#hate from heaven comic

[fullartmetal]

MY BOY

[eveningdawn222]

people who act like batman isn't "judge jury and executioner" because he doesn't kill people are like. genuinely so funny to me because. they're very obviously thinking of "executioner" as like. the stereotypical guy with axe who chops people heads off, and not, yknow, the literal definition of the idiom itself, which is about someone who has the ability to judge and then subsequently punish someone unilaterally. which is quite literally what batman does.

he has the ability to decide what is a "crime" to him, he is the one who decides whether people are guilty of those crimes, and he is the one who executes their punishment. the severity of the punishment doesn't matter - he is unaccountable to anyone else, and indeed is allowed to commit as many crimes as needed to reach his arbitrary ideal of "justice."

the ideal of batman is this: a man who is so fundamentally changed by an act of senseless violence that he takes it upon himself to fight back against the rot and corruption in the world. he does this not through political activism, not through ridding himself of his wealth in favor of a greater good, not through community outreach, but through an individualistic fantasy of being a hero.

and you'll say: charlie, but he does do that !!! he donates his money all the time, he funds social programs, hospitals, orphanages, gets people jobs -

and i will say this: so why don't things get better?

because here's the base of it. gotham, at its core, can't get better. no matter what bruce wayne does, there will always be more crime, more villains, more death, more people for batman to beat up in back alleys. because that's what sells.

reoffending rates don't matter in gotham, prison reform doesn't matter in gotham, what actually causes crime doesn't matter in gotham because that doesn't sell books.

and so here it is; dc has unintentionally created a world where batman can't win, but can't be wrong, and where thousands of nameless, faceless, only-created-to-die civilians must be pushed into the meat grinder that is gotham, to fuel bruce wayne's angst and vindicate his constant, tireless, noble fight against the forces of evil.

and then: a new robin, who is poor and who's parents are dead or gone because of this cycle; who is happy go-lucky and hated by editors and fans for being robin, for not being dick grayson, for being poor.

and this robin is written, unintentionally or not, to be angry at the ways in which batman's (the narrative's) idea of justice is detached from its victims. bruce seems perfectly fine to allow countless unnamed women to be at risk from garzonas in his home country, yet robin is the one who is portrayed as irrational and violent.

this robin is not detached from gotham in the way bruce wayne is: this robin is a product of gotham.

(and here's the thing. you can't punch aids. you can't fight a disease with colorful fights and nifty gadgets. and how would robin dying from aids add to batman's story; it would call into question the systemic changes that haven't been made in gotham. how does a child get aids, in batman's city?)

so robin dies, and then bruce (the narrative) spends the next couple of decades blaming it on him. it is jason's fault; he was reckless, he just ran in, he thought it was all a game. if only bruce had seen what was coming, if only he could have known that jason wasn't rich enough or smart enough or liked enough to be robin.

batman gets a little more violent, a little more self destructive. he hurts people more and almost (!!) kills a couple guys. this is bad because it's self destructive and "not who he is." it is not bad because batman should not be able to just beat people up when he's angry.

and then he gets a shiny new robin - who is all the things jason "wasn't": rich and smart and rational and he doesn't put who batman is into question. batman and robin are partners, and jason is a grave and a cautionary tale, and (crucially here) never right.

the joker kills thousands and it doesn't matter because they were written to be killed.

batman beats up thousands and it doesn't matter because they were written to be criminals.

and then jason comes back, and nothing has changed. there is a batman and a (shiny! rich!) robin and the joker kills thousands. (because it sells)

and jason is angry - he has been left unavenged - his death has meant nothing, just as willis' had, just as catherine's had, just as gloria's had, just as -

thousands. ten of thousands. hundreds of thousands. written to be killed.

but one of them gets to come back.

and he is angry - not only at the joker, but at bruce (the narrative) - because why is the joker still alive (when thousands-)

here is the thing - jason todd is right. not because the death penalty is good, not because criminals deserve to die, not because of everything he says -

but because of what he calls into question. why is the joker alive?

because he sells books.

and dc has written a masterful character, through no fault of their own, because jason knows what is wrong, and he knows who is at fault - batman. (the narrative)

so the argument that bruce can't kill because he's not judge jury and executioner; the argument that jason is a cop or that jason is insane or that jason is in the wrong here; they hold no weight.

batman can't kill the joker because the joker sells comic books.

and jason can't kill the joker because the joker sells comic books.

so he will beg and plead and grovel - he will betray everything that is himself, he will forsake his family and his city and kill himself - just so that bruce (the narrative) will let the joker die.

he was condemned to death by an audience, and after he came back he has spent his whole life looking us in the eyes and screaming, asking, pleading; why is the joker still alive?

why are thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands (the number doesn't matter, see, because they're just a number. not people. not real.) why are we expendable for his story? why did i have to die just for nothing to change?

and the answer is money. and the answer is the batman can never be wrong. and the answer is shitty writing. and the answer is -

nothing jason can ever change.

which is the worst of it all. he is a victim with no power, and no one else in the world can see it. he is raging and crying and screaming at his father and his writers and you - and it doesn't matter. jason doesn't matter. and he knows it.

[sonchiildren]

Also, while the tabs continue to vex me...I did at least add the rest of the muses. Just note; mains are the Son Children (Gohan, Gokai, Saiyo, and Goten...and depending baby Gosuke), secondary are Trunks, Future!Trunks, and Future!Saiyo, and lastly request only is Chi-Chi. ...I am also playing Future!Trunks and Future!Saiyo as living in the current time-line, since Super decided to scrape that idea of the timeline being gone permanently and F!Trunks having to adjust and come to terms with his new home.

[patzweigz]

randomly hit with just how. strange. it really is that general discussion of fictional characters treats them as like... people, who's actions have consequences in the real world or who's writers put them through real situations

[fanaroff]

Kind of continuation to this comic.

The first thing he opens his eyes to—

———

“Narinder?”

Too loud. Too bright. Too much. Even through closed eyelids and flattened ears. His head pounded behind his eyes. A rhythmic thumping so loud in his ears. A noise he was so unused to. A mortal sound.

Pain was a blinding experience when one was no longer numb to it. The One Who Waits could only huddle in one spot and cling to his own shoulders with claws he couldn’t not yet control enough to retract. He knew where he sat, but he was not going to allow the recognition to settle.

Hurt lanced across his chest, his wrists. He wanted it to stop. This was not how things were supposed to go. He’d planned for so long. How could this have happened?

Narinder chose wrong. He chose wrong. He chose the wrong vessel. His vessel who built him up, built a Temple in his name, raised devotion! His vessel who then tore him down and reduced him to this quivering mess of a new mortal.

How he wished they’d chosen to kill him instead. To have ended his millennia of suffering, not extend it further.

He chose wrong.

The physical hurt now ran in tandem with the emotional. How could they do this to him? When he saw them choose… he thought that maybe things would go right. He would be free and his vessel tucked safely in their own little heaven… but he saw them return the Red Crown to their own head. That damned Lamb!

The one he gave life to! The one he saved!

Betrayed by one he trusted so—

Now he was here. Now he was mortal. How foolish of him.

“…Narinder?” Faust’s voice was gentle, no doubt a front put on for the followers (they should be HIS) that he could hear hanging about in curiosity. (Insects to be squashed! How dare they look upon his visage and see him in this form!)

Narinder knew that if he were to open his eyes, he’d see nothing but hatred in theirs. After all, he ordered his vessel to sacrifice themself. And after all, this was not something his vessel was willing to do. Would such an ask not generate hatred in one unwilling?

Either way, the refusal… the betrayal… has generated hatred within Narinder and when he returned to strength… he would make them pay.

There was no point in putting things off.

Narinder cracked open an eye, blinking rapidly against the blinding light, prepared to see the Lamb standing before him with a weapon in hand. (They’d be foolish not to, what if he chose to attack?)

Instead, the Lamb kneeled before him (why kneel now and not then?), a bowl of water in hand and fake concern across their face. They were still covered in spots of their blood and Narinder’s ichor from their battle, fleece torn in places and wool sticking up in different directions. Yet, they were the victor and looked it. Narinder had no doubt that he looked worse.

He felt worse.

Light from the setting sun lit against Faust, brightening them in almost a halo. It would be beautiful sight… if not for the knowledge he had.

“Betrayer.” Narinder rasped. It came out wrong. He wanted it to be a hiss. A snarl. But it was a wheeze of air at best. His throat hated it. He hated it.

Faust had the gall to shake their head. They opened their mouth to speak, but Narinder beat them to it.

