#but perhaps not that surprising in the grand scheme of things

[lillotte17]

*throws more Veilguard Banter into the gaping maw of Tumblr and then flees*

~~

Solas: “I have another question, Varric. If I may?”

Varric: “Just the one?”

S: “For now. I must admit, I was surprised to see that you were the one they asked to make an attempt at dissuading me from completing my mission. Not to belittle our prior bonds of friendship, but if the intent was to send an agent who might presumably hold some power of persuasion over me, I…would have thought another candidate might have seemed like the more obvious choice.”

V: “Would it really have changed anything if she had been the one telling you to stop?”

 S: “I…do not know. I should think not.”

V: “But at least you would have gotten to see her again, right?”

S: “Perhaps.”

V: “Heh, don’t you worry, Chuckles, I’m sure you’ll get your chance. The fact that I was here instead of her is more of a fluke than anything else. She was more than eager to follow up on the tip that led us to you, but then the kid insisted on tagging along, and you know how it is.”

S: “…kid?”

V: “Right, the kid. You probably haven’t seen him either.”

S: “…No. I have not. Although, I would have thought that there would have been news if the Herald of Andraste had… Well. I suppose there is wisdom in striving to keep such affairs private. I certainly have no right to voice an objection.”

V: “Why would you object to seeing the kid again?”

S: “Again? I… You are referring to Cole.”

V: *snorts* “Well, yeah. Who’d you think I was talking about?”

S: “Never mind.”

~

Rook: “So, Varric, do you really think the Inquisitor is going to show up?”

Varric: “Oh, don’t worry, she’ll be here. She’s been searching high and low for Chuckles for nearly a decade.”

R: *whistles* “And she never caught up to him in all that time?”

V: “Once. It…didn’t end well. After that, a few of our agents came close over the years, but it turns out that the world is a pretty big place, and tracking a lone elf with a network of magical transportation mirrors on his side is about as tricky as you’d expect. It’s even harder when you’ve got a notorious reputation and half of Thedas has seen portraits of your face. One whisper of the Herald of Andraste entering a city, and all our leads would vanish overnight.”

R: “But…I thought the two of them liked each other?”

V: “I think that made it worse, actually.”

Solas: “You do realize that I am standing right here?”

~

Solas: “For what it is worth, I am sorry about your Bianca, Varric.”

Varric: “Oh, you know, what’s an irreplaceable keepsake from the woman I can never be with in the grand scheme of things, anyway? At least you didn’t turn me to stone.”

S: “Your anger is justified. I do not expect your forgiveness, but I would apologize for my actions, none the less.”

V: “Look, if I were you, my forgiveness isn’t what I’d be worried about right now. Someone else has a much bigger bone to pick with you than I do.”

S: “I am not expecting her forgiveness, either.”

V: “So, you’re not even going to try?”

S: “And what, precisely, should I be trying, Master Tethras? This is hardly the sort of situation to be solved by a bouquet of flowers and a well-constructed poem.”

Rook: “Maybe you could send chocolates?”

V: “I was going to suggest groveling, actually.”

[fandom-lover2]

Sacrifices - Pt 2

Word Count - 2146

Part One

Optimus was grateful for his battle mask, now more than ever. Only his optics could show his panic.

And, knowing Megatron as well as he did, Optimus knew Megatron could see it, and smirk across the warlord’s faceplates telling Optimus Megatron was getting the exact reaction he wanted.

4 Decepticons, 4 glass canisters, 4 vulnerable humans, 4 keys.

Optimus was surprised it had taken Megatron this long to locate the humans. While he had done everything in his power to ensure they would remain safe and undetected by the Decepticon intelligence, Soundwave’s methods were far superior then any of them could ever imagine.

Starscream stepped forward, wordlessly handing over the case that held you to his master.

Optimus lost the battle of not looking down at you, and when your eyes met his optics, his servo clenched around the Star Sabers hilt.

For someone so close to death, you seemed unnervingly calm. But your eyes, your eyes showed the truth.

Acceptance. You had accepted you were going to die.

Optimus almost stumbled back as his words repeated in his processor, over and over again.

“You speak as though your life means anything to me.”

You had accepted you were going to die, because Optimus had told you as such. He had declared loud and clear for you to hear that his own desires would always be put above your life. Had announced that your life, your future and your dreams, were nothing to him in the grand scheme of his existence.

He was going to let Megatron kill you, open your cage and let Cybertron’s atmosphere kill you slowly, painfully. He would watch on without so much as a flinch, perhaps even turning his back and begin the process of rebuilding his home.

Home? Was Cybertron still his home?

After all he had done to his planet, all the loves lost in his war, was this metal shell still his home? Would it still welcome him back? Or was it you, and your vibrant planet that now held his spark.

Things were happening around him, but Optimus could not look away from you.

Starscream taunted the Autobots, clawing at Jack’s prison. The young man, how much he’d grown since their first encounter, stated clearly for all that he was willing to die for Cybertron and the Autobot cause. His brave, little companions agreed with his statement. And, Optimus knew you felt the same.

Even after all he’d said to you, done to you. Even after the pain he had caused, you were still right there, willing to give everything up. For the team.

The team he had told you you were not a part of.

Behind him, Optimus could feel his fellow bots moments from losing control. Weapons aimed, battle stances ready.

Would they stand down if he told them to? Would they continue with the mission if he decided that 4 human lives were not worth the restoration of Cybertron?

“Perhaps we should oblige them?” Megatron taunted

How fleeting human lives were. What was considered a decently long human life span was nothing but a blink of the optic for a Cybertronian. If the humans did not die today, they would die eventually. The humans would die long before the Cybertronians had aged a year and they would be left to mourn their friends. Since arriving on Earth, Agent Fowler was their third human liaison. The first died decades ago, the second grew too old to work. Fowler was nearing that age now, when he would step away and a new human would fill his shoes.

And yet, these four little humans had had more impact on his soldier’s lives then any other human had.

“Optimus.”

The prime was pulled back to the present, called back by your voice. He looked at you, into your steady gaze.

“Don’t.”

How silly you were, thinking you could change his mind.

It wasn’t a question, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Your life was not worth Cybertron, Cybertron was not worth your life.

He felt sick, horrified at himself that you had thought he wouldn’t fight with everything he had to save you. He hated himself that he’d allowed you to even have a moment of hesitation about what your life meant to him.

From the moment the space bridge portal had opened and he’d seen you and your fellow humans, he knew what his decision would be.

Nothing, not Cybertron, not his life, not The Matrix, nothing would mean more to him than you.

“If my decision dooms the future of the Autobot cause on Cybertron, so be it. But I will never forsake our human allies.”

Optimus speared the Star Saber into Cybertron’s surface with more force than was needed and began to step back, rejoining his fellow Autobots. Without so much more than a glance, they began to disarm themselves.

So, they were all in agreement then.

One by one, a key for a human child, until all that remained was one. Smokescreen held the final key, and Megatron had you. Wordlessly, Optimus held out his hand, a signal for the newest member of the team to hand over their final hope.

Each step towards his enemy, he felt heavier and heavier. This was it. The last hope for Autobot life on Cybertron, and he was giving it away for a human. Giving away the hopes of his people and his planet for one single human.

Optimus was before Megatron, the only space between them your cage. Optimus kept his eyes locked on Megatron, his battle mask up. He couldn’t look down at you, wouldn’t. He didn’t want to see the confusion, the concern, the uncertainty. 

It should have been relief, it should have been a sigh of relief. It should have been, but it wasn’t because he had made you believe you would die on his planet and now you could not comprehend why he was saving you.

He had failed. Failed you. And now he was failing his mentor, his people, his fellow Primes.

But, he was saving you.

He held out his key in one servo, and extended the other in expectation. Megatron extended his servos in turn, holding you out in one and wrapping his digits around the key with the other.

For a moment, neither one released either, but then Optimus’ grip on the key lessened just a smidge and Megatron opened his servo.

Not expecting the sudden weight, you fell to the hard metal surface of the dead planet. Optimus lunged to grab you, your canister bouncing once before he managed to grab you.

Luckily, the glass did not shatter, but within you winced.

Optimus barely had the chance to look you over before a second ground bridge opened and Decepticons rushed through.

One Autobot with an occupied servo could not take them all. Spinning, Optimus sprinted to the safety of his team, disposing you with the rest of the trapped humans.

The Decepticons surrounded the Autobots, blasters raised and keeping them in place as Megatron, Starscream, Knockout and Soundwave activated the Omega Lock with the Keys.

Everyone watched, transfixed as the mechanism powered up.

