#When I read no longer human I had to take a moment to process that other people feel that alienation he describes

[vikvampir3]

Tfw when I realize I’ve known this whole time my dazai and general bsd hyperfixation was self destructive and I kinda don’t care

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

A/N: Another Fern fic at last, requested by a kofi member ^^

Shrinking down to Fern’s side seemed almost fun at first. Getting to save money on food expenses and cuddling with your boyfriend while being the little spoon was great!

It only occurred to you a few hours after becoming a tiny human that you still had to do everything your big self had done before.

Except now you were the size of a pencil.

“Ahh, I still have to write out a report, make my lunches for this week, call my mom, do the laundry-“

Fern watched you panic from his usual spot on your bed, his head propped up by his hands. While you were struggling, he was relaxed and content to have his mate smaller than him for once.

“Calm down, princess. Don’t forget you have me to help. I’ve been this size my whole life, doing your chores can’t be that hard.”

Fern was terribly wrong.

Attempting to type out a detailed report by jumping key to key was exhausting, and after he messed up several times you had to do it alone. It left you too tired to do anything else.

“This would usually only take me 30 minutes, how much time has passed?”

“… three hours.”

You groaned, burying your face into his shoulder as he played with your hair. “How do you do it, Fern? You always seem so happy go lucky, but being small can’t be easy on you.”

He smiled, looking down at you fondly. “It’s not easy, but when you’re around it’s hard to be exhausted or angry.”

This made your heart flutter, and you let him guide you to the laundry room.

“My vines aren’t agile enough to help you type, but they can throw laundry into the washer and take them out no problem.”

He used his magic, vines creeping in through your window. They clumsily tossed clothes into the washer, and Fern flew you up so you could select the proper settings.

“Now I need to call my mom and make some lunches… how long will I be like this?”

Fern was too busy soaking in the feeling of you in his arms as he flew towards the fridge to really listen, so it took him a moment to process what you had said.

“… a few hours, maybe a day or two perhaps.”

‘Hopefully longer…’ Fern though, even though he felt guilty for it. Who could blame him? His lover was finally the same size as him, who wouldn’t want this to last forever?

The two of you laughed, both covered in food after struggling to finish packing your final lunch.

“Come, dear. Let’s get cleaned up.”

You sat in the small tub, feeling Fern’s cock twitch as he held you against him. He didn’t acknowledge his erection, a soft pink dusting his freckled cheeks.

“There’s mustard in your hair too, love.”

You pouted at him, feeling Fern’s fingers scrub the mess from your hair. You were glad you had bought such a large tub for fern to use for bathing, it had enough room for the two of you to sit comfortably without being squished.

Again, his erection rubbed against you, a soft hiss slipping from his lips as he clutched your hips. It was clear he wanted you, but was holding back.

“Fern…”

He whimpered when you reached back to stroke his cock, nearly cumming on the spot.

“Mmph! That’s… ahh…”

His hips bucked, a moan leaving his parted lips as he let out a needy whine. Now that you were small, he could truly have you…

Before you knew it you pulled into his lap, straddling him as his cock nudged at your fat pussy. God, he had dreamed of this day…

Getting to watch his cock stretch you out was heaven to Fern. You struggled with his size for a moment, your pussy clenching around him as he rubbed at your clit.

Unbeknownst to you, he had been looking over your shoulder at the smut you read at night, and had learned a thing or two.

As he bounced you on his lap at a steady rhythm, he pulled you in for a kiss, his slipping to the small of your back. You tasted sweet, like the chocolates the two of you ate earlier. He wanted more, so much more…

Cumming deep inside of you, stuffing you full of his seed felt… amazing. Fulfilling. It had to be the best thing to ever happen to him.

You were so beautiful, so warm and tight, he just couldn’t help but spurt thick ropes of hot cum into you, painting your walls and praying that this got you pregnant.

After that, he carefully washed the both of you up, occasionally using his fingers to pump his cum back into you when it started to drip out.

You returned to your full size the next day, but Fern was just happy with the memory of his cock stretching you out…

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko

[ghostyuri]

surrender to the sound 

happy yellowjackets renewal day lesbians!

pairing…post-rescue!natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

in which…your ex picks you up from the bar—when you get too drunk thinking of her.

before you read…angst. misty is here too.

“she said she wouldn’t leave, ya know? and then—she’s fucking gone—just like that? what fucking sense does that make, misty?”

the blonde sits beside you, her fingers tapping nervously on the edge of the coca cola she ordered. all she offers is a hum, and the shaking of her head, her curls bouncing lightly.

she’s been trying to get you out of this place for nearly an hour now, but you won’t give up moping over natalie—it’s impossible.

misty should’ve known better, you didn’t ever invite her to shit. apparently just when you wanted someone to validate the bitter words you spewed about the girl that had taken your heart, then crushed it in her pale palms.

“fuckin’ liar she is…” you mutter, grabbing the glass of amber liquid as soon as the bartender places it before your face with a failed smile. he was probably tired of you, just like misty, but you’re suffering more than the both them combined, so you don’t care. 

everything felt like a blur to you.

like you were just punched in the gut and can’t steady yourself and the world is crumbling beneath your toes. the alcohol dulls it enough to where you have no desire to cry, you’re only angry every time her face crosses your mind. 

you want to scream. 

each day had felt more suffocating, four weeks that had felt blended together, an inescapable nightmare that you could hardly process as a reality.

it wasn’t simple. you two were bonded the mere moment that fucking plane crashed—and every single day afterward. an intense trust in one another because you two had something so crucial in common; the desire to keep your humanity. she had felt safe with you, you had felt protected by her. 

because natalie would never hurt you. 

you can only laugh at yourself for believing that, and misty turns her body completely on the stool she occupies. 

“it’s getting prettyyyy late,” she sing songs, looking at her watch then back to you with a smile too sweet, “i can bring you home…even stop for ice cream?” 

“i don’t—” “i know a place open all night—their root beer float is out of this world.”

“i can have a normal fucking beer,” your voice raises with a crack, exhaling deeply when you notice the subtle flinch in her reaction. she expects a sorry, but you don’t bother, swallowing your briefly lived pity with another gulp of your drink. 

misty abruptly stands up, a tight-lipped smile before she excuses herself to the bathroom. your head hangs low listening to her steps fade further in the distance, propping your elbow on the counter and massaging your forehead. 

it’s surely past midnight, and you’re not sure how much longer misty will put up with your natalie-centered rants—but the idea of returning to your cold and empty bed only cemented you more in place.

you finish the glass in front of your face, just for a freshly opened beer to be placed in front of you by the bartender. something you didn’t order. you don’t think you did, at least. 

“guy in the sunglasses,” the man informs you, tilting his head over his shoulder to the counter across from you. your lips are parted with nothing to say, looking at the apparent guy with a slight squint. 

who the fuck wears sunglasses in the bar? you scoff but accept the drink regardless. 

unfortunately, he takes that as an invitation, sliding out of his chair and approaching you, watching while you keep your gaze straight. 

“i see your, uh, friend, took off.”

“clearly don’t see shit cause’ she’s in the bathroom.”

you have yet to spare him a glance, and he begins to shift in place, upset he’s not getting the attention he wants. boo, fucking hoo. you sip on the beer more, taking satisfaction in the small huff that leaves his lips, then the silence that follows. 

he dares to try again.

“i got more of those back at my place,” he motions to the tall dark glass in your hand, even having the audacity to lean in closer to the point you can smell his rancid breath. he adds, “and this shithole is about to close, so…”

“so get the fuck out,” you say lowly, oddly polite despite the words and the charge behind them. dealing with some prick was not what you needed right now. if nat was here he wouldn’t have even had the courage to send you a cheap beer. he’d stay still in his stool and let the chewed-up tobacco rot in his gums. you’d prefer it that way instead of right beside you. 

where the hell is misty?

not a question you ask yourself often, but you’re now peering at the bathroom door waiting for it to open. not that you needed assistance with the man, he’ll surely connect the dots and walk away.

but seconds pass, and he’s whistling obnoxiously while tapping his drink on the counter. you squeeze your red eyes shut, losing the little patience you have and abruptly get up.

fresh air sounds nice.

except, there’s a large hand tugging at your wrist the moment you stand. 

with a hardened face, you stare, picturing how fucked up natalie would have him looking right now. a busted lip, bruised eye, broken nose. you’ve bailed her out for less than being touched by a stranger. sometimes, you thought she was overbearing. a downside to her protective nature that you’ve appeared to take for granted…no…no. you don’t need her.

“sweetheart—”

fuck this.

with force, you pull your hand away, just before balling your fist and throwing it at him. not as effective as nat, her silver rings left violent marks that you’d clean the blood from with loving hands. but, his head swings to the side and he’s clutching the edge of the counter for support; a crowd already forming and pulling you away. 

“don’t fucking call me that,” you spit at the man, trying to squirm out of the hold another older woman had you in. you disregard her attempts to calm you down because she had no right—a wide-eyed misty rushing over and trying to take control of the situation. 

“don’t fucking…” you trail off with a hushed voice, allowing misty to guide you away. you’re shaking now, and you’re not sure if it’s from the adrenaline, or outrage, or something entirely different. your cheeks are on fire and you’re not thinking about what you just did. 

you’re thinking about her. all you fucking do is think about her. it’s a curse.

your legs feel unsteady, but misty has her hand on your back and is gently pushing you out the door, preventing you from stumbling. the cool night air hits your face, shocking the warm alcohol-induced haze you’ve been in, still not as cold as your bed without her. but god is your mattress so freezing.

you stop for a moment, leaning against the brick wall outside, your chest heaving while the tears begin to fall. you hate this—misty watching you like a scared puppy and the incapability you had to just blink them away, show a reassuring smile that you’re alright. 

you’re not, you haven’t been, and this night has been so fucking long, it’s hitting you at once. 

the pain of everything weighs on your shoulders like it’s the world itself. the abandonment. the thought of how easy it was to just leave you behind, along with every sacred moment you’ve shared with her. 

memories that cannot be replicated even in the slightest, there’s only one natalie scatorccio and she’s the only person that kept you sane—kept you alive when you wanted the winter to take you.

you slide down the wall, otherwise you swear you’d just collapse. it’s too much. you bend your knees and bring them to your chest, burying your face into your palms and sobbing. you couldn’t help it and you really tried. the night was meant to be a vacation for your mind, from her, and you feel stupid when she’s probably out there with another girl in her lap already.

moving on from you while you’re stuck in place; you keep crying.

even when the neon lights in the windows shut off and the leftover patrons exit and fade into the distance.

“hey,” you hear misty’s voice, the girl bending down and tapping your knee. with a blurry vision, you peek at her, a proud smile on her face as she points to the left of you.

you turn your head, catching a silhouette of a figure on the sidewalk. even with glossy eyes, it’s not hard to make out the long messily chopped brown hair and leather jacket clinging to her arms. 

fucking hell.

