#i know it sounds unreal but this was an actual line i'm not joking

[amandabe11man]

shoutout to that rando in hell on wheels season 1 who conspired with the swede about something and then when they met up in secret to Discuss, the guy was taking a piss and literally (i’m serious) asked the swede if he was gonna say anything or if he came there to hold his dick for him

[winterlico]

SEVEN DAYS WITH A DEMON — SJY

⋆.˚ pairing : demon!Jake x fem!reader | status : on going

Summary : You thought summoning a demon for seven days would be temporary. You were wrong.

⋆.˚ word count : 4.6k

Genre : Fantasy, Romance, Comedy, Light Angst, Fluff

⋆.˚ warnings : 18+ joke (implicitly), harsh words, making out, LOTS of teasing (buckle up)

⋆.˚ a/n : English is not my first language and this is the first time i uploaded a fanfic, i'm sorry if there is still a lot missing words. If you want to be tagged, comment here!

❛ feedback & reblogs appreciated! ❜

Night Five: The Beach & The Almost-Indecent Moment

It’s a ridiculous wish.

Or, at least, that’s what Jake claims when you say it out loud.

The kitchen is dimly lit, the hum of the city outside slipping in through the window, mixing with the quiet clink of your glass as you set it down. Jake leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with narrowed golden eyes.

"You want me to what?"

His tone is flat, but his expression is somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

You lift your chin. Unwavering. "I wish for a day at the beach with you."

Jake’s lips twitch. His golden gaze flickers, something thoughtful passing over his features before he exhales.

"Angel," he says, tilting his head slightly, voice slow and measured, "I don’t think you understand. I’m a demon. I don’t do sunshine and happy seaside frolicking."

You fold your arms, unimpressed. "Well, tough luck, demon boy. I’m your summoner, and that’s my wish."

Jake groans, dragging a hand down his face like you’ve just inflicted actual pain on him. But despite the dramatic suffering act, there’s a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His fingers twitch. The air around you crackles.

And with a snap—

The world shifts.

Your small apartment vanishes, swallowed in a rush of salt air and warmth, the familiar walls replaced by golden sand stretching out beneath your feet, waves rolling in slow and endless under a sky that is too blue, too bright, too unreal.

The scent of the ocean fills your lungs—thick, real, alive. The wind curls through your hair, teasing at your skin, carrying the distant sound of laughter, seagulls, crashing waves.

And when you glance at Jake—

Oh.

Jake is not wearing a shirt.

Your brain completely malfunctions.

His skin gleams under the sunlight—all golden muscle, sharp collarbones, lean definition that is completely unfair. Droplets of water cling to his chest, sliding, tracing lines over his abdomen, catching on the sharp ridges of his hips. His dark hair is damp, strands falling into his eyes as he rakes a hand through it.

You stare. Well, you can't help it.

Jake notices and he smirks.

"I don’t do wet clothes," he says smoothly, voice lazy, dripping with amusement, stepping onto the sand, completely unbothered by the fact that your thoughts have ceased functioning.

The sun is bright, but suddenly, he is brighter. You force yourself to breathe, to think, to speak—

But before you can—

He leans in.

Slow. Too slow.

Close. Too close.

Close enough that you can feel the lingering heat of the sun on his skin, the faint scent of salt and something darker, something warmer.

Close enough that if you shifted—just barely, just recklessly—

Your lips would touch.

His voice is low. Smooth. Dangerous.

"You sure you don’t want a closer look?"

Your pulse jolts.

Your mouth opens—whether to curse at him or say something profoundly embarrassing, you’ll never know—because instead, in a desperate, knee-jerk act of survival—

You hurl your towel at him.

Jake catches it effortlessly, laughing.

But the sound sticks to your skin, lingers in the space between you, warm and golden like the sun.

And maybe—just maybe—you are already in trouble.

Jake complains immediately.

About the heat. About the brightness. About the fact that he is surrounded by loud, excitable mortals running around half-dressed and splashing water like idiots.

But by midday, something shifts.

Because even though he grumbles about the sand, he still chases you across the shore—and wins, obviously, because he is a demon and refuses to let you have nice things.

Even though he pretends he doesn’t care, he still tastes ice cream for the first time—and immediately steals yours when he decides it’s better.

Even though he acts like the ocean is “burning his flesh,” he still lets you pull him into the waves, laughing like he’s forgotten who he’s supposed to be.

And when he lifts you effortlessly, tossing you into the water without warning—you emerge, sputtering, seething, pushing your wet hair from your face. "You—!!"

Jake stands there, hands on his hips, grinning like the smug bastard he is.

"Revenge for the Wickham comment," he says simply.

Your rage is unholy. But when you tackle him into the waves, when he lets you drag him under, lets himself lose, just for a second—

His laughter doesn’t sound like a demon’s at all.

The whole day feels surreal—too easy, too lighthearted, like he’s not a creature from the underworld bound to your service. Like he’s just a boy, laughing and sunlit, golden in more ways than one.

Later, as the sun sets, you and Jake sit side by side in the sand.

For once, he’s quiet. His golden eyes are softer now, watching the waves. “I think I get why humans like this,” he murmurs.

You tilt your head. “Like what?”

“This,” he gestures vaguely. “Warmth. Peace. Moments that feel…” He exhales. “Real.”

Your heart aches. Before you can stop yourself, your hand reaches out—fingers brushing against his.

Jake doesn’t pull away. He just looks at you—silent, unreadable—before he does something insane.

He lifts your hand to his lips. A slow, lingering kiss against your knuckles. Soft. Reverent.

Your breath catches.

His golden gaze burns.

“Careful, angel,” he murmurs against your skin. “I might start thinking you actually like me.”

You shiver. And when he finally lets go, your fingers tingle from the loss of his touch.

Jake glances at you. “You’re a strange human.”

You hum, kicking at the sand. “And you’re a strange demon.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Guess that makes us even.”

There’s something in his tone—something softer, something that makes your chest ache. You don’t press it.