“Betrayer. I never should have chose you. A lamb that defiled my name. My Temple for their own!” He slowly devolved into a rant. A proper tantrum for the ages. Spitting insults that brought gasps of shock from those around them, a few being hands to weapons (garden tools at best), and yet Faust did not react.

If he had taken a moment, he would have noticed their eyes darken to sadness and a frown overtaking their features. He would have noticed the hurt. The Crown trying to get his attention that he had chosen the wrong subject for his ire. But he was understandably focused on his own.

“I wish not to see you! I wish not to be here! Kill me, Usurper! End the suffering you drag out further!” Narinder’s voice had torn by the end, quieted by the force he attempted to put behind it and sounding as if he’d been exposed to the smoke of fires for hours.

He’d begged at the end. Begged to be killed and put out of his misery. And again the Lamb ignored this.

When Narinder was done, panting harshly and lying against the ground as his body turned tired, Faust stood from their kneel and turned to a she-rabbit. They placed the bowl of water in her hands.

“Take him to a tent. I feel he would be calmer if I were not in his line of sight. Have someone come to me if he attempts to attack anyone. Make sure he drinks. Make sure he eats. Force him to if you have to, but be careful. He has not eaten in a long while.”

The she-rabbit bowed her head as Faust turned without a second look to Narinder and strode towards the Temple. His temple no longer.

Narinder could only squirm and attempt at clawing, glaring at Faust’s back as he was dragged away with the help of two other followers. Kicking and screeching, he vowed to himself that the Lamb would pay for this.

They all would pay.

— —

Quick Oneshot that may not stay canonical, or it may stay as a companion piece. The image will stay canonical as the first thing Narinder sees upon his indoctrination. For now, it’s a prompt for myself.

I plan to do the main fic series from Faust’s POV, but I wanted to play around with some of Narinder’s thoughts. I don’t know if it worked though, I have a hard time thinking how someone might react in hatred so I hope I got it close enough.

Hope you like it!

[chimeracomicscollective]

Chimera Comics Collective Itch.io Sale!

Hi all! Below the cut is the first set of creators for our itch.io ebook sale, starting this Monday December 2 and running for two weeks. All proceeds will go to the artists! We have several more to introduce as well - this bundle will be QUITE the bang for your buck!

Daughter of the Lilies - @bludragongal

Masked mage Thistle finds herself hired by a band of mercenaries - but the world seems to hate and curse her at every turn. Why does she see herself as a monster?

Hazy London and Nigh Heaven and Hell -@scottycomics

Hazy London is a LGBTQ+ slice of life webcomic about bandmates navigating relationships - and Nigh Heaven and Hell, a medieval horror about trying to kill god. It's safe to say, Scotty can do it all!

Ghost Junk Sickness - @feathernotes and @spacerocketbunny

Trigger and Vahn are bounty hunters in a galaxy full of supernatural mysteries, but their next bounty - the elusive Ghost - might be the key to solve them all.

Heroes of Thantopolis - @strontiumsun

When Cyrus gets mysteriously transported to the City of the Dead, he finds a vibrant and colorful afterlife plagued by troubles. But why did a living boy end up there in the first place?

Godslave - @godslavecomic

When Edith frees an Egyptian god from a canopic jar, she receives some of his power in return for her service. The Egyptian pantheon clashes with the modern day, and Edith's going to have to kick a lot of divine butt.

Phantomarine - @phantomarine

A ghostly princess must sail across a haunted sea to save her soul from a devious death god known as the Red Tide King. But is he as monstrous as she thinks he is? ...Well, yes. But also no? Maybe???

[sixosix]

hello six! since you put it on your example, can I request izuku, a charger, but fluff? :3 congrats on 5k!

a/n 1k words !!! anon sent this back in march…its now july… thank you so much anon! sorry i got to this late

5K EVENT SPECIAL | EVENT MASTERLIST

"Seriously? None of you have one? Not even you, Denki?"

Kaminari inspects your phone from all angles, humming. He eyes your charging port distrustfully. "No? What even is this?"

You bury your knuckle on his head. "Dipshit. It's a phone. A phone that's about to die because you fried my charger trying to blow your hair this morning."

Kaminari winces. "Oohh..."

"Hey." Ashido claps a hand on your shoulder, sympathetic. "I'm sorry, but that idiot's right, ya'know? This model is outdated."

Bakugou is about to walk past when he plucks the phone from your grasp and then studies it intently. His eyes narrow.

You beam up at him, hopeful. "Do you have one, Bakugou?"

He throws it back at you, and you fumble to catch it. "Nah. Deku's got the same one, though. The nerd will let you borrow one."

And then he leaves, just like that. You're not sure if you should yell at him for risking your phone or kiss him on the cheek for presenting a ray of hope that came in the form of Midoriya Izuku.

Ashido's eyes turn sly. "Oh? Midoriya, huh? Looks like you'll have to..."

You slap a hand over her mouth. Kaminari perks up, his expression a visible representation of his brain lagging behind.

"Hafta what?" he asks in a whisper.

"Nothing!" you squeak out before Ashido could say anything. "Nothing at all. Mina, you're acting weird. I'm just gonna borrow a charger from my classmate. What's so strange about that? Nothing at all."

Ashido giggles. "Right, right. Make sure you don't stay longer than three minutes, or else I'll just assume you're stealing a ki—"

"God! Seriously. My phone's about to die! I should go now. Bye, Denki. I hate you, Mina."

You pad away, phone clutched in a death grip as Ashido's laughter echoes in the hallway. Of course. Of course, Midoriya would be the only one in the class with the same charger as you because that makes sense. Your long-term crush would be the only person, obviously. Right. Duh.

You have a suspicion that Bakugou is aware of this crush of yours, and Midoriya isn't the only one who has the same type of charger, but you'd rather take Midoriya than--god forbid--Mineta. Bakugou can play Cupid if he wants.

You knock softly. "Midoriya?"

Once, twice, and the door swings open right away halfway through the third one. You and Midoriya stare at each other for a startled moment. Midoriya gapes, mouth dropping open almost comically.

"Y/N!" he exclaims.

"Hi," you mutter. "Sorry, did I disturb you?"

Midoriya glances back at his room. You follow his gaze, falling on his desk with a single lamp lighting the room, directed at notebooks and pens spread about. He must've been studying.

Midoriya turns back to you with a soft smile. "No, don't worry. Did you need something?"

"Oh, yeah." You show him your phone, wishing to every deity out there that he doesn't notice how your hands are trembling. "Denki fried my charger, and my phone's about to die. Do you have one for this model?"

Midoriya's fingers brush your skin as he takes your phone to inspect it himself. You thank All Might and his mother that Midoriya's too busy with your phone to notice that you're steaming, positively overwhelmed by this proximity. You've never been close to Midoriya like this before. He smells like freshly pulled laundry, his warmth emanating even at this distance. You find yourself gravitating, inching slightly closer.

Midoriya looks back up again. Your noses nearly touch. You both jump back.

"Sorry!" you both cry out. 

"Um." Midoriya's face is beet red. "I do have the same model."

You knew that, obviously. You move to reach for your phone, eager to leave before you do anything else stupid and embarrass yourself further. "Thanks a lot, Midoriya. You're heaven-sent."

But Midoriya rears back. "Would you like to come inside?"

...What?

Midoriya wilts. "I—I mean, unless you want to charge in your own room, I was just— Well, that makes more sense, actually. Nevermind. Forget I—"

You brush past Midoriya, saying, "Sorry for the intrusion!"

As your eyes take in the alarming cluster of All Might merchandise, you belatedly register the door clicking shut behind you. Midoriya bounds over to his bed, pulling out his charger. He makes a show of plugging it into your phone and displaying how your phone brightens.

"Thank you, Midoriya." You sigh and cradle your now-charging phone in your arms, like handling a wounded child. "I might have to go out later to buy a new one so I don't bother you again."

Midoriya laughs, settling back on his chair, but he faces you. "I don't mind, really. You can visit here anytime."

You don't see why you must 'visit anytime' when you can bring his charger to your room, but you wouldn't want to overstep when he's already lending you his things. And there's really no downside to it aside from your impending doom of humiliation; you wouldn't take down the offer of rooming alone with your crush. Not when he smells so nice, and he’s giving his undivided attention to you.

"So..." You set your phone aside. "Is that Preset Mic's seatwork?"

Midoriya glances over his shoulder, smiling sheepishly. "Yeah. I wanted to finish everything today."

"Do you mind teaching me?" you blurt out.