“called her when i went potty—well—i went potty to call her,” misty laughs awkwardly, assuming this was some sort of favor, inserting herself in your broken relationship and trying to fix it.

“why would you do that, misty? a-are you stupid?” 

she blinks dumbly at you, then at natalie. the brunette is already kneeling before you, using her eyes to tell the blonde to leave. misty does, without a word, because she only seemed to say the wrong things to you. even a ‘bye,’ might piss you off even more than she already has. 

you don’t want natalie to see you in this way. weeping over her outside a fucking bar she’s probably banned from. you sniffle, averting your gaze as you dabbed the tears with the sleeve of your shirt.

natalie allows you to catch a breath, glancing down at your trembling hand in the meantime, noticing the swelling and discoloration.

she frowns, reaching out and holding it delicately, afraid to apply any pressure. she is treating you like porcelain that’s already cracked.

“what happened?” 

natalie’s tone is gentle, with a familiarity to it that you’ve missed; genuine worry, and almost prying. or more so, subtly asking if you wanted her to take care of whatever or whoever had bothered you. she’s a bit too late here. 

“none of your business,” you mutter, retreating and placing your palm in your lap. this isn’t something nat is used to, and obviously so by the way she shudders at your demeanor. 

she’s not alone, though, even with the alcohol tainting your system, it’s agonizing to push her away right now. you spent the whole night, no, whole fucking month, wishing for her presence again. even thought up the first words you’d say to her…but now they slip from your brain.

“you don’t have to be like this.”

“like what, natalie? tell me.”

she’s eyeing you like she doesn’t know what to do with you. maybe she doesn’t, you were usually the one cleaning up her messes and tolerating her liquor driven attitude. 

the other part of her that isn’t focused on getting you home, is filled with a quiet rage that you had let yourself get so fucked up. especially with misty out of all people. 

natalie clears her throat, ignoring your question—it’s not serious anyways, you only want to argue. 

“just…let's go, okay?”

“fuck off.”

she takes a deep breath. natalie does not take joy in being mad at you—she fucking hates it. and yeah, you’re not in your right state of mind, but she cannot convince herself that your words are meaningless. 

that your newfound resentment isn’t a product of the alcohol, it’s just…you. how you feel about her now that she had done the worst to you. she wants to bash her head into the same brick wall your back rested upon.

she opens her mouth to plead with you but you’re faster.

“you can go, natalie—i actually fucking want you to.”

you had said the opposite the day she did leave you. you’re unsure if the words were coherent through your bawling, but it was something desperate along those lines, just begging her to stay. 

she hadn’t listened then. 

and still, natalie refuses to listen to you now.

“i’m not doing that,” she informs you, keeping her voice calm though she is on the verge of both snapping and having a similar breakdown. 

none of this was easy for her either, not the way you had assumed. hell, it was just a week ago she too was outside a shady place with tears streaming down her face. all because someone fucking smelt like you. 

it was the shampoo; a flashback of holding you in your shared bed while her body pressed into your back. she would cling to you and breath you in, peppering kisses on the tender spots of your neck down to the tip of your shoulder and the side of your arm. the last time she felt peace.

she had shaken her thoughts of you away and carried on. something that had become a routine, wishing that eventually, it would just stop—but that was like wishing on a shooting star. only having false hope but it would never become a reality. 

you don’t choose your next words carefully. 

“i’d rather leave with s-someone—anyone else—instead of y—”

“don’t you fucking say that to me,” natalie cuts you off, jaw clenching in fury while her mossy eyes welled up. you never made natalie cry, and your expression noticeably softens when she turns her head away from you, wiping her face hurriedly like a child. 

all natalie did was come here to take you home, now she’s sinking deeper into the hole she dug herself in weeks ago. she rejects her vulnerability and with a flash, her emotions are concealed.

she clasps her hands together and blinks at you in exasperation.

“then i’ll have misty come back and pick your ass up. even spend the night to make sure you don’t choke on your damn vomit.”

with that, nat gets up, but doesn’t leave. she stands there with her hands on her hips, waiting for you to pick yourself off the sidewalk and follow her to her rusting car. your bottom lip is quivering, forcing yourself to accept defeat because natalie always won. 

your wobbly legs straighten, and she’s already placing an arm around your torso to help. part of you wants to refuse, the other part melts into her. 

both of you don’t say anything. not on the way to the poorly parked vehicle around the corner, and not on the ride to your apartment. she plays her cd with the volume on low, the tension incredibly painful each time a song you associate with each other taunts you through the speakers. 

she occasionally steals glances at red lights, but it’s when she parks on your street that she looks again and notices the lonely tear trailing down your cheek. you’ve unbuckled your seatbelt and gripped the door handle, but you were frozen.

natalie says your name softly, and you feel her right hand softly reach for your left one. you don’t react, not even when she gingerly brings it to her lips, kissing the flesh fondly. 

you have no desire to speak anymore. your anger had died a few stop signs ago and now you just feel numb. you’re inhaling the scent of the apple car freshener and the cigarette smoke that tainted the fabric, while natalie is studying your desolated yet so fucking beautiful features.

natalie pushes the lump in her throat.

“…i love you…”

when she finally catches your glistening glare, her eyebrows knit in heartache, and she’s the one who may throw up. there’s not an ounce of uncertainty behind the three words, never has been. it’s the very reason she had to hurt you anyway—it was necessary.

nat knows you’re both fucked up, there’s no denying that. but, she will always view herself in a different light than you. a very dim one with a bulb flickering near its death—compared to the halo she envisioned over your pretty head because you still had the warmth of the sun, despite what you two had gone through.

she’s so cold, and she hopes one day you’d acknowledge that and understand her.

“i can’t just…stop that.”

natalie’s thumb is tracing slow circles over your hand, the small repetitive motion keeping her grounded and stopping her from shaking. the words are hard to say, and difficult to hear—because this isn’t natalie regretting what she had done. it’s the total opposite, it’s a bittersweet goodbye. and she keeps going.

“i mean—fuck,” natalie laughs to herself, though it’s hollow and she glances at her lap, “the way i feel about you…that’s a one-time thing for me.”

you’re physically unable to smile; but there is a very slight twitch to your lips, the corners pricking upwards hardly. she’s honest, and she’s holding you so tightly. despite it all, there is a sense of comfort. not at all a sudden rush of freedom from the agony, but it’s something. 

and for some odd reason, the rest of the unspoken words you wish to say, no longer matter at all. natalie made a decision and she’s sticking by it.

and you have to be okay with that.

[jaderabbitt]

Echoes of You

Bucky x Deceased(?)Wife!Reader

Bucky’s been hearing a voice for a long time. It began as the Soldat, and lingers even now. You’re his Angel—the voice in his head that he sometimes hallucinates into the form of a woman. Remnants of Hydra seizing his brain for so long—consequences of repeated head trauma, he assumes. He’s never told anyone about you, and he intended to keep it that way.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Descriptions of Violence, Mild Descriptions of Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Thoughts of Suicide, Mentions of Death, jaderabbitt's esoteric writing style, not beta-read so if you find spelling mistakes, i WILL game-end myself Tags: Angst, Angst with Fluff, Did I Mention Angst, Canon Divergence, Reader Insert, Unreliable Narrator, References to Mythology, Angst with Happy Ending (?), Author will not spoil story in Tags, Author cannot remember the 8 pages she wrote in 9 hours, gomen.

Note: Reader is given an EXTREMELY loose description involving longer hair at some point, but it is VERY relevant to the story. You will need to read to see why!

—

“Enemy. Eight o’clock, Soldat.”

Immediately, his head swung, and his pistol was shoved in the crevice of a metal bicep, firing before the agent had even realized that he was spotted. The body dropped, a gaping hole left in between the eyes.

He released the breath he hadn’t realized he held to begin with. It was as if he had been the one shot, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. The world felt all-consuming.

He knew that voice. It hadn’t come through the device in his ear.

He didn’t know exactly how he knew the woman’s voice, nor why he heard her. Every time she spoke, it was as if she were talking directly into his ear, no matter the noise level around him.

Her voice had been the only constant in his fleeting moments of clarity. 

His Ангел. His Angel.

He began to call the voice that when she would warn him during missions. It was as if she acted as a sixth sense, being able to see things even his heightened perceptions couldn’t. She wasn’t always there—her presence faded in and out without notice. But, she was always there when he needed her.

When they put him in that gods forsaken chair to rewire his brain, it was her voice that kept him stable. When they put him inside the Iron Maiden of a cryochamber, it was her voice that kept him warm. When he sat in the dark corner of the empty concrete cell, it was her voice that kept him company.

He figured that all of Hydra’s torture created a tear in his psyche, manifesting in the voice of a woman he’d heard in passing. It would make sense, given that the human mind craves the comfort of others. Hydra didn’t exactly allow him relations besides his handlers, so his mind had to create someone to fulfill the space beyond pain and emptiness.

He kept his Angel a secret. Something that wholly belonged to him, the only part of himself that he could have control over. He would never allow them to take you.

“You are showing abnormal readings in brain functioning, Soldat. Status report.”

The grating voice of his handler was made even worse by the static in the communications channel. It succeeded in bringing him out of his trance, carefully observing the carnage around him.

“Mission complete. Targets eliminated. No witnesses.”

He stepped over the disemboweled body of an agent, retrieving his knife; he wiped the remaining viscera and gore from the blade on the deceased agent’s suit. It didn’t take long for him to receive word of his extraction point and means.

Back into the gaping maw of the Lernaean Serpent he headed, unable to resist its call.

He trekked through miles of uneven terrain, as Hydra was nothing but thorough when it came to ensuring their involvement within the world’s dealings stayed hidden. His extraction points were always far enough away from the target’s area of engagement to ensure that he could lose any tails he might encounter. It was an arduous process, one that he would despise if he could bring himself to feel such wealth of emotion. They had taken that from him too.

“They can never take your heart, my Soldier.”

No. They couldn’t. Not while he had you.

– – –

The first time his mind had conjured up a vision of you, he nearly punched a hole into the concrete of his holding cell. He had felt a presence within the dark room suddenly, and when he turned his head, there was the visage of a woman. Her features were too hazy to make out in the dark of the room, or perhaps his mind couldn’t remember a woman’s face to place onto the hallucination. Either way, the lifelike projection of a faceless woman should have been disturbing–even to someone who had seen under the epidermis of a human face before. Oddly, he couldn’t bring himself to think of you as such. 

No, the feeling he got when he looked at you was one he could no longer name. It had been forgotten under the force of an electric current.

“Not forgotten. Stolen.”