But later that night, back in your apartment, something does happen.

Jake leaves for one minute.

One goddamn minute.

You had wanted drinks, and like the (begrudgingly) decent demon he was, he went to get them. But when he returns—fruit juice in one hand, a bag of snacks in the other—His expression darkens.

Because there’s a man standing beside you.

A man who is leaning in too close. A man who is very obviously flirting with you, eyes flicking down to the way your bikini fits far too well, lips pulling into a smirk.

And worst of all?

You’re smiling.

Jake’s grip tightens on the drinks. The guy reaches for your arm, probably about to say something so incredibly stupid—

Jake is beside you in an instant.

He does not speak. He does not glare. He just—exists. And suddenly, the air shifts. The guy visibly tenses, his casual confidence wavering under the weight of something he doesn’t understand.

Jake doesn’t touch you. He doesn't have to. Because his presence alone—the heat of him at your side, the slow, knowing smirk on his lips—says everything.

The guy clears his throat, mutters something unintelligible, and walks away.

Jake waits until he’s gone. Then he leans in close, voice a slow, taunting drawl.

"Having fun, angel?"

You sigh, rolling your eyes. "You’re impossible."

Jake just grins.

But later, when your fingers brush as he hands you your drink—when his gaze lingers a second too long on your lips, your skin, the warmth of you beneath the moonlight—

Maybe, just maybe—

He’s already lost.

The night air is thick with salt, clinging to Jake’s skin like something tangible, something inescapable. The waves roll in slow, rhythmic, dragging against the shore before retreating, only to return again, steady, constant, relentless.

The bonfire in the distance flickers, its golden light stretching across the sand, casting shifting shadows, making everything feel softer, warmer—too warm. But none of it matters. Not the fire, not the ocean, not the gentle breeze curling through the air.

Because you are sitting beside him. And that is the only thing Jake can feel.

It’s the way the glow of the fire catches in your hair, strands still damp from the ocean, curling against your collarbone in uneven waves. It’s the way your skin still holds the last traces of sunlight, warmth lingering, golden and alive. It’s the way your lips are slightly parted, like you’re on the verge of speaking but haven’t decided if you should. It’s the way your breath is steady, controlled, unbothered by the weight pressing down on his chest, by the way something heavy and unspoken has been thickening the space between you all night.

And then—your fingers brush against his.

Jake stills.

It is nothing. Barely a touch. Just a fleeting press of skin against skin, accidental and careless. But it is enough. Enough to send something sharp and immediate cutting through his stomach, enough to make his breath catch at the back of his throat, enough to make his pulse stutter for the briefest, most damning second.

Because the worst part? His first instinct isn’t to pull away. His first instinct—the thing that nearly betrays him entirely—is to hold on. To curl his fingers around yours, to chase that warmth, to see what would happen if he gave in.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he locks his jaw, tightens his grip on the sand, and forces himself to stay still. Forces himself to breathe evenly, to pretend like his entire world hasn’t just tilted, like this isn’t a moment that means something. But you don’t move away either. And suddenly, that is worse.

A slow second passes. Then another.

His entire body is too aware of the space between your hands. The space that is barely there. The space that he refuses to close.

You're the first one to speak, voice low and laced with something he can’t quite place. “You’re quiet, demon.”

A pause. Then, teasing, knowing, too knowing. “That’s new.”

Jake exhales through his nose, slow and careful, too careful, flexing his fingers against the sand. "Don’t get used to it," he mutters, voice lower than intended.

His smirk is slow, sharp, the only defense he has left. "I was just wondering if you realized you’re touching me."

Your fingers twitch slightly, barely noticeable—but he feels it.

Not because you move away, but because now? Now you’re paying attention. Because he has made you pay attention. You tip your head slightly, lips curving, a quiet, wicked little smirk playing at the edges of your mouth. "Oh? Is that why you look like you’re trying so hard not to react?"

Jake clenches his jaw. His smirk stays, but it feels strained now, pulled too tight. "Funny," he murmurs, his gaze flicking to yours, too steady, too sharp. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

You hum, thoughtful, but don’t move. "If it bothers you so much," you say lightly, voice teasing, challenging, "you can be the one to pull away."

And that’s the problem.

Because he should. But he doesn’t.

"Jake."

It is soft, barely above a whisper, but it lands like something heavier, something with weight, something that buries itself into his chest and stays. It is a question without being one, a test he already knows he is failing. His name has never sounded like this before—never felt like something warm, something certain, something dangerous. Not like this. Not from you.

His fingers press against the sand, flexing as if to anchor himself, as if to ground himself against the way his body has gone too still. His breath is slow, measured, deliberate. But his pulse? His pulse betrays him. Because you are looking at him. Watching him. And you are waiting.

Jake swallows. "You're playing with fire, angel," he says finally, his voice low, rough, not as steady as it should be.

But you just smile. Not teasing. Just knowing.

"And you’re avoiding the question, demon."

His fingers dig into the sand, his smirk faltering—just slightly, just enough. "What question?" he drawls, feigning nonchalance, knowing it’s a lie the second it leaves his lips.

Your lips part, and this is it.

The moment. The thing that undoes him completely.

Your voice is soft. Calm. Too calm. “Do you feel it too?”

Jake’s entire body locks up, because he knows exactly what you mean.

The weight between you. The charge in the air. The tension that has been building, thick and silent, stretching through every look, every word, every touch. The way his breath catches whenever you get too close. The way his eyes always, always fall to your lips.

Do you feel it too?

Yes.

Yes, he feels it. But he can’t say that. So instead, he stalls.

Drags a hand through his hair. Flicks his tongue over his bottom lip. Exhales, slow and sharp. His usual smirk tries to form, but it is weak, hollow. His voice is rough when he finally speaks. “You really think that highly of yourself?”

Your head tilts slightly. You don’t look away. You don’t let him escape. "Do you?"

And fuck.

