouldn’t mind you touching him!!!)

Alastor: Darling, where are you going? You: Oh, to find Lucifer, wanna cling to them all of a sudden, you know. Those urges to just hug or touch someone. No worries, I won't overstep your boundaries! Lucifer: My beautiful temptress, come to me!

It’s those times where some playful rivalry would appear

Charlie: The TV’s not working… Angel: Mister Smiley is not in the mood. Can’t ya heard the static? Vaggie: What happened this time? Husk: No “my beloved doe” to hug him, plus [Reader]’s with your dad Charlie: Oh…… Well, maybe we can cheer— Alastor: (even more static, they should have been quiet)

Alastor had to tell to your face that he was find with your touches and physical affection. Though it was more like showing you and whispering into your ear. “My dearest darling doe, why do you deprive me of my affections from your delicate hands. Now you need to double what you gave to that short king to me. Your time and your touches.”

After that it was cuddle times together. You even got a bigger bed from the two of them. So you three can lie there without pushing one another off the bed

Make room for Lucifer’s wings! It’s bigger than all three of you! But so fluffy! His wings act as the big spoon to cocoon you all

To make things fair, you sleep in the middle (obviously) and the boys sleep on either sides. Alastor’s head is laying on top of yours and hugs your sides while Lucifer sleeps on your chest to hear your heart beat, his legs crossing yours

Honestly, you don’t need your blanket cause it will get thrown over the bed’s edge by the time you’re awake. So Lucifer compromises with his wings to cover you mostly, the tips maybe covering Alastor

Overall, you can expect your cuddles to lull you to sleep because it was that comfortable and safe, even in Hell and with the most dangerous two demons so close to you. But you know they will never harm you

These cuddles are a privilege to you and you alone

Note: Hehe, headcanons are fun, short and quick~ Thanks for the request!

Circe Y.

Other works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland

@crowleysthings

@donustellaron

#alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #hazbin lucifer #lucifer hazbin #lucifer x you #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar x you #Circe's Nighty Writings #Circe's requested writings #Cuddles of Another Kind

[sugarsnappeases]

snippet!!

thank you to my dearest most precious beloved angels @sixlane @themuseoftheviolets @quillkiller @effiepotterisamilf @orbitfalls for the tags <33 sorry about how late this is but i come bearing a long-ish bartylily snippet to maybe make up for that... everyone say hiiiii library fic!! it is sooo happening baby

There’s someone in the back room, a man lounging in one of the chairs around the little circular table. Specifically in the chair which she normally sits in when she eats her breaktime yoghurts, but she supposes she doesn’t really have a claim to it, being as she’s been gone for two months, and it’s not actually her chair. She doesn’t recognise this man though, and he doesn’t look at all like the kind of person you might expect or want to find in a library, let alone in the back room as if he were an employee.  He doesn’t look over as she comes in, just keeps flipping a stack of coasters up off the edge of the table and catching them mid-air, as if he were at a pub instead of in the back room of Lily’s library, flipping beer-mats instead of Ms. Pince’s nice ceramic coasters.  She takes her coat off and hangs it on the same hook as always, the second one from the left, wondering if she should do something about this stranger who she thinks might be trespassing, in a library of all places. He’s wearing a kind of grotty, oversized hoodie that’s definitely seen better days, judging from it’s off-grey colour and how mangled the cuffs are, and what might be the tightest pair of black jeans she’s ever seen, replete with rips and a chain, clinging to what might be the longest pair of legs she’s ever seen. He’s like if one of those ‘unconventional’ editorial models had been living in a skip for a few years, like if the guy that you saw out with a different girl every single time you went to the club had done a truly heinous home dye job and turned emo.  He is not the sort of man that Lily would ever want to have in her immediate vicinity. And he’s sitting in Lily’s chair, in Lily’s library, encroaching on the sanctity of it. Not to mention messing with Ms. Pince’s fancy coasters. “Excuse me,” she says, because, really, he had nearly dropped the stack with that last flip and she can’t just let some random man hang around in the employee-only area.  He glances over at her, still flipping the fucking coasters, looks her up and down, and then grins. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at her, grinning widely, teeth on display, eyes lit up like she’s just told him that he’s won the lottery. He has annoyingly perfect teeth.  Lily frowns, “What are you doing?”

no pressure tags for some more of my dearest most precious beloved angels @inevitablestars @static-radio-ao3 @fernhelm @itsjaywalkers @carniferous

#does the coaster-stack-flipping thing make sense?? not sure if that's a thing that actually happens outside of the people i know..... #it's really hard tho you guys should try it i can never stack more than like two... i imagine barty would be very good at it #anyway #LIBRARY FIC!!!!! VERY EXCITED AND PASSIONATE ABOUT HER!!! SHE HAS BEEN A PART OF ME FOR SO VERY LONG #and it's gonna be so very long until she actually sees the light of ao3 but still!! proceedings have begun!!! #bartylily #tag games #kara’s snippets #library fic

[nothingkillsyoulikeyourmind105]

“I’m Scared”

TW-None

Master List

Keegan Russ

-a/n- this one is visibly in view and does let me know @ave661 tumblr account. This was pure laziness on not crediting the artist. I apologize again.

Credit to @ave661

“I’m scared Keegs”

*clinging to his arm and breathing heavily and tears falling down her cheeks*

“Kid? Look at me?”

*he sighs and gathers his thoughts before speaking again to her*

I’m so sorry baby look at me. We’re gonna make it out together. Me and you.”

The sounds of gunfire getting louder and closer. Sounds of explosions getting closer as well. He looks out the window looking for a way to escape and he tries to call Hesh and Logan on his radio. It’s all static. He looks back at (y/n). Seeing how scared she is makes his heartbreak and he starts to tremble with fear. He knows they can’t be captured.

Looking at his beloved trembling face. He walks over to her grabbing her face in his hands he kisses her passionately. Soft moans escape her lips and his lips.

“Baby look at me, you have to trust me okay?

*he presses his forehead against hers looking down at her*

She trembles with fear. She nods her head to him.

“Okay”

She sighs and bites down on her lower lip looking at him.*

“Baby you see the building right there?

He points to the building across them. He holds her close to his chest. He smells the rose shampoo smell from hair. The smell makes him calm down and think of her safety more then his.

“Yeah?”

She trembles and answers his weakly. She clings to his vest with desperation.

“I’m gonna throw you across okay”

He looks around, he has to make a decision quickly. Time is running out.

“Baby don’t leave me alone. I want you to be with me I’m not going alone.”

She realizes he only mentions her. And that he’s not gonna be joining her.

“(Y/N) I love you okay!”

He grabs her gently holding her face so she can look at him and listen to him.

“Please don’t fight with me on this?”

“I will find my way around, I can’t have you here if they find us. These men will not treat you with respect. They will do horrific things to you. I don’t want them to touch you. I will do anything, anything in the world to protect you my love. You mean everything to me. Your my moon to my night sky, the stars that light up my entire sky. Without you, being my stars I have no way on navigating my way back to you.”

He gets shy but he finally allows all of his emotions out to her. He starts to speak from the heart.

“I will always find my way back to you (y/n). I know you’re scared, I’m scared too. But I’m more scared of losing you. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

His eyes start to water up.

“I would never forgive myself for that.”

He wipes the tears from his eyes. Smearing the black paint on his face.

She blushes at his response. She starts to cry, she grabs his and holding him in a tight embrace. She cry’s into his vest.

“Keegan Russ I love you. I love you so much. My love for you is like all the worlds beaches. Every grain of sand is how much I love you.”

“Keegan please come back to me. I won’t be able to survive without you in this life if I lose you.”

“I will always come back to you. I will always find my way back to you and to hold you in my arms.”

He hugs her tightly. Holding her close he feels her warmth.

Keegan opens the window looking around to see if any of the federation soldiers are near by. He quickly gathers his things and her stuff. She nods to him that’s she ready.

“I’m sorry about this baby it’s gonna hurt like hell.”

He throws her to the building next to them. She lands hard on the roof and scrapes her arms and elbows I’m the process. She rolls over and see Keegan standing there. She hears the sounds of someone trying to break open the door where Keegan is at.

“Keegs jump now!”

Keegan looks around him and he nods to her. He turns around and gets a running start. He jumps across to her. She runs to the edge she grabs his arms and catches him.

He dangles from the side of the building. She gasps with fear and pain as she caught her lover.

“Baby hold on, I’m not gonna let you go, hold on!”

She gasps and panting heavily as she pulls him up.

She pulls him up and they hide together on the roof top. He uses his body to shield her in case someone starts to shoot. The static on her radio crackles with the sound of Hesh voice. She perks up to the familiar voice.

“Baby it’s Hesh”

She passes the radio to him. She sighs with excitement.

“Hesh this is Keegan do you copy over”

He takes the radio and answers with relief.

“Keegan hear you loud and clear. What’s your twenty?”

“We thought we lost you? Is (y/n) with you?”

Hesh is relieved to know Keegan is alive but he worries for (y/n).

“Yeah she’s with me we’re okay. We need help we’re trapped on a rooftop. We don’t have enough ammo to get us out of here without a fight.”

“I can give a description of our location”

Keegan describes the location to Hesh over the radio.

“Sit tight we’re coming”

Hesh ends his call.

The federation search team walk pass them and they continue their patrols and advance forward. The others a ghosts show up be rescue Keegan and (Y/N). As they are leaving she holds Keegans hand as they make their way to safety.

-A Few Days Later-

“Keegan I love you more then you know. I will always be there at your side no matter the cost. If I have to sacrifice myself to be with you I will do it in a heartbeat. My life isn’t complete without you.”

“I’ve always been honest with you. And this is me being honest to you.”

She smiles to him. Looking up to him.

“Yes! Yes Keegan I will agree to be Mrs Keegan Russ. I know you asked me before and I had cold feet at the time. But this time yes, yes, I want to be with you forever. I want to be Mrs Keegan Russ.”

She holds out her hands to him

Keegan smiles to her pulling the wall blue box from his pocket.

He takes the ring out to place it on her finger.