A keypad appeared, and Megatron selected something. With a shake and a shudder, the circle shot out a bream of blue light, the energy streaking across the expanse of the barren landscape and encompassing the ruins of the Iacon Records Halls.

Optimus watched in amazement as the building began to rebuild itself, within a few seconds transforming from the blackened ruins to the once sparkling tower Optimus once knew.

It worked. The Keys worked. Cybertron could be restored, would be restored. His home would be restored again.

Bumblebee said something, the humans making various noises of amazement, you remained silent. Briefly, Optimus flicked his optics down to you.

You were seated in your cage, hand raised to press against your forehead. Red stained your fingers, blood leaking from a cut.

Megatron must have caused more damage than he realized.

He needed to you get and your fellow humans off this planet. Who knew how much oxygen you had in those canisters, and what would happen once Megatron used the Keys to begin widescale restoration.

“This conflict is between Autobots and Decepticons.” he started. If he wanted to get Megatron to listen, he’d need to tread carefully. “Allow me to return the humans to Earth.”

“Oh I wouldn’t recommend it.” Megatron started, turning to address the Autobot leader. “They’ll be far safer here.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” you spoke up.

“Is the Space Bridge locked on target?”

“Per your instructions, Lord Megatron.” Starscream bowed.

“Excellent.” Megatron purred, turning back to Optimus and locking optics with him. “Why rule one world, when I can rule two…”

Megatron was a sadistic, megalomaniac, power hunger monster, but he could not be this insane? Could he?

Far above, a ground bridge opened up. Megatron turned back to the consol and hit the activation button. Once again the Omega Lock powered up, and shot a beam of raw energy through the swirling green vortex.

“No.” Optimus could not find any others words.

“What’s he doing?” you asked, struggling to stand. When your guardian did not answer, you changed it to a demand. “Optimus, what is he doing?”

“If the Omega Lock can restore Cybertron, then it will do the same to Earth, right?” Miko asked before Optimus had a chance to speak.

“No. It will cyber-form your planet in favor of its new matrix. And destroy all indigenous life in the process.”

There was no reason to sugar coat it, not after all you children had been through. You deserved the truth.

“Such raw power.” Megatron began to ramble. “What should I call my new domain, New Koan? How about Gilded Earth?”

Optimus knew Megatron was taunting him, and it was working. He’d given up the chance as restoring his planet and you were still in danger. In fact, now you and every human on your planet were at risk.

Optimus looked to you human companions, held by their guardians. They fought against their glass prisons, spewing threats at the warlord, like it would make him change his mind.

Megatron laughed at their attempts, his followers joining his as they watched the scanners display how much of Earth was being lost.

Optimus looked down at you, and found you already looking up at him, fear marring your face.

It was a lot easier to face your own death than to stand by when facing the deaths of all those you love and care for.

Optimus’ processor was bombarded of all the times he’d heard of the humans mention their families in passing, every meadow and lake and mountain he’d stopped to admire for just a moment on his patrols. He saw the hill you and he had spent a late night sitting on, looking up at the clear night sky as he retold stories from Cybertron before the fall.

All of that would be lost. And, once the oxygen ran out, you would die too.

Optimus took a moment to plot his course, and then he charged. Slamming away a Decepticon, he raced towards the Star Saber.

Ripping it from the ground, he arched it through the air to disable two more Cons before racing to meet a roaring Megatron. Their swords collided, bouncing off one another. Megatron had size and strength one his side, but Optimus had something to fight for.

With a clean slice, Optimus literally disarmed Megatron, but he didn’t have a moment to waste. Every second the battle drew on, more of Earth was lost.

Optimus moved faster than he’d done in many cycles, deflecting blaster shots and leaning right so Starscream’s missile sailed past him.

Using the treacherous seeker, Optimus used his body to vault himself into the air, gaining the momentum needed to swing down, embedding the Star Saber deep into the Omega Lock.

He had not the explosion to be so big. It blasted him back, sending out a wave of fire all around. It was as he was airborne that he prayed someone had managed to grab ahold of you before the force sent you flying.

Hitting the ground in a roll, Optimus righted himself instantly and looked around. The rusted structure was now blackened by the flames, small fires dotting the charred circle. He did a quick headcount, finding all his Autobots and humans accounted for.

Ratchet spoke to him over the comm link, sounding desperate. Optimus was just as urgent in his request for a way back to Earth. If Ratchet was still able to contact them, that meant the base was still intact. Who knew how much else of Earth was still organic.

Securing his sword to his back, Optimus followed his team through the Space Bridge. He needed to make sure you received medical attention.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

tom riddle x reader where he is going to need a lot of work

It was a rare night off, the corridors of Hogwarts quiet as students retired to their common rooms, yet you and Tom Riddle found yourselves slipping out to the Astronomy Tower. He’d been in the library since lunch, flipping through ancient volumes, and you figured he could use a break. He begrudgingly agreed after you challenged his sense of adventure, muttering something about foolish whims but unable to turn down the gleam in your eyes.

The two of you stood close on the stone balcony, gazing at the stars scattered like fine dust across the velvet sky. A cool breeze stirred the air, the soft hush of it contrasting with the silence between you.

"When you look at the stars, what do you see?" you asked, watching his face from the corner of your eye. A flicker of something amused softened his expression, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Blazing balls of gas,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Why?”

You rolled your eyes, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Tom, it’s supposed to be romantic. Inspiring. Don’t you see anything else up there?”

He tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “What am I meant to see, then?”

“I don’t know,” you teased. “Maybe… galaxies stretching endlessly, a reminder of how small we are in the grand scheme of things. Or… constellations formed by gods who loved each other, stories woven into the sky.”

He raised an eyebrow, a glint of something unreadable in his dark eyes. “And what does that mean to you?”

“Means there’s something up there bigger than us. A sort of beauty you can’t see just by reading books,” you said softly, looking up again at the sparkling canopy. You wondered if he could see it the same way, or if he was too absorbed in ambition to look beyond what was directly in front of him.

He let out a small, contemplative sigh, and you could almost feel him softening beside you, though he tried to maintain his usual composed demeanor. “That’s a rather poetic view, but hardly practical.”

“Not everything needs to be practical,” you murmured. “Not even for you.”

A brief silence stretched between you, and the only sound was the gentle rustling of the night breeze.

“Look here,” you pointed up, aiming to shift his focus. “That’s Orion, the hunter. And over there, the Pleiades.” You traced the patterns with your finger as he followed with his gaze, his face unusually relaxed as he watched you.

"You know, you’re going to need more work than I thought," you said with a chuckle, leaning closer as if to pass on some secret knowledge.

"Am I?" His eyes flickered to you, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

“Mmhm.” You leaned against the stone railing, facing him now. “You know so much about everything, yet when it comes to seeing things differently…” you trailed off, shaking your head with a playful smile.

"Different isn’t always better," he countered, but the smirk softened, his eyes holding yours with a rare spark of intrigue. “But perhaps… it’s worth entertaining your way of thinking. At least for tonight.”

"Just for tonight, hmm?” you replied, pretending to consider it. “I’ll take it.”

He chuckled—a low, rare sound that surprised you, but you couldn’t help but smile back. “If only to satisfy your foolish whims.”

The two of you returned your gaze to the stars, his shoulder brushing yours. And while Tom Riddle might not yet see beauty in constellations or romance in a night sky, there was something warm and unexpectedly soft in his expression tonight—a glimpse of the boy behind the brilliance.

Perhaps, you thought, looking up at the stars, there was more beauty here than he realized.

[elryuse]

To celebrate the release of part 1 of your Hierarchy series how about a fic about Yoon He-ra in where the readers family decides to help her out when her family was in debt, but the readers family made a condition in where the Reader and He-ra would be in an arranged marriage

A NEW BEGINNING

YOON HERA X MALE READER

The rain lashed against the windowpane, mirroring the storm raging within Yoon He-ra's heart. Her family, once a beacon of hope, was now drowning in a sea of debt. The weight of their financial burden pressed down on her shoulders, a heavy, suffocating force.

A flicker of hope ignited when an unexpected offer arrived. The wealthy Kim family, particularly their son, Y/n, had extended a helping hand. Their generosity was overwhelming, but it came with a steep price.

The Kims' ultimatum was clear: an arranged marriage between He-ra and Y/n. It was a cold, calculated move, a strategic alliance to secure their interests. He-ra, a mere pawn in their grand scheme, was forced to accept her fate.

As the wedding day approached, He-ra found herself increasingly isolated. Her friends, once a source of comfort and support, began to distance themselves. The harsh truth was that they were uncomfortable with her newfound status as a future heiress, a position they couldn't relate to.