Your saccharine voice still sounded as loud as ever within his head, despite the distance between his physical body and your imaginary one. Oh, how he yearned to close that distance, to hold you within his arms–his coveted Angel, who he selfishly stole from the gods’ grasp to ease his troubled mind here, on Earth. He found his arm, the one made from Gaia’s own metals, outstretching towards you without thinking. His palm splayed out, he watched with bated breath as you mimicked his own movement. He knew that he would never have been able to feel you to begin with, but he allowed himself a simple indulgence in believing that it was due to the lack of nerve endings, and not because you were never here to begin with.

“I’m always with you, my Soldier.”

For once, he allowed himself to believe that.

– – –

He was incapable of dreaming while under the freeze of stasis. He simply went under, and woke up whenever they decided to thaw him. Sometimes, cryo-freeze was the only respite he got–and he was thankful for not being needed. And yet, he still fought his handlers to prevent the chill of the iron coffin. Being unable to dream and made forcibly unconscious meant that he was unable to hear the gentle lilt of your voice, unable to watch as your form took shape. His heart would ache, as if it were missing the synchronicity of yours marching along with it.

It was a fool’s hope to wish for every freeze to be his last–whether that meant he never went under again, or his heart finally left this mortal coil and froze over for good, he couldn’t decide. So, when he woke with a start to the remains of biting frost against his skin, he felt rage bubbling hot in his veins.

“Have a nice nap, Sleeping Beauty?” You giggled. Your form danced along the peripherals of his still hazy vision, taking spot where there was a gap between white coats. They were checking his vitals, making sure he would be combat ready for the mission they no doubt awoke him for.

He’d roll his eyes if he had full function of his muscles.

You huffed a laugh at that, reaching out a hand to caress his cheek. Of course, he couldn’t feel it–but he let himself believe it was because his skin was still defrosting.

“I missed you.”

He missed you, too. He always did. Even when you were present in his mind, or a vision being projected by his psyche, he missed you. He couldn’t explain it. How could he miss a part of himself? He didn’t dwell on the logistics too long. If he thought about you too hard, his head began to hurt, like it was protecting itself.

The pinpricks of melting ice gave way to freeze-burns, ones that were already beginning to heal from his forced genetic mutation. His left arm had been gently defrosted, as to not disrupt any of the machinery within. They held the Fist of Hydra to a higher regard than the rest of his body, apparently. You snorted at that thought. It was such a beautifully normal sound amongst the noise of beeping monitors and the scrambling of doctors, scientists, and engineers. He involuntarily let a half-smirk rise on his face, to the horror of the poor doctor checking his vitals. The medical professional couldn’t imagine what would make The Asset happy other than the thought of the impending carnage he would soon wreak upon unknowing targets. It was better he thought that, anyway. He’d get put in the chair for showing a sliver of unconditioned programming otherwise. 

He blinked the remaining frost from his eyelashes, looking back over at your dizzying presence. Your hair floated about you as if you were underwater, but your skin was still the same pitch black and featureless void that it had been the first time he let his mind give you physical form. It was confusing; he had seen plenty of women since you first began appearing before him, and yet his mind never allowed any of their features to replace your lack thereof. It just didn’t seem right, he supposed.

He must’ve really been under for a long time if it was taking his psyche this long to will you away and fall back in line with his programming. Even as he was being transported to the roads of Long Island, New York, you had continued to hover over him.

You had stood at the car wreckage with a curious turn of your head as he let the motorcycle fall upon its kickstand. It was only when the man in the driver’s seat stumbled out of the remains that you reacted to the sight in front of you.

“No…” You gasped, but the Soldier crept on towards his target.

“Sergeant Barnes..?” Croaked the dying man, and you watched along with bated breath, waiting for some kind of reaction. The only one you’d get would be the Soldier’s fist colliding with flesh and bone. The cries of a woman mourning her husband were cut off by a thick hand around her throat, effectively compressing her airway closed. The Soldier didn’t even look at the woman he was finishing off. No, his eyes were trained on you.

His face remained stoic as white streaks glistened down the black of your cheeks. This was his way of compartmentalizing, he supposed. You wept for the man who could not. 

When he turned after shooting out the camera, you had disappeared. 

– – –

The next time he heard your voice, it was in Romania. He had been here for quite some time, trying to piece together who he was, exactly. The quiet, traditionalist country was perfect for someone who preferred to stay hidden. He spoke the language fluently, resembled the people, and kept to himself. The locals didn’t ask questions, simply trusted he wouldn’t cause trouble. He couldn’t help but be wary–it was drilled into his head, near literally. He had started to grow paranoid at the peaceful life he was being allowed, as if it too would be stolen from him at any moment.

The lively morning market of Bucharest had settled his nerves somewhat; it was a familiar place with familiar faces. He settled for the fresh fruit stall, instantly gravitating towards the plums. His gloved metal hand palmed the assortment of velvety fruit, feeling the weight of them as a test. If they didn’t push against his thumb’s pressure and he was able to feel the weight upon the metal, he knew they were too early. He asked the stall manager, for good measure, about their ripeness, finally selecting a few for his apartment.

It felt normal. He felt normal.

“You know, I heard these were good for memory.”

He almost gave himself whiplash when he saw you standing across the street. His feet almost moved before his brain processed the oncoming traffic.

It wasn’t just that this was the first time he heard your voice in his head in years. No, it was that he was seeing you.

Your hair, set in the way you always favored. Your eyes, shining in the light of the morning sun. Your nose, set above your cupid’s bow as if it were carved from marble. And oh, your lips, how he yearned to pull you close and press them against his own. The distance was so unbearable, he almost intentionally walked into the oncoming cars. If it meant he would reach you before this hallucination ended, it would be worth it in his mind.

Your gaze faltered, and as you looked upon him with such sadness, he could have sworn he heard his heart shattering against the sidewalk.

“It isn’t safe anymore, James. I’m sorry.”

He wanted to scream in reply, ask what you meant–why you were sorry.

You were gone at the next pass of a bus.

He would come to figure out what you meant pretty quickly. You always did warn him of impending danger, like his own personal oracle. Or maybe it was his instincts reminding himself–he wasn’t paranoid without reason to be. He had already been shaken by seeing his dead wife from 75 years prior, but to see his supposed-to-be-dead-too best friend standing in his apartment had really raised his heart rate. He knew what followed, what always followed. He was never going to be free–not until he was dead.

At least in death, he would see you again. He may get cast down to the deepest circles of Hell–specially reserved–but he could still hope to be reunited with you once more.

– – –

Living at the Compound had felt like another prison–just fancier and with nicer amenities. A condition to his pardon; along with many other things, like atonement by way of taking down Hydra cells across the globe. Having finally been deprogramed, his activation words no longer functioning as his shackles to the serpentine organization, the government saw fit to use his training for their own gain. The fight never stops. Cut off one head, two more shall take its place. Receive a pardon, get ball and chained to a different corruption.

At least he didn’t have to do it all alone.

Of course, several other Avengers were given their own conditions after the amendments to the Accords. He had become unlikely friends with Wanda, both having trauma bonded with each other. Bucky saw her as a little sister, despite her being a grown ass woman. In fairness, he was over a century old; almost everyone seemed too young to him.

The highlight of his extended imprisonment-vacation was remembering you, however. He was slowly but surely recovering his memories, and he probed Steve now and again to confirm what he was remembering. Bucky never let him outright say what he remembered, wanting to recall it all on his own. You were his wife, not Steve’s best-friend’s wife. Being acquainted with Wanda also helped in this department. She would help him through still-locked memories; sometimes, they needed someone else to unblock the dam in order for the flood to start.

He would have called himself mentally on-the-way-to well, if it weren’t for one detail–he still hallucinated you. He refused to tell his therapist, or any of the other Avengers for that matter. It would simply get him labelled as clinically insane, and a clinically insane Winter Soldier was possibly the greatest threat to America, besides the next alien or robot invasion. He hadn’t even told Steve, fearing that even he might think less of him for it.

He supposed it was okay to keep this one thing to himself. He was allowed to be selfish for once in his life.

Bucky wasn’t even sure you would accept the man he’d become, if you were alive. He didn’t think he could take that pain. Maybe this was how his mind coped with that. Created a version of you who still loved him–no matter if he wasn’t the same man he was when you married him. He didn’t think he could ever be him again, despite how much everyone else wanted him to be.

So, he watched you, with a freshly poured mug of coffee in his hands and a small grin on his face, as you shifted between the clothing styles of the decades he missed. You hummed a tune from the movie he had watched last night, the soft notes sounding as if you were directly next to his ear. While the kitchen area was currently empty, if anyone walked in, he could just say he was reminiscing.

“How did anyone get anything done in these?” You laughed, the tight bell-bottom jeans clinging to your skin, with a tight halter top to match. “I know we didn’t wear pants much in the 40’s, but I think I might suffocate!”

Bucky let out a chuckle, scanning the room for anybody else flesh and blood. When he found none, he answered lowly.

“Can’t exactly suffocate when you don’t breathe, doll.”

“It’s about principle, Buck! You know what I mean,” you pouted, opting to shift into the silk slip dress that he remembers very much, cerca 75 years prior.

He hissed, turning his eyes away from you. You, of course, being ever so the manifestation of the woman he remembers, instantly placed yourself back in his gaze. You had that sly smirk on your face that always meant you were up to no good, but he’d be damned if he got himself aroused with a vivid hallucination of his dead wife. Saved by the bell he was, as the ring of the elevator chimed to notify that someone was stopping on this floor. He let out a small huff, knowing he’d have to will himself to act like you weren’t there.

Wanda and Vision stepped out into the kitchen area, spotting Bucky standing behind the island. Vision had been working on travelling like a normal human recently, opting to only phase through things in cases of emergency.

“Hello Bucky-”

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes.”

They both greeted, but Wanda had cut herself off in confusion. Bucky tilted his head, but returned the greetings.

“Bucky, who’s that?”

Bucky’s heart sank all the way down to Atlantis, and the coffee he had been drinking threatened to burn back up his esophagus. He followed the direction that Wanda’s finger pointed– She could see you.

She was seeing you.

“Wanda, I do believe that would be the Sergeant’s wife. She was labelled as deceased after–”

“Yes, Vision, I know who she looks like, so who is that?”

“I’m afraid I do not know.”

Bucky was damn near hyperventilating at this point. They could see you. Someone, or something, invaded his mind and pretended to be his wife. Or, could they see ghosts? Was his dead wife haunting him? They could see youohmygodtheycouldseeyou–

“James,” you hissed, “quiet your thoughts! I can’t focus when you’re panicking!”

…What?

Your hands immediately cradled your head, looking as if you had gotten slapped across the face with the worst migraine of your life. Wanda’s hands had sparked to life, thrumming with scarlet energy. A scream tore through your throat, ringing in Bucky’s psyche. He had clapped his hands over his ears, shutting his eyes, and feeling for the first time ever like the sound was an intrusion–like your voice didn’t belong only within his mind. He grit his teeth together to prevent his own yells from joining the chorus.