Because suddenly, the weight of this moment—the sheer, unbearable truth of it—is pressing in on him too fast, too real, too much. Because you are watching him like you already know the answer.

And he can’t handle that.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever. So he does the only thing he can.

He gets up. Fast. Abrupt. “Let’s go,” he mutters.

You blink, thrown by the sudden shift, before amusement flickers in your gaze. “Running, demon?”

Jake exhales, tight, sharp, not looking at you. “I don’t run.”

And then—he walks away. Because if he stays—if he looks at you for even a second longer—he will do something he can’t take back.

And he is already too far gone.

The apartment is too quiet.

Not the kind of comfortable silence that comes from exhaustion after a long day, but the kind that hums, electric and charged, thick with something left unsaid. The air inside is cooler than the beach had been, but Jake still feels too warm, too restless.

He doesn’t look at you when you walk in.

Doesn’t acknowledge the way you linger just inside the doorway, arms crossed, watching him with something unreadable in your eyes.

Instead, he exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair, shaking out the last remnants of ocean water from the dark strands. A distraction. A reset. Anything but this.

"Go shower, angel," he mutters, rolling his shoulders like he can shrug off the weight pressing against his ribs. "You’re covered in sand."

You raise a brow. "So are you."

Jake doesn’t miss the way your gaze flickers over him just slightly, lingering on the dried salt and sand clinging to his skin. He smirks, slow and sharp. A dangerous thing. "Like what you see?"

Your lips part, but you catch yourself too late.

Jake sees it. He sees the way you almost react, almost falter. And suddenly—he feels like he is winning again.

Your eyes narrow, as if resetting yourself. "Cocky bastard."

"You love it," Jake mutters, rolling his shoulders as he walks further inside.

You scoff, crossing your arms. "I tolerate it."

Jake lets out a low hum, gaze flicking over you again, too deliberate, too amused, too smug. "Mm. You tolerate me staring at you in a bikini all day too, angel?"

Your brain short-circuits. Your lips part—probably to yell at him, maybe to throw something at his head—but Jake doesn’t give you the chance.

Instead, he turns and walks toward the bathroom, leaving you standing there, too flustered, too caught off guard, too annoyed at how fast he escaped.

You don’t expect to walk past the bathroom and hear the shower running.

It’s a simple thing. Shouldn’t matter. Shouldn’t make your pulse jump the way it does. Shouldn’t stop you in your tracks, shouldn’t have you suddenly too aware of everything.

But it does, because it’s not just the sound of water hitting tile.

It’s the steam curling out from beneath the door. It’s the low sigh Jake lets out, like the heat is undoing the tension in his muscles. It’s the image that immediately forms in your mind, uninvited and unavoidable.

Jake standing under the spray, head tilted back, dark strands of hair slicked against his forehead, water dripping down the sharp angles of his jaw, tracing down his throat, rolling over his chest, catching on the defined ridges of his stomach—

Fuck.

You are not thinking about this. Absolutely not.

You take a step back, ready to retreat before your brain completely betrays you, before you make the mistake of lingering too long—

And then the door opens.

Jake steps out. Dripping wet. Wearing only a towel.

Your entire soul leaves your body.

He is still running a hand through his damp hair when he glances up and sees you. His golden eyes flick over your expression—the way your mouth has parted slightly, the way you’ve gone completely still, the way your fingers twitch against your sides like you don’t know what to do with them.

Then he smirks. He sees it and he is about to make it so much worse.

Jake leans against the doorframe, water still dripping from his hair, rolling down his collarbone, disappearing beneath the edge of his towel. "Didn’t realize I had an audience," he drawls, voice lazy, too smooth. "Enjoying the view, angel?"

Your brain completely malfunctions.

"No," you say too quickly, too sharply. Then, because your dignity is still fighting for survival, you snap, "Put a shirt on."

Jake tilts his head, watching you like you’re something interesting, something fun. "You’re the one standing outside my shower, sweetheart," he murmurs, slow and deliberate. "Would’ve thought you’d be gone by now."

You should be gone. You should be anywhere but here, standing in front of him, skin flushed from the warmth of the steam, heartbeat drumming against your ribs.

But you're still there and that means something. To him.

Jake steps closer. Not enough to touch. But enough that you feel the shift in the air, enough that the space between you feels smaller, tighter, more fragile.

He tilts his head, voice lowering. "Something on your mind, angel?"

You force yourself to breathe, force yourself to recover, force yourself to lift your chin and act like he’s not winning right now. "Yeah," you say, voice far steadier than you feel. "I’m wondering if I should make a rule about demons wearing clothes in shared spaces."

Jake huffs out a laugh. "What, afraid you’ll get distracted?"

"Afraid I’ll throw up," you say flatly, ignoring the way your throat feels tight, dry. "Not a great view, demon."

"Mm." Jake’s smirk does not falter. If anything, it deepens, golden eyes glinting, amused and deadly. "You really wanna test that theory?"

Your breath catches. For just a second.

Just enough for his smirk to flicker into something else. His gaze goes lower—just barely—to your mouth. And suddenly—the space between you is suffocating.

Heat curls at the edges of your skin. Not from the shower, not from the steam—from him. From the way his breath feels too close, too warm, too deliberate.

The moment stretches, waiting to snap.

Then—Jake moves. He steps back, just slightly, just enough to let the tension breathe. His smirk curves again, slower this time, softer in a way that feels more dangerous.

"Relax, angel," he murmurs, voice smooth as he turns back toward his room. "I'll behave."

And just like that—he’s gone.

Leaving you standing there, breathless, heartbeat unsteady, skin still burning from something that has nothing to do with the heat.

Jake won this round.

And he knows it.

It starts the way it always does—a smirk, a sharp remark, a little too much space between words, between glances, between the way your body language dares him to react. It’s nothing new, nothing you haven’t done before, nothing he hasn’t endured a hundred times over. It’s the same game—except tonight, Jake is too close to the edge.

Tonight, his patience is already thin.

