#a horrible idea

[not-brionnnne]

NSFW. 18+. Okay. Oh God, uh. What if— like okay— hear me out— I know that people— I know that some people see Laios as aroace or some variation—fair and valid—and that Farcielle is the only valid ship to them, but God. God... What if— Modern AU!Farcielle.

Hear me out. They go to the same college. They're terribly in love. Falin dies. Marcielle is still very Consumed by Devotion. This destroys her. Laios is still very Devoted to Consumption. The death is— it is. It sure is. For awhile, Marcielle can't even stand to see his face or hear his voice. They're so similar, and God, she hates it. She hates it—at first. But God, she's clinging onto sheets and shirts and whatever she can and it's fading and it's all fading so fast and Laios is just trying to help in his own way. And it hurts. It hurts because it isn't her. And it hurts, but fuck, she's so tired. It's eating her alive, and he's right there, and maybe she hates him. Even though it's not his fault. Even though he's done nothing wrong. Even thinking about that—with his mannerisms and his voice and his face—makes her feel sick. Makes her feel disgusted. She doesn't hate him. She can't hate him. He's the only thing pulling her through. The only pillar she has left, and she leans, and leans, and leans. Tilting into the sickness rather than out. He looks so much like her, she finds herself thinking, an affectionate, frustrated smile creasing her mouth. And her eyes widen, and she's running. "I have to go!" She yells, keys jangling, voice shaking, and Laios tries. He tries to run after her. The plate she dropped digs into his foot, and he stumbles onto the door. Her door. The start of an engine. It turns over. Once. Twice. Then starts. By the time he fumbles with the knob, the telltale rev of an engine says he's too late. She disappears for a month and doesn't answer calls. He tries to look for her. He keeps calling. He keeps her couch warm until she comes back. He stress eats. He doesn't know what happened. He doesn't know why. He doesn't know how to fix it. And he waits. "Like a dog," says Marcielle. "Like a wolf," he retorts. She doesn't reply.

...

Marcielle returns and his wait is rewarded. His tail practically wags when he hears her keys jingling. He's done little else. The dish she dropped hadn't been moved. The food had. His foot has been wrapped, and the blood on both (the wrap, the dish, the floor) has clotted. Laios clears it up as best as he can now, frantic and frenzied and guilty.

Like a dog, he thinks. He dumps it in the bin and scrambles back to the couch to hide his misdeeds. Like a dog, he thinks again.

...

Marcielle unlocks the door with her head inclined; a soft open. The quietest of sighs breaks the silence. She turns on the light. Click. He shifts in place. "I missed you..."

Soft, like the door, like the sigh. Then broken. She screams. Breathes in. Places a hand over her chest and closes her eyes. She's upset. Shaken. More than that, she's angry. She doesn't know how to tell him that his face is the last one she wants to see. And yet. And yet. For a second, it happens again. She sees her. Falin. And then she's furious. She's walking over. She's pounding on his chest, and he's solid, and his arms are around her, and she's crying. She's crying for the first time in months. "I missed you, too," she sniffles, and she wants to be talking to Laios—she does, she swears she does—but she doesn't know who she's speaking to. She doesn't know if it's him or a memory. Her perception is all twisted. And she's looking up, she's checking to be sure, and it's Falin's kindness, painted there, and she's crying harder, and her hands won't stop hitting, but he's holding her softly, and she thinks for a second that it'll be okay, that their friendship will hold like this. She reaches to wipe her tears, and his hands take up this task, too.

It's awkward. It doesn't read of Falin at all. He's lumbersome and ungentle. He's never known what to do, but he does it. He tries. His finger swipes across her cheek again, and her breath stalls. It feels like a betrayal.

Everything else does, too. Every part of it. Yet she's leaning and now he's leaning, too. And it's dreadful. One of his hands still holds hers up to his chest. It feels like such a mockery of intimacy. And they're kissing and it sparks across her skin and roils in her stomach. She can't define sickness from lust. They fall together, onto the couch he kept warm. Onto the cold floor. She cries openly. And she yearns. And she misses. And she can't stop, even if she wants to. Marcielle thought she hated Laios. She knew the only thing she'd ever hated was herself.

And Laios? Laios has never been so hungry. He's never realized how deep his hunger could go. That it could be for something—someone—else. Something like this. It yawns open inside him. Tells him to take. And he's a dog again, fighting for scraps.

He licks at her tears, feels her hands tighten around his arms. Hips canting up as she sobs. It twists inside his stomach, snake-like, and he struggles. "Tell me," Laios groans. "Tell me to stop, Marci." He begs. "Please."