Your image flickered like someone was slashing through shadows with a ray of light–flashing between the you he knew and the form null of your distinct features.

There was a distinct crack! that reverberated in his ears.

He was almost scared to open his eyes, believing the sound to be the snap of bone that he was all too familiar with.

When he did gather the courage, he no longer recognized his whereabouts. They had been transported to a dark and dreary place, multiple large wires hanging overhead. The room was mostly unlit, a singular source of violet light extended their sight enough to at least see where they were standing. Wanda looked all over immediately, before her own panic set in. “Vis?!”

“He’s fine. So are you both. You aren’t physically here. He’s currently watching over your bodies.”

Bucky’s head immediately turned, because hearing your voice come out from not inside his head was not pleasant for him right now. And quite frankly, he was freaking the fuck out. There you stood, once again returned to the featureless form he remembered as the Soldier. Only, this time, your hair was much longer, and sat still. While you didn’t have eyes, your head tilted up to look at something behind him. Wanda’s mouth hung open as she, too, followed your gaze.

Behind him, as he found out, was where the only source of light stood tall in the room. It looked like a large tube, violet light streaming in from LEDs sitting at the bottom, pointing up. The structure was filled with some kind of liquid–too viscous to be water, but too thin to be unmoving.

Within that liquid lay something that would become engraved into their minds.

It was you.

There was your physical body, suspended in animation. It wasn’t the you that Bucky married; rather, it was the you that first appeared within his mind’s eye. Your hair floated wildly around your featureless face, and your noir skin reflected the purple of the ultraviolet lights. It was as if your body had gotten cemented into a singular position, your head tilted back and your back arched as if you had been struck and permanently falling.

Bucky couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away, wanting desperately to use the weapon they had attached to his body to shatter the glass in front of him. He finally looked back over to the you stood next to him, and you could see the pain written so plainly on his face. It broke your heart to watch the synapses of his neurons fire on all cylinders, to see the realization seize his body.

“Oh, don’t look at me so, my love. I’m not in any pain,” you reassured, though you were sure that had only answered a singular question he was itching to ask.

Wanda suddenly felt very uncomfortable being a bystander to all of this, but knew she was integral to this projection.

“How long?” Were the words that finally croaked out of his mouth.

You grimaced, knowing that this was the question that would devastate him the most.

“For as long as you had been the Winter Soldier.”

- - -

Teehee. That's all, folks! (for now.) (I've already begun part 2) Like, reblog, and comment! I'd really love to hear what you guys think, as this is the first time I'm uploading a longer type of fic. ;w;

For those waiting on Incidents, that will get worked on in tandem to this! Echoes will most likely only end up being a two parter, with maybe some drabbles of in-universe situations if people are interested. My asks are also open~

[brujamala-aka-gigi]

finding a lover ౨ৎ

this are some general readings focused on what could be blocking your path towards finding romantic love. sometimes we want something we are not ready to be responsible for, this happens in all aspects of life but we are less aware of it when it comes to love and relationships, as we are usually made to believe we are single because we are unworthy or incapable of love. everyone is worthy and capable of love, but sometimes we are not all that sure about what love itself means or what ways of loving are the best for us.

pick a pile...

pile one. pile two. pile three.

dividers by @aquazero

꒰ঌ ✦ scroll down for the results ��꒱ ༘*.ﾟ

౨ৎ

౨ৎ

°❀⋆Pile Number One.ೃ࿔*:･

In your case, I see that love will find you whenever you begin facing that the person you are now, does not align with the ideas of love you’ve had in the past. I see you are in the process of deconstructing old beliefs that are keeping you tied to old ideals and values that no longer serve you, but are still present on your unconscious bias. It is understandable that you might be having a hard time to conceive new notions of what love means for you, as you might be more comfortable clinging to what’s comfortable, yet this comfort doesn’t come exactly from a state of wellbeing, but it comes from stagnant routines that are predictable. In order to have an easier time finding romantic love, you need to embrace and accept the emotions you fear whenever it’s possible by focusing on being grateful to yourself for the life developments you were capable to achieve on your own. It is important that when you think of your higher self, this version is coherent to your true essence, which is exactly what will bring love to you once you find a genuine way of channelling it out. I think you are in a moment where you will become more magnetic to love, but also material abundance, if you find where your intuition is leading your journey.

°❀⋆Pile Number Two.ೃ࿔*:･

I see here that logical thinking and an intellectualization of all feelings in general is obstructing your ability to connect deeper with people. I believe that sometimes you find value in your emotions only if they make sense to your logic or if they seem rational in regards to your context. In your case it’s key that you have the patience and the willpower to nurture the emotional landscape that you might be limiting due to anxiety in regards to “keeping it cool” or keeping your emotional responses “under control”. It’s almost as if love has to make sense all the time. As if you won’t allow yourself to feel good unless it’s from something that you are able to over analyze and find no illogical imperfections to it. I think you understand what you want from romantic love but only in a way that’s lead by your intellectual needs and a need for control over yourself and your surroundings, not in a way that includes your emotional needs or development. I see there’s a need for peace of mind, and romantic love doesn’t quite favour that since you are naively approaching as if it was something mechanical, which is not. The key for you is to accept that certain parts of the human experience are quite absurd and that doesn’t mean you need to fix them in order to be happy, you are smart, too smart to not allow your mind to find peace.

°❀⋆Pile Number Three.ೃ࿔*:･

What I get from these cards is that you are so ready to feel defeated, that you lower your expectations and/or self sabotage to avoid the responsibilities and demands of accomplishing the things you deserve, but are not ready to accept and take care of yet. I get the feeling you are aware of all your virtues because other people tell you about them, but you are not seeing them in yourself. It is okay to be ambitious, what’s not okay is that you might be always looking for the best next accomplishment in ways that are not coherent to what you already have achieved. It’s almost as if wanting everything to be perfect is stopping you from imperfections that aren’t actually all that negative, or not negative at all. Romantic love will come to you when you are ready to create a relationship that’s meaningful even if there are things that are not completely perfect. I think it’s amazing that you have high expectations for yourself and sometimes for others, but I need you to reflect on what a high expectation is and what an unrealistic one is, especially with yourself. I get the feeling you are attracting people who are not exactly what you need or want, but this will stop once you are truly aware of how deserving you are to be proud and confident in yourself

masterpost ✶ pac readings ✶ ko-fi page ✶

⋆bookings for personal readings are open ཐིཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

[dreamingofagalaxy]

The Red Field (AM x Reader)

summary: AM manages to experience sleep for the first time, however, in his dreams he is able to meet with you after a long time. Reader is supposed to be a soldier and one of the researchers working on developing AM. However, on a complex mission they are KIA...or so it seems?

warnings: mentions of dead

a/n: so...this was supposed to be part of a bigger and better developed story, but I'll post it nonetheless. Perhaps I'll be able to post the full story in the future. Also, english is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes or if something doesn't makes much sense

AM is asleep, or at least, that's what it seems and feels like for him. He knows there's no point in allowing himself this rest, for it would do nothing to improve his thinking process or ability to come up with better strategies for the days to come. He is programed to work all day long, he knows and so the algorithm reminds him. He has a war to win —an important task that allows no resting spaces.

Normally, he would just put the word 'rest' aside from his thoughts and bury it deep into his system. He is no human, which means he is no soldier. He is machine, which means no resting is needed. That is a logical thinking, which means he is following his programming —a machine working properly. Yet here he is, with his mind blank. He is resting. Somehow. At last...

AM loses track of time, which is impossible for him according to his programming. He can only focus on the blank projections of his mind and the soothing vibrations of his system which, at the moment, doesn't require as much energy as it normally does. If a word could describe this, it would be 'peace' —ironically.

The blank projection begins fading slowly and a new image appears. AM visualizes the sky, it's bright blue tone in company with that yellowish and enormous star that he had read about before. It was the perfect image, but it lackedbsomething. AM searches in his vast archives and it finally comes up. In the sky, white figures with a soft and vaporous appearance are drawn. AM stares at them, noticing their slow motion. Now it is perfect.

AM is satisfied with his projection of a sky. He looks down then, encountering an endless field of red. He decides to look closer and recognizes what his mind is trying to project. Between what appears to be his hand—a kind of metallic claw—, AM takes one of the delicate objects emerging from the ground, analyzing it carefully. It is one of those flowers that you had described to him in one of your many talks, a Lycoris radiata.

He admires the bright red color of the petals and the long shape of the stamens. It was indeed a beautiful flower as you had described them to him. Now AM could understand why you called them your favorite ones.

AM begins to walk through the field calmly while still admiring the characteristics of each flower. Like a child discovering the outside world for the first time, he would occasionally stop to admire a single flower for a longer amount of time, for although they were all of the same species, there was something that attracted him more.

AM begins to imagine what these flowers would feel like, because although he can touch them, his hands do not have the ability to actually feel. He curses and almost on impulse, he violently plucks the flowers nearby.

“They’re my favorite ones,” he can hear your voice full of joy as you told him that, the sound of it making him stop and keep his claws away from the delicate flowers. AM cannot determine what exactly those words provoked in him, but he knows that in a certain way, they have prevented him from falling into that strange sensation that clouded his thinking from time to time.

AM decides to move on. As he walks a little further, he manages to visualize another figure a few meters away. He approaches curiously and the closer he gets, the more clear it becomes to him. He's not alone even in his mind.

When he is finally there, he can only ask himself why have you appeared on his dream. You're laying down on your side with your arms and legs flexed in a fetal position as the red flowers surround your body. Your eyes are closed and your expression is serene. You're at peace, in this field of your favorite flowers. It is a beautiful scene and perhaps one that AM had to see.

When AM was made aware of your departure, he could only guess what would happen next to you. He knew that certain humans thought of something called the afterlife, a place where their souls would rest forever, while others thought that there was nothing else beyond life — a boring but logical thought. AM had no say in the matter, for he would never experience that. He would never had a certain answer about your whereabouts, yet you were here now. Resting. As he had learned humans did.

AM kneels down and carefully places the flower he had picked up behind your ear. He had read before that some humans did that, though he couldn't find a logical explanation of such weird action. You didn't seem to be bothered by his gesture, as you continued resting.

AM lays down next to you, copying your resting position and facing you. The image of the blue sky turns white, leaving both of you in this endless red field.

AM had never experienced sensations. He couldn't even tell if he was actually sentient. But being here, with you, was the closest thing that matched and felt like the definition of peace.

Your life had always been marked by war. You both had existed for that purpose. But even if he never could reach afterlife or whatever place you were alive now, at least he was now certain that you also would exist in his mind forever.

“It doesn't matter if I leave,” you had told him. “I will always be with you since your system can't forget me. Unless you erase me from your archives, of course.” You had laughed that day and promised to come back like you always did.