Tonight, you push too far. Instead of another teasing remark, instead of another arrogant smirk—Jake snaps.

It happens fast. Too fast. You don’t even realize it’s happening until your back is against the wall, until his body is caging yours in, until his hands are braced on either side of you, his breath warm against your skin, his golden eyes dark and unreadable.

The shift in the air is immediate, suffocating, the teasing replaced by something heavier, something real. The moment stretches, sharp and waiting, his gaze flicking over your face, searching for something, looking for an excuse—any excuse—not to do what he’s about to do.

Then he speaks.

"You think this is funny, angel?"

His voice is low, rough, not the usual lazy amusement but something strained, something tight, something barely held together. You don’t answer right away—not because you don’t have something to say, but because for the first time, you are caught off guard.

For the first time, he is not playing. You open your mouth, but the words don’t come, because the way he’s looking at you now like he’s been holding himself back for too long, like he’s finally, finally tired of pretending—makes every sharp response die before it can form.

Jake exhales slowly, but it’s not calm—it’s measured, controlled, the kind of control that only exists when someone is fighting everything in them that wants to let go. His lips part like he’s going to say something else, but then he doesn’t. Because instead, he looks at your mouth.

And stays there.

It is not a glance. It is a moment stretched long enough to shatter something fragile, long enough for you to feel the weight of it sinking into your skin.

And then—he laughs. Not sharp, not cocky, not teasing. Soft. Wrecked. Absolutely ruined. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, uneven, quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

"You have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?"

The air between you stops moving.

Your lungs stop working. Your heartbeat slams against your ribs, heavy, thunderous, impossible to ignore.

Because you do know. You’ve known for a long, long time.

But hearing him say it?

Hearing him admit it like that?

That is what ruins you.

Jake still hasn’t kissed you.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because the space between you is so thin, so fragile, stretched so tight it feels like one wrong move will break it. Because he is too close. Because his breath is warm against your lips, because the air between you is charged with something heavy, something electric, something waiting to ignite.

And then—he moves. Slow. Deliberate. Dangerous. His hand lifts—but not to your waist, not to your wrist.

To your jaw.

His knuckles brush against your cheek, feather-light, tilting your chin just slightly, just enough, just barely. And that? That is worse than anything else. Worse than the way he’s looking at you, worse than the way his breath is uneven now, worse than the way his jaw clenches like he’s fighting something that’s already won.

Because it is not rushed.

Because it is not desperate.

Because he is taking his time.

And that means he wants to remember this moment.

Jake exhales sharply, golden eyes flickering back up to yours, searching for something, waiting for something. His thumb grazes over your cheek, slow and lazy, voice dropping even lower—hoarse now, wrecked, uneven.

"Tell me to stop."

And you do. But not immediately. And that hesitation?

That destroys him. For just a second, he thinks you won’t. He thinks this is happening. He thinks he is finally, finally getting what he wants.

And then your hand moves softly. Gently. Like you don’t want to do this, but you have to. You place your hand over his, your fingers warm against his skin.

You stop him.

Jake doesn’t move at first. He doesn’t breathe.

Because this is it. This is the moment he loses. This is the moment where everything crashes down. This is the moment where he has to let you go.

But he doesn’t want to.

Not now.

Not when he’s this close.

Not when he can feel your breath against his mouth, feel the way your pulse stutters beneath his fingers, feel the way you hesitated before you stopped him.

But you did. And he has no choice.

Jake goes still. Completely. Utterly. Unbearably still.

His grip doesn’t tighten. He doesn’t pull you closer. He doesn’t do anything except breathe in sharply, swallow thickly, and force himself not to move.

The tension in his body is unbearable—you can feel it in the way his hands stay where they are, in the way his jaw clenches so tight it might snap, in the way his chest rises and falls too fast, too uneven.

But he doesn’t fight it. Because you asked him to stop.

And even now, even though it’s breaking him, even though every instinct in him is screaming at him to close the space again, to take what he already knows you want to give—he listens.

His fingers curl slightly against your jaw, his thumb brushing once—one slow, reverent movement, like he’s memorizing the feeling before he lets go.

And then—he steps back.

Not fast. Not abrupt. Slow. Measured. Careful.

Like he is setting something fragile down. Like he is leaving something unfinished. Like he already knows he will not survive this.

When he speaks, his voice is low, raw, quieter than you have ever heard it.

"I get it."

Just this.

A quiet surrender. A loss he cannot fight.

Jake exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, stepping back again, further this time. "I get it," he repeats, voice strained, like he’s trying to convince himself more than you.

His hands flex at his sides—a sharp, instinctive reaction, like he wants to reach for you and is physically stopping himself.

Then he laughs. But it’s not amused. It’s hollow. It’s devastated. This was a line crossed and Jake does not take losing well.

His golden eyes flicker back to you, something unreadable swirling behind them—something raw, something heavy, something dangerous. He looks at you like he’s memorizing you, committing you to memory, branding this moment into his mind so he can never forget it.

And when he speaks, his voice is softer now. Too soft.

"You hesitated."

Your throat tightens, because he’s right. You did. You did not stop him immediately. You did not pull away the second he touched you.

You let him get close and he felt it. He knows.

Jake steps back again. Further now. Too far.

His smirk is slow, curling at the edges, but there’s no amusement in it, no cocky arrogance—just something bitter, something broken.

"Goodnight, angel."

He’s gone. You are left with the weight of what almost happened.

The air is still thick with him, with his heat, with his presence. Your lips still tingle from the absence of his mouth, your body still feels the ghost of his touch, your breath still stutters from the moment that almost ruined everything.

But it didn’t.

Because you stopped it, you made the choice. You lost something tonight, but you don’t know what it is yet.

Jake has lost something too.

Something he cannot get back.