She starts to cry. She hugs him tightly.

Keegan looks at his fiancée. He smiles to her kissing her forehead.

“(Y/N) we have a wedding to plan now.”

She looks at her engagement ring and jumps into Keegans arms. He picks her up bridal style and carries her to the ghosts to announce their news to them.

#cod keegan #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ #cod fandom #cod fanfic #keegan cod #keegan russ fanfic #keegan p russ #cod ghost #cod fanfiction #call of duty ghosts #keegan p russ x reader #cod #Keegan Russ one shot

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @prince-buck-diaz @jesuisici33 @spotsandsocks @rewritetheending @wikiangela @hippolotamus @panbuckley @devirnis @roy-kents

Thank you my beloveds! 💖

I swear I am so close to finishing first son au, I can practically taste it, but I am admittedly breaking my heart a little on the journey, so uh, have this

Buck leaves Chimney in the living room, turning on his heel and walking towards the bathroom.

Silent. Careful. A roaming ghost only there because of unfinished business.

Everything around him goes fuzzy, or maybe it’s him that is blurring, his edges no longer defined or corporeal, stretched too thin by his devastation, now just a tormented thing that isn’t whole because his real body is still in the waiting room at MedStar Georgetown University Hospital, caught in limbo, reaching for the heaven of Eddie’s embrace as he’s dragged down by the hell-crafted impossibility of living without him.

No amount of repeating Bobby’s words, Eddie is stable. He made it through surgery. They think he’s gonna pull through, does anything to reassure him.

Buck blinks and he’s in the shower.

Water slides down his body, a wet, sluggish crawl that adapts to the shape of him, its touch not as smooth or as clinging as Eddie’s. It drags away oil and dirt and blood, cleansing his body, but Buck doesn’t feel clean, not in the way he does when Eddie smiles at him or laughs at something he said or showers his son with praise and affection.

The water is tinted red.

Paler than what spilled across cobblestone.

Thinner than what sank into Buck’s skin.

Heavy droplets pound against his face, the spray relentless as it tries to wash away a stain that is stuck in Buck like gnarled roots of a gigantic tree, immovable and eternal.

The world turns to static.

Droplets of crimson heat splattering across his face and neck. Smearing. Caressing. Falling. Metallic. Thick. Holy life stricken, sent to another. An aberration of communion. Communion he took unwilling and undeserving, damning his soul for all eternity.

Everything shimmers back into focus. Warm water and pale grey tile.

Buck watches the clear water possessed with pink strains move down his body and splash down against the tile, rushing towards the drain, swirling, twirling, dancing before it disappears.

Reality wobbles again, what is real and in front of him twisting until it resembles choppy, blaring images that are forever imprinted on his eyelids.

Stickiness of stolen life pooling on skin and fabric. Red so dark it’s black seeping into cracks between the cobblestones. Life leaking out and reaching for Buck. Hurtling towards him even as it fades away. Helpless and frozen, standing still, already wishing he could drain his own heart dry of blood so that red life would stream in Eddie’s veins once again, just like the poet Keats said.

No pressure tagging: @spaceprincessem @elvensorceress @shortsighted-owl @oliverstaark @jamietarts @paranoidbean @anxieteandbiscuits @the-likesofus @911onabc @gayedmundodiaz @transboybuckley @transbuck @cowboy-buddie @honestlydarkprincess @heartbeatdiaz @rogerzsteven @buddierights @monsterrae1 @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @folk-fae @fleurdebeton @shitouttabuck @butchdiaz @housewifebuck and anyone else who wants to share!

#sorry its so long but i got excited #buddie #buddie wip #evan buck buckley #eddie diaz #911 #first son au #buddie au #ryan writes #wip wednesday

[princelylove]

Time escapes Leone.

To say ‘escape’ is to say he once had a firm grip on it. Perhaps it would be better to say it evades him.

No, it vexes him. It hinders him, it goes out of its way to torture, no, to torment him. Leone feels time slip through his fingers- sand pools in his palms, and despite his efforts, it still finds a way to slip out. The sand never gets under his nails, never makes its home in the cracks of his hands, it only appears and disappears. 

He’s had that dream for as long as he can remember. The ending has never changed. He suffocates under the sand, and yet he clings to it- it’s better if he can just hold on, he thinks. 

Anything before his… ‘incident’ is blurry. He’s tried to go back, but Moody Blues plays nothing but static. Even his own stand hates him, it refuses to obey him, refuses to play anything he wants to see. 

Nobody wants to see the moment their beloved decided to leave them. Nobody wants to see how assured they were, how their shoulders released so much tension the second they got out. It’s all the damn thing will play.

Moody Blues whirs as the scene- the same fucking scene- plays. Leone’s always hated the lack of emotion in Moody Blues- its face is empty, without any distinct features besides from the ridge of its nose, and its soulless eyes. Of course Leone’s stand would look soulless. The only real feature is the screen on its forehead, the number is overkill at this point. Who cares about the time you left him? He doesn’t plan on making a countdown or celebrating the anniversary down to the millisecond. Yay, my darling left me in three, two, one, happy divorce! 

A better term would be ‘breakup’ but Leone thinks ‘divorce’ is less embarrassing, somehow. It’s more mature. ‘Breakup’ makes him feel like a teenager getting dumped for the first time. He’d drink about it then, he’d drink about it now.

You probably preferred me when I was gentle. That’s why you left. Because I was a brute that couldn’t keep it in his pants, couldn’t say the right things, couldn’t keep you happy… 

Leone takes another swig from the bottle on his lap, and instead of a familiar splash as he puts the bottle back, he’s met with silence. Two down, however much is left in the cabinet to go.

I thought you liked my voice. Thought you liked deep sounds because it reminded you of me. God, that’s moronic… 

He pops open his second- or maybe fourth, he’s not sure, bottle of wine. He’s been drinking water too, not that he deserves it, but wine has always been here when nothing else has. 

Are you claustrophobic…? It’s not like I kept you in my room, you could go anywhere but his room or the balcony.

The first sip is always the best, his lipstick often ruins the bottle- why he doesn’t just pour it out into a proper glass is obvious, a brute like him doesn’t deserve the privilege of a real glass. He doesn’t want to defile it like he’s done to you- although he’d use the word desecrate. 

Don’t you enjoy confinement? Don’t you enjoy not thinking all the time? I would’ve killed for a situation like that when I was younger.

He fumbles with the bottle, and drops it. The wine spills all over his legs and the nice rug under him. There’s a little left in the bottle- it’s salvageable, in Leone’s eyes, he immediately takes a sip of what’s left of it- but he gets off of his ass to clean it up. 

God. He’s not a good caretaker, can barely take care of himself. No wonder you didn’t wanna stick around. Stupid to think you’d want a guy like him to take care of you, to do the thinking, can barely stand up by himself without wobbling like an idiot.

It takes a while to clean up his mess. Leone takes the opportunity to wash his face- rinse, really, the makeup didn’t come off at all- and spends the next couple of minutes staring at himself in the mirror. Pathetic man…..

Once he’s done treating the rug, he goes into his kitchen, and just sort of stares at the wine cabinet. It’s empty. His last chance at relief, and he wasted it. God must think this is all just a big joke. 

#yandere leone abbacchio #my little punching bag of a man #tiny drabble for the soul

[friccinfricks]

Joe Elliott x Reader head canons: penpals edition

- of course when the guys go on tour, you and Joe have an agreement to try to call at least three or four times a week, especially right before he goes on stage

- but sometimes those short phone calls aren’t enough to get everything out that you need to say to each other (keep in mind, these are international tours we’re referring to)

- so before the tour, you and Joe sit down over (what was supposed to be just one, turns into three) coffee and go over all the different hotels he’ll be at, explicit addresses, and the exact dates.

- it brings a smile to your face, watching how intently he sifts through piles and piles of paperwork, just so he can be sure you’ve got a mailing address “just in case” you decide you want to mail him a letter.

- it’s February of 1983 and the band will be in America for over two months, and with the tour starting in England, you plan on clinging onto him and finding ways to pop in at his hotels when it’s not too much trouble to get there

- but as you go over the list, you realize how exact and precise your planning will have to be in order to get a letter to him. it’s daunting. they’ll be in an entirely new city, oftentimes state, every. single. night.

- he seems excited just to have had the conversation with you, though. he’s eager to maintain this new, sprouting relationship with you, despite the ever-approaching tour. three months is a long time to be away, but knowing you’ll be back home waiting for him makes his heart leap.

- in actuality, he has already started writing letters to you. he started just weeks after you met, but felt too bashful to actually send them, seeing as you went on dates every weekend and he tried to come over on nights when you’d had an excruciating long day at work and were in no circumstance to cook for yourself

- so now he’s found the perfect excuse to show you in writing, what his words have always wanted to tell you.

- ah, but you’ve got a little trick up your sleeve too, don’t you?

- you’ve got a friend in texas whose got a friend in the international airlines and you’ve landed yourself not just a ticket across the pond, but a few nights in Dallas, perfectly in time for just when Def Leppard’ll be playing.

- but you love seeing how excited Joe is. it thrills you knowing that at least every once in a while, you’ll get a letter from him.

- and so it begins.

- after starting the tour in Europe, you find a way to go to the airport with the boys and see them off.

- Phil and Sav are both making vomiting noises when they see Joe plant a tender, but firm kiss on your lips, to which you both respond to by giving them each the middle finger

- you watch as the five of them board the plane, Joe boarding last, and giving you a final wave.

- it’s bittersweet, only because you sent a letter to their first hotel a week and a half ago and alreadr made sure that they’d received it. Joe was absolutely thrilled when at check in, their tour manager walked over and said, “I don’t know how, but you’ve got a piece of mail.”

- much to your surprise, when you go home that day, you notice a thick envelope on your doorstep

- it’s not got any postage or any indication that it went through the postal service, so you’re trepedatious to open it

- you just smile and sigh in contentment when you look inside, seeing tons of hand written notes, all addressed to you as, “Y/N, my beloved,”

- there are poems, doodles, lists, photographs, a little bit of everything.