In the midst of this social upheaval, only one friend remained steadfast: Jae-i. She had always been different, a true friend who saw beyond the superficial. She understood the weight of He-ra's burden, the sacrifices she was making for her family.

"You don't have to do this, He-ra," Jae-i said, her voice filled with concern. "You deserve better."

He-ra, her heart heavy, shook her head. "I-i have no choice, Jaei-ah" she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

As the wedding day approached, He-ra couldn't help but feel a growing sense of dread. She was marrying a stranger, a man she barely knew. What would their life together be like? Would they be able to connect on a deeper level, or would they remain mere acquaintances bound by a contract?

On the day of the wedding, He-ra finally met Y/n. To her surprise, he was nothing like the cold, calculating figure she had imagined. Instead, he was kind, gentle, and surprisingly understanding. He seemed genuinely concerned about her well-being and made a conscious effort to make her feel comfortable.

As they spent more time together, He-ra began to question her initial assumptions. Perhaps this arranged marriage wasn't as terrible as she had feared. Maybe there was hope for a future filled with love and happiness.

As she prepared to start a new life with Y/n, He-ra couldn't help but wonder how their relationship would evolve. Would they be able to overcome the challenges of an arranged marriage and build a genuine connection? Only time would tell.

The night was still young, the moon casting an ethereal glow over the city. He-ra and Y/n sat on a secluded bench in the park, the soft rustling of leaves providing a gentle backdrop to their conversation.

"So, Y/n," He-ra began, her voice barely a whisper, "what do you expect from this marriage?"

Y/n turned to her, his gaze soft and tender. "I simply want to spend my life with you, He-ra," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. "I want to care for you, to protect you, and to love you unconditionally."

He-ra's heart skipped a beat. His words, simple yet profound, touched her in a way she hadn't expected. She had been so caught up in the complexities of their situation that she had forgotten the most important thing: the human connection.

"But... but what about the family expectations?" she stammered, her voice filled with uncertainty. "The pressure, the obligations..."

Y/n took her hand in his, his touch warm and comforting. "We'll face those challenges together," he assured her. "We'll create our own happiness, regardless of what others expect."

He-ra's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. Yet, there was a strange sense of peace that washed over her. Perhaps this arranged marriage wasn't so bad after all.

As they sat there, lost in each other's gaze, a spark ignited between them. It was a spark of hope, a spark of love, a spark that could ignite a beautiful future.

The limousine glided smoothly through the city streets, the soft hum of the engine providing a soothing backdrop to the intimate moment unfolding within. He-ra and Y/n sat side by side, their fingers intertwined.

As they drew closer to Jooshin High, Y/n's hand, bold and confident, slid across the seat and gently rested on He-ra's thigh. A shiver ran through her, a mix of surprise and anticipation. His touch, soft and tender, sent a wave of warmth through her body. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and excitement.

When they arrived at the school, Y/n leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Have a good day, my love," he whispered, his voice filled with affection.

He-ra, her cheeks flushed, nodded silently. As she watched him walk away, she couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging, a sense of security.

At school, He-ra immediately became the center of attention. Whispers and curious glances followed her every move. It was as if she had become a celebrity overnight. Some students were envious, others were simply amazed.

Jae-i, noticing the unwanted attention, approached He-ra. "Don't mind them," she said, her voice firm. "They're just jealous."

He-ra smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Jae-i. You're a lifesaver."

With Jae-i by her side, He-ra was able to navigate the day with relative ease. Together, they faced the curious stares, the snide remarks, and the hushed conversations. And together, they emerged victorious.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, He-ra gathered her belongings and prepared to leave. Just as she was about to step out of the classroom, she felt a familiar presence behind her.

"He-ra," Y/n's voice, soft and gentle, broke the silence. "Would you like to grab a bite to eat with me?"

He-ra's heart skipped a beat. She glanced at him, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. His warm smile and inviting eyes made it impossible to refuse.

"Sure," she stammered, her voice barely audible.

As they walked together, the other students couldn't help but stare. They were an unexpected pair, a match made in an unlikely heaven. But as they watched the way Y/n looked at He-ra, filled with affection and adoration, they began to understand.

Perhaps love, like fate, could surprise even the most cynical of hearts.

- To Be Continued -

[nohaijiachi]

I've been seeing just about all moments of GO S2 being put under a microscope and absolutely dissected frame by frame

And still I am yet to see anyone mention a moment that might be small in the grand scheme of things, perhaps not as character defining as many other that have been (rightfully) analyzed a thousand times over, but which was *so* important to me, and every single time I watch it I'm just filled with so many feelings and jhaghagha

(putting this under a read more to not spam y'all with a ginormous post clogging your dashes)

The moment in question is this (my apologies for the pics, I currently don't have a proper way to take screenshots of S2 and had to snap photos of my tv screen lol)

It's such a quick moment, a small blip in the entirety of episode 5, but let me tell you why it absolutely destroys my heart every single time.

First of all let's refresh our memory on Aziraphale's relationship with Heaven and Gabriel specifically, shall we?

The very first time we see Gabriel in S1, he surprises Aziraphale at a sushi restaurant. Aziraphale looks to his left, because that's the side where Crowley usually appears when approaching him, but instead of his boyfriend the familiar Demon, he sees the reflection of Gabriel at his other side, and he turns around with what reads to me as very much an "oh shit" expression.

In episode 2 we see Gabriel again, along with Sandalphon; they are flanking Aziraphale and leaving him no way to escape in what to me seems a blatant intimidation tactic, especially with Gabriel being all "hey you remember Sandalphon, right :)" and Aziraphale being like "Oh yeah, likes smiting and turning people into salt, I sure do! *nervous laugh". There's literally no reason for them to be acting like this if not to (un)subtly remind Aziraphale what his place is, and that he is NOT safe, not even in his bookshop.

Whenever we see Aziraphale in Heaven he is constantly standing ramrod straight, hands kept caged behind him, none of his usual mannerism to be seen. He always smiles like a hare being stared at by a hawk and the cinematography very much underlines that tenseness by both showing the impossible, cold and sterile expanse of Heaven in contrast to the camera being shoved right in the characters' face to make the viewer feel just as uncomfortable as Aziraphale is.

When Gabriel and Aziraphale speak in the park there's this moment after it looks like Gabriel is leaving, but he pops right back up in Aziraphale's space in an instant, causing the reaction we see in these screenshots. Aziraphale is clearly taken aback and tense, eyes widening which is like, fair considering Gabriel pretty much jump scared him, but that's rather the point, isn't it? Gabriel pretty much jump scared him. He didn't just turn around and jog back to Aziraphale to ask him about the sword, he purposefully moved himself up to him without any warning. Like sheesh, talk about terrifying bosses.

No Gabriel here, but just another example of how much Aziraphale does NOT like being in Heaven. When he gets discorporated and finally manages to stand up for himself, saying he refuses to fight a war, he still looks like *this*. Like he's one step away from just discorporating a second time and without an actual body out of sheer anxiety.

When all it's said and done at the Tadfield airbase and the four horsemen are gone, Gabriel and Beelzebub decide to go check what the heck is going on, at which point Aziraphale pretty much seems to be bracing himself, straightening his back, adjusting his clothes nervously and then holding his hand in front of him in a show of dignified quietness I definitely read as him doing his best to hide just how anxious he truly is.

Of course we don't see Aziraphale's reaction at being told to shut his stupid mouth and die already by Gabriel due to the body swap, and at this point is pretty safe to say Crowley has never shared with Aziraphale that little tidbit of information, but even not knowing the extent of the cruelty Gabriel showed toward him at the end, he still knows that Gabriel and, by extension, Heaven was more than willing and ready to murder him.

Even at the start of S2, when an amnesiac Gabriel arrives at the bookshop and then hugs him (awkwaaaard), Aziraphale looks like he's entirely frozen and unable to react to the improbability of what is happening, and when Gabriel asks him if he can go inside the bookshop Aziraphale's immediate reaction is to pretty much recoil with an immediate "No!".

Of course he is then forced to let him in because there's a naked man on his steps while the whole neighborhood is watching, and we get some many more little moments of Aziraphale anxiety emerging through his body language: The pacing, the way he sits ramrod straight in front of Gabriel, and him literally backing away multiple steps when Gabriel asks him "You know how it's like, when you don't know anything at all, and yet you're totally certain that everything will be better if you were just near one particular person?"