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[thishazbinamistake]

*Mild spoilers*

I watched the first episode, so here are my kind of disjointed thoughts if anyone is interested in hearing them:

So first off, I thought it was okay visually. I tried to ignore the weird animation errors, like how in one scene I noticed Charlie has five fingers on one of her hands instead of her usual four, and that they never fixed that one scene where Vaggie just... disappears in the background (you know the one), because I try not to be too harsh the animators for these sorts of things. But it definitely felt amateurish in places. Other than that, Viv definitely wasn't lying when she said it looked "fine". I've seen worse, for sure.

The voice acting ranges from pretty good to honestly terrible. Stephanie sounded like she could not give less of a shit about being there, and had some weird annunciation, making her kind of hard to understand in places. I was optimistic about Keith, and he sounded great, but honestly did not fit the character of Husk very well. Charlie was actually quite good, she has a great singing voice and overall I thought Erika did a good job for her. Alastor was decent, Amir definitely did a better job than I was expecting, considering how iconic Edward's performance was in the pilot. Niffty didn't talk nearly enough in the first episode for me to even form an opinion on her voice acting, but she's fine, I guess? Katie is literally just Brandon Rogers doing his Brandon Rogers voice.

Blake was super annoying, and he did not make Angel's constant sex jokes endearing or funny in the slightest. For the record, I didn't even like pilot Angel in the first place, but now, compared to this, I'm honestly starting to miss him. And I'm not even going to touch that "this body was made to be exploited" line with a ten foot pole.

Adam, though... God, he was easily the worst part of this first episode. His surfer-dude voice was annoying as shit, and his lines were so cringeworthy. He is not an entertaining or engaging villain in the slightest. Literally, every time he was on screen I was just waiting desperately for the scene to change.

In the first episode, we hardly get any glimpse into the personalities of honestly most of the characters besides Adam and maybe Angel, which is unfortunate because they're the two most annoying characters.

With Lucifer and Lilith's backstory, in typical Vivzie fashion, Lucifer is the sad uwu boy while Lilith is treated as being the one responsible for everything. Not really surprising.

As for the writing, it's 30% boring exposition, and 70% unfunny sex jokes. Literally most of Adam's dialogue is sex related. I hate him so much it's unreal.

And the songs... they sounded fine, but they don't feel like something you would want to casually listen to on their own. They just feel like they're meant to be transitions from one scene to the next and nothing more.

For as little as we saw her, I think my favorite part of the first episode was Niffty. She's honestly a super cute and fun character, and the scenes with her were the few times I actually cracked a smile. She's such a little freak and I love her. Everyone else was either boring or made me want to shove a screwdriver in my ears.

Finally, one of the most glaring issues to me (aside from Adam) is that the show didn't really give much of a setup for what was happening. We got a little exposition about Lucifer and Lilith and the fall of man and all that, but aside from Charlie, we aren't reintroduced to any of the characters from the pilot. This feels like a really dumb move because it's alienating to new viewers. If you were someone with no knowledge of the pilot scrolling through Amazon Prime looking for a new show to watch, and Hazbin caught your eye, you'd probably get confused about who all these characters are and what it is they're actually doing, so you'd probably just click off and look for something different. It's obvious the writers just assumed that everyone watching had already seen the pilot, I guess because they think only longtime fans would be interested in the show, which is honestly really sad. You'd think they'd want to try and grow their audience more, but it just feels like they only want to pander to the people who are already fans, which feels like a bad desicion from both a storytelling standpoint as well as a business one. A show, especially one that migrated from an internet pilot to a full series on a paid streaming platform, should be able to stand on its own two legs without needing the pilot to do all the explaining. Especially considering the designs and voice actors changing between the pilot and the series. I didn't expect them to completely remake the pilot, but they could have at least done a better job establishing the characters.

All in all, episode one was at best a 5/10. Like I said, I've seen far worse but this just felt like a bad note to start this all off on. For newcomers, it's confusing and downright unappealing, and for longtime fans it's just disappointing. I can really only see diehard Vivzie fans getting a ton of enjoyment out of it.

Still need to watch episode two, maybe things will improve from there.

[sw1mmingfoolz]

went through the whole list xD

angel, daylight, dreams, gem, hunnybunch, kinky, rainbow, soft,

- livvie <3

thanks babes ily 🥺💕 thank you for asking as always hehe

angel; do you have a nickname?

not really, besides cait (or caits with my family lol). one of my friends calls me caitlin dicky cuz my second name is somewhat similar, and me and my sister have weird inside jokes like "jumbo john johnson flurgenschmurgen" or "old clockwise" but i don't have any cool nicknames with friends haha

daylight; favorite album of all time?

as everyone in my life knows - doppelgänger by the fall of troy. it isn't what anyone ever expects lol but it's a defining album of its genre, the fact they made it when they were like 18/19 gets me, the guitars are UNREAL (especially the fading ones at the end of mouths like sidewinder missiles... so so good) and the combination of actual singing with screaming is incredible. it isn't for everyone, i'm the only person in my life ik who is so passionate about it lol but it's a fan favourite album when it comes to the band :')

dreams; do you want or have any tattoos?

i don't have any right now but i want some and plan on getting my first soon after saving a little! i want the album art to doppelgänger on my thigh, a bunch of basic ass flower tattoos lol, certain quotes that mean a lot to me, something space related and something on my chest, honestly i have a lot of plans i just need the money to match heh

gem; who are your favorite tumblrs?

you obviously 😌 and uh @suhnshinehaos @wondernus @ravixen @husbandhoshi @starlightjoong @etherealyoungk and @mangogyu are all great writers (and ae is a great artist too!) as well as genuinely lovely souls :) i'm probably missing some of my lovely moots agsjdhdj this is by no means exhaustive

hunnybunch; what sounds help you sleep?

i listen to thrash metal to fall asleep and i'm not joking LMAO :') sometimes it is tfot, sometimes slayer, sometimes more classic heavy rock with metallica... idk chaos does it for me :') otherwise i listen to synthwave (i love carpenter brut), kpop, or the birds outside my window at 5am agskdhdj

kinky; do you blush easily?