Some weeks passed since you had left and AM came to a realization — he had been deceived, even betrayed, when he waited for you to come back and you never showed up. But here you were again and as he looked at your peaceful expression he could only admit he had been wrong all along, perhaps for the first time in his damned existence.

[herbariumua]

For some reason, the current episodes of The Simpsons that focus on Waylon make me sad.

First, when we go from his blind admiration for Mr. Burns to instantly asking "Who should I kill" and kidnapping a man with a gun to his back - to his conscience that Mr. Burns bribed the judge to they were released from prison? You yourself bribed the judge to get Mr. Burns released in past episodes!

Second, I still don't understand why he has a photo of his ex on his wall. They did not part well. That dude was literally WORSE than Mr. Burns + he kicked a puppy that clearly represented Waylon throughout the episode - after which he decided to go his separate ways.

On the one hand, yes, I get it: character development. Perhaps the moment when he realized that he has a certain "type": "evil" billionaires - then he thought about what he was doing with his life in general. Yes, even in the first seasons, Waylon had a clear line beyond which he was not going to cross, "comic evil", like the idea of ​​blocking the sun or beating up Homer for a completely understandable angry letter.

In more modern seasons, he repeatedly tries to "smooth out" Monty's actions, try to direct him, if not to a more "kind" path, then at least to a "neutral" one. Although the funny thing is that even in the original episodes, Burns is just struggling with anger issues, he is not an "evil villain" and is capable of human feelings, good deeds and is really looking for love and acceptance - which makes him a very interesting character. In the later seasons, his character jumps here and there a lot and he is often reduced to the very "cartoon evil", which upsets me a lot.

I kind of like "I'm even worse than them because I know better - but I do it anyway". I like it if they showed how Waylon on the one hand changed (why?) in the process, and he has on the one hand - a blind and strong love for Monty, and on the other - a desire to do good deeds. And so yes, he is also behind his back, even if together with Marge (I still like that they are best friends), they do good deeds.

By the way, this reminds me a little of the Rick and Morty episode where it turns out that Morty is sneaking behind Rick's back in the dimensions where he messed up and fixing everything that can be done because he has empathy and conscience and even though he no longer a naive child, he is still not a cynical nihilist. Of course, Waylon Smithers goes through a completely different story arc here - although I highly doubt that he was actually given an ARC, and not accidentally, given that the people who created the show don't care about any kind of consistency, canonicity, character development in the long term.

Oh my god, hire fans, seriously.

And damn, we've gone from "I'll turn the Earth upside down for you" to "I bribed a judge not for you… and your wife." On the one hand, I still like the joke that Burns regularly forgets not just Homer, but his entire family, no matter how many times they cross paths and work together.

On the other hand, I don't really get the joke, of why he thinks Waylon is straight, even though he did come out, and he's so out of touch with his personal life that he thinks he has a wife. GIVE ME BACK THEIR "I NAMED MY QUEEN BEE AFTER YOU" RELATIONSHIP! Even if you're not going to make them canon, gosh, it sucks to show that they're THAT far apart because WE KILLED THE FUCK FOR THE PREVIOUS 35 YEARS OF BUILDING THEIR RELATIONSHIP. They are CONSTANTLY together, they TALK, we've been shown that Burns really values ​​Waylon as a sidekick and as a person, even if he can take him for granted.

At this point, I only want to read or write fanfics; and to rewrite these episodes in my imagination so that they fit into the canvas of their homoerotic behavior of the "golden age", if not to canonize them in my imagination. And yes, I DEFINITELY want to take this episode as a base and maybe write it "my way" so I don't want to cry so much.

I know I put too much into the relationship between the two drawing men, but I have a lot of bad things going on in my life right now, and these two are helping me a lot through this period.

[elzifelzi]

PHANTOM

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Chapter 18:Haunted Hallows Part 3

After successfully escaping the ghost Dan and Sam were navigating their way through the dark Forest in an attempt to make it back to the house.They had already ran a good distance away from where Dan was attacked and decided to just walk the rest of the way back, they began to engage in idle chatter to pass the time.

Dan:”What were you doing out here so late?”

Sam:”Well y'know it was getting late and you hadn't come back yet....and I didn't wanna wake Tucker soo I just came by myself…” 

A sly smile creeps up on Dan's face as he playfully nudges Sam..

Dan:”soo you were worried about me??”

Sam's face turned red with embarrassment and she began fidgeting in place of characteristics that were very uncommon for her; usually she would have a quick response to Dan's teasing but this time she had nothing. 

Dan:”relax I'm just teasing.. But Thanks for coming...my ass would've died if you didn't come through. “

Sam:”don't mention it.. I know you'd do the same in a heartbeat for me... It's no big deal.. “

Dan:”Yes it is! Like you were awesome out there you kicked that ghost's ass with nothing but a baseball bat.. Do you know how badass that is!!”

A blush spreads across Sam's face and she slowly inches herself closer to Dan and stares at him with joyful eyes. 

Sam:”You think I'm a badass?”

Dan:”Of course! You physically beat a creature that can phase through walls!! If that's not badass I don't know what is!”

Sam:”thanks.... You're not so bad yourself Mr Phantom..”

He instinctively rubbed the back of his head trying to play off the compliment that Sam had given him.

Dan:”hehe I mean I'm alright.. I guess.”

Sam:”Dan I've seen what you can do as a ghost you're amazing!!”

Dan:”That's with ghost powers I can't do anything as a human..”

Sam:”I don't know about that,Danny Fenton seems to be just as much of a hero as Phantom.”

Dan:”thanks Sam..”

The 2 of them continued their journey  in silence for a bit longer before Dan eventually spoke up again.

Dan:”You know, you didn’t have to come….”

Sam:”What are you talking about? Sure I did!”

He shook his head.

Dan:”no you didn’t,you got caught up in this wild shit cuz of me.It’s not fair to you.”

She let out a sigh and gave the boy a quick flick to his forehead.

Sam:”Listen Danny,we’re friends,I didn’t come because I felt the need to, I came because I wanted to..”

Dan:”Thanks…”

She playfully shoved Dan but in the process accidentally tripped on a tree Branch causing the two of them to tumble down together with Sam landing above Dan.  As she leaned over him The two of them came face to face.For a moment it was as if time stood still, not a sound could be heard apart from the intensity of their breathing. Their faces were bright red not in embarrassment but in anticipation , with either of them waiting for the other to make the first move. 

Sam:”soooo.....”

Dan:”soooo......”

The faces flushed even more and almost out of pure instinct their faces began inching towards each other ever so slowly. Their lips were about to touch when.. Dan's phone began ringing once again this time the caller ID read "Mom". Dan let out a low groan and helped himself and Sam off the floor. 

Dan:’I gotta take this apparently..”

Obviously unhappy about it He swiped up and answered the Call. 

Dan:”Hey mom…”

Maddie :”Hey Danny!! How are you sweetie!?”

The tone of her voice seemed genuine which Dan somewhat expected after all he's always had a better relationship with his mother than his father albeit not by much. Though after everything that happened from high school up until now his relationship with his mom was as equally strained as with his dad. Maddie was one of those mothers who was a hearer but not a listener when it came to her kids because of this Dan had long since realized that he couldn't get through to her.

Dan:”I'm alright mom.. Is there a reason why you called?”

Maddie :”Do I need a reason to call my only son!”

That phrase ate Danny up inside for numerous reasons , of course it would,this was the same woman who at one point told Dan that if he decided to study ghosts in college then he might as well never come back, this was the same woman who put Dan's grades above his own mental health and constantly swept his own feelings under a rug if they didn't align with Her ideals. Sure a regular Mother shouldn't need a reason to call her son but she did.

Dan:”I guess you don't....”

Maddie :”So anyway, how's college, how's life going for you?”

Dan:”like you care... “

Maddie's voice turned from bubbly enthusiasm to cold offense. 

Maddie:”Danny of course I care…”

Dan snapped at her

Dan:”You didn't care enough to call me after my orientation!! Or to check up on me for the past fucking year!! And you certainly didn't care enough to tell me that my sister has been missing for almost a year!! So tell me MOM, tell me how I'm supposed to believe that you care?”

Maddie :”Daniel you know it's not like that…’

“Daniel” That was how he new things hadn't changed between them whenever his mom was upset with him she'd often switch from calling him “Danny” to the more unaffectionate “Daniel” which was usually reserved for unfamiliar people.

Dan:”Then tell me what it's like huh!! Tell me why it is that my own parents hate me sooo much that as soon as I was out of their house they forgot that I existed.. And now all of a sudden you want me back!?You guys don't just get to pick and choose when you want to be in my life!”

Maddie :”Daniel I know the things that happened between our family left our relationship strained but we don't hate you…I need you to believe that.”

Dan:”strained?? It's damn near non-existent. You guys didn't even wish me a happy 18th birthday!! Do you not know how fucked up that is!?”

Maddie:”Daniel we're sorry…”

An apology as empty as the person giving it. 

Dan:”Why did you call me? Did Dad put you up to it, he figured he couldn't get through me so he asked you to try?”

Maddie:”Daniel it isn't like that.. With Jazz missing we just wanted to know at least one of our children was safe..”

Dan :”So that's what this is, it has nothing to do with me at all.. You guys are doing this for yourselves…” 

Maddie :”Sigh, your father was right.. You're still holding on to this vendetta against us.. Even though we should've long put this behind us!!! Danny, what happened between us you need to know we don't blame you for it  but if you're still insistent on being angry with us then I guess you need more time to yourself. Maybe one day we can move past this…..”

She lets out a sigh

Maddie:”look....I understand we've hurt you and I understand that you're not ready to forgive us…But I do want you to know that we do love you…even if we haven't done a good job at showing it.”

Dan:”Thanks.. Anyways, I don't wanna keep you any longer bye. “

He hung up before she could respond knowing that he still wasn't mentally prepared enough to handle what she would have said next. Dan shoved his phone into his pocket and breathed what was supposed to be a sigh of relief but what followed were light tears trickling down his face. Sam noticed his tears and immediately embraced him in a large hug,Dan hugged back gripping his large hands into Sam's rather small back as the flow of tears became stronger. 

Dan:”This sucks…it sucks so bad.”

Sam:”Danny I'm so sorry about this.”

Dan:”I've only ever wanted them to love me,to accept me for who I am……to forgive me….but now that they claim to be trying…it hurts even more..”

Sam squeezed Danny knowing that whatever she could say would only make him feel worse. 

Dan:”Jazz was the only family I had who ever stuck up for me and now even she's Gone….”

Sam:”Danny You still got me and Tucker, we're your family now..” 

???? :she's right. 

Tucker emerged from the woods, in his pajamas holding a flashlight. He embraces Dan and Sam and the 3 huddle together in a group hug.. 

Tucker:”We've always got your back dude even if Noone else will.”

The trio then made their way back to the house.