"Falin..." Marcielle croaks. She looks at him and doesn't see her at all. "Falin, I'm sorry..."

And he takes. He takes and takes and takes. And she gives. She allows it. Her consumption. Until there is nothing left.

...because without Falin, there isn't.

[dranger78official]

"kamen Д"

ok what-

[liorlen]

gale origin playthru from astarion’s pov or smth like that

[stilitrash]

The dynamic I never knew I wanted but definitely needed

[pepperchanart]

Autumn background I made of the cephalopods!

Now I want apple pie :/

[zephyrchama]

I hope demons have sayings that sound really weird and messed up to humans, just as there are many diverse sayings across varying human languages that don't always translate easily.

---01

Lucifer looked up warily as you entered his office before breathing a sigh of relief. "I thought you were Mammon, here to give me another headache."

You strided over to his desk to take a peek at what he was working on. It looked boring. "We both know you love your little brother. What could be so bad this time?"

Lucifer buried his eyes in his hands, brushing his hair aside with the tail end of a pen. "He's been gnawing on my toenails all week."

You coughed in surprise, smacking your chest to loosen up the muscles so that clarifying questions could be asked. "What? Why? How?"

"Just general Mammon buffoonery as usual. For some reason he's especially persistent this week."

"I have literally never seen Mammon chewing on toenails..." Your lip curled back in disgust just imagining it. "Has he... done this before?"

"What?" Lucifer narrowed his eyes, puzzled. "Oh." His gaze softened once he realized what was happening and he huffed in amusement. "Mammon hasn't actually been gnawing on my toenails. It means he's getting on my nerves, as you might say."

You clasped your hands together and sighed, letting a wave of relief wash over you. "Please. Just say that next time."

----02

"C'mon, c'mon! If ya move any slower I'm gonna exfoliate Diavolo!"

You were running as fast as you could, despite Mammon being the reason for your tardiness. You didn't have much to lose, but Mammon could be in deep trouble for missing another morning class.

You wheezed and almost ran into him, not realizing he kindly came back to carry you. "Wh..." After a few deep breaths, you choked out your question. "You're gonna what? To Diavolo?"

Mammon thrust his bag in your arms in a rush and picked you up instead. He spoke as he began running, "yeah. He's gonna have my neck if I'm late again!"

"I get that, but is Barbatos gonna make you wash him...? Or...?"

"Wha? Are you still half asleep? Is that why you're runnin' so slow?"

You leaned your head back against his upper arm to stare up at him in frustration. He couldn't ignore your pouty face inches from his own. Mammon's ears grew red. "Knock it off!"

"Tell me what you mean!" you ordered.

Mammon growled and ran even faster. "What do you mean? I'm just tryna get us to class!"

---03

You scooted your seat closer to Leviathan. He perked right up and froze as you approached to whisper in his ear.

"Levi, XYZ."

"W-w-what? Is that a code?"

"No, XYZ. PDQ."

He reached for a pen and began noting the letters down. "P... D... Q... Got it. What's next?"

You shook your head. "No, Levi, your barn door is open."

"What game are we talking about? I haven't picked up Moondrop Basin in a few weeks."

You made a zipping-up motion with your hand. "Your fly!"

"Oh." Leviathan ruffled the back of his hair and swatted the air around his head. "Is it gone now? I didn't see any bugs."

Though reluctant to be so blunt, you were out of euphemisms. "Levi, your pants' zipper is open."

With an "eep!" he turned away to fix his problem. It took a few seconds. In his haste, the zipper kept getting stuck. He was mad when he turned back around, his face colored crimson. "Why didn't you just tell me? Without turning it into... into some game!"

"I did! XYZ, PDQ, That's what we say in the human world! Examine your zipper, quick!"

"That's so dumb!" he seethed, punching his knee. "What a spumid flaming cabbage. Your sayings are so weird."

---04

"Ready for the next one?"

"Hit me," you told Satan.

He grimaced from across the desk, raising his eyes from the paper to look at you in concern. "What? No, I'm not going to do that."

"Not literally, it's a human saying. It means 'give it to me,' or something like that."

"Oh." Satan jotted that down in the margins of his own notes before reading off the next phrase on his list. "This is one of my favorites. It's a colorful saying, but if you're really mad at someone you can call them a snot-cobbling banshee. I like to say this while cursing their next three generations."

You wrote that down. "How often do you use this saying?"

"Not too often. Well, maybe once a week with my brothers. It goes along with this next phrase which implies someone is dangerously stupid. Barbed dingbat."

You nodded. You were truly learning so much on this cultural exchange program.

---05

Asmodeus came into the kitchen as you were preparing dinner and wrapped his arms around your neck. He looked exhausted.