- one of the last notes you find says, “I’m sorry for the creepy delivery, I just had to be sure you got it today! specifically, today!”

- a few days later, you get your first call from America.

“Y/N!”

“Hmm, who is this? you sound so… American.”

“Oh, how funny.”

“Hello, Joe.”

“Hello, Y/N.” you can hear all sorts of sudden noises in the background now, mostly exclamations of your name.

“Hi, everyone.” you giggle. you hear a thump and a bit of static.

“Y/N, hi- it’s Rick. please, you have to tell Joe to shut up. I speak for everyone when I say he cannot stop lamenting over-”

“Lamenting? who are you? shakespeare? give me a fuckin break. Y/N, don’t listen to him. he’s a liar and a thief.” you hear Joe distantly in the background.

“Lamenting over how just heartbrokenly lonely he is.” this time it’s Steve who chimes in.

“It’s as if the man has never used his hand before.”

“Bollocks!”

you can’t contain your laughter, it just keeps rolling out of you, your sides hurt as you gasp for air.

- all of the calls right before shows are like this

- some, however, are made from hotel bedrooms, and include much more… explicit, dirty conversation.

- you listen intently as Joe tells you all of his most wild, urgent thoughts. you can feel your heartbeat throughout your entire body as you obey his commands through the phone receiver, accompanied by stern reminders that you have to be quiet, as you wouldn’t want to disturb your neighbors on the other side of your flat’s walls.

- it’s fair. you’ve had it coming, after all. with every new letter sent, there includes a page full of paragraphs of the most raw, animalistic urges you’ve had in his absence.

- and the pictures. oh, the pictures.

- Joe loses his mind every time you send him a new polaroid of some shocking nude pose you’ve gotten yourself into.

- the letters continue throughout the entire tour, back and forth, as do the calls.

- and let’s just say when you show up at his Dallas hotel room an hour before he checks in, clad in a mini skirt, a button up a few sizes too small, and a smile, he goes absolutely feral.

#sorry i’m too lazy to write entire fics #ehhh i feel like my esl is showing in this one 🙈 #joe elliott #def leppard #joe elliott x reader #mei’s head canons :)

[trainingdummyrabbit]

IM BACK. CANT BE NORMAL ABOUT THIS. [limbusspoilers]

first to get it out of my system

UAGHUDHIUHGHHHGBHHHGH . AUHGHG. A.

ok. so compass right. this is not going to be coherent. im 5 min off the canto and this one hit Hard. sorry <33

ok so seeing the boss track In Action. Hits DIFFERENT. absolutely stunning buildup with the backing, the constant; dull; distant pulse of a heartbeat, the ticking of static, cuts in of those ambient cries, the echo of a sonars blip like water drops in a puddle.

the entire thing is encompassed by this almost stifling feeling of softness, distance, like staring through a dream. it nails the feeling of drifting deep beneath the waves, unmoving- the way things are almost clear, yet far beyond your reach.

this stifling feeling of loss, a cry only just held back by the muffling effects of the pressure above, building, or maybe always there. how it wades in, calmly, this cold, angry distance. the fading sensation of light swallowed by layers and layers of murky water.

and as it progresses, that crushing buzz of the static takes over, rising, that voice becoming more strained and sharp along with it. that backing melody becomes nigh silent as it drops into silence, all focus on one, tantilizingly close point, before...

everything rushes forward at once, a deluge. nothing will quite hit as hard as the image of ishmael pulling the rope and harpoon tight, the lyrics accompanying-- to tear yourself away from something you considered to be all you are, clinging tight to a lifeline, the rush of the noise around you as it all comes crashing down, due to your own hand, your own realization-- your own desires. "hold on tight--" as a call for support, in desperation, not just to call forth the imagery of that sailing crew-- but as a plea directed inwards, almost, to plant your feet and survive.

and the gentle, almost broken in-and-out, "high tide / low tide," accompanied by nothing but the ticking of a clock as everything else falls to silence.

songs that sound like screaming into a storm, an impulsive, defiant challenge towards that which could swallow you up in an instant. songs that sound like bared teeth my beloved.

now the disclaimer this is, again, all ive seen of limbus in person. i am going to be wrong about things. bear with me.

FUCKING ADORE how ahab is written. holy fucking shit. such an easily likeable character, grand and sweeping and confident, loud and solid in an otherwise uncertain and hopeless situation. she calls attention, she crushes doubt in an instant as if it were nothing more than silt beneath her heel. and what a fantastically written character.

and what im happiest about, i think, is that ishmael was right about her. she hadnt changed. even in her flurry to rush in, she was Right.

such an easy figure to follow, such a bright beacon to carve the path ahead. of course you would want to believe her. and even more striking, they almost do. they all have this split moment of doubt, right at the cusp of it all-- and they catch on. its so so good watching that realization dawn not just on them, but on myself as well, to stand back and go "oh. oh she's good."

its done that several times in this chapter-- a moment of "oh. oh god this is what they're doing." RIGHT as the cast does themselves. ishmael, the color of the sunset. ahab, tugging anyone who listens into the pull of her wake. their obsession, their desires, the "i wanted to be like you." the "we are the same, now."

queequeg. end sentence.

and how everything builds up upon itself, swirling itself into a spiral. abandon all common sense in the great lakes. whale oil, which dissolves and assimilates all that comes to contact with it. the cocoon, the compass, the rope. the pale, the whale.

it was very fun cheering for ishy as she pressed forward recklessly, and i knew they were going to address that somehow. that single point of obsession-- seeing how they handled it though, was truly something else. i was Not expecting the track to be so... mellow, walking in. and yet, it encompassed everything in such a fascinating way, one that didnt just repeat what had been said, but altered it completely. gave it depth. it was not some brazen cry of rage and grief-- its the fluid yet firm grasp of everything thatd built up to that point. and i respect it so so deeply for that. i could not be happier.

so basically i

#piktalk #projmoon #FOR COURTESY AGAIN #LimbusSpoilers. oh my god this is so limbusspoilers. ok o/ #anyway glad i decided to plunge directly in; this . this. ohhhh this.

[fafnirhumgy]

a loud hum fills the air, heralding the presence of an ancient force unbeknownst to this land. unconscious bodies lay strewn across the melting ground, red static encroaching upon them yet not completely consuming them. its hesitation is mirrored by the beast it flows from, a huge dire wolf with many sword-tipped hands, all in empty embrace. though cloaked by the static of the other world, its eyes glow bright yellow. train tracks wench its mouth open, revealing the body that had replaced its tongue, a replica of a beloved man.

one still stands to face the beast, the one whose heart had made it. those who are still conscious but still weak call to him, but their cries go unanswered. in his hands, gripped as tightly as a throat, was a gun that would shoot no bullet. sheer noise crashes and riots as its stock is forced towards the falsehood in the beast's mouth. suddenly, the replica knows desperation. it holds out its arms, hands open to welcome the man's embrace. "please, my love, what are you doing? you should be pointing that weapon at the monster that swallowed me! save me, please. i love you. then we can forget about all of this, and leave. somewhere nice and quiet, somewhere peaceful."

the man's face softens, his aim lowering to the ground. his grip loosens on the gun, almost letting go. with a smile, the fake continues to hold its open embrace. "come into my arms. everything will be alright."

silence. fear overtakes those who can still muster strength. some even close their eyes in acceptance, or look away in cold frustration that they could not act, as the man opens his mouth.

"the monster said something before. i am him, and he is me. at first, i wanted to disagree. how could i hurt my friends like he did? push them away like a hysteric madman? but the more i walked around this place, it got harder to ignore. all my anger, my loneliness, my desire for everything to just go back to how it was before. and then, there's you, and i..."

he pauses to regain his thoughts.

"more than anything, i wanted just the two of us, together, with nothing to break us apart again. it was always for the sake of that dream. even if it was only shadows of our past, i wanted to cling to what was left and never let go. even if it meant everyone else would be hurt by it. but of course, it's more complicated than that."

pace. pace. pace. his grip tightens anew, and without forcing he trains the gun's sights on the fake's head. the creature's hairs stand on end, whispering "no, no, no" like a broken record. its voice breaks down, lost to the noise, but the man continues to speak with tears in his eyes.

"it's strange. before, even after we left that place, i just wanted to keep all the good times. but now, i find myself clinging to the now, with all the good and bad. and pretend all i might, my love isn't perfect. sometimes-" he closes his eyes and mirthlessly chuckles at memories both distant and near "-he can give me a run for my money in stubbornness. neither of us were perfect, and i'll admit. sometimes, we learn things about the other i wish i never got to see."

his finger tugs at the trigger. the fake discards all pretense, its fingers elongating into claws, its mouth widening into an abyss of static and noise and unknowing, eyes erased and leaving behind naught but shadows. but it flinches still. the man's eyes now glow yellow. and just above his head, a blue card idly rotates on its point.

"but there is one thing i know for sure."

for the first time since he entered this world, the man's face contorted into a snarl at the thing bearing his beloved's face.

"Chase would never want to kill his friends. And neither do I."

His finger depresses on the gun's trigger. The sound of gunfire rings from its glowing blue barrel, followed by shattering glass as it opens a hole of azure light through the static of the fake. It slithers out of the wolf beast's mouth, leaping away as if possessed while wailing in pain. Taking his place beside the beast, the man now drops the gun. The card, now floating in front of his face, is taken in his hands and torn in two with the self-same crack and lights. And for the first time, perhaps since his childhood, two aspects spoke as one.

"So give him back."

#echo vn #persona #crossover idea #leo alvarez #the embrace #fanfic writing #kind of #late night post #sorry if its ooc #had to get it out my head #feels nice out of my head though #imagining the VAs for leo and chase from lcb-meyneth's thingy reading this #aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

[madwheelerz]

This character isn't perfect, how can you possibly like them?

Well, my dear tumblrian, let me introduce you to an English talking point called character and the different types of characters. We have flat characters, static characters, and our beloved dynamic characters.

Flat characters are characters with little to no emotions or complexity. Devastating -10/10 do not recommend.

Static characters are characters that learn nothing through the course of the story and don't change or grow at all. -10/10 do not recommend.