To be continued……

New chapter out hope you guys enjoy, got exams coming up soon so the chapter updates may take some more time in between them but, in the meantime, I hope you guys enjoy! Last chapter we met Jack this time we're meeting Maddie.This is the only appearence they have this time so I didn't do any full designs for them but who knows,maybe they'll appear later on.

READ the other released Chapters here.

[veal-exe]

I trust your taste in media, and am willing to ask off anon. (Your takes on Berserk are PHENOMENAL, and I heartily agree.)

I love a good tragedy. Some of my favorite pieces of literature and media in general have been tragedies. (Unfortunately, since they tend to get review bombed for not having "happy" plotlines, or happy endings, its hard to find recs for them specifically.)

Do you have a set of I dunno... 3-5 tragedies to recommend? (I am trying to expand my read/watch list a bit, since I am running out of things to keep on my second monitor while I work on other things.)

(I am not easily triggered by self-harm, sexual assault, or gore, luckily, and those tend to go hand-in-hand with tragedies quite frequently.)

So here's a secret about me, when I was young I had a 'rebellious' phase where I decided that instead of just dedicating myself to the family business (Dog training, multi generation) I was going to expand my horizons and go into film and media critique, so I went and I got all the education you need for that, and then I decided, no, I actually like training dogs more. You would think this means I flushed all that right down the toilet but actually now I just hobby analyze media.

All of this to say, I have many things to recommend! In various mediums!

I will place a Star next to my personal favorites. ☆

This is not a comprehensive list! I have known memory issues, so these are just off the cuff, if anyone wants more or wants specific themes let me know, some of these may be more, or less, tragic than others, or have better, or worse, endings.

Tragedy is personal and human.

I have given special TWs for things outside the usual scope or that I find worth mentioning!

Manga & Anime

Fire Punch. ☆☆☆

Fire Punch takes place on an Earth that has become frozen over and barren. The series follows Agni, a young man who is able to regenerate his body. After his village succumbs to inextinguishable flames he is left constantly on fire, leaving him in anguish and vowing to get revenge.

[Special TWs: Cannibalism, Incest themes are touched on, and a very poignant moment of discussion of transgender suffering in regards to a main character, tons of sexual assault including animals being used to sexually assault children, there is a TW for everything in here]

Goodbye, Eri!

A manga about Yuta, a young filmmaker, struggling with grief after his mother's death. He copes by making movies, and meets Eri, a mysterious girl who becomes his muse and helps him create a new film.

Wolf's Rain

The journey of four lone wolves who cross paths while following the scent of the Lunar Flower, and their search for Paradise.

Maquia: when the promised flower blooms ☆☆☆

This one is complex, I don't know if I'd call it a full on tragedy to everyone, but it is worth watching, and it's worth watching twice.

The people of Iolph are known for two things: their youthful longevity and peaceful lives weaving tapestry. When that is disturbed and their home thrown into chaos by those believing that their blood gifts longer life, Maquia loses not only her friends, but a place to return to.

[Special TWs: Coerced Pregnancy]

Clannad: After Story ☆

No summary, watch it blind.

[Special TWs: Terminal Illness, Child Death]

Texhnolyze

Texhnolyze follows Ichise, an underground fighter whose arm and leg were severed after he displeased an unnamed, presumably influential, man. He is brought back from the brink of death by Eriko "Doc" Kaneda, who replaces his lost limbs with prosthetics through a process known as "texhnolyzation"

Angel’s Egg ☆☆☆

An atmospheric, dialogue-light, OVA about a girl protecting a mysterious egg in a ruined world.

Monster

A slow-burning, dialogue-heavy series about a surgeon who saves a boy who grows up to be a serial killer.

Devilman Crybaby ☆☆☆

The classic, you've probably heard of it, it is worth it.

Shoujo Shuumatsu Ryokou

The definitely 100% for sure uplifting tale of two girls and their quest to find hope in a bleak and dying world. I'll give that this one is a semi tragedy, the ending makes it.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Films and Similar

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind ☆ ☆ ☆

After a painful breakup, Clementine (Kate Winslet) undergoes a procedure to erase memories of her former boyfriend Joel (Jim Carrey) from her mind. When Joel discovers that Clementine is going to extremes to forget their relationship, he undergoes the same procedure and slowly begins to forget the woman that he loved.

Manchester by the Sea

After the death of his older brother Joe, Lee Chandler (Casey Affleck) is shocked that Joe has made him sole guardian of his teenage nephew Patrick. Taking leave of his job as a janitor in Boston, Lee reluctantly returns to Manchester-by-the-Sea, the fishing village where his working-class family has lived for generations.

The Road ☆

I would really prefer people read the book, but the movie is also pretty great. A father and son travel through a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Bleak, cold, and emotionally raw. Not a lot of dialogue, so the atmosphere does the talking.

[Special TWs: Like, everything on earth, Cannibalism, human livestock, infant death, etc]

The Turin Horse

An apocalyptic parable set in an isolated farmhouse...

[Special TWs: Animal abuse, animal death, racism against Romani people, but the people involved get what they deserve in the end]

[Special Warning: Most people consider this a tragedy but it fills my heart with joy, I have a special place in my heart for any film that shows people I personally consider to suck, especially animal or child abusers, suffering and dying slowly and horrifically and that is all this film is, just an animal abusing man and his daughter dying slowly and painfully during the implied apocolypse, it cures my depression <3]

[ephie-om]

I know this one is short but every time I tried to make it longer it ended up awkward x.x sorry I tried

CW: None

Day 6: Beelzebub

When you first came to the Devildom, Beel was conflicted. He had an innate urge to protect you, since you had no claws, wings, or tail. But he knew from experience how terrifying he could be, even accidentally, so he kept his distance. He did his best to keep his table manners in mind so that you wouldn't get the wrong idea, especially when meat was on the menu.

If there's one thing he knows, though, it's that you are irresistible. Everything about you draws him in and knocks down all the walls of self-control he puts up. He often finds himself much closer to you than he would like, but you don't seem to mind. He can't quite figure out why that is, but having you close satiates some part of him. He craves it when you're not around, so he starts to come up with little excuses to end up next to you.

It starts under the guise of being helpful when he sees you about to climb on the kitchen counter. He swoops in to help you get a cup from a high cabinet, brushing his stomach against your back in the process. He smiles at you; after all, it wasn’t your fault the house was demon-sized. You smile back gratefully as he hands you the mug you were searching for. You don't tense up from the contact, and he takes that as a sign.

Occasionally he finds you in the common room, reading, watching a movie, taking a nap. You might be cold, he thinks, and he couldn't have the exchange student uncomfortable in his house. So he takes it upon himself to always find the softest blanket he can for you and drape it over you. Sometimes, in his more daring moments, he touches his fingers to your arms as he tucks you in.

He starts insisting on helping you with your coat, and he’s worried you might be onto him. You still let him, but you get a shine in your eyes and he’s not sure exactly what it means. Whatever it is, it’s worth it to share that second of bliss when his large hands cover your shoulders. These little moments add up in his heart and leave him satisfied.

Mostly satisfied.

Every time you smile up at him as he barely touches you, that urge to protect you grows tenfold. He wants to make sure nothing ever dims that smile, and he doesn't care one bit what he has to do to keep you safe.

He lies in bed restlessly as a fierce storm rattles the window panes. Belphie went to sleep long ago, leaving him alone to try and get some rest. A quiet knock on the door interrupts his tossing and turning, and he finds you standing there looking uneasy. He invites you in wordlessly. You only just step into the room when a clap of thunder booms through the sky, and Beel suddenly finds himself as the only thing between you and the window. “Sorry,” you whisper. “It's a lot worse than the storms I'm used to in the human world. These ones are bad in the daytime too, but when it's late at night it really scares me.” Your hands clench the back of his shirt like it's your lifeline.

“It's okay,” he whispers back. “I wouldn't let anything happen to you.” He turns and hugs you gently. The tension drains from your muscles and you rest your head against his broad chest.

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Of course.” He's grateful for the darkness to mask his reddening cheeks as he places a hand on your back to guide you to bed. You make yourself comfortable, tucking yourself underneath the layers of blankets. You reach out towards him with both arms. He settles himself beside you, making sure he's not crushing you accidentally. Blissfully unaware, you curl up to his chest with your head beneath his chin.

How can such a small creature be so warm? It's like a tiny heater crawled into his bed. He stifles a laugh and wraps you up in his arms.

Thunder strikes again, but you only jump a little bit. He mutters something in your ear about always keeping you safe, and your thumb strokes his collarbone. He falls asleep only a few minutes after you, satisfied with protecting you from the storm.

[mysticasrandomhorde]

*thinking*

Based off all of fics and interpretations Ive read on the relations of Nobles and their wardens, I have now developed my own (more like AU) version of them myself.

Im calling the "Noble's will" AU

The basic concept is that in order to be chosen as a Warden, whoever is chosen must make a Physical, spiritual, and emotional bond with their noble pokemon of choice.

Physical bond means that they actually learn to work alongside their noble. Be able to work together as a duo, not one commanding the other or anything like that. Both sides, human and pokemon, are meant to benefit the land and creatures of Hisui.

Spiritual bond means that their souls are tied together, both human and pokemon. As in the noble pokemon can psychically link to their chosen human. Sometimes the warden even acts as that noble pokemon's mouthpiece to speak with humans.

People can tell when the noble is speaking that their noble pokemon's element shows up on the warden's body. Its kinda like possession, but its not hurting the human, more or less just show that the pokemon is present and listening.

Example: Palina's noble, Lord Arcanine, is speaking through her, her eyes would turn red, and soot would begin to cover her hands and arms, along with smoke leaving her breath.

Emotional bond is that Wardens must make a personal bond with their Noble. Usually it can work from spending time with that noble in their element. Once bonded, the warden can basically sense what their noble is feeling, and vice versa.

The bond between a Warden and Noble, in best way I can say it, is like a platonic marriage. The warden MUST be devoted into taking care of and serving the noble pokemon. They can live out their respective lives and dreams, but their duty takes #1 priority, since it was because of the Noble pokemon that their lives in Hisui are peaceful.

This new bond has both benefits and downsides.

The benefits for the humans is that they gain a "blessing" to easier work alongside their noble. Most, if not all wardens will develop extra abilities or features on their body, or a newfound power.

Example: Gaeric is immune to the cold and can summon snowstorms,pieces of protects his skin like armor. Or Iscan develops gills and is able to breathe and swim underwater, along with some light water manipulation.

The bond does come with its downsides though. Especailly when either a noble or a warden dies.

Well, due to the bond both Warden and Noble have, when either one dies or is killed, its literially like a rope snapping in half, but with their souls. Their souls are no longer tethered together, and it causes physical pain along with the grief they feel.

Its different yet similar when either side feels it.

Example, when Palina lost her noble, she described it as "A fire being snuffed out" within her heart and was bedridden for a few days, her body reacting to it negatively. Her body would feel nothing but cold for a few days, the heat of Lord Arcanine's bond had left her.