"Careful, I've got a knife, don't want to accidentally nick you," you warned. "What's up? Long day?"

"Like you wouldn't believe." Asmodeus peeped over your shoulder to look at the vegetables you were cutting. "I'm so glad you're home. You know, all day, all I could think about was..."

He proceeded to say some incredibly vulgar things. Detailed depictions of debauchery. Irredeemable acts of indecency that cannot be repeated on this blog. It made you put the knife down in a tizzy.

"Are those more demon idioms?" You snickered awkwardly and wiped your hands on a towel. "I've been learning about your sayings recently. Can't say I've heard those ones yet."

"What? Oh, no." Asmodeus lifted your hand, raising it to his lips to lick a stray fleck of vegetable skin off your fingertip. "These aren't sayings, this is just stuff I've wanted to do all day."

---06

"I could just eat you up."

This was something Beelzebub said often, and something he repeated again today. His hands were occupied with a fresh four-pounder with cheese, but his eyes kept drifting from it to watch you shoot paper balls into a wastebasket.

"You know, humans have the same saying. Isn't that funny?" You bounced up to grab some of the wads on the floor that didn't make it into the basket, to try again.

Beelzebub swallowed the mass in his mouth. "Really?" he asked between bites. "I thought you guys stopped doing cannibalism, mostly."

"Uh." You missed your throw. What should have been an easy shoot bounced off the edge and rolled away from the wastebasket. "Yeah, we did. Just so we're on the same page, you're saying I'm cute, right?"

Beelzebub was concerningly quiet as he chewed.

---07

"Are you on your way back to class?" Belphegor stopped you in the hall. You hadn't even seen him there on the ground, curled up next to a shady pillar.

"Skipping class again?" you asked. "I thought you liked magic theory."

"Maybe," he yawned. "It's too easy sometimes."

Belphegor fished around in his pocket for a second before pulling out a tightly folded-up sheet of paper. He offered it up. "Can you turn this in for me? I don't want my grades dropping over late homework."

"Sure thing, but it might be better to turn it in yourself. I heard Barbatos is doing random checks in all classes this week. He'll notice you missing."

"Nah." Belphegor's head drooped down as he prepared to doze off again. "If you see him, just tell him I'm being flerchen in the garden."

That sounded innocent enough. "Okay. What does that mean?"

"Means I've got the sniffles," he lied.

---08

Barbatos' eyes grew big and he placed a hand over his heart, furthering crumpling Belphegor's homework sheet in the process. He looked around to make sure nobody overheard before leaning in. "I must ask that you never say that again."

Behind him, Diavolo's palm was clasped over his mouth as he struggled not to draw attention with loud guffaws. He had his back to the classroom, shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

"Why not?" You nervously shifted from one foot to another. You'd been had.

"It's not a topic I can explain here. Perhaps you and the Young Master should excuse yourselves for now. I'll come collect you both later."

Barbatos readily escorted you and Diavolo out of the room, shutting the door behind you so that class could begin without interruption.

"I'm just the messenger," you tried to defend yourself. Diavolo's fit of giggles was renewed. He grabbed on to your shoulder for stability while doubled over, trying to ride out the laughter.

"Did... did Belphegor tell you to say that?" He wiped a tear running down his face. You furiously nodded.

"Haha! Do you remember where he's hiding? I'd sure like to have a word with him."

You couldn't tell if Diavolo was going to praise Belphegor or tear him a new one. Perhaps a mix of both. However, the curiosity over what you said was overwhelming. You wanted to know the full extent of what it meant before seeing Belphegor again.

You decided to bargain with the prince. "I'll show you, but first you have to tell me what that means."

[guinevereslancelot]

it's a beautiful day at the roman senate and you are a horrible goose

[dead-girl-tells-stories]

DC x DP Idea

After several years, Danny and Damian meet each other again at a gala. But there was no heartfelt reunion since the moment they led eyes on each other it was all-out war. Damian takes out a sword from somewhere and Danny just starts throwing hands.

The fighting is intense, and blood is being spilled (what are those glowing green specks?). They are screaming at each other in Arabic as it's easier to slip back to your mother tongue when in rage right? This makes the fight more personal.

Most people don't understand what they're saying but those who do look at the boys then Bruce. Bruce then back to the boys again. Like B, we know you're stupid but you fucked this person twice.... did you NOT see the red flags the SECOND TIME!?!?

The fight ends with Damian on the ground with the sword grazing his neck. He looks up to Danyal with the fear of god in his eyes, knowing that with one swift movement, he'll be dead on the dance floor. But Danny's eyes were cold and tired, they were dead. No spark, no sense of life in those chilling blue depths.