extremely 😭 i get flustered easily and am very very pale so it shows up easily too, it's a curse istg

rainbow; what was the last line of the last book you read?

it was an anthology of translated chinese poems, the last line being simply "See, they come." from the Ha Jin poem 'They Come'. Great poem by a great poet :)

soft; describe your favourite spot in your house.

my living room! i viewed 3 apartments and got the biggest one; i saw one with a bigger bedroom but i wanted a lot of living room space. my sofa is comfy and is where i spend a lot of my day, it's grey and has teal cushions and is a nice place to watch tv lol. the tv was given to me by my grandma and i watch youtube on it with my switch (animal crossing edition baybeee) and has my two fave plushies (a frog called mr baxendale and a bat called fruitcake) on either side. i have a rug with a big centre table and a smaller table underneath it and a blue armchair and my kitchen is right behind me which is great cuz i snack constantly lol :') it's comfy despite being small and really tidy and already has nice memories here so yeah haha

[grungeandrockoneshots]

Hi baby 😊 You're blog it's pretty cool! I'm loving it. Thanks for your hard work!! Can I request something? A little bit of Stone smutt? You're a fellow guitar player in another band and you two meet on a festival were both of you are playing at? Thank you só much ❤😘

Thousands of people were enthusiastically screaming at yourband in demand of one more song. You’ve played many places and even festivals before,but this amount of people was so far the biggest that has ever attended to seeyou play. Although many people were probably waiting for bands like Red HotChili Peppers or Pearl Jam, the support and enjoyment from all the fans downthere was unreal. That’s why you were kinda sad when you had to leave thestage.

„Guys, we were great! Good job everyone,“ your drummerpraised all of you when you stepped on the safe ground of backstage, which wasfull of famous musicians. „Y/N, what’s the plan now? I’m afraid to leave youhere alone after what I saw up on the stage.“

„What? What did you see?“

„Stone Gossard. He literally stripped you with his gaze!“ heexplained. You raised your eyebrows and looked at the others. They immediatelynodded in agreement.

„Stone Gossard from Pearl Jam? Seriously? Are you sure youdidn’t smoke anything?“ you didn’t believe them, but they assured you it washim for hundred percent. You were the only girl in the band and the guys havealways been very protective of you, they were like your older brothers. „Well,then I’m going to say hi to him,“ you obviously joked, but retreated from yourcircle. You wanted to get something to drink, because an hour on stage made youvery thirsty. As you were searching for some table with drinks, many people whowere passing you by, stopped to tell you some nice words about yourperformance. You felt so honored by it, since most of these people wereactually musicians who you looked up to. When you found the table, you grabbeda bottle of water and turned around to check if you have your bandmates insight. You froze when you saw Stone Gossard with his hands in the pockets blockingyour view.

„So this is the unbelievable guitarist from Los Angeles?Nice to meet you, I’m Stone,“ he firmly shook your hand. It usually wasn’t abig deal for you to talk to boys or even flirt with them, but Stone’s face madeyour knees pretty weak. You had to gather all your courage inside, so you couldsound cool and easygoing to him.

„Y/N. I see you did a little research of my band, I wouldn’texpect it from someone who plays in one of the biggest bands in the world,“ youhonestly admitted.

„And why not? I just like good music. Actually, I’ve been afan of your band since your first album, I remember listening to it over andover again. I always wondered how you played that part in Lost Illusions, youknow, that part right before chorus. I spent so many evenings trying to figureit out! Thank God I met you, you can finally show me how to play it.“ You juststood there in disbelief, trying not to widen your eyes much. Stone wasgrinning at you as he eagerly waited for your response.

„What if my guitar parts in that song are somethinglike…band‘s secret?“ you smirked.

„You can trust me, I won’t show it to anyone,“ he pleadedand you gave in eventually. You didn’t even had in plan to say ‚no‘ to StoneGossard, you just wanted to tease him a little first. He took your hand and ledyou through the sea of people to their tour bus, where he had a guitar. Theirbus was quite luxurious, definitely much more than yours. Stone closed the doorbehind you and started looking for his guitar. While he was running all overthe bus, some papers on the table caught your attention. You picked it up andsaw some lyrics written in nice handwriting. You supposed it was Eddie’s andStone confirmed it when he said: „If Ed found your fingerprints on it, firsthe’d kill you and then me. However, here’s my beauty, so you can start,“ hehanded you the guitar and you sat on the leather couch.

„Well, it’s actually pretty easy, you just have to watch outfor your pinky, because it tends to ruin all the effect. And you go like this,“you played the riff, causing Stone to stare at you in disbelief.

„No…no, it’s not possible, I tried it thousand times,“ heargued. You sighed and played it again, but more slowly.

„It’s not hard, it’s all about the control. Control yourfingers and you got it,“ you gave him the guitar back, so he could have chanceto try it. First attempts were sheepish, but he slowly got into it. Thehappiness on his face when he finally played it right was something you’llremember forever. He thanked you several times and then started to jamsomething. You didn’t get how he couldn’t learn to play your riff while now hewas playing much more difficult things. It was a bit suspected to you. Stone’sfingers gracefully danced on the strings, while his expression and eyes closedwere giving you a hard time. You swore that when he played guitar, he was evenhotter than usual. You couldn’t help it, but his hands were turning you on.

„Don’t look at me like this or I don’t know myself,“ hesuddenly interrupted your thoughts, put down the instrument and sat a littlecloser to you. You realized you were biting your lip the whole time and henoticed it. Now it was all or nothing.

„Listen, I have a feeling. It was your intention to get mehere, right? You were lying to me.“

„Maybe?“ he smirked and moved even closer.

„You’re a good actor, Stone,“ you admitted, while you couldalready feel his breath on your lips.