(Because of course Aziraphale knows how that feels, and that's exactly the same reason why he's been so scared of Heaven for-fucking-ever!) (Also as an aside let me just bless Michael 'Acting Choices' Sheen for that smile that lasts a shard of a second after Gabriel asks that. You can pretty much see the word "CROWLEY" stamped in big bold letters on his forehead in that moment lmao)

(Also as an aside to the aside. Jon Hamm is just fantastic. Gabriel comes across as such an asshole in S1, but Amnesiac!Gabriel is a fucking cinnamon roll and he pulls it off so well ajahjahja)

Then of course we get the whole exchange about the 'something terrible' that sends Aziraphale into more anxious frenzy until another tiny, kinda overlooked moment hits us in the shins, in which Gabriel says "You're funny. I love you." And like, can't blame anybody for not looking at that moment without much thought, I know that that sentence had me crying laughing multiple times on multiple rewatches, but also... God, you can see the way some of that fear instantly leaves Aziraphale, the way he relaxes ever so slightly and ??? Aziraphale??? Is that all you need to instantly start trusting someone who wanted you dead? Who treated you like shit for who knows how long? (Why am I even asking this, of course that'd be enough, it's Aziraphale we're talking about, here.) Then of course the rest of season 2, he and Crowley having a row about what to do with Gabriel with Aziraphale insisting that he needs them, as his friends, yada yada, we get back to the initial moment that sparked this post.

We get there, Aziraphale's (eldritch) Ball and the romantic moment he's been working himself up for ruined, murderous Demons at his steps putting both he and all the humans inside in peril, and all he would need to do to avoid any harm coming to them is to give Gabriel up, and... "You came to me. I said I would protect you. And I will." Not just the words, but the way Aziraphale says them; voice lowered and serious, that hint of hesitation and fear at the start that melts away into full blown confidence at the 'And I will'.

It isn't just Aziraphale being scared by Gabriel mentioning the 'something terrible' at the beginning, nor the brief moments of cryptic recollection that he witnesses Gabriel going through-- It's that Aziraphale sincerely accepted to protect him, and he wasn't going to give that up. He is a Guardian and a Principality, after all.

And like, I see this and how am I supposed not to get my heart utterly shattered by it? If Aziraphale had rejected Gabriel, or treated him unkindly in any way, I hardly doubt anybody would be hard pressed to say Aziraphale did not have the right to do so, not after the way he's been treated by Gabriel and Heaven his whole life. But he doesn't. He is kind to him, if a tad long-suffering at times. The protection he extended over Gabriel is utterly sincere and unwavering.

And ngggggggh I don't even know where I'm going with this. I just. Love Aziraphale so much. Stupid, clever, anxious, brave man-shaped thing that he is, recklessly throwing himself into the line of fire for somebody that, by any means, did not have any right to ask something of that magnitude from him. He is my scrungly, and by God am I ever so excited to see how everything will play out in season 3. I want him to fully grasp that bravery and raise absolute -metaphorical- hell with it. Shine bright, you crazy bastard.

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME BALDUR'S GATE 3 / PART SIX

leave us in peace and we shall leave you in kind.

cut the crap.

we just want to go home.

enough of this charade.

i'll not play pretend anymore.

you'll soon learn what it means to ally yourself with the likes of this garbage.

i'm free now, and i'm never going back.

fuck them.

felt good letting off a little steam.

if i burn any hotter, i might explode.

don't get too close until i've found a way to calm down.

it's a bit early to be getting into tragic backstories.

let's save the scar-show for later after we've worked up an appetite for tragedy.

in the grand scheme of things, i'm inconsequential [to her].

she favored me like a child favors a captive pet.

it had the makings of a good stage show, but i did not want to be one of the players.

torture, bloodsport? or perhaps just a good old-fashioned walloping?

you owe me nothing.

i could extort you, if that's what you want.

you're teasing me now.

ignorance is alive and well it seems.

don't make me get the wooden spoon.

you'd best have one hells of an apology for me.

if you think your precious little god holds any power here, you're in for a surprise.

do you treat all your guests so poorly?

i don't like busybodies.

you are as thick as they come.

are you telling me you made love to a goddess?

i shared a bed with a goddess and yet i wasn't satisfied.

shall i share the story behind it or would you rather head straight to its sordid finale?

how are you still alive?

we've come this far together and we'll continue on together.

even i am tired of the sound of my own voice.

i'll rip your spine out of your asshole.

i'll use your blood to spice my stew.

i'll keep you alive until i've sucked the marrow from your bones.

killing me is a waste of time.

you bastard, you ruined everything.

this is an interesting way of thanking me.

a slap is all you deserve.

a hag was never going to help you.

they don't help anyone but themselves.

that double-crossing, filthy, lying hag.

focus on the positive.

forgive the aroma.

perhaps that is why i have survived so long where more fearsome peers have not.

your loyalty is admirable but misplaced.

his kind have charm beyond our mortal means to resist.

who'd keep a secret like that from his friends?

you can't trust anyone these days.

even in the middle of nowhere, he can reach me.

why do you insist on exhuming the past?

people think the biggest threat to a vampire is a cleric with a stake.

they're scheming, paranoid, power-hungry beasts.

i am what i must be, says what i must be.

how does it feel to be a devil?

i can't tell if you're being silly or serious.

you have to admire the man's ambition.

i promise i will not betray your trust.

you kept me by your side despite the menace i am.

i learned quick how to stay alive.

to feel invincible again.

this isn't where i thought i'd end up.

maybe when this is all done, you can show me where you came from.

i'm not normally one to begrudge someone their secrets, but..

i'm already blessed to have you at my side.

don't you cut a fine figure.

i am not some lower city coinlad offering you a tumble.

there is nothing so depressing as learning one's true value.

i could use someone with your skills.

they're ravenous predators with fangs like daggers.

it's hardly an irrational fear to harbor.

you've been decent to me, so far.

everyone's got their own fears.

maybe that's what i like about you.

all of this was for nothing.

if you're here to help, get to the fight quickly.

gods, i thought you were one of those beasts.

i'm not chasing after it, if that's what you're thinking.

the little beast's charming once you get accustomed to the smell of rotting flesh.

[nqueso-emergency]

short time jump, bucktommy dating for a short time: obviously the relationship isn’t important !!!! bucktommy bones !!!!

not super long time jump (in comparison to season 3-4, or perhaps 6-7, the time jump there is confusing), but still some good 3 months that put BuckTommy to have been dating for 5-6 months at least (max you can push is 4, but i think it’s 5-6): oliver and tim said the relationship is still new !!!! they are still getting to know each other !!!! bucktommy bones !!!!

you cannot win with them fr. everything they’ll twist to fit their narrative. breaking news, after six months with busy jobs and stressful personal situations, it’s not surprising to being in the phase of getting to know each other. hell, six normal months is also a good time to still get to know each other. to truly know each other AND how you are as a couple you need time.

i truly don’t care if someone met and knew everything about their partner in a span of 2 months, simply because i don’t believe it. because it’s impossible. but perhaps it’s better if we clarify:

getting to know each other ≠ knowing each other’s favorite film, or color, or what they want to do to chill. that’s ’superficial’

getting to know each other on a deeper level, and as a partnership, involves more than that. it involves how your partner deals with tough situations, it involves understand the relationship they might have with their family, it involves their little habits that not even they realize they have. it involves learning their routine and blending it with your own.

and none of that you do in two, four, or six months.

also small note: buck and tommy became a couple almost immediately after meeting each other. between the rescue, the tour, and buck starting to feel jealous, only 2 weeks passed. he only saw tommy once between the tour and kissing, and it’s not like they were having a chat during the basketball game. hell, they SAY during 705 they don’t know much about each other.

that’s their whole thing!! what made that scene incredibly cute!! they want to get to know each other better - but they’re doing so as a couple already. they weren’t friends/friendly before like madney or bathena were. hence their dynamic obviously won’t be the same.

idk. i think people tend to exaggerate how long six months are. in the grand scheme of things, six months is barely anything.