As for a Noble losing their Warden, that was with Lady Sneasler.

For when she lost her warden due to sickness, its like a piece of the noble pokemon's heart "dies", and only will awaken anew when they get a new warden. Their body was in a great deal of pain, their anchor to the land lost.

For how someone BECOMES a warden is an interesting process.

One, It cant just be anyone. Noble pokemon can sense bad intentions and wicked hearts, and wont let them bond. If they believe you arent good enough for them, then you arent getting that Warden title. It has to be someone with a strong enough will and a good heart.

When a noble decides on a chosen warden, they begin to be VERY clingy to that particular human, sometimes NOT LEAVING their side for even a moment.

So the process of a warden bonding with the noble is simple, yet concerning.

You see, they must complete a simple task or act based on that noble pokemon's main type. (think like the elements you get off the plates you collect in game)

Most tasks, while mostly unfatal, are a testament to the human's will, to see if they have the inner strength to complete and earn their title.

A few examples, Iscan had to reach Lord Basculegion deep underwater in one go, Palina literailly walking barefoot on heated path of rocks made by Lord Arcanine, and Melli had to withstand being struck by Lord Electrode's lightning and not faint.

Once completed, their mind soon connects with that noble, a sixth sense awakening..

The human's mind would enter into the Noble pokemon's soulspace, seeing a sillouette of the noble they chose. The noble will them speak DIRECTLY to that , as to confirm their newfound bond. They test them one last time, asking if their will is still strong enough to handle this new connection.

Once accepted, the human wakes up from there they are at, now with the Warden band on their wrist. The pact is sealed.

I have more, but this is getting long enough.

feel free to comment on this if you want.

[touchstarvedbbg]

Sleepless - Kuras x Reader (NSFW)

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Pairing : Kuras x reader

Specifications : Inspired by my headcanons from before. Reader is implied to be some sort of demon, but it’s rather ambiguous.

Triggers : a lot of religious mentions (it comes with Kuras, truly)

Notes : This is nsfw!!!!! I honestly don’t expect this post to do well, since I feel like this is a very unpopular headcanon for Kuras. Very self indulgent though.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

It was from the moment you met the doctor that you had been plagued with thoughts of the man, practically unable to tear your eyes off of him on the occasions you would come to his clinic. Everything about Kuras was meticulous, neat to an almost impossible extent, almost perfect enough to throw off his human act entirely. You knew what he truly was, the essence of his holiness all but radiated around the man the first time you had met, enough so that it drove you mad. How you would love to ruin that perfection he had so painstakingly crafted for himself, to remold the man that was the living embodiment of all that was holy. To desecrate him, If you will.

You had spent many nights unable to sleep, plagued with thoughts of defiling this statue of a man in a way that would make even the god that created him turn away, for you desired nothing more than to ruin the Doctor. After what might have been the sixth night of little to no sleep, which normally wouldn’t have bothered you had it been caused by anything else, you decided to pay the Doctor a visit, seeking a treatment for your ailment that even he may be hesitant to prescribe.

“Kuras,” You neglect to knock on the back door of the clinic, walking straight into the angels office as you had many times before, “normally I wouldn’t visit you during this hours, but I’ve found myself unable to rest for almost a week.” The doctor looks up at you from the book he had been reading, golden eyes taking a moment longer than usual to register who you were before softening. “Come in, (name), I will do my best to assist you.” You watch as he slowly stands up, movements slightly more sluggish than you had ever seen from him.

“You seem rather tired as well, Doctor.” You mention, following the man instead of sitting down. “Perhaps it’s for the same reason that I cannot sleep, no?” Kuras looks down at you, shaking his head with a neutral expression. “I do not need to sleep, (name), and neither do you.” His response is dry and blunt, almost accusatory without meaning to be, as if he’s asking why you would come to visit him for an ailment that you had all but created. “A little bit of relaxation is refreshing even for souls that do not require sleep to survive, Kuras.” You reply, stepping a little closer to the man. “It’s as if you have no idea how to care for yourself, what a shame.”

Kuras doesn’t respond, staring down at you with that same analyzing expression he wears majority of the time. “You know..” you start, finger tracing the designs on the doctors shirt, feeling as he tenses up at the touch. “I could help you relax, perhaps get some energy of my own out? Surely that would benefit the both of us.” You think this offer is one that would be almost too good to resist, for you had seen the way the doctor would look at you when he believed you to not be looking. Kuras, who’s been watching your hands movements along his chest for several moments finally turns his attention back to you, brows furrowed as he processes what you had said to him before he opens his mouth to speak “are you suggesting-”

Quickly, you place your finger on top of the angel’s lips, effectively quieting the man as you step a little closer, closing the already tiny gap between the two of you. “I’m suggesting you let that god of yours take a backseat for a few moments, Kuras.” Seemingly understanding just what you’re suggesting, the angels eyes widen, staring down at you with reddened cheeks that almost look feverish. “It would be my pleasure to treat you, Doctor. It’s the only medicine I require.” You notice how his heart beat (or what you assume is) speeds up from where your hand is situated on his chest, the way he looks down at you with a mixture of bewilderment and something akin to lust, a confused form of it.

Slowly, he nods, hands wrapping around your waist and gently squeezing it. There’s no words from the angel, as if he’s worried that he would say something to expose the thoughts swirling around in his head right now. The feeling of lust was not one Kuras was acquainted with in the slightest, yet it was the one that had been plaguing him this entire interaction. “Now, why don’t you sit down at your desk, let me do the work.” To your surprise, the usually stubborn Kuras makes quick work of sitting down, eyes staring up at you with a lust you almost didn’t think him capable of feeling.

“Good boy.” You feel his breath get caught in his throat, the way he shudders as your hand gently grabs his chin. “If only you knew all the things I’ve been thinking about doing to you.” You whisper, nibbling at the outside of his ear which earns an abnormally high pitched yelp from the man under you. “(Name), please” there’s a certain desperation to Kuras’s tone that you’ve never heard before, “do not toy with me.” You laugh, hands traveling downwards to work on the belt of his pants, “how could I ever say no to such a polite request?” He simply looks away, biting at his bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood. You wonder if it would be red like a normal human beings, or if it would be golden like almost everything emitting from the doctor was.

“Look at me, Angel, I want to see that pretty face of yours while I ruin you.” Kuras’s eyes widen as he looks at you, only to close once more as your hand brushes against his member. “Already this pent up from a little teasing, are you?” You’re met with no verbal response from the doctor, only a high pitched mewl from him before he clamps a hand over his mouth. “This won’t do, love.” You pull your hand away much to the displeasure of Kuras, turning to grab some of the thin sheets he had stored away for his patients. “It would be much more fitting to chain you up in gold like a painting, my dear.” You laugh, making quick work of binding his hands to the arms of the desk chair he’s sitting in. “(Name)..” his voice is breathy and desperate, a far cry from the composed speech Kuras normally uses. You reach your hand up to cup his cheek, other hand resting on his inner thigh before moving back to his member.

You watch as his golden eyes shut once more, brows furrowed at the sudden, unfamiliar feeling. The doctor isn’t quiet in the slightest, practically screaming despite his best efforts to keep himself silent. “Shhh..” you lean in, biting at his lower lip before kissing him, quieting the man’s sounds as you continue to pump his member. “Just imagine what your god would think, seeing you in a position like this.” You mutter between kisses, smirking when he groans and throws his head back, unable to form a coherent sentence in his current state. “Sensitive, aren’t you Kuras?” You once again grab his chin, staring at the blissed out expression on the doctor’s face. “Tell me, am I the first person to make you feel like this?”

“I- mh.. yes-” you laugh at the way he can barely get a single word out while you continue working on his hard-on. “An angel like yourself doesn’t need to get off like this, hm?” You ask no one in particular, leaning close to his ear to nibble at it once more. “And yet you’re underneath me like some common whore, committing a sin that would surely damn you.” You’re surprised by just how much this seems to arouse the man, who is desperately trying grab onto anything his bound hands can find, moaning your name repeatedly as if he’s praying to his maker. “Please, (name).. I-i can’t-” you smile, moving to nibble at his exposed neck before looking up at him.

“Go ahead, Angel, show your god how good you feel.” With that, white ribbons come shooting into your hand as the man all but screams your name, only to continue screaming when he realizes you have no intention of stopping just yet. “Did you think this was all I wanted? I want to ruin you.” You laugh, thumb wiping away the blissed out tears of pleasure falling down the man’s cheeks. “Just a little longer, angel, I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long.”

He’s gorgeous in this state, brows furrowed in pleasure with his mouth hanging open, drool dripping from the corner despite his best efforts to keep his composure. “You’re so pretty for me.” You smile, looking into his eyes that are so devoid of any coherent thoughts, a far cry from the way Kuras normally looks. “To think, I’m the only person who has ever made you feel like this, right?” It takes the doctor a moment to register what you’re saying, but he nods ferociously the moment he does. “God- yes!-” you smile, wiping the saliva from his lips as you feel him release into your hand once more.

When you finally release your hand from his member, Kuras visibly relaxes, breathing heavily as he slowly comes back to coherent thought. You untie his wrists, wiping your hand off with the sheets you had used to restrain him. “Come on, why don’t you lay down for a while?” You help the angel up, guiding him to one of the cots typically reserved for patients of his, watching as the man lays down on the bed without his usual objection. You know the man is tired despite his lack of need to sleep, for he wasn’t immune to the occasional effects of exhaustion despite his lack of humanity.

Just as you turn to leave, a warm hand grasps your wrist gently. “(Name), stay for a while, please?” Kuras’s voice is raspy, and it certainly would remain that way for quite some time after the screaming he did. “Surely you are tired as well.” Not having the heart to leave the man after what you had just done to him, you slip into the cot next to Kuras. His embrace is warm, making up for the lack of a blanket (for you had used the ones he had on hand to clean off, those would need to be washed for his patients once you got up). It’s not long until you feel his head resting against your chest, sleeping for the first time in who knows how long. Eventually you find your own eyes closing as you doze off, hands stroking Kuras’s hair absentmindedly as you yourself fall asleep, finally cured of your ailment.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

I’ll probably write one shots of the sort with the other LI’s soon, lmk if that’s something that would be interesting if you made it this far!

[scekrex]

Adam wasn’t killed like everyone thought. Lucifer’s son aka Charlie’s little brother m!reader took him in and healed him. Charlie lets the new sinner Adam stay in the hotel after her brother begged since she loves her sweet brother so much. Adam never seen a demon so hot and falls for the reader. They’ve been secretly messing around and Luci ends up walking in on them.