„Yeah, it helps me get what I want,“ he said quietly andplaced his lips on your yours. He laid you on your back as the kisses gotdeeper and more passionate. You ran your hands through his long hair, pullinghim closer to you. Your tongues were exploring each other’s mouths and the lustwere only growing bigger. He didn’t even bother with your top and headedstraight to your jeans, which he quickly unzipped and pulled them down to yourknees. Then he returned to you again and slowed down everything. He softlylined your face with a finger and when he got to your lips, he partly put it inyour mouth.

„Being a guitarist has some bonuses,“ he said seductively,„but I’m sure you know it very well.“ You breathed out and waited for him tofinally enter you. He took possession of your lips again as he slowly went downwith his hand. He put your panties to the side, played with your clit for awhile and then slid a finger into you. You had no idea what he was doing downthere, but you were completely out of your mind. You moaned in his mouth,begging him to increase the tempo. His fingers were doing some magic in yourbody and you were sure that no one before was as good as Stone was. Just whenyou started to feel that familiar feeling of your coming, a loud knock on thebus door ruined everything.

„Idiot, we’re playing in a minute!“ you heard an angry voicecoming from outside.

„Fuck off, Jeff!“ he yelled back, but took his fingers outand apologized. He helped you put on your jeans again and before he unlockedthe door, he wrapped his arms around your waist and made a little hickey onyour neck.

„This is a mark you’re mine. I’ll find you after the showand…we will finish it, okay? Don’t get lost here.“ Then he opened the door andyou came out to the afternoon sun, little disappointed but looking forward tothe end of the show. The only thing you had no idea about was how you‘llexplain the hickey to your boys.

-

Here you go :) and thank you for your nice words, I really appreciate it!♥

[redditnosleep]

I'm A Search And Rescue Officer For The US Forest Service, I Have Some Stories To Tell

by searchandrescuewoods.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 (Final)

It's been way too long since I posted an update, and I'm sorry about that. There's also been some confusion about the new formatting requirements on the board, which I've cleared up. So these next few stories are going to be posted a little differently! They'll be in chronological order, and I'll do my best to tie them into each other as much as I can so it doesn't skip around too much.

When I started out as a rookie, no one had told me a lot about the job in terms of weird things that could happen. I'm assuming this was largely to prevent me from freaking out and abandoning the park. But a few months into my service, when I was still a rookie, a friend and I were drunk at a party, and he opened up a bit: "Yeah, it can get a little crazy out there, I guess. I think the worst are the ones where people die when they just shouldn't, you know? Or when we find 'em dead like ten minutes after someone says they saw them last. 'They were fine when I passed them on the switchback, I swear!' That sort of shit. Like, take this guy who I found one spring out on a really popular trail. Someone comes into the VC freaking about about some guy who's lying in the middle of the path in this giant pool of blood. So we run out there, and we find this guy dead as a doornail. Which he absolutely should be, because the back of his head is like mashed potatoes. The skull is decimated, brains are leaking out like custard filling, and they guy's old so you figure yeah, he probably fell and hit his head. Old people fall all the time, it's no big deal. Except that this area where he fell doesn't HAVE any big rocks. There's not even any stumps or big branches. And on top of that, there's no blood trail, so he clearly died where he dropped. Now that's when you'd turn to murder, but there were people just out of line of sight with the guy. If someone came up behind him and murdered him, there's no way someone wouldn't have heard. And again, even if someone had, there'd be a blood trail, spatter all over the place. But everyone on the scene said it looked exactly like he'd fallen and smashed his head on a rock. So what the fuck did he hit his head on? And then there was this lady I found in a different park about five years ago, back when I was upstate. We found her in the middle of a stand of big junipers, curled around the trunk, like she was huggin' it. We pick her up to move her, and a fucking waterfall comes out of her mouth, splashes all over my shoes. Her clothes are dry, and her hair is dry, but the amount of water in her lungs and stomach was phenomenal. Unreal, man. Coroners report? Says the cause of death was drowning. Her lungs were completely full of water. This, even though we're in the middle of the high desert, and there isn't a body of water for miles. No puddles, no nothing. No signs of anyone else being out there. I mean yeah, it's possible they were murdered. But why go out of the way to do it like that? Why not just stab 'em and be done with it? I dunno, it just sits weird with me."

Now of course, that freaked me out a little. But we were wasted, and I guess I sort of wrote it off as a fluke. I also assumed there was exaggeration there, since, you know, we were wasted.

Now, I don't like talking about this next case very much. It was an awful one that I've done my best to forget about, but of course that's easier said than done. This happened about six months after the conversation with my friend at the bar, and up until that point I hadn't had a lot of really weird shit go down. A few things here and there, and of course the stairs, but it's amazingly easy to get used to stuff like that when it's treated as if it's normal. This case was a little different.

A guy with Down's Syndrome in his 20s went missing after his family lost sight of him on a major path. That was odd in and of itself, because this guy never left his mom's side. She was absolutely convinced he'd been kidnapped, and unfortunately a Ranger who isn't with the park anymore insinuated that no one was going to kidnap someone... well, with that kind of disability. Not very tactful, to say the least. We wasted a lot of time trying to calm her down enough to get information about him, and then we put out an official missing persons call. Because of the urgency of the situation, him being mostly unable to function alone, we had local police come in and help us. We didn't find him the first night, which was heartbreaking. None of us wanted to think of him being alone out there. We assumed he'd just kept wandering, and was staying ahead of us. We brought out helis the next day, and they spotted him in a little canyon. I helped bring him back up, but he was in bad shape, and I think we all knew he wasn't gonna make it. He'd fallen and broken his spine, and couldn't feel his lower half. He'd also broken both his legs, one at the femur, and he'd lost a lot of blood. He was confused and scared while he was alone, so he'd probably exacerbated the injuries by dragging himself a little ways. I know it sounds awful, but while I was riding in the copter with him, I asked him why he'd wandered off. I just wanted something to tell his mother, to let her know it wasn't her fault, because he was fading fast and I didn't think she'd get to ask him herself. He was crying, and he said something about how 'the little sad boy' had wanted him to come play. He said the little boy wanted to 'trade' so he could 'go home'. Then he closed his eyes, and when he woke up again, he was in the canyon. I'm not sure that's exactly what he said, but it was what I thought the gist of it was. He kept crying, asking where his mommy was, and I held his hand and tried my best to keep him calm. 'It was cold out there.' He kept saying that. 'It was cold out there. My legs was frozen. It was cold out there. It's cold in me.' He was getting even weaker, so he eventually stopped talking, and he closed his eyes for a while. Then, when we were about five minutes from the hospital, he looked right at me, with these big tears running down his face, and he said 'Mama won't see me no more. Love mama, wish she was here.' And he closed his eyes and he just... never woke up. It was horrible, and I don't like talking about it. That case was one of the first ones that really rattled me badly.