Marry me, anon. Your logic will see us through anything

[vigilskeep]

sorry for rambling in your inbox but having recently finished a cassandra romance, your post abt people not, like, analyzing her got to me. i know you have arthur who romances(divorces) her and makes her divine but i don't know if you've fully played that out, actually seeing it in-game made me feel rabid. it's kind of an insane thing to do to her... cassandra is the divine candidate who /wants/ the position the least. leliana actively puts herself forward as a candidate, vivienne would never be so gauche as to be direct but she clearly is interested in the position. for cassandra it is a duty she must accept, bordering on a burden (particularly if she can never marry an inquisitor she loves as a result). she became the right hand of the divine as a teenager!!! she loathes the trappings of her name and nobility but she's been trapped by duty instead her whole life. free my girl she did all that but i understand her

it makes me feel insane.

i haven’t played it through no. and i don’t even consider myself to know cassandra particularly well (this is true of a lot of inquisition companions, having never finished the game fully with dlcs and thus never felt completely comfortable watching through banter compilations and alternate endings and low approval scenes and so on.) but from everything i do know about cassandra, the very fundamentals, making her divine feels so... cruel? it’s terrible for literally everybody involved except possibly the snakes in the grand cathedral who are going to eat her alive.

cassandra is a woman of action and passion, brash and violent, a blunt weapon, forthright in both her accusations and her affection. the life of a divine is everything she hates; she might as well be the noblewoman in a gilded cage she was raised to be (in a childhood that poisoned her entire extended family and nation for her), or perhaps an honoured corpse preserved lifeless and useless in the grand necropolis (the ones a young cassandra thought looked so “very sad” in the midst of all their buried, wasted finery.)

i was struck during dawn of the seeker by what an obvious publicity stunt it was to make her the divine’s right hand after her success against the conspiracy. a duty she had to accept, was even publicly surprised into accepting. at her age, would she ever have been put so forward in the seekers to be engaged in fighting such a conspiracy, if not for her name? she would not even have been allowed to join the seekers when she did if not for that. she has no skills of good judgement or leadership and it’s only due to the accident of her birth that these pressures she isn’t equipped to match are constantly placed on her shoulders.

she already wanted to leave after beatrix died, but justinia convinced her otherwise, for a failed vision that ended in death cassandra blames herself for. i find it harder and harder to blame her for dodging the inquisitor’s position, considering all that. and to make her divine... she won’t be good at it, she’ll fall into every politician’s scheme and old orthodox pattern even as she tries for ‘reform’ that she has no clarity of purpose for, she’ll be trapped there for the rest of a long grey life with none of the passion she longs for. she won’t be good at it!!! nobody in thedas benefits either! it’s worse! what the hell

(it’s kind of why i love my arthur and this ending the way i do, because of the equivalency. she does terrible things to him, reinstating the circles while he stands alone as her archmage. but he also did a terrible thing to her, by putting her in this position! by ruining her life and also lying all this time to someone he supposedly loves! neither justifiable or comparable, love loses, nobody wins, they are drowning there is no sign of land etc etc)

[sky-kiss]

Can't Have Mornings without a Sun

A/n: @molinaesque asked for some soft!Raph/Tav, and I'm cold so like. I dunno. Here's whatever this is.

R/T: This is fine in the winter. It won't fly in the summer, devil boy.

Did a devil dream?

Tav thinks she read something about it once, years prior. A lifetime ago. The words are lost, but the sentiment remains. They didn't. Devils didn't dream, sleep, or eat; they were beyond or divorced from humanity. 

Raphael dreams. 

She frowns, pushing up on her elbow to observe him. His nudity is somehow the most negligible intimate factor in the equation; it's his wild hair, the little huffs of breath bordering on a snore, and the way his mouth falls open ever so slightly in sleep. It's humanizing in a way Tav knows he'd despise. She reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. The cambion grumbles, turning his face into her pillow. He doesn't stir. 

That surprised her; Tav had expected him to sleep lightly. 

She's afforded some time to think here in the early morning hours. The sunlight cuts through the bedroom window in jagged diagonals, only just falling over the bed. It'll be a half hour at least before it reaches her, and the light seems content to linger across her lover's nude form, bisecting his thighs and abdomen. She drags her nails across this dividing line, chuckling when Rapahel shifts. He grumbles something, shuffling nearer. It's a difficult task. In sleep, he's tactile. Her head remains pillowed on his arm (it must be numb by now), one of his legs hooked over her hip. In the grand scheme of things, she supposes it's possessive or instinctual. Technicalities that she'll argue at a later date. For now, all that matters is she's warm; he's here. 

And that's odd, too. In all Tav's imaginings, Raphael took his leave immediately after their first coupling. He would kiss her hand, thank her for her service (perhaps with a wink), and leave her cold. And yet.

She frowns, stroking his cheek. And yet, there's a dreaming devil in her bed. He's more mortal than he'd like to admit. Ageless, and yet there are crows feet near the corners of his eyes and laugh lines around his mouth. There's gray in his hair and dark bags from one too many sleepless nights. There are scars on his chest and ribs, and she wonders, not for the first time, what his life was like before they met. He's lived so long…thirty of her lives? Fifty? It's so much space to cover, so much weight. 

He is an odd thing. Tav struggles to quantify him, let alone understand. Her fingers tease back into his hair, nails scraping across his scalp. Touching him helps; it makes him feel…real. She's not deluded enough to call him soft, only handsome. So achingly handsome. 

"You're thinking," Raphael grumbles. He opens his eyes just long enough to glare, though the haziness robs the expression of its strength. "Loudly. A dangerous occurrence in your best moment, let alone before sunrise." 

Tav snickers. "Funny, I'd have expected you to be more of a morning person." 

"There are no mornings in Hell, pet." 

His tone remains petulant. Raphael reaches out for her shoulder. He shoves. It's enough to set her off balance; years of experience tell her to throw her weight into the motion instead of fighting it. Either way, she finds herself on her back, staring up at the ceiling first and Raphael shorting after. He presses up on his arms, settling himself between her legs before letting himself drop. Tav grunts as his weight drives the air from her lungs. 

"You deserved that," he says by way of apology, nosing into her throat. 

"Raphael?" 

"Sleep, little mouse. Or I will find a more suitable pillow." 

Tav rolls her eyes, ducking her head to kiss the crown of his skull. 

[vinyls-and-valentines]

The most noticeable thing that changes about the Fabulous Killjoys is the way they fight.

Fun Ghoul, although blessed with a knack for chemistry and mechanics, has unsteady hands. While this does not impede his work with electronics and explosives, it makes him a slower shot than most due to a shaky aim worsened by recoil. Because of this, in his early days in the Zones, Fun Ghoul relied primarily on incendiary devices and his own physical abilities to dispose of opponents in an area all at once. The downside of having a combat style based around such tactics however, is that it meshes poorly with the mid-to-close-range the Fabulous Killjoys have developed over the years (in no small part due to Kobra Kid), and thus led Fun Ghoul towards a style focused more on dodging hits and making decisive point blank shots or further sacrificing accuracy for the sake covering a wider area.

Jet Star, is the opposite of Fun Ghoul, in the sense that he has exceedingly steady aim born out of years of practice and a greater-than-life sense of competition, but can struggle to move effectively due to his size. As such, it perhaps comes to no surprise that Jet Star used to prefer long-range fighting, neglecting close-range in favour of playing up the fear factor of both his skill and affiliation with some of the Zones' most infamous snipers and gunslingers. That doesn't mean that he was useless in a close-range fight, of course, however his movements were simple, predictable, and incredibly limited, which put him at a disadvantage against anyone with more experience or endurance than him. Jet Star's current style hasn't as much shifted in order to accommodate the others' as it evolved alongside Jet Star as he learnt to direct his body as deliberately as his shots even when it comes to close quarters.

Party Poison has always been a flexible fighter, and it is this very adaptability which highlights just how purposeful their attacks truly are. In the grand scheme of things, nothing fundamentally changes about Party Poison's fighting style outside some improvements in their aim and the variety of their movement as they learn to fight alongside other people, however, the intent with which they fight does. As a young killjoy, whether consciously or not, Party Poison's intent in a fight was to always harm the oponent, prioritizing ways in which they could incapacitate them without having them lose consciousness or simply inflicting as painful an injury as possible to attain their goal. This intent then gradually shifts towards a desire to protect others from the cruelty Poison's own fighting style reflected back at the world because despite the cruelty of their actions they had never done it because they enjoyed it.

As candidate to become an exterminator, Kobra Kid's fighting style used to something akin a swiss knife, however much more calculated and deliberate. While trying to figure out its way through the Zones, Kobra Kid relied on any weapon available to it, going through a wide variety of combat and more often than not pushing aside his distaste for blasters in favour of having a weapon which was effective and easy to replace. Having Jet Star, Fun Ghoul, and even its sibling by its side, allowed Kobra Kid to focus on its unarmed combat and blade-wielding, casting long-range combat aside in favour of a style which gave it better control over the situation, enabling it not only to easily dispose of opposing combatants due to its athleticism, but to also support its crewmates in situations where long-range combat is the favourable approach

[chadfallout76podcast]

what made you put nora x danse together in death shroud? i was surprised considering nora x hancock shippers seem to be the loudest/most popular ship in the fandom!

That's a great question with a complex answer. Sometimes writers write from instinct without a lot of thought in the moment. At least for me anyway, it's very stream of consciousness and I let the great whatever kind of guide me, in the moment not really thinking too much...just mentally playing out scenes in my head, letting the characters interact and then I transcribe what's in my head to the page. I had to think about your answer and why I put them together.