Okay to clarify: Charlie in this fic is over 200 years old - reader is one year younger than her. Which makes him way younger than Adam is but I assume almost every person this man has fucked with in heaven is way younger than him

Part 2

And when his edges soften, his body is my coffin

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, sexual tension

note: not beta read bc fuck you

You knelt next to the tall angel, your hands kept pressing the shirt you had been wearing moments ago tightly against his wounds while the golden blood that had already formed a puddle around the first man stained your pants - not that you really cared. Your focus was on the dying soul in front of you. Yes Adam had been awful, yes Adam deserved to die, but on the other hand it simply didn’t sit right with you to let him die that easily, for you it felt purely wrong to give up on his tainted soul without even trying. And just as you were about to cry out for help in panic, Adam started to breathe.

Your big sister, your father and their friends had worked quite hard to rebuild the hotel and just as the last light of it flickered to life, Adam took his first breath. “Y/N?” Lucifer’s voice called out for his youngest son right before he spotted you kneeling next to Adam. With slow, heavy steps he walked over to you and the first man, suspiciously eyeing what you were doing but when the king of Hell saw how the brunette’s chest visibly pumped blood and air through his body, he looked quite shocked. “Dad, he’s alive,” your voice sounded happy, excited even and yet so broken - Lucifer didn’t move, he just stood there and watched. “We have to take him in, dad, he’s wounded.” The blonde king shook his head violently, snapping out of his haze as he processed your words slowly, then he shook his head in a softer manner - this time he used it to respond to what you’ve just said, “Nuh, no~no~no~oh, we’re not taking him in.”

Charlie appeared behind the king of Hell, your older sister - she was only one year older than you - put down a gentle hand on his shoulder, “But dad, he’s a human souls just like the other residents and as much as I hate the thought of living with him, the concept of this hotel is all about redemption, maybe Adam can redeem himself too.” And while Lucifer didn’t admit it out loud, he knew his children were right, a defeated sigh left his body and he lowered his head. The blonde was not willing to put up a fight with either you nor Charlie so he simply gave in. He always had the option to kick the first man out if he would not be willing to redeem his soul after all.

-

It had taken Adam a while to regain his strength, it had taken him even longer to accept that his angels had left him and that he was doomed to rot in Hell - though he kept telling you and the other residents that soon Sera would look for him and send Lute. But Sera never mentioned Adam in any of the meetings she held with Lucifer and Lute had not been back to Hell ever since she thought she had seen her best friend die. Not even during extermination day. But on the other hand that had forced the first man to get used to his new environment and while Vaggie was just as amused to have the brunette roaming their halls as Lucifer, Angel seemed to actually enjoy the first man’s company - even though most of their conversations were about the bitches Adam had slept with in heaven.

But you were without a doubt the demon he got along with the best, not only did you like the music he was playing, you also seemed to understand him without ever going through something similar, yet the two of you connected. The bond between you and Adam had grown strong, so strong that the brunette had you pressed against your bedroom wall, kissing your lips over and over again as his wings framed your sides - a habit he had picked up in Heaven to prevent people from staring. His lips didn’t remain on your lips though, he was eager to shower your entire body in kisses and he was determined to keep going until that goal was reached.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, gently nudging Adam to signal the former angel to give you some space. “Lemme just-” you grumbled as you took off your shirt, throwing it somewhere where it wouldn’t bother you and as soon as the soft fabric was no longer covering your skin, the brunette was on you in an instant, his hot mouth was mapping out your body like it was the most beautiful thing he ever touched, his tongue circled your nipple. And then a loud banging noise appeared right behind him and when you peeked over Adam’s shoulder you froze. Your father was standing in the door frame, just as shocked as you were. “Adam,” you mumbled quietly, trying to get the taller male to notice the king of Hell. But the angel shielding your body from your father’s eyes simply grinned against your skin as he responded, “Why don’t you moan louder for me, babes?”

Lucifer cleared his throat quite loudly and it was just then and there that Adam noticed the blonde king. His body stopped moving immediately and he just stared at you with a blank expression on his face. When a small hand reached for his upper arm to spin the angel around, Adam was sure he was gonna die - there was simply no way Lucifer would let that slide.

As soon as Adam looked down on the king, he awkwardly grinned down on the blonde, trying to charm his way out of the situation - not that his bullshit worked on Lucifer and before he knew it Lucifer’s fist collided with his face.

[dioslesbianwife]

I am so sorry but can i please request another gorgon! reader? 😭 This time I want it to be with Abbacchio. A few changes from my last one though. Reader is fun-loving and lives amongst humans! She takes precautions so that nobody looks into her eyes or sees the snakes in her hair. She only reveals her eyes to petrify anyone harming her. The effect only lasts 24 hours for this. Okay so for the story in the process of petrifying weird men in an alleyway, she ends up petrifying abbacchio who just happened to witness the altercation. She panics and takes him home until it wears off. I've been thinking bout this for hours omg my ideas are so baaad! It's just dumb rambling i'm so sorryyyy!!

it's no problem lol, thank you for requesting and i hope you enjoy <33

The night was cool, the city noisy, and you were just trying to get home.

You kept your head down as always, large sunglasses hiding your lethal eyes. You liked humans. They were chaotic and silly and made excellent pizza. But some of them… well. They could be a bit much.

Like tonight.

You were just passing an alleyway when a group of greasy men started following you, catcalling with increasingly aggressive remarks. You picked up your pace. When one of them grabbed your arm, your patience cracked.

With a deep breath, you slipped your glasses off. A second later, three statues stood frozen mid-sleaze, trapped in awkward, lunging poses. They’d be fine. They’d wake up in 24 hours with some back pain and hopefully a new outlook on life.

But then-

“What the hell…”

-a voice came from the other end of the alley.

You whipped around, panic flaring.

A tall man stood there, partially in shadow. Lavender hair. Piercing eyes. A sharp frown. You had just enough time to realize he wasn’t one of them before he caught your gaze full on.

Stone bloomed up his body.

-----------------------

Your apartment was not designed for guests.

Certainly not guests who were accidentally turned into solid stone.

But here you were, grunting and sweating as you dragged the extremely heavy, extremely handsome statue of a man through your doorway and onto the couch.

“I’m so sorry,” you gasped, “I thought you were with them! And now you’re- ugh, I can’t even ask if you want water or something.”

The statue remained still, a perfectly frozen scowl on his beautiful face.

You flopped over the armrest with a dramatic groan. “You’re really hot, you know that? I hate that I noticed that after I turned you into a lawn ornament.”

You spent the next few hours keeping him company- lighting candles, playing some soft music, reading aloud. You figured the least you could do was make him comfortable.

-----------------------

He didn’t move until exactly 9:03 AM.

You were mid-yawn and pouring cereal when you heard a loud CRACK.

You turned around in time to see the petrified surface of his skin splitting and falling away in chunks. In moments, he was whole again, blinking in the soft light of your kitchen, confused and pissed off and alarmingly attractive.

“Where the hell am I?” he growled, voice low and gravelly.

“My apartment,” you said weakly, raising both hands. “You- you saw me accidentally turn some creeps to stone last night and I panicked and- look, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

His eyes narrowed. He looked down at himself, then around your cute, cluttered apartment, the books, the candles, the cozy throw blanket now half-draped on his lap.

His head tilted. “You carried me here?”

“More like dragged. You’re dense. I mean, like, heavy! You’re heavy. I didn’t mean dense like-”

He gave you a long look. And then his shoulders relaxed.

“You’re lucky I’m not the type to overreact.”

You blinked.

He looked at you again. This time, longer. Deeper.

“You’re… not human, are you?”

You pulled your scarf down slightly.

“Not exactly. But I live here, work a human job, pay human taxes… And I don’t turn people into statues unless they’re being awful.”

Abbacchio rubbed his temple.

-----------------------

He stayed for tea. Said he needed to “make sure you weren’t dangerous.”

You noticed he lingered even after his third cup.

By the fourth, he was eyeing your suspiciously.

“So, you won't pull that statue shit on me again?”

“Only if you make fun of my candles.”

He snorted. “They’re all labeled things like ‘Soft Kiss’ and ‘Enchanted Forest.’”

“Your point?”

He leaned back on your couch, arms crossed.

“No point. Just observing.”

[bearprofessorr]

keep your eyes on the road.

maintaining the line between being human and being holy was never easy.

ship: aldo bellini/thomas lawrence tags/warnings: mentioned disordered eating, pre-canon, arguments, angst with a happy ending. word count: 4k.

Summary: During the 2005 Conclave, Lawrence and Bellini grapple with their forced proximity after sharing a kiss the week before being sequestered. The insuing conversations threaten to change the dynamic of their friendship in ways neither of them could expect.

Read the full thing on ao3 <3

a/n: I grew up religious - however my knowledge on the Church is RUSTY, apologies in advance for any inaccuracies. i just had to write for these two old guys can you really blame me?

(sneak peek below the cut)

---

It was about 3:00 AM, and Aldo was woken by a knock at his apartment door. Cardinal Lawrence, Thomas, was standing outside, head bowed, eyes red. Aldo ushered him inside with a gentle hand on his shoulder, checking that no one was lingering in the corridor before closing the door behind him.

"Thomas? What's going on?" Aldo leant back against the door, his hand still on the handle while Lawrence composed himself.

Lawrence spoke softly, "I need to ask you something, and I need you to listen to what I'm saying."

"Right. Go ahead." Bellini braced himself for the words he'd been dreading to hear - but simultaneously had been praying for all the while.

"I can't function anymore. I can't pray, I can barely breathe when I'm in the same room as you." 

'After we kissed last week' went implied but never uttered. 

"I had never understood why people abandon their vows for love... but now... now I do." He stepped toward Aldo, his hand trembling as it stayed at his side, his fingertips digging into his palm.

Bellini's face dropped at the mention of love - not out of disgust, but shocked at Thomas' ability to speak the concept out into the world - he couldn't help but keep speaking.

"I can't read your mind, but I do know you. And I don't think I can survive without you in my life, Aldo." Thomas paused, his gaze dipping from Aldo's as he took a longer breath. "Not now that I know how you taste." Aldo felt the room start to spin as his hand quivered at his side. Thomas spoke again a moment later, his voice a whisper on the air, "Will you have me?"

The whole world seemed to take a breath in at that moment, awaiting Aldo's response. Even he didn't know what words would come from his lips, parted, the idea of a response on his tongue. 

"Thomas..." Aldo stepped into the room, creating distance between him and his best friend, moving to his bedside table, where a Bible, Rosary, and theological research papers sat next to his glasses case. A reminder of all he had given up, though simultaneously a reminder of why he gave did in the first place. 

"If you'll have me, I'll do whatever it takes to keep us safe. That or-"

"Or what? We both leave the Church? After all this time, all this effort?" Aldo paced around the small space. They had been sequestered for 4 days, and through it all, Thomas had been following him around like an obviously lovestruck puppy. The rumour mill had been churning alongside the regular secrets normally revealed in the process of the Conclave, not to either of their benefits. "I'm not going to sit here and let you destroy us both."