Because of how badly it affected me, I reached out to a senior Ranger, and who ended up helping me through it. As time went on, and we got to know each other better, he ended up sharing one of his own stories with me. It was disturbing, but it helped to know that I wasn't the only one affected by the things going on out there. "I think this must have happened before you got here, because I think if it had happened while you were here you'd have remembered it. I know it didn't end up in the news, for some reason, but I think most people who've been here long enough know about it. The park sold off a portion of land to a logging company, and it was a really controversial thing. But it wasn't that large or old of a plot, and it was right after the recession, so we needed cash bad. Anyway, they were felling this plot of land, and we get a call that we need to get our supervisors out right away. I don't know why, but they ended up sending me and a few other guys along with the heads, I guess for power in numbers, to see what was up. We got there, and all these guys are crowded around a tree that they've just cut down. They're all pissed off and freaking out and the foreman comes over and says he wants to know what we think we're up to. "What the hell y'all think this is, some kinda sick joke? You've got a lot of fuckin' nerve pulling this shit, we bought this land fair and square!" Well we don't know what the hell he's talking about, so he brings us over to this felled tree and points at it and tells us that when they cut it down, it was just like this, and they'll be damned if they put it there. The inside of the tree was all rotted out and hollow in one spot, and when they'd cut it down it had exposed that chamber, and inside it is a hand. Like a perfectly severed hand. And looks like it's actually fused with the inside of the tree. Well now we think THEY'RE pulling a joke, so we tell them that we don't like being fucked with, and we start to leave, but they tell us they've already called the cops, and that they'll go right to the media if we don't stick around. Well that gets the heads' attention, so they stick around and talk to the police about it. Everyone is denying that they put the hand in there, and besides, how would anyone have even done it? It's clearly a real hand, but it's not mummified or skeletal. It's brand new, probably not even a day old. And it is definitely fused with the wood, you can see that it's coming right out of it. The loggers, they insist that they didn't put it there. Somehow, this fresh human hand ended up fused to the inside of this living tree. The cops have them cut up that section of tree into a movable chunk. Then they take the hand away, and the area is closed off. There was a pretty big investigation, but I know they didn't find get any answers. Now it's become this legend, and as far as I know we haven't sold any more property for logging."

As you all know, I went to a training seminar recently, and heard some amazing and horrible things there. One of the guys I talked to while I was there told me a story when we were all around the campfire one night. We were both pretty drunk, you'll see a pattern here, and we were swapping stories. He told me this one: "Me and another guy were out on a field search because some campers reported screaming noises at night. So we head out there to look for whatever fucking mountain lion has wandered into the area, and I'm pissed. We've had three of them show up in the camping areas that year alone and I'm getting tired as hell of constantly having to deal with them. Plus, I just don't like them anyway. They're a pain in the ass and they're loud and they scare the shit out of me. Fuckin' cats. Pieces of shit. I'm groanin' about it to the guy I'm with and he thinks it's a real fuckin' riot. So we're seeing all these broken branches and what look like dens and we're pretty sure we know where this thing is. I call in and they tell me to confirm if possible, which you know just means they want to you to step in a big pile of shit and use that as proof. I'm not seeing any, though, so I basically just tell 'em to shove it, I'm done. We know that damn thing's out here somewhere, even if I'm not stepping in its shit or inside its mouth or whatever. Guy I'm with wanders off to take a piss or whatever, and I stay behind watching this little burrow under a tree to see if maybe a fox or somethin' is living under it, 'cause I love foxes, man. They're cute as hell. But anyway, I'm watching this tree and I start hearing branches crackling and it's coming from the direction my partner went opposite of. Now I've got my pistol, but you and I both know that's not gonna do shit against a cat. I cock it and holler for my partner to get his dumb ass back, but he's too far and he can't hear me. I stand up and get my sights on where the thing is approaching, and I shit you not, man, I just about peed myself. This guy is coming toward me, and he's back-flipping through the fucking woods. Like, instead of walking, he's doing these crazy fucking back-flips, and I swear to God he cleared every fucking log and bush in his path, it was like he knew right where he was going. I yell at the guy to stop right where he is, that I'm pointing a gun right at him, but he keeps coming, and I just kinda lost it. I shot at the ground in front of him, and it was a dumb fuckin' thing to do, but man I didn't want this guy anywhere near me. When I fired, he was about fifty yards from me, and as soon as the gun goes off, he whirls around and goes off, back-flipping back into the woods. My partner hears my gun go off and runs back and asks what's up, and I tell him there's some fucking weirdo out here hopped up on God knows what, and we need to get the hell out of Dodge. I let the cops know what happened, and I didn't get in any trouble for firing, but man, I don't know what that motherfucker was on but I've never seen anything like that before. Shit was absolutely butt-fuck crazy."

I think we can agree that there's stuff going on out here in the woods, and while I'm not going to spout off about what it could be, or offer any theories, what I want people to take away from all of this is that it is so damn important to be safe when you're out there. I know a lot of you think you're invincible, but the fact is that you CAN die out there, or be hurt, or go missing. It's easier than you'd ever imagine.

I apologize for this relatively short update, guys, I will do my absolute best to continue this series as soon as possible. Thanks for all your continuing support, it means the world to me!