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BELIAL BEHEMOTH BEELZEBUB

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Aether, sitting down at the table: "So what's the deal with Dew and Swiss today? They've been at each other's throats since this morning..." -setting lunch down- "It doesn't usually drag out this long."

Rain, shrugs: "I don't know what they were fighting about originally, but apparently the reason Swiss is upset now is because Dew told him he hopes he gets butthole cramps..."

Aether: "..." -takes a deep breath- "Butthole cramps?"

Rain, nodding: "...I would say this is marked improvement from when they used to just punch each other in the face."

Aether, opening his lunch: "Yeah, yeah..." -sighs- "Still, weirdly specific."

Rain: "I know, right?"

Aether: "Why butthole cramps?"

Cumulus: "Hey, guys-" -walking into the dining room- "..."

Rain: "He didn't even say, like, asshole... You'd think Dew would say asshole, not butthole."

Aether: "He would definitely say asshole, right, Cumulus? Dew would definitely say asshole, right?"

Cumulus: "...I was just going to ask if you guys wanted to get dinner later."

Rain: "Oh. Sure, sure."

Aether: "Um, yeah, that would be really nice."

Cumulus, heading back out the door: "Cool, cool..." -leaning inside again- "And he would definitely say asshole."

Both: "EXACTLY!"

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The Christmas Waltz

The Christmas Waltz sung by Frank Sinatra is my favorite Christmas carol, and while it may be a little early, I'm feeling particularly festive, and it's always been my dream to dance with someone to it. Please enjoy.

The fireplace crackles merrily in the papal office of Papa Emeritus IV. Just above the dancing flames rests a string of golden tinsel and artificial pine, wrapped together to create a very pretty garland stretched whimsically across the mantle. Several tall candles sit within the garland, unburnt, in various reds and greens, and a funny group of nutcrackers marches through the festive décor, their hand-painted features beginning to crack from age.

Hanging from a crooked nail beneath the mantle is a long, patched stocking, an embroidered "C" on the soft fabric. You smile as you imagine it bursting with all the little gifts waiting patiently in your room under your bed, your eyes landing on the stocking owner in question who works diligently at his desk, hand sweeping across a document as he signs his name. Carols play from an old radio atop his desk.

Copia. You wonder if he realizes how beautiful he is. Not simply in the furrow of his brow or the quirk of his lips as he concentrates, but the grace of his being. The way he speaks. The smile that lights his face, and the terrible jokes he makes when he's nervous. His confidence on stage, and the red track suit he refuses to change out of when he's off duty. All of these little idiosyncrasies make him unapologetically himself, and you love him for it.

"Something you need, cara?" His voice startles you out of your thoughts.

"Oh," you breathe with an embarrassed smile. "No, Papa."

He scoffs, laying his pen down and wagging a finger at you, "None of that Papa business, yes? We're here...alone. Va bene."

"Yes, Copia," you turn back to the yule tree you spent the better part of an hour decorating.

"Amata mia."

"Copia."

You hide a smile as you hear him sigh behind you. His chair creaks as he sits back, and you glance over your shoulder to see him pinning you with an unamused glare. An ornament dangling from your fingertips, you turn to regard him with a raised brow.

"Whatever is the matter?" You tease.

“You’re not supposed to say it like that,” he pouts. 

Pretending to think, you hang the ornament off a branch, admiring the blues and golds you’re incorporating into the tree to reflect Copia’s papal colors.

“Say what in which way?”

Copia shifts in his seat, looking off to the side with a grumbled, “Comportandosa come se non lo sapesse,” and leaning his arm on his desk says, “You’re not supposed to say my name like it’s a place holder for ‘Papa,’ cara mia.”

“And how am I supposed to say your name?” You ask.

You can’t help the smile that plays around your lips, a hum escaping Copia as he takes in your expression.

“In the way that makes my very heart tremble, huh?” He places a hand on his chest, a vulnerable look filling his eyes as his voice goes very soft on the last syllable.

Stepping over to his desk, you place your hands on the wood, leaning toward him. A flush spreading across your cheeks, your lips part as Copia nearly closes the space between you, his own expression enraptured, waiting for what he craves so deeply.

“Copia,” you say with all the adoration and love you can muster. “I thought you liked when I called you Papa.”

Copia’s hands gently cup your face, his thumbs drawing circles against your skin as he pulls you forward to place the daintiest kiss against your nose.

“There is a time and place for that, topolina.”

A familiar tune croons from the radio and you pull away to smile widely, reaching down to turn it up, and forgetting your Papa’s subtle reminder of where he likes you to use his title.

“This is my favorite carol!” You gasp, your eyes wide and bright as the chorus gently leads Frank Sinatra into the classic song.

You look back at Copia with a most endearing look, your excitement palpable. “Isn’t it beautiful? It’s called the Christmas Waltz. I’ve always thought it would be lovely to dance to.”

Copia’s eyes shine as he watches you sway to the holiday carol, leaning his chin on his hand while the fingers of his other dive beneath your sleeve to stroke gently against your wrist. He didn’t think it was possible to be more in love with a person than how incredibly in love he is with you. Papa Emeritus IV is utterly lost to you.

“We shall dance, then, hmm?” He says softly, standing and quickly making his way around the desk to place eager hands at your waist. Your joy is infectious to him, and the idea of having you in his arms, a sweet song playing while surrounded by holiday cheer is too tempting to him.

Copia does so love the holidays, now that he has someone to share it with.

You look at each other. There is hardly a breath that you do not share as he guides you so closely, so gently around the room. His hand holds yours as if letting go means you’ll disappear forever, and his grip on your waist tightens as he attempts to pull you closer than you already are. You think at one point you’re crying, but so is he, overwhelmed by the incredible joy that comes with being wholly and completely wanted.

Overcome by a feeling for a holiday…you haven’t felt in such a long time.

It’s back.

You both giggle, sniffling, and Copia lovingly nuzzles his nose against yours before dipping his head to press such a beautiful kiss to your lips as the song fades into the quiet crackling of the fire.

Merry Christmas. Merry Yule. May your every new year dream come true.

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@multi-fandom-imagine

Pamela has a lot to say about her Bruno 💚

#tio bruno #encanto bruno #bruno madrigal #bruno madrigal x oc #family madrigal #oc tag #bruno madrigal x reader

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It’s 2018 and im still quoting vine 

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My preview for @theylovedeachotherzine

The preorders just opened and there are so many beautiful artworks and stories! Go grab your copy here!

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The only good streamer on Twitch

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There. The cutest Soldier 24 Gabe I could draw.

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how it feels like playing retribution vs uprising

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I should be sleeping, but the pain kicks me hard. 

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Some kabukis!

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Majestic

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Before serving on the original Overwatch strike team, Gabriel Reyes was selected to be a member of the government’s classified Soldier Enhancement Program.

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Jack: How did the mission go?

Gabe: I shot the man out the window

Jack:

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SCION

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