Midoriya blinks owlishly.

"I-If you want, I mean! I'll pay you back or something—"

Midoriya slides his chair closer to where you're sitting, beaming. "Sure. While your phone charges."

"Yeah," you say faintly. "Yeah. While my phone charges."

You stumble into Bakugou on your way out of Midoriya’s room, giddy and floaty, like Uraraka’s touched you with all ten fingers and left you to rot in space. You muffle a squeal as soon as the door’s shut. Bakugou arches a suspicious brow, looking at you up and down like you’ve done something particularly scandalous.

“What?” you ask defensively.

Bakugou huffs, smirking. “You took your sweet time there.”

“He offered for me to stay while I waited for my phone to charge.” And then you stick your tongue out for good measure.

“As if. Deku uses a faster charger. Your phone should’ve been done five hours ago, dumbass.”

[patchiko]

what do u think ak!jays love language (i think that’s what it’s called 😭) is? also, what type of love language do you think he’d like?? like acts of service, words of affirmation, etc.

also random headcanon but i feel like both ak and comic jay r both good cooks it’s just the vibe i get

-🪽anon

Ahkendidhso Ive written about this before but my brainrot my lovely 🪽 anon…

tw; religious themes but their very very very super metaphorical i pinky swear chat. #i love religious themes as a way to metaphorically talk about devotion

Jason Todd is as devoted to his lover as a martyr to their grace. His faith to his loved one is almost insufferable at its core.

Like in a,’ My lungs only breathe because I have faith in your purity. ’ way, so anyways yeah Quality Time and Acts Of Service.

Quality Time- Jaaon can barely pry himself from your presence at times, and yet he does. Though every moment he’s away from you feels sardonic, like that viscous black ooze that he’s named ‘hate’ is getting bigger. Once he even gets a moment of your time his mind melts. He slowly allows himself to indulge in your presence, but in the most unhealthy way possible. Jason tried to keep himself away, he really did, but he always found his feet dragging to you.

Maybe its the little sacrificial lamb in him, the yearn for a greater good in his destruction. Thats what he believe he was conditioned to be, ’The Greater Good.’ Batman cleaned him from the dirt-stricken filth of Gotham alleyways; Batman would make his coat pure and holy, he learned to achieve that ‘Greater-Good’ when Batman wrapper that rope around his neck and lead him to that devil, or saint, he couldn’t tell the two apart sometimes. They both look the same as his depraved reflection.

When his red branded rebirth came he couldn’t help himself trotting to you like the holy little lamb he was conditioned to be. You, the only compass he had, a sense of direction he couldn’t bear to lose. He sits in your presence waiting for his rapture. When not, he’s stuck in a state where can’t tell if he’s more scared of being lost or alone. Jason finds he’s neither when with you, with you he’s stained red but his neck is no longer painfully warm, his body can be mangled, his mind can be mortal. He always trots back to you, because it is the first place he is welcomed to with open arms, yes, you are the warm light of the heavens he was conditioned to bask in. The personification where the death of his self is meant to be.

Acts Of Service - I believe this side of him comes more when its towards the part of the relationship where he’s most comfortable! He’ll run errands, do your dishes, maybe if the guilt of getting your floor a little bloodied gets to him he’ll pay your rent. It takes him awhile to loosen up and stop acting like a house maid. He still does everything he can for you but in an mundane way, like a little routine. (like a little wife omg chat i love him)

Whenever he slips through that window he takes armor off and sets them down on your floor. He’ll walk over to where you sit and kiss you on the cheek, whispering in your ear on how he ordered take out. He’ll come back to you with clean clothes and washed hair, sitting close to you, yet not closer if not allowed.

He’s much like a Saint Bernard now, for he always finds his way back to your side. A gentle giant, neither of you can keep yourselves away from each other; tenderly caring for each others needs. With you, he gave up on his divided sense of pride, his fundamentals and foundations that gave his name meaning were reckoned meaningless, he gave it up and swallowed the bitter pill of which he found the unsatisfactory taste of forgiveness; and with that pill he allowed himself to grieve.

He’s much like a Saint Bernard now, he can guide people to the place they believe to be heavens for their sake of peace. He holds someone in his arms the way they need to be held, he says those things that make someone think, leading them back to the path they left. But most of all he always comes running back to you.

sorry chat this is so bitter sweet i love his self destructive mentality that would take him decades to weed out.

[dinoace2]

For @hg-aneh , this comic they made :]

Bit of a different take, this time, what if it wasn't just that he didn't talk, but he couldn't?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a shitty day.

All the days had been shitty.

Aziraphale had lost count how many there had been so far, and rain doesn't exist in Heaven. But clouds massing over Soho suggested that the newest thunderstorm was on its way, and it was going to be a big one.

Earlier...

"No, no, please, you can't do this!" Aziraphale thrashed about, trying to loose the grip of the Powers who held onto each of his arms. One on either side, holding tight to ensure he couldn't move.

Uriel sneered at him, their eyes flaring with anger. "I already told you once, Aziraphale. You ask too many questions. Supreme Archangel or not, there still remain standards that must be met. Lines that cannot be crossed."

Aziraphale frowned. "It still seems quite reasonable to me to demand why! The very idea of creating Humanity, just to destroy it, it's...well, it's senseless! Sure, they've made mistakes, but they don't deserve utter annihilation for it! And they definitely don't deserve it if the only reason is 'the Almighty has grown bored of Her little social experiment'! That logic is, quite frankly, nothing short of childish and ridic- !"

One of the other angels cut him off with a knee to the stomach. He winced, letting out a huff of air as he sank to his knees.

"Thats enough!" Michael frowned. "I'm not sure what the Metatron saw in you before, but I'm glad He finally came to His senses." She leaned down, inches from his face. "I've half a mind to strike you down where you stand, traitor."

"S-surely," Aziraphale whispered, his voice hoarse. "Surely, this can't be what She wants. This can't be Her will."

“You don't have the right to suggest what She wants.” Michael scowled. “such blasphemy begs execution.”

“I think you and I both know what happened the last time you tried.” Aziraphale managed a smirk. 

“We're well aware, thank you.” She huffed. “we had to get creative this time around, I hate to say.” She waved a hand. “Uriel!”

She stepped aside as the other archangel approached, some sort of weapon in hand. They raised their arm to strike, and Aziraphale flinched, his eyes shut tight.

…

He paused. Wasn't something supposed to happen? He opened his eyes, only to find Uriel already putting their weapon away. 

What happ- he paused. His mouth had opened, his lips formed the words, but…he didn't say anything. No sound came out.

He tried again, getting the same result. Michael chuckled. “A fitting consequence for the angel who talked too much, no?” she waved to the angels on either side of him. “You know what to do.”

Aziraphale struggled in their grasp as they dragged him away, far past the point of no return.

~~~

It burns...

It's so cold, but it burns...

Aziraphale wasn't sure how long he'd been falling.

He felt infernal wind flying around him, whipping in his hair and tearing through his feathers. It was completely dark, he couldn't see anything. The only reason he knew which way was down was because thats the direction he was going.

Hellfire lashed at him as he Fell, flicking at his clothes, his skin, his wings.  Every burst of flame stung with a flash of icy, searing pain that burned deep into his soul.

He wanted to cry out, to scream, to call for something, anything, but when his mouth opened he was still trapped in the same empty, maddening silence as if he had done nothing at all.

He wondered if this was how Crowley felt when he Fell; freezing, burning, hurting...alone. Thinking through everything that led him here. Wondering if he did the right thing. Wondering if there was anything else he should have done, anything else he could have done, to possibly have changed what he now faced.

Crowley...

What would he say, when he saw Aziraphale like this? What would he do? Would he even do anything? Would he glare down at him? Say 'I told you so'? Grin and laugh? Or maybe he'd just walk away, not even dignifying a response. Aziraphale wouldn't even blame him for that, considering how he left things. Whatever Crowley decided to do, it was definitely going to be deserved.

He put a hand to his throat, realizing that, whatever happened, he wouldn't be able to say anything. Wouldn't be able to explain himself, or say anything that he wanted to, or... he paused, then hugged himself. For the rest of eternity, no matter how much he may want to, no matter how hard he'd try, he would never be able to tell Crowley those three bloody words that he'd always wanted to say. Those three blasted words that had been on the tip of his tongue for millenia. Those three damned words that he should have said before.

But...even if he said them now...there was no guarantee (or, at this point, no chance) that Crowley would accept it, surely. Not after everything he did...after everything that happened.

  He hugged himself, pulling his knees to his chest, and choked on a silent sob. Everything hurt, he felt confused and scared and ruined. All he felt he could do was fall, and wait for the crash.