I know people LOVE a Nora/Hancock ship, but I looked at it through the lens of grief and loss. When you lose the love of your life, a part of you dies with them. Imagine a perfect morning, your husband, your child shattered in just minutes. MINUTES. In minutes everything you've ever known is gone. Then seemingly minutes later you watch them killed. An empty death. A pointless death, seemingly without reason or justification. And then, boom...you are thrust out into a harsh, unforgiving, broken world mirroring the shattered part of your soul. People bend, but they rarely break and even when they do, the road you take may grow dark, but at the end of it even in the deepest part of you, the heart YEARNS for what it lost. Nate went to war because he felt a deep sense of duty to his country and to his family, however misplaced this may be in the grand schemes of suits, politicians and madmen. Soldiers always pay the price for their kindness, willing to make the ultimate sacrifice and represent the last true measure of devotion and faith in an idea. I think Nora would've loved that about him.

Danse, while completely different, is a blurry shadow of Nate. The dedicated soldier, whose ideals and life were built around the idea of what the Brotherhood should be (perhaps not what it was under Maxson). I would argue that many of Danse's actions fly in the face of how Maxson would do things, and yet he clearly skated reprimand as the ends always were satisfactory. There is a nobility in that fact, as Danse isn't motivated by power, making many of his decision altruistic to a degree. His arc however SIMILARLY to Nora leads to a cataclysmic loss of everything he's ever known. His entire identity, his "family", his entire life shattered in minutes. Danse is a widower to the person he was, Paladin Danse DIED that day. Danse is who survived.

Sometimes soulful love is born from a shared journey in healing. For Nora, Danse is a reminder of the man she lost...never, ever to be replaced or forgotten but honored. There is so, so much of who Danse is that is a shadowed remind of what she fell in love with in Nate, enough to be comfortably familiar while also different. For Danse, Nora is the suture of a wound as deep as the soul, not born into, but made...not created by Man with 1's and 0's, but through choices and actions that represent the truth of sentience. They very much needed each other. Healing journeys can create friction. People are complex. Guilt, doubt, regret, fear of being wounded again all can push people away from each other. And yet, in due course, the heart wants what the heart wants. Nora and Danse found their way back to each other, and for me, would've remained following the events of Death Shroud.

Although for more on what happens next...you'll need to wait a little bit. ;)

[plush-rabbit]

The Dateables and Things

A/N: I needed to write something and like it was supposed to be about them and how they show affection towards you, but it did not come out like that so here it is!!

-

Barbatos: 

He was only ever meant to serve- devoted and loyal to a fault where he’d die for his master if it was asked for. Barbatos was never meant to interact with you more than necessary; you were only an exchange student after all, a means to an end for the young master’s grand scheme. And yet, here you stand before him, invading his mind and body, acting as a poison that will wear him away and leave nothing but dust. You’re nothing more than a human, and all the same, you are a human, all of that and just that. He isn’t sure what it was that attracted him to you, perhaps it was how every other demon and angel and sorcerer had taken a fancy to you, or maybe how you always tried to include him when he was content just staying by the sidelines. Whatever the reason was, he was attracted to you, like a moth to a flame, his heart fluttering and beating against his ribs. 

It’s no surprise how affectionate you are with him. You cling to him, hands hooked onto the crook of his elbow, or hands bunching up his blazer so as to not get lost. When you part ways, your lips press against his cheek, fingertips oppressed over his jaw to turn him towards you and to keep him from running away. It wasn’t something that he was proud to admit, but he wanted your touch. He craved it more than he could ever understand, and more than he was ever willing to admit. He wanted to keep you close to him and he wanted to kiss you and never part for breath. The attachment and desire terrified him. It wasn’t like him to want to give in to such temptations, to want someone and want to give up so much of himself to someone other than his king. 

The attention that you gave to him was something that he craved, and wanted once he got a taste for it. He truly believed that if he just sat back and spoke to you in short conversations, that you would find someone else- find someone who could love you as selfishly as possible. But you never left him alone and he didn’t push you away. He wanted the attention that you gave him, he savored it each and every time that it was given to him. You had wanted his attention and when some spell had made him want your attention, he couldn't lie to himself that stealing and harboring all of your love was intoxicating.  The spell made him obsessed, and now beside you, he wishes he could blame a spell that would warrant such a lack of manners and selfishness. 

Porcelain clicks against each other in a sweet melody, and he feels your eyes on him. You sit on a stool, watching and talking, and he is paying close attention. He serves you the first slice, humming and nodding along. He pours you the first cup and places the sugar and creamer in for you even though the tea that he has made needs nothing of the sort, but it’s something that you prefer. The honey is stirred in thick and sweet now mixed into the drink, and he passes you the fruit that has sat above his slice of dessert. 

Barbatos says your name so sweetly, your name held in a whisper as he draws your attention. “My dear, would you like another slice?” Such a simple question has you beaming, your smile bright like the human sun, and it’s all for him, the warmth, the love, the want for him. It's for him and no one else. He’s glad that this is the timeline for him, that you chose to want him. You shake your head, and politely tell him no. Your hand reaches for his that are bare from the usual gloves that rest beside his own empty plate. Your wraps around his, your thumb arching over his knuckles. He pulls out of your reach and he smiles as your fingers reach out to continue to touch him. He curves over your hands, thumb and index finger pinching over each of your fingers and tracing upwards. “I wish I never had to part from you,” he whispers to you. “I think I could trace your body for eternity and never grow bored.” When he kisses you, he can taste the honey stuck on your lips. You’ll always get the sweetest honey, always be poured first when it’s the two of you, you'll have the sweetest piece and the finest china.

Diavolo: 

There’s an expectation for him, from him. He is a prince. A future king of his people. He has done so much, has sacrificed having any sense of normalcy in his relationships, and he will always be expected to sacrifice and to make the right choices. He suggested the exchange program to open communication, and it brought you to him. It was meeting you that he realized just how lonely he really was. Or perhaps he had always known that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how desperate he was, there was always going to be a power imbalance with every relationship that he would have had. He was never going to be an equal in a relationship. But then you come along, and he isn’t a king to you. He isn’t a “Lord” or a “Prince”, he is simply just Diavolo.

You’re human and it has to be a cruel joke on him made by the universe to have you live a short life and have him live to a time that you could never comprehend. A part of him restrained himself from trying to get to know you, but that was all that he wanted to do; he wanted to get to know you. He wanted to be close to you and to hold your hand and when you would lean against or laugh at one of his jokes, he would swell with pride, beam with a smile and be covetous with your attention. You were sweet with him and it was intoxicating. He needed more of you, needed more of the casual banter and the eagerness that many were hesitant to give him. Not many were like that to him. Not many wanted to be around him in fear of saying something that would offend. 

It’s so rare for him to wish for anything different about his life. He’s fine with his status despite how lonely it could be. But when he’s around you, when he’s reminded of how human you are when you grow weary after using magic, he wishes that things were different.That maybe as human, he would have met you all the same and would have fallen for you just as hard. You make it difficult to stay away from you. He tries not to grow so attached, but he can’t help but seek you out as you do with him. It is wicked of him to steal so much time away from you, but having you close to him brings him comfort that he has not had in a long time. 

When he’s around you, he gives you his all; his entire being is placed in your hands. He’s allowed to be himself, to stay soft without the fear of being torn apart and having to harden up. Around you, he’s allowed to want and to give into his wants as small as they seem. He can trace the lines on your palms, have you brush his hair and hold his hand. Around you, he does not have to be a prince, he can simply be himself. As much as he loves being someone that you can rely on, he cannot deny that he also loves just being spoiled by you. He gets to let his guard down and to have you pet him and coo such soft things that if it were any other, he would have ordered an execution. He gets drunk off your comfort, how you baby him and how you let him be a puddle of ooze when around you. He wants nothing more than to spend his days with you, to nuzzle into your chest and let the world be locked away and blocked by wood. 

Your legs are thrown over the cushions of the seat, your phone held in your hand as you mindlessly scroll through whatever it is that you’re watching. He could only guess short videos with the brief seconds that are given to him. Your back is turned to him, and he stares at the nape of your neck and the outline of the shirt that is draped over your back, the muscles and fat shaping the fabric over your body and he is entranced by it. You’re in a vulnerable spot, and you give your back to him, and he gets to stare, gets to let the tip of the pen blot on the document, and let the stack of paperwork remain the same height. In the next breath, you tell him that you can feel his eyes on your back and the corners of his lips twitch. He makes no noise as he walks over to you, crouching down to be at eye level with you. “I think I would like for you to hold me,” he says in a delicate voice, fearing the possible rejection even if it were impossible. Your smile grows and you open your arms, letting him lay upon you. Diavolo gets to be held by you; he is allowed to feel soft and have you wrap your arms in a comforting hug and play with the hair that trails along the back of his neck.