Dynamic characters are the ones who change and grow throughout the story. 10/10 best.

We can agree on this right?

So why do you all cling to devastating, boring flat and static characteristics when deciding a character is horrible? A character not reacting with logic 24/7 is realistic and based on emotions. An illogical reaction = strong emotions at play.

That's all there is to it. Some of you guys need to be so fr and go back to grade 8 English.

#english with madz cause y'all need help fr #byler #characters

[popculturebuffet]

Pride Month Triple Feature Finale: Rocko’s Modern Life: Static Cling (Commission for Weird Kev 27)

Well this last installment is a bit late, but any month can be pride month if you belivie in yourself, so we end this pride month trilogy with Rocko’s Modern Life Static Cling, something i’ve been wanting to cover for years, but usually something came up or I realized I forgot to include it by the time the schedule was already full up. But with violence, legeslation, and outright bigotry towards Trans Persons only escalating, it felt like the right time.

For those not as familiar with Rocko, quick refresher: Rocko’s Modern Life was one of the earliest Nicktoons, created by Joe Murray and being a hit not just with the networks target demo, but adults who related to the series, a 20 something hang out sitcom but with all the lunacy animation allows. Our Rocko, his doofy friend Heffer and nerdy best friend Philbert dealt with nipples of the future, death, time travel with the elderly, elves, and recyling. The show was very of it’s time but also timeless as MANY of the fairly adult subjects it tackled in it’s unique goofy way still resonate: the show tackled topics like your parents not approving of a mixed marriage, the struggles immigrants face, homosexuality (via clowns), a sexually unsatisfying marriage leading to a wondering eye (done ENTIRELY straight to the point the episode was banned), finding out your adopted, bosses treating their workers like a commodity instead of a person, megacorporations running our lives, credit card debt, and even sex work

It’s thanks to Rocko we have classics like Regular Show, it’s successor Close Enough and Tuca and Bertie. The kind of show that uses wacky humor while still showing some very real shit we have to deal with. 

So in hindsight. .it’s not really a stretch that with changing times, rocko would go from having to use clowns to cover queerness to doing a full coming out episode in it’s revivial special, a pogniant well done story that deeply reconteculaizes a beloved character

Pig you’ve been out since 1996. 

So let’s look at this touching tale and all the other neat stuff just in time for the show’s 30th anniversary shall we?

Static cling follows our boy, his bulbous buddy and his somethign else rhyming with b , picking up where we left off.. and the original finale to the series had our heroes shot up into space, returning as the elderly. The last part is stricken from the record Roseanne style, and instead our heroes have largely settled in: Filburt misses his wife tails, he misses her a lot, but otherwise our heroes are doing fine on fatheads reruns... till Filburt notices the remote has been jammed up Heffer’s butt for the past decade, they fight as usual and Rocko has to scream at them to “PUSH THE BUTTON”. TV’s Frank would not abide. 

SO with that our heroes return to earth. There’s also a nice small joke in that... most people really aren’t phased our heroes were gone 20 years: while we sadly dont’ get a scene with Heffer’s family , easily one of my faviorite parts of the series with Rocko’s dinner visit being one of my faviorite episodes, we do get to see his beaver hating grandpa, with all his innuendo glory, the only change being

And Filburt naturally easily reunited with Hutch because their perfect and we need that. It’s like our heroes were never gone for the most part.  The real exception is ROcko.. and i’ts easy to why: Filburt had a wife and four adoring children eager to finally get to know their dad. Heffer’s family is implictly there and his grandpa is still around only now he can posses lawn gnomes. Nothing’s really changed for either in a way that harms them. Filburt missed most of his kids’ lives, but they seem to have grown up fine.  In contrast when you think about it.. no one was really waiting for Rocko. He hit it off with Shiela well, but that was one episode towards the end. I mean he could look her up on face-o-rama, or something, so ti’s not lost, but when you think about the series with his family in australia.. all Rocko had were his friends, mrs. bighead (who warmly welcomes the guy back and gives him some needed support), and Spunky. Rocko really has nothign to come back to: his job is gone and while his friends adapt to the 2010′s really well... it’s all too much. it also makes sense: Heffer always went with the flow and while Filburt seems a bit too accepting on paper, he’ sa giant nerd in a world where he can livesteream being nauseous and blather about his opinons for an adoring public. I mean I woudnln’t of had the tools to do this when the show aired. I was two and the internet wasn’t easy to come by. Six maybe. 

While the montage of various “new” things was.. dated even by when it came out and is kinda just there outside of Schlammo, the unhealty energy drink , it hammers home that while his friends have accepted the present.. Rocko is lost in it. He was never one to easily accept new trends in the show itself, usually being pulled into things like health clubs or credit cards by Heffer, so it’s entirley in character that being stuck in a world 20 years later with nothing to really hold him there shatters his normal optimisim. I’ts pretty heartining to see rocko shattered a bit when bev finds him. It makes her trying to support him and help him heartwarming.. but it can’t really fix the problem of feeling like the world’s passed you by. It was striking to realize how deep Rocko’s story comes off, a story about nostalgia and how it can help us when we feel lost.. but how we can cling to it as our only salvation. I’ll admit to having dived into my various coping mechanisms, comics, games, tv, youtube, to escape... and to have a minor panic attack if one’s missing, so I may just relate to rocko a bit.. but it still works.  It also kicks off the plot as the fatheads is gone, and Rocko badly needs it. HIs cries for it fall on deaf ears for mr bighead though, who just oopsied at work.. and now his world is collapsing for real, with his job gone and his house soon to be gone. “A tv show won’t solve your problems rocko”. It’s a simple statment.. but one that’s true. TV can offer an escape.. but it’s not going to fix what’s wrong with yoru life. It’s the thesis statment of this special.  Granted it can at least save ed’s job and house and conglomo as the special revenue would do it. It’s heavily spoofing how much companjies rely on these revivials and nostalgia pops, with the series lovingly mocking how much money fans think a rocko special would bring nick.. and then accidnetly being accurate as while Static Cling didn’t bring in millions upon millions of dollars, it was still a success all the same. 

The problem is the head of congolmo wants the chameleon twins to make it cheap with CG. I mean grante dth eproblem is the fatheads also you know.. ende din the run of the show, but honeslty i’m willing to ignore that for what a good story it is and it could easily be said Rachel just had to go back and make more to pay the bills or something. This was also built both off the actual rumors, that later came true of a CG Rugrats reboot, which honestly dosen’t LOOK bad.  So with that our heroes decide to search for the series creator, “Ralph” Bighead, who disappeared during the time skip, as all the money, all the success didn’t make them happy. We get some fun gags including a faviorite of mine “Culturally ambgious pillows”, as our heroes tour the world to find the creator.  And thus about halfway into the special they find them int he desert.. and find out why no one had seen them. See while they last saw them as “Ralph”.... our heroes instead find RACHEL Bighead. 

And honestly ti’s excellently done for the most part. Before we get to all the good let’s get the elephant out of the room: Joe Murray should not have continued playing rachel. Joe.. is a cis man. A cis man should nto play a trans woman. I can however accept this wasn’t done with any malcious intent, and was likelky done to hide that Rachel was trans now, as the special has it as a twist, wtih Rachel having a hat on and only revealing their trans by steping out of her fatheads foodtruck. Having a new VA might give that away. I still wish they’d swapped them but I get Joe meant well.  I mostly get that.. because everything ELSE is done well. When you look back on who rachel was.. they were miserable. They had all the money in the world, but could never find creative fufillment with the fatheads, to thepoint they tried sabotaging a followup with wacky delli. I mean we got the cheese, the best character in the show, but Rachel never found fufillment. It was only by realizing who they always were and making their body into what they truly always wanted that Rachel is happy. Said happiness.. allows her the reconciatlion with her creatoion she never got in the original show, selling fatheads freezie pops. She found a new art, the life she alwasy wanted she’s content. She even refuses to do the special, and rightfully so: while the creator SHOUDL revivie a work if possible, if they don’t want to.. they shoudlnt’ be forced to. Rachel only agrees because her parents are in danger.  I also love the acceptance rachel gets: the boys all think it’s neat and instantly accept it, as you should. The reveal itself is simply done: Rachel steps out, says “I’m rachel now”.. and the boys all think it’s neat and accept it, attaching their drone to the ice cream truck and flying off. Bev also fully accepts it, happy their daughter’s happy and even finding her some cute shoes. It makes sense for all involved: while all from the 90′s, Rocko’s group has always been an accepting bunch for the most part, while Bev was always the parent that accepted their kid more.  It’s harder for Ed.. but it’s a well done harder. He’s bigoted, and potrayed as stupidly as that sounds: he rejects the idea of the special simply because he rejects the idea he has no son but a daughter. I also like the stealth pun there: he once claimed he had no son when he disowned rachel.. and it turns out he never did. Everyone around him rightfully sees this as stupid, and it’s portrayed as such, but what i Like is that they play this realistically. Instead of Ed throwing out slurs or throwing a tantrum, which sadly could very well happen, he just disowns his child, again, and storms off. He can’t accept a trans daughter because to him it’s a change. To Rachel.. it’ sbeing who she was always meant to be. Rachel ends up still making the special, remembering her past, including biting ed’s eye as a baby.. and using that. And while Ed has to be dragged to the premiere, as many a person has to be dragged into acceptaince... it’s said work that helps Ed see what a fool he’s been. Rachel reworks the fatheads.. but now includes a baby based on themselves. It adds great new jokes to the bit.. but it’s the last one, a reinactment of her “damaging her fathers retina”.. that makes Ed realize what he shoudl have all along: this is his child and who they always were. Being a woman not only allowed them to be happy.. but it dosen’t change who they are.. because this is who they ALWAYS were. And what helps is that... Rachel didn’t NEED ed’s acceptance. Their disapointed, but when he wails no at it, she simply says yes. They do the short because, even if Ed dosen’t accept her, she wont’ leave her parents homeless and still loves them both. And it’s ED who has to come around and accept that he has a daughter, he always did.. and that’s wonderful.  We also get Rocko.. not accepting the change. A baby, how dare he.. but ed talks him down, getting to the point of the special in a truly lovely speech. 