~~~

Aziraphale's eyes opened. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know what he was. He felt nothing at all. But at the same time he felt everything…and it all hurt. His lungs burned and his eyes stung. A cloud of ash lingered around him, smothering the nearby air and nearly making him choke.

He wanted to curl up, to cry, to never move again. He felt like he couldn't move, yet still that he had to. His face hardly moved, his expression limp and exhausted and miserable. In all fairness, that's exactly how he felt. Nothing. 

He gathered what strength he had and pulled himself to sit up, looking around. His skin stung with burns and his eyes couldn't quite focus. His fingers curled in coarse, sharp, black sand beneath him, and waves lapped at his feet. A burnt smell came from the bubbling ‘water’. Sulfur…? It looked like some sort of…infernal beach.

He got to his feet, brushing the sand off his coat and beginning to walk. Hell's offices must not be far from here.

Sure enough, after walking for a while he made it to a dim-lit building, greenish light spilling out of the few windows. Heaven's basement, indeed.

When Aziraphale opened the doors, all went suddenly still and silent. All eyes fell on him. The cramped crowds parted as he walked past, perhaps out of recognition, perhaps out of fear. He stopped one demon on his way, asking for directions by simply pointing a finger up.

~~~

The clouds overhead were dense and dark, nearly blotting out the natural sunlight of the late afternoon. Thunder rolled in the distance, deep and low, a promise of the storm that was to come.

A distinct ding echoed in the empty Soho street corner, and a cloud of ash spilled out onto the sidewalk.

As if to gather what dignity he had left, Aziraphale straightened his coat, straightening the wrinkles in the fabric, and approached A.Z. Fell and Co. The first raindrops of the oncoming tempest splashed against the pavement.

He hesitated as he reached for the door. The bookshop was an embassy after all. Demons aren't allowed to pass without permission...would he even be able to go inside his own- well...not his anymore - home? His fingers clasped around the doorknob and gently turned it, breathing out a sigh of relief when nothing stopped him.

The familiar chime of the doorbell was almost comforting as he stepped inside, but relief was quick to be replaced by regret.

It was dark. The lights were all out, the shades all drawn. The shop looked untouched, and while ordinarily that would be a good thing, not like this. Everything was covered in a visible layer of dust. He swiped his finger on the till counter, carving a revealed line of clean wood beneath the soft gray film. Not just untouched, but abandoned.

You poor thing...wasn't Muriel supposed to look after you?

Among the stagnant, silent scenery, a mop of long red hair was draped across a table. The body slumped beneath it stirred at the sound of the doorbell. Golden eyes blinked slowly, adjusting to the shift in lighting.

Aziraphale stood still, saying nothing, doing nothing. What happened to you? How long was I gone? How long have you been alone? His mind raced with questions that he couldn't voice.

Once he noticed the figure in front of him, Crowley was quick to sit upright, eyes wide. "Oh..." Frantic emotions of all natures flashed across his expression as he tried to determine whether the sight before him was really and truly there.

"Oh!"

He got to his feet, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well! Look who bothered to show up!" A sharp grin took over his face as he sauntered up to the visitor. "The Supreme Asshat of Heaven, dirtying his clean little shoes to come and laugh  at the pitiful, sad demon." His voice came out as a hiss, laced with bitter sarcasm and poorly-disguised sadness. Aziraphale didn't move, didn't respond. He couldn't.

I'm so sorry, dear…is that what you think ive been feeling? What I've been up to? Why would I ever mock you, I could never-

Crowley put his hands up and spoke in a mocking tone. “‘Ooh, poor Crowley, he must be feeling so pathetic, all alone’.” He grinned wider, his arms flat at his sides. “Well. The joke's on you. I'm better than ever on my own. Just me. A team of Myself.” He stepped forward once more, blinking away tears. “I don't need you!”

Aziraphale just looked at him, part of his mind wondering if this new form could cry.

Inches away from his face, Crowley nearly shouted, “So tell me, Angel, why did you come back?! Why are you here, Aziraphale?!”

With a shaky breath and a whoosh of feathers, Aziraphale answered his question. It…seemed the easiest way to communicate, considering the circumstances. Thunder cracked outside, a flash of light through the windows highlighting the jet-black wings from behind. He could do nothing but watch, as the color drained from Crowley's face.

“You….you-” he was still for a moment, quiet and shaky. His anger seemed to shift, still present but no longer directed at Aziraphale. “You idiot!” He launched forward and grabbed Aziraphale by his jacket’s lapels. “Why, Aziraphale?! Why did you leave?! Why did you go back?! Why?” He finally choked on a sob, collapsing against Aziraphale's chest. “Why, Angel…why…why…” He dissolved into broken cries, sinking to his knees as he begged for answers.

Oh, Crowley…

They sat in silence for a long while, Aziraphale unsure of what to do. He certainly couldn't say anything.

When Crowley's sobs slowed to soft whimpers, the angel stepped back. Crowley looked up at him, confusion in his gaze.

Aziraphale took a breath, then recited the simple, memorized steps in his head. Stepped forward with one hand up and the other on his hip, kicked his leg back and lifted his arms, spun around on one foot, and ended in a bow. You were right, you were right, I was wrong, you were right. He sunk down on the bow, propping himself on one knee and keeping his head low.

Crowley was silent, his jaw slack as he processed what just happened. 

“...Angel-”

He reached up, gently holding Aziraphale's cheek with one hand. Aziraphale closed his eyes, leaning into the demon's touch.

“...say something…please…” He whispered, leaning closer.

‘I can't,’ Aziraphale mouthed, trying to gesture to his neck. ‘I'm sorry.’

Crowley paused, nodding slightly. He seemed to understand. He pulled him close, pressing their foreheads together. “...Heaven took it from you…didn't they.” It was more of a statement than a question. When Aziraphale nodded, he sighed. “Those angels and their ‘poetic justice’, huh? They…they think they have the right to take everything…I get it. I've been there. Though I'm sure you know that already, heh.” He smiled weakly, and he felt a silent chuckle shake in Aziraphale's chest.

“...im glad you came back,” Crowley whispered. “I…im sorry how I acted…what I said, when you left…a-and…the…the kiss, i…im so sorry…I wish it had happened under better circumstances…or…maybe even just…never at all, I…I just…you…” his rambling trailed off, as Aziraphale cupped his face in both hands, gently lifting his chin.

The little space between them closed, their lips falling together as both demons desperately clung to one another, their only lifeline in an otherwise empty world. This wasn't like the last one. The last one was a plea to stay…this one was a promise. 

Tears finally fell down Aziraphale's cheeks, stinging his skin as he pulled Crowley closer still. He pressed kisses to his lips, his cheek, along his jaw, anywhere he could reach. He mouthed what he couldn't say against Crowley's skin, three words over and over, whispered silently wherever he touched. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Crowley pulled away, if only to breathe for a moment. “Aziraphale…” He wiped at the tears on his cheeks with his thumbs.

He hugged him, pulling him into a tight embrace. “my offer still stands, you know…our side…together. Just us…if- if you're interested, I mean. I…I know, it…sounds lonely…but…nothin’ wrong with being lonely together, is there?” He offered a weak smile. 

Aziraphale smiled, a real, true smile for the first time since getting on that bloody elevator oh-so-long ago, nodding as he clung tightly to his other half.

Together. Our side. As long as we have each other.

~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! :]

[rattlebear25]

Since I am an Adam stan and I really hope he returns in the next seasons (I believe in the Sinner Adam theory) I made a Sinner! Adam design:

+ Some expressions

Design Note:

When i was thinking the design i thought about Heaven and Hell colors contrast. Winner! Sir Pentious got a more lightful palette like white and gold when he went to Heaven so i thought Adam would have a black/red/brown palette also because he died in a rocky place. I added more spikes on him, in Hell he is more aggressive and violent.

His bird wings became dragon or bat wings and he got an evil tail like Lucifer or Charlie in their Full Demon form. He wear goat hooves like boots and his battle robe is ripped apart. The jacket is dark because his robe color was deep blue before dying so the jacket is his robe but darker. Some designs that i saw online fuse Adam's human form features like the hair crest and the goatie with his mask and it becomes his real face. His guitar can become an Axe during the fights against the Sinners, but this time his guitar is stuck in the Axe mode and can't return a guitar.

• How he relates with other characters:

Niffty: Unlike the other members of the Hotel, Adam has a scared and panicked behavior towards Niffty and insults her anytime he sees her and he doesn’t even try to touch her (who saw Episode 8 knows what I am talking about)

Alastor: Anytime Adam sees Alastor becomes furious (not as with Lucifer or Charlie) because of Episode 8. He thinks he is a psychopath because his cannibal behavior, ignoring that himself being a sadistic person too. He hates Alastor tastes in fact of musics, preferring rock songs or metal.