Simeon:

You’ll always catch his haze on you no matter where either of you are. He’s been alive for so long, and lived in a way that a proper angel should. Simeon is an angel, devoted and loyal to one and no other. He is supposed to be an angel first, and a being second. His entire existence, his reason for being alive is to be devoted to Father. In the entire time that he’s been alive, he can count on one hand all the times his own loyalty has wavered, and even then, it was a passing thought, and ones that he has punished himself for. Never has he strayed from the teachings that have been engraved upon him, words etched into his very soul and being, words that glisten along his skin in gold and blood. He is an angel, through and through. 

A plan was set out for him, there was to be no shortcuts, no distractions or any of the sort. And yet, he meets you. Defying death and making relationships with a kind that eats your very soul, and protecting the young angel from such a proud demon. Meeting you set him off of his trajectory. Meeting you had only made him fall, slowly and surely. He chases after you, lays his head on your lap, and watches you sleep, traces the shape of your face and dips his index on your cupid’s bow. When he sees you laugh alongside Luke, and wave to gesture him over, he believes that he could have had a good life with you had he been born mortal. He’d stake his life on it, rip his own wings out if he was wrong. He would have been happy with you, he would have lived a good, long, loving life with you. He’d grow gray and rest beside you, count every new wrinkle that appeared on your skin. In a different life, he would have loved to wash dishes with you and live ordinary. 

Whatever he has going on with you, the relationship is a sin. It’s a mockery of what happened long ago, but in Devildom, where the moons’ light and the stars and night sky obstruct Father’s view, he can lie beside you. He’s rotten, worms and parasites filling his insides, but when you kiss him and hold him in your arms, he’s pure and holy once more. He wants you, craves you, desires you more than he has ever needed something in his life. He describes you in such a way that anyone would have believed you to be a saint, to some angelic figure higher than him, someone coated in gold and sweet like perfume. Yet, you aren’t that. You’re human. Sinful and pure, an enigma that holds onto him in the middle of the night with your ear pressed against his chest. He’s noticed the way that Raphael looks between the two of you, and he’s aware of what the angel would say, but it’s you, and it’s no question that the former angel would trade everything just to sit beside you for a moment. 

He’s answered for his treachery, held his tongue and stole from the Celestial Realm all for you. He was stripped of his status and made human. It’s blasphemy to think, but it’s you that he’s placed above all else. He’d never place the blame on you, he would rather have his mouth fill and drip of blood before he would ever make you feel guilty. There are many things that he would do rather than ever have you feel like you have to hold the blame for his blessing being removed. Even with his blessing removed, even with his status as a human, it doesn’t stop him from blessing you, from hoping and pleading that his words would keep you safe from the dangers around, from something that he can’t protect you from. 

“I don't think I’ll ever understand how you type so fast,” he says, watching in amazement as you send out a message. You stick your tongue out to him in response and he smiles. “You think that being a writer and living with Luke and Solomon, that I would have it down by now, but-” he cuts himself off with a sigh, turning his body over, the comforter pulled slightly away from you. The phone is placed on the nightstand where it buzzes with a notification, and your hands pull on the stolen piece of blanket back towards you. You open your mouth in a retort, and he watches as you furrow your brows and swiftly turn your head to sneeze into the crook of your elbow. “Bless you,” Simeon whispers as you sniffle out your thanks. The moonlight peeking through the window does nothing to warm the room like a sun would have, but it’s enough to see you in a pearl glow with fuzz dancing in the air. There was a time where he would bless you before you woke, desperate to keep you safe, and now he continues that, hoping that you would stay alive because he needs you more than he would like to admit. 

Solomon: 

The sorcerer has never been one to form bonds- after a few hundred years of immortality, one learns that all good things do come to an end, and the pain never fades. However, you seem to be different. He’s spent a long time alone, and he’s had his fun and spent time mourning for those whose voices he no longer remembers- he’s told himself not to get attached, played coy with you, teased and flirted, and he thought that whatever the two of you shared, would stay as a fling. He was fine with it- he was fine with the flings and the small moments, and he was fine remembering the things that his past lovers used to love. Solomon was supposed to be fine, not caring, not wanting to get close because getting close meant love and love meant mourning and it meant grief, and as powerful as he is, grief wears away the soul. He’s sure that he could handle another heartache, but he’d rather not.

A part of him is sure that he had some way that he showed his love to someone, that he could be vulnerable to someone when he was younger, when the weight of immortality wasn’t so heavy. He tries to remember it for you, tries to even copy your own, but it never fits right. Every action that he mirrors is false, it isn’t him. All of it is you, and he doesn’t want to be a copy of you- much less he doesn’t want to stain the memories he has of you with copies of himself crudely pasted over your silhouette. You show love so eagerly, so readily, and without saying any words, you’ve already made it clear what you think of him, and what you want from him.

It’s a slow build of wanting to be with you and allowing himself to be close to you. The flirting is fine- that’s the easy part, sharing sharp grins and letting his hand linger onto you for a bit longer than necessary- it’s all fun and games. He never thought he would ever want you so hopelessly, as if he were young and in love all over again. You were supposed to be fun, and then all of a sudden you weren’t. It was by chance- maybe, or maybe not- that you had been chosen for the exchange program, and it was only by chance that he had wanted to stick close to you out of some sort of comfort to provide to you when you looked so helpless and lost. And by a cruel joke from fate, he had gotten attached. The brothers had taken away all of your attention and it had left him feeling empty. He wanted to reach out to you; he needed to touch you, to be near you and to occupy every inch and ounce of your mind just as you had to his. 

Citrus coats his fingers, it’s sticky and wet, and he pulls at the white string that dangles from the orange slice, tossing it onto the bowl of peeled skin and white thread. A television show plays in front of you, one that you’ve been eager to watch and enthralled ever since. Two empty bags of popcorn have fallen to the floor, and you sit with your leg underneath you and body pushed to the corner of the couch. It’s so simple, so human, that it makes him smile and wince when orange squirts on his wrist. The slice of citrus is cleaned, peeled and made to look delectable for you. You turn your head towards him, mouth parted open and he places the slice on your tongue. With a hum, you knock your head gently onto his shoulder as a thank you, and he continues to peel the citrus. 

He stares at you, with your finger pinched softly over the peeled slice of citrus, and you trace his lips with it, and he can’t help but smile, and open his mouth to have the orange placed flat on his tongue. “Thank you,” he says, with bursts of juice filling his mouth and sliding down the back of his throat. He can't help but stare at you, to have the bowl of skin and seeds in front of him. The show has been paused and it lights up the room, and he’s looking at you. His thumb brushes over your lips, and when he kisses you, you taste like citrus, and summer. You lean into the kiss, lips stretching into a smile and thinning the touch between the two of you. Solomon’s hands are sticky and sweet, and when he looks at you, you’ve returned to watching the series as you lean against him. If you were to ask him for anything, he’d do it in a heartbeat, no matter how big or how small the request is. And in this moment, you ask for another slice of citrus, and he hopes that you would always ask him for this, that you would never peel your own fruit again just for the chance to be beside you, for the chance for you to need him.

[lemedstudent2021]

4 years ago when the dumbfuck (biden) won, i was a first year university student, nodding along solemnly when my family briefly discussed foreign and internal politics over our tea, pleased to be finally old enough to somewhat contribute to adult conversations.

i still clearly remember my aunt saying "well, he isnt any better [than his predecessor] but at least he cant be worse". the conversation moved on from there, but my thoughts lingered. i didnt know if i wanted to be a cynic or an optimist, so i drank my tea in silence.

--

this past year has been one of the darkest in our human history, the scale of death and destruction and pure unadulterated depravity is unmatched. it will truly be long before the world can hope to recover from the atrocious damage that has been dealt, if it ever does.

i wont go into details mainly because i havent the time nor interest in doing so, but the world to no ones surprise is changing, fast and taking a turn for the worse. it has been for years perhaps even decades now. in the grand scheme of things i mean.

for many of us this is nothing new per se, merely a tangible extension of our worst nightmares and fears, but for many others its a reign of terror of the most potent kind. one that will herald further losses, but this time around very few will be spared.

--

despite myself i did think that common sense would prevail and wed see the the fucker (trump) behind bars and hopefully dead and not- as of writing- about to win another 4 wretched years in office.

theres a sort of grim satisfaction seeing the bitch (harris) getting a big fuck you to the face, but its devastating to think that she is losing has already lost? to the biggest fuck you to the planet. i truly dont want to imagine what the world is going to look like 4 years from now. if there is anything left of the world to look at.