“Rocko we can’t live in the past, we can be grateful for it, but life isn’t permenant, and if we don’t embrace what’s now, we miss out on a lot of the important stuff. “ I couldn’t of said it better myself and belivie me i’ve tried. And it’s a perfect message for this special.. and for Rachels’ story. embrace what you have, not what you thought you had. This special is phenominal, with tons of great gags, a truly amazing story at the core, and lots of great cameos in some lovely animation. Check it out wether your new to rocko or want to revisit an old friend. Thanks for reading and happy belated pride. 

#rocko's modern life #static cling #rachel bighead #rocko rama #heffer wolfe #philbert #ed bighead #trans #lbgtqia+ #pride month

[softly-potter]

Still Friends

Summary: After a chance encounter at a party, Wanda and Bucky find they have more in common than they realized.

This fic is heavily inspired by 'Friends' by my lovely friend Poppy. She is aware of this fic and I've been given permission for this marvel-version retelling! If you haven't read her dramione fic 'Friends', I HIGHLY suggest it. I fell in love with the story and couldn't help but wonder, what if it was Wanda and Bucky instead of Hermione and Draco? Thus "Still Friends" was born. Enjoy!

Pairing: Bucky X Wanda

Word Count: 33,068

Warning: smut, drug use, depression

A/N: Find the rest of the chapters here; Chapter 2: Unloading | Chapter 3: Cherries | Chapter 4: Worth the Wait | Chapter 5: Books | Chapter 6: Grief | Chapter 7: Unlikely | Chapter 8: Happy Birthday, Soldier | Chapter 9: A Christmas Moment | Chapter 10: The Best Holiday | Chapter 11: Permission | Chapter 12: Revitalize | Chapter 13: Backstabber | Chapter 14: Luck of the Dead | Chapter 15: Pain Reliever | Chapter 16: Apologize | Chapter 17: Specially Gifted | Chapter 18: New Day

-

Chapter 1: Greetings

April 2, 2023

He isn’t sure he can think or feel or live.

Like a tv in black and white, it was all static. Bucky’s bleak life becoming as horrendous as those old picture shows his ma used to force him to watch with his little sister, and it's suffocating.

His life had been far from easy, even after Thanos, but he had at least been able to feel. He could remember what it had been, how it had felt. How laughing with a skinny Steve would make his stomach burn, or the feeling of a girls hand in his would make his heart flutter.

There had been a goal in him, a want. Fuel to the fire that was his existence but now it burned him. After all the brain swapping, memory loss and aching pain, it withered at his soul, chipping at him, until he began to crack and splinter.

He hates it. Hates his existence, hates the new world he’s supposed to understand. Hates Steve for leaving him alone in it. Hates Tony Stark for being lucky enough to die.

Around him, the heroes he fights side by side with continue living. They move on, get married, and he envies them for their ability to live.

He watches as Pepper Potts lets go, as she sends her beloved down the river bank and bravely takes her daughter by the hand, ready to lead their company into a reborn new wave of prosperity.

He cannot let go when he so desperately clings to the past. Now that he can, he clings to the memories of murder; the ones committed in-front of him, or by him. It’s the echoing of screams that lulls him to sleep, and it's the ringing of sobs that jerk him awake.

There is nothing but the past for him, not a damn thing. With Steve gone, the Avengers became his family, and he tries to act on it, but he keeps them at a far distance.

Reliving is what keeps him going. Feeling the guilt crushing him, it's what gets him out of bed; it's kind enough to grant him a purpose.

He wants to be whole; to feel again. Knowing he’ll never deserve it is punishment enough.

What is happiness exactly? He isn’t sure he remembers.

He feels a great debt to the Wakandens for stripping him of the winter solider programing. At least with that, he knows he won’t cause anymore harm.

The first time he remembers he’s alive is when the love of her life dies.

They were both snapped, so when they both returned, she hadn’t known Vision was dead until after the final fight. When Tony had breathed his last, everyone had been reverent, holding their breath in honor of him.

Expect her.

She’d been looking around wildly, burnt orange hair wiping back and forth, and she’d flown off while the rest of them mourned. He watched her leave, her chaos magic lifting her for miles until she was just a spray of red.

It wasn’t until later that he found out what happened to Visions body, and that she couldn’t have it back.

A part of him felt sorry for her, as she was now alone in the world, with her brother being dead and all. But then Steve had left, taking hope with him, and Bucky had been desperately alone too.

So, he stands here on Wilson’s porch — clutching his glass hard enough it cracks — trying to act. Act like he’s mourned and moved on, like the rest of them.

The music is pumping so loudly it thrums against his back. From inside he can hear them singing along terribly to music in an aroma of alcohol and happiness. It’s like static to him.

He can’t remember why he even comes to these damn things.

He doesn’t really enjoy being around them, constantly feeling like an outsider. Being around Steve had made it easier, the transition not as bumpy. But now, he doesn’t even know why he tries.

He had atoned for the majority of his sins, made amends with those that he could. He had thanked them, specifically Wilson, Banner, and T’challa for putting up with all his Winter Soldier bullshit, and they had been gracious as ever, accepting his mumbled apologies with ease.

After Wakanda, he had purchased a little one bed room apartment for himself, even though he never used the bedroom. He preferred the floor of the living room. He had just finished removing the last of the mattress frame when he got the email to the remembrance party. To honor those who died because thats what they would’ve wanted.

He thinks of Steve, how well-suited Captain America was for these types of things. His lips curl bitterly.

Keeping his face stony is how he keeps himself in check. He does this for them. He owes them that much.

He feels bitter leaning against the wall, hearing everyone have an amazing time, drinking to the memories of those they lost and he knocks back his glass. The alcohol doesn’t burn, and he wished it did. Fishing in his pocket, he removes a flask of his special liquor, the one Thor concocted for him that would actually work on his super solider immune system.

He takes a slow sip, wincing slightly, wishing it was time for him to depart, but he’d only arrived an hour ago, and he had promised Sam he’d ‘stay for a few’, and as he listens to the happiness and the music and the memories, he wonders if maybe he can be redeemed.

Crossing his ankles, he stands on the corner of the porch, waiting until it is polite stretch of time to make his leave.

Pushing open the screen porch, she walks out the front door and gently sits on the steps, feet tucked beneath her. It’s chilly, and she brushes a hand up her arm.

The wind howls furiously, rocking the boats that are docked steadily, the waves lapping up against the cement. She sighs, shrugs her coat off, blowing a raspberry. Bucky watches intently, eyeing her burnt-colored hair as wisps of it escape her braid.

He feels his old, asshole-self emerging before he can stop himself.

"Trying to get sick?”

She spins her head towards his voice, going still in light surprise when she recognizes him. And he’s amazed as to how she looks so beautiful when surprised.

She studies him, eyes narrowed. Bucky is holding his Asgardian liquor in one hand, the other tucked into his jacket pocket. His now-short hair was tousled, the chopped strands unruly. He didn’t know how to style it yet, and he looks borderline amused, eyes crinkling at the corners as she stares back.

She raises her brows.

“April isn’t that cold.”

“I can see your breath, so i’ll take a wild guess and assume it’s cold.”

He isn’t sure why he’s talking to her, but as she gives him a scowling glare, he decides he enjoys watching the way her face contorts.

He chuckles under his breath, taking a sip, then pushes himself off of the wall he’d been hanging on. His steps are calculated, and she gives him no indication of noticing him until he sits beside her. He’s large, their knees bumping as he settles, and she angels herself to the right so they don’t touch.

Turning her head, she stares. She’s close enough to count the faded scars and light freckles that scatter around her face and hands, her body heat exuding.

“Why aren’t you celebrating?” he asks, genuinely curious. He never pictured Wanda to be the type that gets blasted at parties, but he didn’t think her the type to sit them out too.

She’s glaring again, and he avoids her eyes by taking a sip. Maybe she doesn’t want him to speak to her, and while he understands, he just wanted to hear her voice. He’d only ever really heard her cry.

“They’re moving on,” she says after a while. “I can’t.”

Her voice is strong, but the volume low, and Bucky strains slightly to hear her. She shifts her feet, the old wood paneling squeaking with age.

It was a small statement but its meaning was loud, and on a personal level he understood.

He wants to tell her that he gets it, that while the fight has ended there’s a war constantly playing in his mind and he knows it’s echoing in hers too.

He turns away, squinting in the wind, eyeing the dock and the dark water. The silence stretches, aside from the wind and the sea, and Bucky finds himself feeling content.

Almost at peace.

“You’re hurting,” he says. “Which is good. The numbness would be worse.” He knows the feeling all too well, the colorlessness. Knowing that Wanda is feeling that undoubtedly, makes him angry, because she of all people didn’t deserve that empty existence.

She’s glaring at him, he can feel it, her green eyes scorching into the side of his head. “What do you want, did you follow me?” She demands, avoiding his claim. He gets it, understands how she might not be aware that she’s still hurting. Sometimes he’s so numb he forgets it himself.

Perhaps its selfish, using her conversation like a lifeboat when she’s so clearly drowning as well, but maybe it could help her too. They could both stay afloat.

He rolls his eyes, tongue clicking. “I was out here first, actually.”

She rolls her eyes in response, her nose scrunched in a displeased manner, and she’s adorable.

He glances at her again, and she stares back, hard, her nose a light pink and cheeks flushed with cold.

“There's a reason you don’t want to forget?” He posses his assessment like a question, and she looks away.

“I just don’t.”

He can’t see her face, and he panics that she’s grouchy or worse, beginning to cry. He shuffles his feet, knee bumping hers but she doesn’t react.

“Don’t you know we won?” He tells her, eyes trained on his hands and the glass. His metal arm is covered, and the glass slides across the fabric easily.

She looks up, staring straight ahead as her fingers fiddle with one another. “Did we, though?”

The statement catches him off guard. “That's what the news reported.” He counters, and she turns completely, her knee now pressed against his and her face a mix of angst and ferocity.