Lute: Lute is the only person in this list which Adam really cares for. The main reason he wants to go back to Heaven it’s her and take back his Exorcist leader title. Him and Lute shared the same interests for rock musics/bands, singing, weapons, battling and eating junk food (unlike Adam, Lute is more balanced at eat fries and hamburgers). From Lute perspective, she tries to accept Adam’s death, but she always bring Adam’s halo (the one she showed to Lilith/Eve at the end on Ep 8) as a memory of him. Lute goal is avenge Adam’s death but when she discovered that he returned as a sinner in Hell, her plans changed to save him and bring him back as her Leader and boyfriend.

I was thinking of making a full artwork of him using his Axe and some short comics idk

I love that i drew Adam with expressions that are really similar to the original one lmao

[icarusredwings]

What is the puppy Logan lore?🥺🙏

IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED totally unprompted.

Tw: impure regression, past abuse, slight mention of pet play, death, non ethical, and ethical cannibalism(?)

Special thanks to: @stucky-just-stucky and others

This is ALL consentual, btw. Cause consent is cool and sexy kids.

SO ANYWAY.

Puppy Logan, right?

We all know that Logan is dog coded, gaurd dog, yes, but also puppy. Except he swaps between wolf, puppy, and kitten. He was raised with wolves in most comics, so it makes a ton of sense for him to have more wolf like behaviors than say - idk. A golden? He's not a golden. And he's not for first-time owners. He needs an experienced, patiant, and preferably regenerative owner.

So his head would be lowered a lot, he would correct Puppins like the "alpha" of their little pack, he'd howl and expect Wade or Mary to awnser, he's going to make a den, he's gonna try to hide his bones under the carpet, he's going to be tense and slow, big and kind of clumsy, big pawed fucker loves the snow but the metal in his bones makes him too cold to pull a husky. Aka, sleep in a loaf out in a blizzard. He'd love to do that again, but his metal won't let him. If it was just bone, Wade would never be able to get him to come home from the woods during winter.

This goes back to the puppins thing, but wolves are PACK animals. He NEEDS his pack and HATES being alone. He likes to try to play with other people if theyre chill and even other dogs who are considered "too rough" with other dogs, though sometimes Wade gets scared his claws will come out if his prey drive activates. For the most part, even regressed Logan is extremely gentle with small things (except rabbits. R.I.P. all rabbits logan sees when regressed. They're GONE, sweetheart. Rabbit heaven.) And while this does inclue laura and gabby, bassically any of his X-Kits, only a few can handle his rough play style. This is why it's important for his owner to be able to regenerate, or you can't play with him to his full needs.

He has two collars. The first one is a simple, literal blue dog collar. But the red one is more kinky and says bad dog on its tag, but the other one just says "Logan"

Well, the thing im cooking is that sometimes the blue one is involved with Logans impure regression, Logan being kind of skittish and territorial.

Ie. Growling at Puppins and trying to steal her food, stealing her bed, not letting puppins to sit on Wades lap, etc

Sometimes, in the blue one, he's more "Play with me" puppy. Sometimes hes "Ill bite your fucking hand off" puppy.

Because of this, He's still learning his recall in his blue collar, so he's sometimes not allowed off leash in the woods without a tracker, but He is in his red one cause hes more big that way.

But it's Logans choice what color he wears on what day. It's NOT just a collar.

It's unwritten consent bassically AND how he needs handled. If logan is conscious and acting like a bad dog on purpose, Wade can "punish" him. If Blue Collar logan is being "bad," he doesn't mean it, and he needs to be gentle with him.

Depends on what he's doing for how Wade handles it. Sometimes, he has to break out the ... AHEM ... BB words.... (bad boy) COUGH

But in all honesty? Wade raises him like a normal puppy plus a lot more words, explanations, etc.

"Oh, No baby, you can't eat puppins food- er Logan sweetheart thats dog-"

"Grrrr"

"Okay, Okay I understand. I know Grrr but thats literal dog food are you sure you wanna-"

"...bleh"

"Yeah, thought so- Why are you eating it again!? Logan! No! Comere big boy. Comere. That's a good puppy. Here you want this?" *Gets the ham out of the fridge and wiggles it so his husband stops eating dog food*

Its not even the fact that he wants to eat dog food its just the fact hes stubborn and has eaten worse... Hence why theres bowls in the kitchen on the floor that say "Logan" on them and sometimes get filled with meat or cereal, cause if not he'll just subconsciously get in the trash or eat puppins food and then get a tummy ache for obvious reasons.

Logan flucuates between kitten and puppy all the time since wolverines are bassically cat dogs. So if hes just sitting there, Wade will go for the head or his cheeks, if hes up laying on his lap, he'll pet down his back and give him a scratch on the chin.

He's practically nonverbal too.

Can he talk? Yes. Does he often? Nope.

Body language is Wade's best friend when he's this way. It's quite obvious, though, with how vocal he is, between the snarls, the chittering, purrs, growls, hissing, groans, and grunts.

Play time (Pure regression) Logan is much more wiggly and obedient, will play fetch and do tricks for treats, and simply wants loved and praised.

Rescue (impure regression) Logan is skittish, snappy, and honestly just wants left alone with his things.

Play time Logan is playing tug with puppins and putting his ball in Al's hand while asleep and nudging her to throw it.

Rescue Logan is laying at Wades feet chewing a bone and snapping at his hand if he tries to touch him when he has food or puppins come near them.

Red collar logan by now is humping Wade's leg and has gotten into the fridge to eat half the chicken.

Play time logan barks and howls, btw. It terrifies the neighbors.

Petre and agere isn't all fun and cuddles. Sometimes, it invovles being alone and trying to sort out your memories/ do therapy.

Just like ive explained, 'rescue' Logan lounges around thinking about stuff and because of all the bad thoughts and most likely bad dreams or ideas revolving his abuse and stryker, he just chills out, naps, lays his head on wades lap, chews his ball, not much. Imagine an older abused dog. This is Logan's impure regression.

#inhisfeels

Meanwhile, he's a happy, energetic 6 month old puppy during pure 'play time' regression.

Blue collar Logan doesn't do on leash walks. He's terrified of them both rescue and play time Logan. Play time logan will yelp and whimper as if you're hurting him and immediately lay flat on the ground and rescue logan will bite you before you can even clip it on.

Red collar Logan will let you leash him though. For.. reasons..

It's from his younger days when he wasn't given food, had to steal food, etc. You have to remember that Logan ran away from home pretty young and was used to being able to hunt food whenever he wanted until the military and yk he lived in al the wars as well as the great depression so food is a must. He has to scarf it down before someone else takes it.

Rescue Logan is also extremely food agressive but play time Logan is still being trained that its okay if Wade is next to him when he eats and if he pets him while he eats logans hips wiggle a bit. He's learning stuff like "wait" and "easy" and "roll over" etc.

Literally pure regression Logan:

I HC that he was "punished" by starving him in the army but because he's "the runt" victor gave him some of his food too but in return victor would lecture him about how humans always will treat him badly.

He also lived with wolves, and in the pack, the dad wolf always ate first, then the mom, then the strongest kid. Well, since Logan was one of their pups, he would fight for his place in the pack, therefore fighting literal wolves to eat when new pups were born and said pups grew and tried to show their dominance by taking his food but Logan wouldn't let them (obviously).

Wade will ultimatly "fix" this issue by feeding Logan in the kitchen with his own bowl and teaching Mary never to go near his bowls.

Eventually, Logan will learn that Wades presence is good because he's being the "Pack leader" by defending his food FOR him. Aka less aggression, and I personally always ADD food to the shelter dog' food bowls if for any reason I have to be near them when eating. (I've worked shelter for a decade)

So eventually, rescue Logan will learn that Wade= more food, not take away.

Play time logan has already learned this and will wiggle if wade pets his head when he's eating but WILL still bite if he catches wade taking food AWAY from him. Meanwhile rescue Logan will immediately start growling if you're too close.

He didn't show Wade his puppy side until after they were dating a while. There were always signs, but Logan didn't fully tell him or let himself slip until he trusted him not to make fun of him. His little puppy self is still learning that Wade can be trusted around food - Mary, not so much.

Mary is really bad about taking food that isn't hers cause Wade keeps feeding her human scraps off his plate, so she thinks she can do that to Logan too, which AT WORST ends up with logan shoving her over and standing over her while snarling in her face or putting a "paw" on her to "correct" her puppy misdeeds.

Wade gets scared when this happens, but in reality, correction without a nip is VERY good for food agressive pups.

Althea only found out recently.