Calmly, Danny spoke to Damian. His voice was crystal clear, cool like a mountain stream.

"Just because you jumped into the fire behind me doesn't mean you felt the pain I did.  Your hand was held above the flames while I was being burnt in the fucking fire."

Damian begins to cry because he knows that Danny is right. No matter what he went through, it would never compare to what happened to his big brother. Even more so, when he feels long lanky arms wrap around him, a cool hand rubbing his back soothingly, and whispers of sweet nothingness entering his ears.

He cries because no matter what he does he will never be like his big brother.

[reimidy]

[ohitslen]

Average university experience

[valentimmy]

sephiroth but this time he did an oopsie :(

[thegunslingerletmedrop]

[starry-bi-sky]

do yall ever think about bruce/batman!clone danny standing in front of his bathroom mirror after finding out he was a clone and silently tracing his face. The slope of his jaw and point of his chin. The high angle of his cheekbones and the shape of his eyes, the curve of his brow bones and the shape of his nose. The volume of his hair and the way it curls and gets fluffy when it gets too long.

His hair is black the same way a crow's wing is black. His dad's hair is black the same way a black bear's fur is black. His dad's eyes are blue like the ocean is blue. Danny's eyes are blue the same way a glacier is blue.

His dad has a square jaw and straight flat hair, and he tans and gets a face full of freckles when he's out in the sun for too long. Danny burns like a lobster and his face remains untouched. Danny has a sharp jaw and tall cheekbones, and Sam says when he's not smiling there's almost something regal about him. You would never call Jack Fenton "regal" when he's not smiling.

Sam says when he's not smiling he looks scary the same way a stone statue is. Jack Fenton when he's not smiling looks scary the same way that german shepherd staring at you across the street is.

Do you ever think he grew up wondering if he was adopted. Because of course, he has black hair and blue eyes like his dad. But having the same color doesn't make you someone's child.

Or, worse, things he's heard from the other kids and the other parents and even some of his teachers growing up; that he was the product of an affair. And that his dad was just too stupid to notice. And Danny would defend his parents until the day he died, because Jack Fenton wasn't an idiot and Maddie Fenton wasn't a cheater.

But doubt comes in with fickle tongue. his parents swear up and down that he is their child when he asks about either. That Danny just had his grandparents' features, but he was their son and they loved him.

But Danny doesn't look like either of his parents. His mom's eyes are blue like an aquamarine and Jazz's too. And they burn like lobsters in the sun too, but Jazz gets freckles on her face and so does Maddie. And as Danny grows up he doesn't bulk up or get stocky like his dad did, and when he hits puberty he doesn't shoot up like a tree like Jack Fenton did.

He stays small, and they say he's a late bloomer (and he is), or that he just has his mom's height. But he's fast and has good stamina, and some days it feels like he's built entirely different from his family. That the things they went through growing up just didn't apply to him. Jack and Maddie Fenton both had acne and breakouts when they hit puberty, and Jazz inherits it and he's seen the amount of skincare products she keeps on her side of the bathroom.

And then he hits puberty and breaks out maybe once or twice, but his skin stays clear for the most part and the problems and changes his dad went through just don't happen to him.

And the truth is worse than all of the lies.

How horrifying.

[p0ssym1lker]

Tim is known as a guy everyone had a crush on at some point. He's pretty, smart and just nice to hang around with.

So seeing him absolutely falter and flail around trying to get the attention of the new guy and failing miserably everytime, is absolutely fascinating to the rest of his schoolmates.

Danny Nightingale does not care at all about Tim drake and it's the biggest drama in the history of the school.

There are bets, clubs of people who want to help and who want to get in between, the teachers are invested.

Meanwhile Danny has no clue about any of this happening and Tim is getting to a point where he considers, ugh, asking his family and friends for advice.

[bunnieswithknives]

OK JUST A LITTLE THING BECAUSE IM INSANE @cubbihue

Song: Plastic by Cheekface

[mummer]

jace being the first one to jump to call valyrian exceptionalism a farce ties so well into his bastard identity and the fact that he’s had to baldly lie about himself for his entire life to fit the image of the perfect heir…. like of course he would understand that better than anyone. people have died to protect that lie, his lie! rhaenyra telling him this garbled incoherent nonsense prophecy like it changes anything about what they’re doing or why they’re doing it. little normcore guy in targ family hell beating down his bad rebellious thoughts with a hammer every morning trying to reconvince himself of the lie, of the idea he could be the perfect shining promised prince but he knows something is Wrong. a totally mundane trivial death at the centre of the spiral. quentyn voice i must be the hero the hero never dies.