“Because the news is so reliable,” she snaps, then lets out a sigh. “So many died. So many lost their chances at life, at happiness .”

Her voice cracks on the last word, and she drops her head, chin wobbling slightly. Bucky wants to look away, give her a private moment to collect herself, but he can’t. He wants to comfort her, to tell her its alright, that he won’t judge, but he knows she’ll recoil from his touch, so he keeps his hands wrapped around the glass.

“Families were torn apart, good people lost their lives, and we’re supposed to be celebrating?” She scoffs with a watery laugh. “I can’t.”

He raises his glass, shifting and realizing he should probably slow down. The Asgardian liquor always did the trick.

“I think it's technically remembering.”

She gives a large sigh, turning back to stare ahead. His skin burns through his jeans where their knees touched, and Bucky decides to take the plunge.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

He hadn’t attended Vision's funeral because there hadn’t been one. As far as he knew, SWORD had taken custody of the body and no one had seen it since. He’d like to think that, if there had been one, he would have attended. He would’ve shown up, stayed in the back, offer a slight apology towards the end then make an escape.

She turns to him and he pauses, cocking his head to the side. Tears were in her eyes, one escaping down the side of her confused face.

“I don’t need your pity,” she spat, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. “I don’t want it nor need it.”

Anger finds his voice before wisdom does. “Not like you fucking deserve it.”

He expects her to pale, to sob or become so angry that she hexes him into the water. What he doesn’t expect is for her arms to drop from her chest, large eyes widening.

“I’m sorry that was…uncalled for.” She swipes at her cheeks. “I just…I feel like an ocean keeps hitting me, over and over again, and no matter how hard I try I can’t stand up. I hate it. I fucking hate it, and I need it to stop.”

He’s taken aback by her confession, thoroughly intrigued. Tapping the heel of his foot, he looks away.

“I hate it too.”

They fall into silence, the wind moving around them in noisy wails, and he wishes they could stay on that porch forever.

“Steve’s an asshole for leaving you behind.” She whispers, standing with a brush of her hands against her denim. Bucky is shocked into silence, jumping slightly when the screen door shuts behind her.

#winterwitch #dramione inspired #wanda and bucky #bucky barnes x wanda maximoff

[firewoodwander]

can we send multiples? oh well if u don’t want to do more than one please (as always) feel free to disregard

25 for ordo/mereel 👉👈?

25. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“I can,” A’den chimes cheerily in his earpiece.

“Get lost,” Ordo replies. “No one is talking to you.”

“Testy,” Mereel mutters, and Ordo can see the smile curling his lips even in the half-dark. “One might even forget half of this plan is actually yours.”

Ordo shifts behind their makeshift barricade. In his experience, the backstreets of any city will smell like spent fuel and piss and stagnant rainwater, but with this dilapidated food cart in front of him, the oily cling of rotted street food mixed in is giving him a headache. Testy doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“When we get back I’m feeding you to Vau’s strill in pieces.”

Mereel half-fakes a shudder, grimacing down at his soaked civvies. Ordo wishes they had their armour. “Let me at least shower off the mud, first.”

“You know, I’ve heard there’s nothing quite like the delicate taste of sweating, mud-spiced Null.”

“Kinky,” says the comm-fuzzy voice.

“Shut up, A’den,” say the both of them.

“What if she doesn’t turn up today?” Ordo continues. “Did you even think about that?”

“What if the Black Sun get to her first, Ordo? Hm? Anything can happen. Why can’t you just trust me.”

“I’m here aren’t I?”

“Then quit bitching.”

“Someone needs to keep you modest.”

“Someone needs to extract the iron rod from up his backside—”

“Last time I suggested he do it, Maze tried to deck me. Your turn.”

“Maze isn’t the one I have trouble with when making room for myself—”

“Hello A’den, our beloved little brother,” A’den interrupts once more. “Thank you so much for taking time off to cover us on this mission. As a token of our unending thanks, we won’t subject you to any more of our disgusting flirting than you already have to deal with. Much love.”

Three whole, heavy beats of silence pass between them, broken only by the static of the drizzle pattering down around them.

“At least I don’t fuck my boyfriend in the ’fresher without locking the door first,” Mereel says.

Ordo smiles behind his tactical mask at the incoherent, indignant spluttering that follows.

#cloneshipping #star wars #writing tag #ordo/mereel #repcomm

[lunargrapejuice]

Congrats Luna!

Can I please get Zhongli in First Quarter with Situla and Hamal?

thank you!💕 not me trying and failing at not projecting my feelings into every comfort fic i write oops

🌙 100 follower event masterlist

zhongli x gn!reader

comfort + braiding hair + touching foreheads

mentions of reader having anxiety/having anxious feelings

the clear and refreshing night air of liyue was something you often found joy and peace in, especially in the presence of your beloved. the warmth of it wrapping around you, hint of the ocean wafting with each light breeze, the sure and delicate touch of zhongli while you cling to his arm. paired with the richness of his voice and the stories he tells that you love to hear, it makes for a perfect end to each day and creates moments you’ll cherish fondly for a long time. but today, all of it feels like too much.

the breeze and warm air that comes with it makes you feel like you're suffocating in heat and causes your already racing heart to beat even wilder instead of carrying away the stress of the day along with the leaves as it normally does. zhonglis voice sounds muffled against your own thoughts, nothing but static against the symphony of anxieties and stress that play on repeat, growing louder with each note, each thought. you can only hope that your hand around his arm doesn’t give away the unease that just won't cease.

your feet coming to a stop and the sudden contact on your chin causes you to jump, your already tense hand gripping even tighter onto zhonglis arm. gentle fingers pull your gaze from the stone path to glowing amber eyes that quiet the whole world and for a moment, even your own thoughts. they kindle comfort within your heart but also make you feel powerless, unable to hide the truth of your pain as they search your own.

“what is troubling you dearest?”

you hate the question. it makes your heart feel like it’s going to come right out of your throat, makes you falter in the put togetherness you’ve been trying to display. in order to try to stop the tears that brim your eyes and hide them from him, you look down and focus on the clasps that keep his coat securely around him.

“oh, it’s n-nothing,” you reply. it hurts to speak and your voice says as much but if that didn’t tell zhongli all he needed to know, the way you smile in a way that doesn’t meet your eyes screams you’re hurting. “i’m okay.”

it's nothing new, he knows your anxiety can get the better of you and how hard of a time you have letting it show or letting others help you through it but that will never deter him from offering his assistance to you, in ways that only he could. he loved you after all, he held your heart in his hands as you did his. he has fought to protect and create many things and memories he cherishes and holds close but none of that compared to the one thing he protects now. in all of his years he has never found anything more precious to him than you.

when he learned this was a part of loving you, even though it made his own heart throb to watch you go through it, he welcomed it and promised to do all he could to help, anything to bring back the smile he adored.

“why don’t we head back?”

you try to find the words to tell him ‘no, it’s okay’ but your body can’t say much when it feels like it’s taking all of your strength not to cry in the middle of the street. it’s okay though, he doesn’t need you to answer. a moment later you feel the warmth of his coat as it drapes over your shoulders, his hand finding the small of your back to guide you to your shared apartment which luckily wasn’t far.

“do not fret my lily, it will all be alright. i’ve got you.”

his loving voice helps you all the way home and into your bedroom where he ensures you're comfortable on the bed, his ungloved fingers caressing the skin of your cheeks and wiping away the tears you tried so hard to to let fall. they start off slow, just a few here and there as you try to reason with yourself that there's no reason to cry or feel this anxious, that you’re stronger than this even though right now you feel so weak.

“would you like me to brew some soothing tea?”

shaking your head, you whisper through your tears, wanting to cry more at the thought of him leaving. “.. don’t go.. please..”

the bed dips behind you, the smell of zhongli clinging to the air around you that feels a little less hard to breathe with him so close. long legs come around either side of you and strong, doting arms wrap around you, one wrapping around your middle to pull you close, the other resting on your wet cheek to bring you into his chest. he holds you tenderly, allowing you the freedom to move around as you please but also knows he’s there to protect you, help you.

your tears grow worse but he doesn’t mind the dampening of his shirt and the comfort he provides grows along with it. both of his hands find their way into your hair, using light and delicate motions to put it into a braid so the strands do not hinder your release of emotions. zhongli doesn’t have much experience with these particular emotions in himself but if there is one thing he has learned as a human, and since loving you, letting your emotions be felt, acknowledging them - bad or good - was better than to hold them in. he’s seen time and time again that there is much beauty to be felt and seen after a storm.

sobbing trickles into light hiccups and when you finally find the strength to talk, you let all of your anxious thoughts, feelings of not being enough, every stress you’ve felt past the few days tumble past your lips. it's hard to talk about, he knows it too but in the comfort of his embrace, with the sound of his beating heart used to steady your way, you know you’re safe. your tears come and go but zhongli and the love he has for you remains, floats in the air like fireflies and they carry your worries away.

when you’re done letting it all out, he feels your body relax in his embrace and after a moment of letting you rest he effortlessly moves you both so he is face to face with you, his expression soft and his tone silvery. how did he always sound as lovely as he looked?

“my dear, you are doing an exceptional job,” he brings his hand up to wipe a single tear streaming down your red cheeks before moving a few strands of loose hair behind your ear. “your strengths are admirable and endearing to me but so are the challenges in life that you may find make you weak. all of it is a part of you but even with such obstacles, to many you are more than enough,” leaning closer to you, he closes his eyes and you follow, your lips tugging upward slightly at the feeling of his forehead lightly pressing into yours, the warmth and tea on his breath fanning against your skin. “and to me you are the rarest of gems. what you may see as impurities are only qualities that make you more precious.”

“you.. you really think so?”

“yes, and if you ever forget i’ll be obliged to remind you. i’ll even draw up a contract if you’d like.”

that has you smiling bigger, your heart bursting with love and warmth and a small chuckle coming from your lips. “i don’t think that’s necessary.”

even with your eyes closed, you can feel his smile through his words. “i only wish for you to see yourself the same way i do, my love. but i understand when you do not and i will always be here to remind you of how wonderful you truly are.”