She would probably go to "pet the new dog" and be like, "What the!? Wade what the fuck! This is logan! Ugh you better not be naked! I don't wanna be apart of what ever nastiness you have going on!!" Lmao. Unironically this was Play time Logan so he's just sitting here with his head cocked, ball in his mouth like "why the fuck isn't this lady throwing my ball??"

Also- Vanessa doesn't know. Laura doesn't know. Gabby knows on accident, but thankfully, she thought he was just being silly and pretending, Morph knows, Kurt doesn't know, but he's aware of how animalistic Logan is. Jean knows slightly, Scott doesn't know, Storm doesn't know, Beast doesn't know.

Charles knew...

He's the one that told Logan "what was wrong with him," though. Cause Logan thought it was wrong, and he was a freak for sometimes snapping at his students/ teammates and wanting to crawl around and chew on Jean's shoes and steal Ororo's sweater to lay with.

It's why some nights Logan ended up curled up at the end of Charles' bed and would start barking out the window when Erik tried to come in. The idea of Erik setting him outside the door and locking it only for Logan to sit there, blink, and process what just happened is so funny. This is clearly exaggerated but its a silly thought.

Logan would never trust the person who told the other x men ever again, and since Charles is dead, that only leaves Jean, Morph, and Wade to snitch.

Further clarification:

So pure "Play time" regression is like Wade when he's a kid and he's at the park and he's giggling playing, coloring, watching my little pony etc.

Impure regression is when the truama forces you to be little, so like when Wade felt like logan abandoned him, so he became small at peters' house in that one ficlet "Notes"

Logan's "impure" regression would be caused by him thinking about bad thoughts, stress, or something that triggered him to regress. Triggered regression is also "forced" regression and sometimes can be through positive association.

Like when Wade saw that toy shop and went all squeaky and lit up. "Kitty!!"

"Yeah. I see bub, but we have to catch our train."

"Eeehh!! Kitty!"

"Kiddo we don't have-"

And he sees his innocent and excited he is and groans "im gonna regret this. You can get ONE toy."

*proceeds to walk out with an entire bag cause Wade is spoiled*

He likes meat, cereal, whole mik, those scooby snack treats, raw bones, cooked bones, and bones. It doesn't really matter as long as there's meat to rip off. He likes pretzel sticks and bread sticks, too. His favorite is when Wade gives him raw meat or hell, People's legs.

General ideas:

When he yawns really big, he shows all his teeth and makes the squeak noise then shakes his head.

Wade makes dog safe cookies shaped like dog bones for Puppins and Logan.

Litsen my boys are NOT above cannibalism and if theyre already dead, Logan was taught not to waste by the natives. So who is he to judge?

"Look what I got! Its a super ultra bloody femur with meat bits still on it"

"Eww... wade.. you cant just-"

"Aw.. you dont want it?"

"........ gimme the fucking leg"

No but I did say that Logans puppy regression is CRAZY when he sees a fresh untouched snowy forest and that Wade would have to call for him for like 10 minutes until Logan comes trotting back with a deer leg in his mouth.

@nuggetpool-hi mentioned how Logan would probably like chewing on Wade's disgarded limbs because of some weird subconsious desire to devour his loved ones and how they would stink like wade.

"Now im inside you peanut"

".....I'm going to fucking stab you if you keep saying that."

Wade no, let this man gnaw on his bone on the living room floor in PEACE. Even Mary is side eyeing you for that comment.

And then @whiskeyandcigarsmoke replied, saying that Wade would tell him it was time to go home, and he'd hide in the den that he dug out because he wouldn't wanna go home.

I can see them older and married and if Logan is mad at Wade wade just picks up a stick outside.

"You want it? Huh? You want it?"

"Wade... No... Im still mad at you!"

"WADE- stop"

"You wanna get it big boy?"

"Ggggrrr..."

And Logan would stand there for a second, growling with his arms crossed.

"Ooohh yes you do! Oh yes you do GO GET IT"

"You cant... just.." but his eyes keep going back to the stick.

"Go on! Go get it! Go get it for me! Suchba good boy!"

And Logan finally sighs, grumbling under his breath as he goes to get the fucking stick.

"Yeah hes my good boy."

Even better if logan is fishing and someone compliments his skill.

And you see this old mans head SNAP to him, Glare, and then get beat red. Poor guy can't beat the "good boy" allegations..

Extra:

I feel a huge part of red collar Logan's relationship with Wade is:

Logan: *SNARLS in his face*

Wade: Mornin Wolvie!

Logan: *Stabs him in the stomach*

Wade: Hot.

Logan, mentally: Wtf? Why isn't he scared of me? 🤨 wait.. He's not scared of me 🥹 omg

[yourvienna]

bug in the ground. MIYA ATSUMU

preview — fic masterlist.

miya atsumu x gn! reader; 1.2k words; soulmate au.

It ends like the final crack of thunder in a storm. It’s loud, frightening. It sends shock waves down your spine as the rain continues to pour, and pour, and pour. Because the tears can’t seem to let up as he ushers you out of his apartment with words of sorrow and deceiving eyes. You catch a glimpse of her expression as he shuts the door one final time and you know right then they’re perfect for each other. 

It’s supposed to last forever. A bond constructed by the gods has no room for error. There’s supposed to be no room for error. Your soulmate is supposed to be by your side from the moment the two of you lock eyes, discover the ink upon your skin drawn by the heavens -- crafted by destiny. 

But you guess destiny is stupid, and the gods aren’t perfect. If they were, then you wouldn’t be sobbing on the side of the street at two in the morning. 

It’s late, but every time you dare to think about leaving the curb your throat constricts into a knot as though a snake has twisted its way around your neck, slowly but surely squeezing tighter and tighter. Your arms wrap around yourself, knees pulled up to your chest -- it’s for security, for comfort, for warmth. Your soulmate fucking left you. How comical. 

You can’t help but think of when you first met, the ink on your left arm burning as he greeted you before school. All it took was a little push from a passerby to meet him. 

You wish that person never ran into you. 

“Was I not good enough?” You think, tears stinging the apples of your cheeks. Is the tattoo that the two of you share not enough proof of your bond? Even then -- was your hand caressing his every morning or the way you memorized all of his many coffee orders enough proof either? You love him (loved? is it now loved?), how is that not enough? 

It was obvious thirty minutes ago that it wasn’t

If you were good enough, then he wouldn’t have been with another girl. 

So now you’re on the street opposite of his apartment. You’re crying. And you don’t know where to go from here. 

You recall all of the stories you’ve been told about soulmates, about how there will never be a moment when you doubt their love; how they always find each other; how they’ll withstand all the hardships that come their way. Somehow, it doesn’t seem like this is one of those stories. You rack the depths of your mind for another story, one involving a broken bond. But you can’t find one, because there are none. 

Another thought rummages its way into your head: you’ll be alone for the rest of your life. 

The idea is the catalyst for another round of sobs.  

A cough sounds from beside you, and through your foggy gaze you can make out a man. Your hand wipes the tears from your face -- the sudden realization that you look like a total wreck hits you. 

He’s surprised (as he should be, because who wouldn’t after finding a sobbing girl on the street at two a.m?), eyebrows raised and hands gripping the strap of a duffle bag. But there’s something in his eyes, something that’s hidden within the crevices of his face. It’s familiar. You hate it. 

“If you’re here to kill me, just get it over with,” 

Your gaze detracts back to the ground, body tensing for the feeling of whatever in his bag to come crashing down over you. 

He laughs. It’s loud and sharp and it’s everything you don’t want to hear. 

“I’m not gonna kill ya,” He says, raising one eyebrow to ask why you even thought that. 

You motion to his duffle bag, another chuckle sounds through the crisp air. He opens it to reveal an assortment of gear and clothes. He’s an athlete. You shiver. Another snake wraps its way around your neck at the thought of him. 

“Are you okay?”

Atsumu doesn’t know why he decides to stop when he sees you across the street. It’s late and he’s tired from practicing even when the scheduled one ended hours ago. Before he knew it, the time on his phone slowly switched from nine to two and he knew he had to go. But right when he went to call Osamu he heard your soft sobs, an unknown force pushing him to see what’s wrong. 

“Does it look like it?” You scoff.

“No.” He sits beside you on the curb, a foot or so away. 

You don’t say anything; what are you supposed to say? He’s just a stranger who’s only talking to you because you're crying and he wants to do something good for his conscience. Why else would he want to console the girl without a soulmate? People don’t do things just to help someone else. There has to be something in it for them: feeling good for themself, a good mark, a raise. 

“It’s two a.m, it’s not safe out here.” 

“You’re out here.” 

“I was practicing; I’m walking home.” 

“Oh,” You nod. He nods too. 

“So, you never answered my question y’know,” He does this thing where he looks around while he’s talking and when he ends the sentence he looks at you, eyes pointed. It’s different. 