--

there isnt much to say or add i think. nothing i can contribute at least for the time being. i would however like to point to what jon stewart bless his soul has to say about the matter

esp at 02:15

sounds hypocritical to say after having said nothing but the worst, but i mean it when i believe that this isnt the end. to give up now is to doom ourselves and the rest of the world (and perhaps the trajectory of humanity itself, whos to say) into eternal darkness.

ive said it many a time on this blog before and ill continue to say it for as long as there is life in me; power will always be with the people. weve seen it time and time again throught history and before our eyes. we are a force to be reckoned with.

we do hold the power to change the tides, look how many countries fought with everything they had for their freedom, how many times we arose from the ruins and started building anew and with just as much fervour, how much damage we can do to the institutions that dare to transgress.

war brings out the worst in some but the best in others. this is a war, one the corrupt wage on the sanctity of our lives and human rights, one were all on the front lines of, for ourselves and those around us.

--

as cliche as it is, and i admit to it being so, our chances honestly are better when we move and act as one. dont be fooled into thinking our differences will seperate us; those in power follow the age old rule of divide and conquer & thrive when we are scattered and lost.

show them that our spirit is one and whole, prove to them that we wont give into their unjust demands. look out for one another and dont hesitate to come to each others aid. be kind to yourselves.

humanity as a whole literally and metaphorically depends on it.

Godbless & Godspeed

[quiet-nocturne]

I am so intrigued by your fic, bring me that pining 👀

Ask game:

Can you share some dialogue in this time? Crunchy perhaps? However you interpret that?

*nods* royai pining is *chefs kiss*

and ooof this was a struggle to choose! *cue me, furiously scrolling through my google docs*

so I'd maybe interpret some of my crunchiest dialogue as this, from chapter eight, in a scene where roy trims riza's hair and there's a lot of pining and ust going on:

She realized he had stilled behind her. "Sir?" She felt his finger tracing along the scar on her neck, so light she could barely feel it. "I haven't seen this in a while." He said; she couldn't see his face, but his voice was oddly rough, and almost trance-like.  She wasn't surprised he hadn't seen it; before, her military uniform had covered it, and in Ishval she mostly wore collared shirts that happened to cover the scar. Today, she'd worn a crew neck t-shirt that was high enough at the base of her neck to cover her tattoo, but not quite high enough for the scar on the left side. She wasn't hiding it, but she just wasn't highlighting it, either. In the grand scheme of her life, she felt that there were other things on her body that represented things far worse than this scar - namely her tattoo. He cleared his throat. "How’s it feeling?" "Good. I don't feel it at all anymore. It healed well."  Well, at least some part of her had. He hummed behind her. His fingers brushed gently down the back of her neck, likely moving the freshly clipped, loose hairs away. His skin was hot against hers, his fingers soft against the sensitive skin of her neck, nearly ticklish. This time she did shiver. Riza couldn't stop herself from tensing at his light touch, heart frantically thumping like a trapped bird against her ribcage. She wanted him to be fifteen feet from her - no, that was a lie, she actually wanted him to be so much closer. She didn't want him to ever stop touching her like that. She wanted him to grab her and not let go. She wanted him to bend her over his bed. She wanted - "Are you cold?" He murmured behind her. "You've got goosebumps." He'd finally noticed. Thankfully, he thought she was cold - not aroused. She certainly wasn't going to correct him. "Yes." Hawkeye lied, despite the heat of the day already pressing in, mixing with the heat flaring on her cheeks. Good thing he wasn't looking at her face. 

[miranyx1337]

Alastor x angel reader

FEATHER chapter V

When I opened my eyes, I sensed it was the day I never wanted to face. The day to start implementing a grand scheme against heaven. Crimson light pierced through the curtains, but it wasn't the familiar sunlight. A magnificent pentagram gleamed above the hotel, and an army assembled against heaven. They aimed to extinguish my people, but did I possess the right to thwart them?

I observed malicious smiles honing angelic weapons, relishing the thought of golden blood. Yet, what emotions would Adam's blood evoke in me?" I'll likely be his top priority. I suspect he forced my mother into silence and passivity. If only I could erase his little secret from memory.

If souls could be judged anew, why hide it? Is it about his dignity or perhaps the will of God?"

Strips of bandages cascaded near my bare feet. As I reached the portal in the nick of time, I grievously injured two of my wings. The pain of unfolding stiff feathers pierced my back, accompanied by a subdued hiss escaping my lips.

Examining my ravaged visage, circled light eyes, disheveled hair, and wings with missing feathers. I confronted the memories of the previous evening. Running my fingers over my cheek, recalling increasingly embarrassing details,

Wait, didn't Vaggie once mention that Alastor's favorite meal was decaying deers? Oh heavens, I hope he didn't consume them yesterday. I watched as my cheeks reddened and feathers bristled. It wasn't what I had planned, yet I easily surrendered to the arms of the radio demon.

I braided my hair and arranged feathers in any sensibly stylish manner. Trembling hands slowly buttoned up the snow-white shirt, a silver corset wrapped around me, and beneath a light skirt with a slit, long black boots peeked out.

"What time was really left? Three weeks until the battle?’’ Approaching the balcony with determination, I forcefully swung open the doors. Only 4 or 5 meters separated me from the ground. With a smooth movement, I jumped onto the railing. maintaining balance by leaning on one of the columns.

Barely 9 days passed, yet it felt like an eternity without flying. A few deep breaths, I spread my arms to sense the balance. Seconds from the jump, a sudden tug pulled me back. A black tentacle gripped my waist, and moments later, I found myself in the arms of radio demon.

"I knew you might feel regret, but I wouldn't accuse you of suicidal attempts," he whispered directly into my ear. I sharply recoiled, standing on my own.

I glanced back to utter the first words of the day. "Jumping from the balcony is nothing compared to a hellish portal," I proudly replied, resuming my climb on the railing.

"Sweetheart, just wait a little; impatience isn't a trait of wise people," he cautioned.

"What should I wait for? An army furious angels led by Adam?" I questioned.

"Wait for my plan to work."

"No offense, Alastor," I addressed him directly for the first time, "but your army of cannibals can only break their teeth on celestial blades."

His face revealed he didn't take criticism well. " Oh, I see you don't appreciate demonic beings,". The atmosphere thickened. "And me.

When I first learned about the plan from Charlie and Veegie, I was terrified. However, my deep longing to return home was tied to their success. My lips opened in silent astonishment; they truly wanted to face the angelic forces.

So, what's the plan? Invite them for dinner with our own bodies?"

The plan is the last thing your beautiful silver head should worry about. I'm the one pulling the strings here, Soon, we'll partake in a feast with Adam's head served on a platter and golden drinks in our cups."

"Stop talking like that about my kind ," I insisted.

"Oh About angels flying here to murder hundreds of souls or those who aren't in a hurry to descend for you?" he mocked.

My lips tightened in a grimace; I felt anger taking control over me.

"Alastor, stop!" - I shouted, to my own surprise, feeling my hand clenching on the cold metal.

A blue chain led from my hand straight to the tied demon, who instantly froze.

Alastor looked at me with undisguised surprise, his eyes wandering across my face and hands, trying to connect the dots until he finally found an answer.

Alastor POV:

Angel magic weakened contracts but also made them susceptible to a new owner

The hands that touched me with unique delicacy this night, now are helding the chain tightly around my neck and hands, instantly making me to be on my knees

As quickly as they appeared, they vanished, and I desperately gasped for air.

Y/N approached, visibly in shock but stopped a few centimeters in front of me.

The sudden command still echoed in my ears, piercing through my body like a blade.

Traces on my wrists and neck burned. I know the feeling of chains, but their angelic version was something else on my sinful skin.

Oh fuck it, I became properity of an angel

From her bewildered eyes, I gleaned that she has no idea what just happened. Does she even know about soul contracts in hell? If not, it's better to keep it that way. "Give me a second," I propped myself up on trembling hands, clumsily attempting to stand, "and I'll explain everything."

I felt a slender arm lifting me up. She gripped my face, examining it from every angle.

"We will talk later," she uttered with a gaze lowered.

I tried to read something from her expression, but with a stony demeanor, she turned towards the balcony.

A strong gust of wind forced me to lean on a cane and close my eyes. When I reopened them, Y/N had dissolved into the air. Only the shadow of wings traversed the crowd gathered below.

Simultaneously, giving me time for deep reflection on how to deal with this... unconventional situation."