#geo daddy hold me pls #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #zhongli #genshin impact x reader #moon & stars 100 follower event

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Broken trust, pt.2

Part one

Summary: Too quickly does the Darkling find his rogue Sun Summoner, but his arrogance will cost him. 

Warnings: slight fluff, angst

==========================

Faith – Y/N’s floated away from her a very long time ago, like a leaf being pulled away on the tide, and into the sea to become lost and alone, likely drowned. But she had faith in Aleksander. She always trusted him, not doubting he’d protect her. That’s why this is much more painful than it had to be.

“Running doesn't matter, I'll hunt you down if I have to.” Kirigan spoke through gritted teeth, as if he knew she could hear him, feel the palpable anger and betrayal he struggled to contain.

And still she ran. She ran without looking back, cutting through the forest with her breath caught in her throat. She ran, flinching with branches leaving cuts across her face, but she couldn’t stop. If she stopped, he’d find her and if he found her, Y/N didn’t know if they’d both walk away unharmed.

Finding a cave, she ventured inside. She sat curled up against a wall, shivering in the darkness. She clutched the kefta she wore in Little palace, clinging to his already faded scent. Just hours ago, his arms were wrapped around her, his lips claimed hers. She was his, undoubtedly in love with the very man who turned out to be the enemy.

A sob escapes her, whimpering as her hand covers her mouth to assure her silence. Risking being found because she needs to cry is stupid. Aleksander would expect her to cry.

“Where have you been?” The Grisha asks, breathless as it seems.

His presence alone commands awe, respect and his charisma can make any human stop and forget what they’re doing so long as it pleases him. He is magnetic, electric, someone you can get lost in before knowing what’s happening.

“Answer me.” He insists, lower his head to her level. His eyes narrow at her quivering lips, just then realizing she’s shaking.

“Leave us!” He orders the Grisha who came running once the light reached them outside the tent.

He taps her shoulder, the air around them turning static with contact, “What is happening?” Her shaky voice sounds and his eyes soften.

“You truly don’t know?” Raising an eyebrow, the Grisha steadies Y/N before letting her go. “My name is general Kirigan and you”, he points at her, his forehead wrinkling momentarily, “are the Sun summoner.”

A breathless chuckle escapes her, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m a map-maker.”

“No”, Kirigan raises an eyebrow. He steps closer, his hands gripping her arms gently, “You are a Grisha.”

Swallowing thickly, her eyes flood with tears. One by one, they make tracks down her cheeks, stunning Kirigan.

“You need not worry”, wiping the tears off her left cheek with his thumb, Kirigan smiles softly, “I will protect you.”

Huffing, Y/N shakes her head. “I never should have trusted him.”

Suddenly, she felt her airways constrict. Gasping for air, she clutches her chest, unable to breathe or think clearly. Darkness etched into her vision, blurring it until there was nothing left. She felt her mind drift, the last she heard was a whisper she once adored.

“I’ll carry her back.” Aleksander states, his eyes never moving from her. He didn’t expect to find her, especially not as quickly as he did, but the ring she wore lead them straight to her location. Once again, she trusted the wrong person and once again, it brought them closer together.

Upon his return, he had laid her on his bed, hoping to speak to her somewhat peacefully this time around. If she could just feel the way his heart aches for her, maybe then she’d believe him he’d never do anything to bring her harm.

Groggy, Y/N groans. Her hand moves to her forehead, rubbing her temples.

“You’re safe”, Aleksander tells her, but the sound of his voice made her open her eyes wide, sitting up so quickly her vision blurred.

“St-stay away!” She pushed herself back, hitting the headboard.

“I won’t hurt you. I saved your life." Kirigan leans in, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"How? By taking my freedom, mind and identity?" She snaps at him, her nostrils flared with frustration and anger bubbling up to the surface.

"The chains are broken now.” Kirigan sighs, “You know the truth.” Wetting his lips, his eyebrows knit together, “Are you really free?"

Shaking her head, she narrows her eyes at him, "You are still my captive, no matter how beloved you once were."

Giggling, Y/N stumbles back and into the table. A few figurines fall to the ground, but it doesn’t seem to phase Aleksander who smirks as he rests his hands at each side of the table, essentially trapping her.

Raising an eyebrow, she looks up at him, batting her eyelashes. “Are you about to ravish me, oh sweet Darkling?”

Chuckling, he cranes his neck just enough for the tip of his nose to brush hers. Hearing her inhale sharply and hold her breath, Aleksander couldn’t help but peck her lips. It felt innocent enough, something that wouldn’t scare her but would satisfy his need to feel her closer to him.

“Don’t go looking for trouble, sunshine”, his lips twitch, amused how her hands have clutched his hips, pulling him closer to her.

“Maybe I like trouble”, she whispers, breathing heavily so much so he could count each and every breath passing the lips he wished her could kiss for an eternity, uninterrupted.

Biting her lower lip, her hand rests on his left cheek, caressing the scruffy beard with her thumb. “Come on, Darkling”, she teases, “What are you afraid of?”

“You”, he responds without a second thought. His response came so quickly, catching Y/N off guard. “I’m afraid of loving you”, he exhales through his nose, his clenching under the palm of her hand before he speaks again, “Afraid of losing you.”

“Please”, crosses his lips and Y/N’s heart skips a beat. Aleksander is a man of many virtues, but begging wasn’t one of them. He’s the man who demands and makes things happen. Such men don’t strike you as someone who plead often. And this was Aleksander pleading, asking her to do something irrational, to trust him, the only thing she couldn’t do.

“What could you possibly say to make this okay?” She swallows thickly, averting her gaze as if looking at him for too long could destroy her very essence.

"They called me the Darkling as an insult. You were the only one who used it as a term of endearment." Aleksander reaches for her hand, but she pulls away once again. “Let me put your mind at peace.”

Pressing her lips, she exhales through her nose, “You made me into a weapon. I'll never find peace.”

“I didn’t make you into anything”, he remarks, “You were born as my equal, to be my other half.”

Nodding to herself, she swipes her thumb under her left eye, “I sure feel like your equal now”, glancing at him she bites the soft flesh on the inside of her bottom lip, “You can still do the right thing. I believe there is a good person inside of you. The man I fell in love with must be somewhere underneath the darkness you're flaunting. Be him.”

His eyes narrow, clouded by his own sorrow, “It's too late to go back. You can't even look at me.” Standing, with his back turned on her, Aleksander allows tears to fill his eyes, “Do you even love me?”

“Of course I still love you, but trusting you is a different question.” With a heavy sigh parting her lips, she stands too. “You can’t force me to stay with you and expect unconditional love. That’s not how this works.”

Blinking fast, Aleksander refused to look at her. All she’d see is his weakness – his feelings for her have made him soft, too easily swayed by emotions and he mustn’t reveal it.

“You can’t catch sunshine, my dearest Darkling”, she wraps her arms around his waist. Resting her right cheek on his back, between his shoulder blades, she pulled him into her embrace, “You need to let me go and find my own way.”

“You’d be dead by nightfall.” He snaps, trying to push her off but she holds onto him even tighter, silently weeping.

How can she stay when every cell inside her body is screaming for her to leave? How can she leave when every single molecule she’s made up from is aching for just one more touch?

“If you love me, you’ll have to trust me”, her voice is shaky, unsteady as she feels. “Staying will make me resent you. I need some distance, time.”

“I can’t”, he shakes his head, wiping his tears away before she can see any.

“Then I need you to remember”, her hold on him lessens.

With a frown etched on his forehead, he turns to her with a lump at the back of his throat, “Remember what?” His words rip through her like glass shards do to skin, but he can barely tell if she’s shaking because he’s started to tremble himself.

A smile breaks on her lips, just as bright as the light she once emitted to contrast his. “Remember I love you.”

And once again, without a warning, Aleksander found himself on his knees.

He didn’t love her, he desired her most of all. He desired her gaze on him as desperately as the air he needs to breath. He desired her skin against his as the food he’d need to live. He desired her lips to speak his name in ecstasy more than the water as he thirsted for her light more than anything else in this world.

And in his desire for her he had lost himself entirely. He had lost his cold exterior, becoming putty in her hands. He had lost his ruthlessness he planned to aim her way, directing it to any and all who’d harm her. He had lost his resolve to stay away, so he’d give into her with all he is.

So with that desire and the loss of him, he hated her for all of it. He hated her with burning passion. He hated her so much it consumed him.

Or so he told himself so. For in the end, he did nothing to push her away.

He couldn’t.

Not now. Not ever.

Logic demanded him to stop her, but his entire logic went out the window the day he found her in his tent, stealing his grapes. He’s no longer a part of the living anymore either. She’s become his cornerstone and no matter how hard he tried to deny it, it didn’t change. It’s become factual.

He didn’t hate her, not even a little, not at all. Aleksander Morozova, Aleksander Kirigan, The Darkling, the unforgiving general, the Black Heretic, the Shadow King – all of him loved all of her, even as she had put a knife through his heart. The very heart that beat for her was now bleeding because of her. A betrayal, he realized, the very same as she had felt when she learned of his lies.

“We will see each other again”, she croaks, her tears crashing around him.

Gasping for air, he desperately fights the pain so he can keep his eyes open longer. This might not kill him, but it will slow him down. This time around, she’ll run and as she takes off the ring, he realizes it won’t be so easy to find her again.

She kisses his lips, so softly he’s unsure if it’s a well crafted dream.

“Moya lyubov'”, he manages to say as she stands and heads to the door. He can’t speak, but he’s screaming on the inside, hoping she’d look back at him. If she does, there was hope.

Reaching for the knob, Y/N sighs, glancing over her shoulder at her Darkling with unimaginable pain tearing her apart. But sometimes you have to break in order to create something more beautiful. She knew he’d hate her for it, but she walked out the door anyway.

PART 3

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #shadow and bone #aleksander kirigan #aleksander morozova #aleksander x reader #kirigan x reader

[sinnamonrolle]

[ the little moments] ♡ Satan

5 - That moment when you found Satan covered in blood.