“My soulmate broke our bond.” You glance at your tattoo. What was once a small dove chirping on your forearm is now a crow with a broken wing. A fleeting wonder of: “does he have the same one?” goes through your head. 

“They can do that?” 

“I mean he just did, so yeah, they can do that.” A bitter laugh emits from your lips, but the tears have ceased to run down your red cheeks. 

Atsumu doesn’t comfort people. He’s not good at it, he never was. That’s Osamu’s job and everyone he’s ever met knows it. But Osamu’s not here and neither are his teammates. So he says the same words he’s heard in every sad movie he’s ever watched. 

“'M Sorry,” He thinks it’s genuine; he knows where you’re coming from. You don’t think the same, however. 

“It’s okay, there’s nothing anyone can do.” 

“Do you want me to go?” A wedge of hope lies in the bottom of your heart, one that prays he doesn’t want to leave.

(Deep down, he doesn’t want to go.)

“No. I don’t think so.” Because he’s the first person you’ve encountered other than the racoon eating out of the trashcan across the street and you need human comfort right now, but you don’t tell him that. 

“Okay. I’ll stay.” 

He does. The two of you sit in silence, the only sounds being the December wind brushing against your lashes and the remnants of the garbage left by the racoon tumbling in the breeze. He sits with you on the curb until the time switches from two to three and he decides that it’s too cold to be out here.  

He walks you home, once again in silence, but the aura it provides is warm. And when you reach your doorstep and before he can bid his goodbye, you give him your number. It’s surprising to you when you blurt out the words, but the man is nice, so why not? (You don’t want a rebound, to clarify, because for all you know he could already have found his soulmate. You know how that feels to be on the other side of that situation.) 

“I’m Y/n, by the way.” You say as he tucks the device back into his pocket. 

“Miya Atsumu.” 

[lynn-tged-posting]

so i've been working through the tged webnovel (really, really slowly) (but im getting there!) (it's been REALLY fun i love their banter so so much i wish there was more of it in the webtoon)

and i keep thinking back to chapter 43, where lloyd is surveying the wetlands and arcos comes with him

i don't really have much new insight, i just think about their interaction in this chapter a lot, especially since it's one that doesn't show up in the webtoon adaptation

arcos going out of his way to spend time with his son, and making him a lunch that he knows his son loved, all as an unspoken apology

because "how could he", right? how could a father hate his son and only start to love him again when success has been found? that's so haunting to realize; that someone you loved so much, someone you raised and nurtured, someone you knew the favorite foods of and why, could become someone you hate. and then, the son you once raised, the son who became a stranger, went and grew up without you.

did i give up too soon? did i abandon my own son? ... what kind of father does that? ... right?

and so he does what he can to offer repentance. he takes time out of his day to engage with what his son is doing. he shows that he still remembers his son, the boy who would rather eat boiled eggs and tomatoes over any other dish. he offers it all in a basket, carrying the love he feels he should've given to lloyd a long, long time ago.

... and it's not even the original lloyd frontera who receives it.

we don't get to know what suho is thinking in this moment, but i think his silence speaks volumes.

... because "how could he", right? how could this fraud in another man's body accept this silent apology that isn't truly owed to him? this man, this baron, this father, is asking for forgiveness when he had every right to be angry with the original owner of this body. and he doesn't even realize, because how would he possibly know his original fate? only you do.

this wasn't meant for me ... right?

but suho doesn't reject him, either. he doesn't interrupt arcos, he doesn't leave. they sit together and eat boiled eggs with honeyed tomatoes in silence.

it makes me wonder what suho is thinking about, what he's feeling, what he's remembering...

because (and call me crazy, call me speculative) heaven knows the love language of an asian parent.

here's some cut fruit. here's your favorite snack. here's dinner. i've brought it here to you.

you're working so, so hard. i'll support you, i'll be here. don't worry about anything else, just keep growing.

i love you, i love you, i love you, attached to every plate.

"this was your favorite food when you were young. ... i should have given you as many boiled eggs and tomatoes as you wanted."

and again, it's a little bit of speculation from me, but i think that's why suho doesn't say no, why he lets arcos make this apology. it's a piece of what he misses most.

and so they both leave a little bit healed. "the basket was lighter on the way home. and albeit very slightly, their steps became lighter as well." it might not have been between the right souls, but it's a weight lifted nonetheless.

... all this to say that i am absolutely MOURNING that this didn't make it into the adaptation!!!

i understand that with comic adaptations, there are going to be some cuts to ensure pacing and workload stays reasonable, but this would've been absolutely devastatingly emotional (/pos) to witness visually,

because what would lloyd's (suho's) face look like? what expression would he make, can we visually see how he feels? and arcos, what does he see when he looks at his son? fatherly love and solemn regret, painted all over his face, what does that look like to the adapter? to the artist? to us?

and in general too, we lost the characterization and relationship of arcos to suho; i really, really wish it made it in :(

end post

[peoplesgraves]

Desmond The Vampire

Yandere monster harem

~meet the characters~

(Picrew didn’t have red eyes so pretend they’re red)

•Like any good 2010’s ya monster movie, you’d meet Desmond next in much a similar fashion as Ayla. After falling asleep on the couch, one of the rare night Ayla was out and not home to carry you to bed or lay on the ground in front of you protectively, you were awoken by a smack against one of the houses almost comically large windows. At first you’d thought it to be a bird but it turns out to be a pretty cute bat. perhaps if you’d been less tired you’d begin to wonder if you were cursed or something and that’s why so many less than normal animals seemed to be falling at your feet…

•The bat, actually a vampire named Des, as he’d requested you call him, was struck by your kindness. Most who had caught a vampire in such a vulnerable position wouldn’t have let them live, never mind invited them in. Even in a town of monsters vampires were considered more monstrous than most. It didn’t matter how many times you (or later Ayla) claimed the only reason you’d taken him in is because you’d thought he was a regular ole bat, he was reverent all the same.

•Des is immediately taken with you, perhaps it’d been the centuries spent alone since his lover from his human days had elected to die instead of becoming like him and how similar you were to his departed love. In a past life he’d respected her decision to control her own fate but it’d been hundreds of years in near solitude without her, he’d changed. He’d swore to keep you near forever at any cost from his very first glance.

•Speaking of becoming a vampire, Des refuses to speak on it. He’ll tell you anything else you wish to know, his life as a human, his life after becoming a vampire, even the actual experience of going from human to vampire but he absolutely refuses to speak about how he became this way and by who. For a nearly indestructible being it seems to be the only thing that still scares him. Well that and the thought of losing the only one who understands him yet again.

•Unlike some other more modern monster he is from a much stricter time. While the thought of putting his coffin in your room or heaven forbid sleeping next to you as the werewolf prefers to do, makes him feel warm and alive. He insists on sleeping in the attic, somewhere he can make completely dark without disturbing you or your life too much. He doesn’t want to force his love on you , he will if he really has to but he’d prefer to court you properly and prove himself worthy of your love and affection.

•Des is not a nice person, he’s been hardened and made cold and cruel by years of scorn from not only humans but his supposed peers to. Of the constant cycle of fear between periods of more silent simmering hate when vampires tried to make peace and outright vampire hunting parties and public burnings when even a single vampire stepped out of line or other started to get threatened by the growing population. He’d survived hundreds of years of these waves, but his humanity largely had not. Truthfully he believed he had none left until meeting you.

•Should you ever offer your own blood to him he’d refuse outright. He’s been a vampire long enough that he can easily control his blood lust and the frenzy that often afflicted younger vampires but he would never take such a chance with something as precious as his love. He’d also never forgive himself if even if it went right that you’d start to fear him, see him as nothing more than a predator. Similarly he’d never let you seem him feed or even covered in any blood. He doesn’t want you to believe he’s only interested in your blood because he really believes that’s the least interesting thing about you. Instead he’d spend as much time as he could listening to you or sitting in content silence just in your presence, anything to just be with you.

[queerfortress2]

Oh my god, I loved the way you described the support classes in an argument, I feel like it was totally spot-on. Would you be willing to write how the other classes would be in an argument, as well? Or, at least maybe the defence classes?? Thank you and have a wonderful day! 🥰

another engineer (technically) one, im in heaven. also, thank you! (also so very sorry for how short it is, my brain is so very very fried from art fight.) — mod engie

GN!READER X DEFENSE CLASSES ; ARGUMENTS

DEMOMAN

out of all of them? he is the best. he can actually recognize that he is wrong in an argument after the fact and apologise, which is crazy by mercenary means. after all, most of his problems are solved by alcohol and bombs, but he cares about you enough not to blow you up, so be thankful for that.

that being said… he’s also drunk most of the time, so the former may not even apply when you’re arguing. he most likely won’t recognise he’s even arguing— hell! he might not even remember he’s arguing halfway through and begin talking about a completely unrelated topic. it’s kind of difficult to continue from there, considering he’s either too drunk to recognise you, sleeping, or taking another swig out of a comically large bottle.

"Aye..! I know y’er mad aboot th’ match but in—" His glassy eyes looked around, almost not at you, rather your general surroundings, his leg limp slightly. Be tilted to the right as he looked towards the fireplace of the lounging area, stumbling slightly, "—Wh’teva’ ‘s really jus’ ah… hic!—" Almost on cue, the man had practically fallen, stumbling over, falling asleep momentarily. The second his body loses balance, you seem to have been forced by your instinct to catch him. The impact between him and your arms almost knocked you both over, but thankfully he slowly rose back up to his feet and looked you in the eyes. Unfortunately for you, he already forgot about the argument, and began incoherently babbling about how he missed being this close to you. ..Maybe bring it up another time. One of the rare hours when he’s sober.

when he's sober afterwards i imagine its a lot easier to have a conversation with him, after all he's usually willing to admit he was in the wrong, and a lot of the time, its not a big argument. he's just not a man easy to anger. while the support classes are much easier to aggravate. a common theme seems to be the defense class men are just a loooooot more patient. (also a lot more apologetic)

ENGINEER

its genuinely really hard to argue with this man because he is (most of the time) correct. even if it is an argument you thought you knew all about he's INFURIATINGLY on top. why? well, he does his research really. he's not as willing to win silly little debates but when it comes to much more serious decisions being made. or, say, doing something utterly STUPID at work that could've gotten you killed. yeah, the respawn exists, but darn it that don' mean you can play with it!

so when you, say, fuck around with dangerous technology, he will 100% start arguing. not because he hates you for messing with his latest trinket, but because you could've gotten seriously hurt! that's not a game he's willing to play. unlike the medic, he doesn't often fuck around with satan, the poor texan doesn't want to grow more grey hair in his... beard? eyebrows? i don't know, dell is practically bald.

"WHAT were you THINKING?" The Texan dropped his hard hat onto the desk beside him. The man works late nights to make sure no one gets royally fucked by that dangerous machine his Grandfather created a few generations before, and you're skipping out of it like it's a playground? It's safe to say his blood pressure suffers due to your recklessness. Though it was clear his volume was unwarranted, he finally started over with a long sigh, talking at a normal volume. "Y'know that thin' wasn't always 'dere? Dontcha? Don't get too comfortable with that thin'. I don' wanna see you get hurt, y' hear me?" Dell really didn't want to hear your side of the argument, after all, in his mind there was no reason in hell OR heaven for you to just casually run at the flames of the opposing Pyro for 'funsies'. Imagine how it is for him to see you die in numerous ways on the battle field. It AIN'T NICE, to say the least.

no matter how long the argument went on, he would eventually shut you down with a good 'don't pull that shit again' and move out to take a lap. he takes a lot longer to cool down than the other two defense mercenaries, mostly because whenever he argues genuinely, it gets rather personal. even if to you it seemed rather 'impersonal' and 'professional' feel-y, in his heart it was because all the machinery is what gives his family their name. whenever he sees someone messing around with it? it genuinely ticks him off.

HEAVY

man of little words argues the least, mostly because, unlike engineers, everything is rather impersonal. he's definitely heard it all, and while i don't think he apologises as often, it's also just difficult to get him to argue THAT BADLY. the most you get out of him is maybe two words telling you not to do something, and even then there's not that much room for argument is there? you either do what he's asked of you or you don't. both are things he can't quite control. he's just as stubborn, as you can tell he just does his own thing, only following directions when he can see it's vital for his or others' survival.

not impossible to argue with him, however. there are times when you can get him to argue, but its usually not anything important. perhaps you had a different opinion on how a cliffhanger was supposed to be interpreted? now we're getting somewhere. maybe you have a rather negative imagine of fyodor's brothers. he's not gonna let you pass without explaining why.

"I just didn't understand what the Father was supposed to mean in all that!" You may have exclaimed as you sat across from the largest mercenary on the team, yet sat composed in a comfortable sofa chair, with small glasses and a comically small book in hand. He wasn't usually seen like this, after all, most people see him screaming violently on the field. It's only this side that you see most commonly late at night. The way you seemed to speak of it was rather surface-level. Which, not to blame you, it's a Russian novel, not many are reading it at all. Heavy never owned books in English. So it's really just for you to 'suck up and take' while reading with him. Thankfully, he's taught you enough to have you fill in the blanks with common sense. Perhaps it was just American society getting to you. Back at home, the meaning was a lot easier to grasp, knowing that most were under a similar crushing situation under the new rule. At least in Russian society, where a lot of knowledge is needed to even begin to understand the book, the brothers' differences were clear in what they represented and what their father represented, especially in the modern day with the uprising and new government, filled with Soviet control. The man stared lost in thought at you, which is mighty intimidating on its own, before actually speaking up. "Ah, no." He simply shook his head, leaning forward in his chair for you to hear him better, "He uses father in metaphor not..." He snapped his finger attempting to remember the English word for his sentence. "Literal. Father mean more than just caretaker. Mean oppression." It sounded as if he were to continue before he simply sat back and relaxed back into his chair.

it didn't exactly feel like an argument, in fact it felt more like he was informing you. but that's genuinely the closest i could ever imagine him getting to an argument. he just doesn't seem like that type of guy.

[jksnrabbit]

DNDADS OCS, BUT THIS TIME ITS S2

THIS TIME i present TWO . TWICE the character for One post because i couldnt be bothered to make 2 debut ref sheets for them both

Luis and Santiago Sanchez, originally made as dnd characters for a campaign that never took off, so i smushed em in s2

here's an introductory comic to how luis and lark met, simply cause ive had this comic in my sketchbook for ages and it makes me cackle everytime

fun facts below the cut!! [i wrote more than expected]

☆ i made them sometime in 2022, before the s2 teens made it to heaven, so now idk how they can be part angelic considering angels r just eyeballs, but fuck it. if there can be half demon characters, there can be half angel

☆ theyre both peruvian [because i dont see enough peruano characters in media istfg]

☆ newly moved in to san dimas! moved in the same neighborhood as the oak-swallows-garcia family

☆ i believe these are pre-season 2 ep 1 ocs. like, maybe a year or 2 before the events of s2? idk . time is fake

☆ some inspiration for these two was taken from jim and barbara from trollhunters! i still love that show so i blended it with my own experiences and dndads and here. mental illness incarnate

LUIS

☆ bisexual nurse dad! since he was supposed to be a dnd pc, i had him as a life cleric, so to explain for his healing magic i decided to have him be ½ celestial, maybe aasimar

☆ that being said, he does not know of any non-human heritage nor magical healing. he just thinks he's naturally good at healing

☆ having magic immediately puts him on lark's radar, leading him to investigate luis. luis is just happy to have a new friend

☆ divorced from santiago's mom

☆ can't cook For Shit. it doesnt matter if you give him instructions, if it involves a stove/oven, there will be smoke

SANTIAGO

☆ transgender king!!! he/they legend!!! no im not projecting dont @ me /j

☆ chismoso/nosey to the point where, in san dimas, a hotbed for doodler activity, it puts him in danger. and you best believe he's snooping on this weird dude who's hanging around his dad so much [lark]

☆ new transfer to teen high! mainly just concerned with joining the track team

☆ unfortunately also the king of running in his binder. god save this kid

☆ due to celestial heratige, hates taylor swift's part demonic energy - he chalks this up to just not liking his vibe