✿ part of a series now! ✿

❀  gender neutral reader  ❀

Warnings: Blood (no gore)

“Devildom does not tolerate slander, and I, most certainly, will not sit quietly when my human is being talked about in such a filthy manner. Now, I’m sure you know this, but I have connections in every layer of the Devildom. If I ever hear anything remotely similar again, whether it’d be in text or words, there will be consequences.”

The Devildom was always dark, and it was something you’ve long gotten used to, but it was way, way darker in alleyways where the streetlights never reach. Within the shadows of a small alley, you heard a familiar voice.

“Satan?” you called out. You didn’t want to step into the shadows, knowing of the potential danger in doing so, but you wanted to see Satan again. You wanted to see him safe, and so you hesitated in the walkway, wondering what you should do.

Satan had just suddenly walked away from you earlier. He didn’t say a word to you as he left, only leaving a hint of anger—pure, unfiltered anger, ready to burst into something darker, more dangerous—in the sound of footsteps and in the bond of your pact. You felt it sparking in your chest, like firecrackers going off, but at one point in your search for Satan’s whereabouts, your head spun at the amount of rage swirling in you. You heaved, wanting so badly to thrash and to shout and to destroy something.

You whirled around in circles on the street, the colors and shapes mixing around you in blurs, and you were dangling dangerously on the edge of falling head first into the abyss of wrath until—

Satan, where are you? Satan, please be safe. Satan, are you okay? Satan, Satan, Satan, I need to find Satan, I need to make sure he’s okay. Don’t leave me here, please…

You thought of him.

It was the thought of Satan, of seeing him safe and sound, of seeing that wonderful smile on his face again that pulled you back into a more rational state of mind, enough so that you could restart your search. With one feet in front of the other, you took a deep breath.

And now, you’d finally found him, but…

A heavy silence filled the air. Every second that passed made you worry more and more. From what you heard, you were sure something had gone down. It wasn’t that you were worried about his physical well-being (although, it was still a point of concern for you), you were much more worried about his mental well-being, which had always been rather fragile compared to his brothers.

You weren’t saying that he was fragile, but rather that it didn’t take much to set him off. He might be able to hide his emotions extremely well, but he felt them harder, and they lingered longer—much, much longer. It was this vulnerability that made you worried.

You couldn’t help but call out again, “Satan? Are you okay?”

It was only after that did a familiar figure slowly walked out, the shadows clinging onto the flickering form of Satan. His eyes were a cold, harsh green—so lovely yet so dangerous with that dark glint in his eyes—and they glowed, like a warning, against the backdrop of night.

Several sharp slashes of red stained his cheeks. Droplets hung to the blonde strands of hair hanging above his eyes. And you could see similar splatters dying his gray shirt, although most of it were hidden by his boa.

“My beloved,” Satan murmured, and the flickering between his human form and demon form increased in intensity, almost resembling an old TV with static.

He stumbled towards you, conflict coloring his cold eyes, and you couldn’t help but look behind him at the shadowy corner. If it was you from when you first came to the Devildom, you would have felt sorry for those poor souls, but now—now, the only person on your mind was Satan.

You took his hand and pulled him away from the alleyway to some place with more light, some place with more breathing room, some place safe. He followed obediently behind you, letting you take him to wherever you wanted.

It was this trust Satan placed in you that made your heart clenched tight, beating along to the sound of your hurried footsteps. His breathing wasn’t loud, but you heard it anyway—gasping, pausing, hitching. The wrath had died down the moment you called out his name, and now you were left with nothing but your own thoughts and feelings swirling inside you. You wondered what was going on in his mind, what emotions he was feeling, what you could do for him. You wondered and wondered, and all sorts of thoughts cluttered your head, but you didn’t say anything until you stopped near a street lamp off to the side.

Lit by the pale white light, you finally saw Satan from head to toe. The flickering has subsided greatly, leaving him in his gray dress shirt, his ribbon, his boa, and his spotted pants, but his horns and tail were absent. There was a bit of dissonance at the sight of him in his demon outfit but without the demon features, and it seemed Satan felt it too with how his eyebrows were furrowed, and how the pale green in his eyes was growing agitated.

“You can stay in your demon form, you know,” you said softly, taking his other hand in yours and squeezing them. “You don’t have to hide them from me. I’m not scared.”

“I—” Satan began to say, but then he looked down at your hands, and he was jerking away, pulling his hands from yours.

It wasn’t hurt that you felt first, but rather concern, a kind of fear that has always nested deep at the bottom of your heart, a pain that didn’t come from the rejection but from how Satan was hurting, and you wanted nothing more but to hold him again.

So that’s what you did.

You reached out for his hands, determined not to lose him, but—

“Your, your hands,” Satan breathed out, trembling almost invisibly. His eyes were trained on your hands, and you finally looked down at them.

Semi-dried blood coated the surface of your palms along with your fingers, but you didn’t see any problems with it, especially since it wasn’t your blood. A thought knocked into your head then—you wondered if the blood was his.

You looked back up at Satan, who had taken a few steps back, his hands gripping roughly at his hair.

“The blood isn’t mine. Is it yours? Are you injured?” you asked, the words wanting to jump out of your mouth, but you held them back, urging them to stay calm and steady, lest the hurriedness of your speech scare Satan off.

“No… no, it’s not mine, and that’s exactly—” he broke off, lips pursed, and you couldn’t help but notice how his hands shook as he unintentionally smeared more blood into his hair, turning the once beautiful golden strands into something darker.

Satan fell to his knees.

It came so suddenly. One moment, he seemed like he would break apart into a million different pieces if you were too rough, and the next moment he was on his knees, forehead pressed to the ground, his fingers twitching forward like he wanted to touch something but didn’t dare to.

“That’s exactly the reason why,” Satan whispered. His voice was so small, so weak. Each syllable quivered delicately on his tongue as they escaped him, hoarse and afraid. “I, I’ve stained you. Let you see something you should never have to see. Your beautiful hands should never have to touch something as dirty as blood. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

You stared at the way he was almost curled into himself on the ground. Satan, who has always been so prideful, so full of confidence in himself and the vast amount of knowledge—Satan, who has always been aware of how he handled himself, every move thought out, every remark a well crafted reply—Satan, who used to look down at you, now, was in front of you, not daring to look into your eyes.

“I never wanted you to see me truly angry, to, to see me violent with my wrath. Violent with bloodshed and bodies and carnage. This side of me you should never see, it’s unsightly, and something so unsightly should never grace your eyes. And because of it, I left you alone when I shouldn’t—”

“That’s not it, is it?”

“Huh?” Satan lifted his head up in surprise, eyes wide with a hundred thousand emotions flying past them, yet you could understand none of them except for one. He had always been a mystery to you. A carefully composed mystery that lured you in deeper and deeper, until you were completely unable to extricate yourself from him. But sometimes, he hid himself so well, he composed himself so neatly, he closed himself off so tightly that he, himself, would forget what he was truly feeling.

“That’s not it,” you repeated, but this time as a statement. Squatting down to get closer to him, you ran a hand through his hair, brushing some of the blood away, and swiped your thumb against his bloody cheek.

He tensed under your touch but gradually relaxed to it, enough to fully switch back into his human outfit, and you noticed how his eyes were glossy. There was a light wet sheen over them, but you were sure you were also the same. Between the two of you, all differences revealed themselves in the forms of adjacency, of opposites, of analogs.

You cupped his face in your hands, and he finally looked at you. You’ve always loved his eyes—that dark, forest green with a depth that you could never decipher.

“You’re afraid,” you murmured, thumbs tracing the slope of his face. “But what are you truly afraid of? Will you tell me?”

Satan stared at you for a moment with his eyebrows furrowed, as if he was trying to find answers from your face alone. You waited for him. You would always wait for him. You would wait centuries for Satan, if only he didn’t feel so close to disappearing in your hands.

“Of course,” he said, and the silence broke under the weight of the promise underlying his words. He gently held your wrist, his thumb settling on top of your pulse. “Of course, I’ll tell you. Only you.”

A pause.

Then, Satan looked down, and you felt something wet settle on your fingers.

“I’m afraid that you will disappear,” he whispered. “I’m afraid that one day, you will really see me for who I am and leave me behind. Every moment seems so unreal, and I feel like if I don’t confirm your presence, I will wake up and realize this is all a dream. A beautiful, wonderful dream that I could never experience again. I don’t want this to end. I want you to stay by my side forever, until all eight layers of the Devildom collapsed, until the end of time itself. I’m afraid of a day without you. I’m afraid of never seeing you again. I’m afraid of losing you. I’m afraid of so much, but there is so little I can control.”

He stopped and took a deep breath, like he was living his fears in his mind, but when he saw the tears building up in your eyes, he pulled out a green handkerchief from his pocket. You vaguely saw embroidery of your name on a corner as he pressed it against the corners of your eyes, careful of the blood on his hand, even though you could see a tear rolling down his face.

“My beloved,” he said softly, as soft as a kiss, “I can’t imagine my world without you, so please, please, don’t suddenly disappear one day.”

You disregarded everything and pulled him into your embrace, squeezing him hard. There was so much in your mind, clanging against each other in an effort to be first in line to be said, but any thoughts were overshadowed by the pain in your heart, consumed by that clenching sensation where you felt like your heart was being crushed by an invisible hand.

“I want every side of you, every piece, every emotion,” you sniffed. “I want everything that is yours, and in return, you can have everything that is mine. I’m not afraid of you, Satan, and I never will be. No matter what, no matter if all eight layers of the Devildom collapse, no matter if time ends, there won’t be a moment I would go without loving you. So please, please don’t be afraid. Not when I’m here with you.”

You set his hand on your chest, where you could feel your emotions running rampant, where you could feel the fear chewing away at your insides, where you could feel your heart beating—badump, badump, badump.

“Can you feel it?” you asked. “Can you feel what I’m feeling? My soul is eternally linked to yours. Our pact is the first proof of that.”

Satan smiled, a breathtaking smile that had his eyes curving, the vibrant emerald green of his eyes soft with love, and while he didn't say a word, you could feel it—

The overwhelming relief.

-------

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