#ive never played halo in my life

[agentark]

you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me

[luck-of-the-drawings]

THE ORDER OF PALMS An order of holy folk that serve The Helm, working to create powerful Aasimar Paladins for the purpose of protecting any who hire their help. [BACKSTORY UNDER CUT]

One day, Gjör and her peers were lead by their mentor Opheria, to a mission far from their home. On the peak of that mountain village, they saw upon the horizon, the castle of their home go up in flames. Horrified and scared, the apprentices sought to follow their mentors guidance, and followed her lead into a small barn. It was there, that Opheria proceeded to slaughter each and everyone of the apprentices. It seemed she somehow had a hand in this sudden attack on the Order of Palms. Gjör D'annevual survived a sword through the 'heart', on account of a rare condition, that places her heart on the other side of her chest. When she finally managed to bring herself back home, the Order was insulted by her survival. She had so many better peers, why couldn't any of them have survived? This runt was seriously the only thing that survived Opherias wrath? It was better to just wash their hands clean of this. Thus the Order decided to banish Gjör from their ranks. She now travels the land in search of a purpose.

[dorealine]

My K/D ratio is pretty good. Thinking of going pro. Any e-sport teams having try outs?

[martiansodas-blog]

Hi! I was just reading your art donaldson head cannons and when I read this part specifically:

♡ wouldn’t mind having a slightly younger partner. he’d like teaching them things and it’d boost his ego a little bit. you two would tease each other about your age all the time.

I immediately new I had to request a one shot ( I think thats what they’re re called ) of them actually teasing each other maybe a bit nswf but yeah so if you could make one 🙏🥹

🎾 🤍💐✨🎀

“you keep me young.”

“and you gave me my first gray hair, can we go now??”

art liked to imagine you old with all gray hair and fine lines. him standing right by your side.

but he’s getting ahead of himself.

“ya know speaking of hair, you should let me use my curly products on you!”

“you don’t think i’ve outgrown that?”

“are you kidding? it would look so good on you now! i’ve only seen pictures of you with a mop on your head i want to experience it first hand.”

he rolled his eyes but the crinkles around them brought by your cheekiness was prevalent. he can’t hide anything around you.

“alright. you’ve convinced me.”

the two of you were chatting in a local coffee shop. there are a dozen cafes closer but you love this one. and art loves whatever you love. it has personality. they make their syrups from scratch and have a little patio for when it’s sunny.

the man was already convinced you were an angel, but the sun behind you giving you a halo was icing on top.

art drowned in your beauty.

the kind of beauty that made everyone else in the room look bad.

the kind that made you create a whole album in your phones photo app.

he made sure you knew just how stunning you were.

but your beauty was also the least interesting thing about you.

“thanks for taking me here.”

“of course. we really don’t come here as often as we should.”

“it’s out of the way. i’d feel bad if you had to fill up your car AND pay for my meal.”

you said it jokingly but it’s easy to feel guilty that about art spoiling you to the extent that he does. you didn’t have much to give in return.

art takes your smaller hand in his and plays with your fingers. the next time he speaks it’s quieter, and with fervor.

“you are a gift, my gift. you were sent to me.”

he looks into your eyes.

“everything i get to do for you is a joy, ok?”

art wasn’t raised religious, frankly he thinks most of them are bullshit. he never thought about believed in fate.

until you.

it took some getting used to- being appreciated on this level.

boys your age could never worship you the way art does.

you were younger than art, yes. but he wasn’t attracted to you because you were mailable. he was attracted to you because you were brilliant. you were passionate, funny, and if you disagreed with someone you stood your ground. you brought a fresher perspective to his life.

with that being said, he still wants to protect you from the big bad world.

you can defend yourself in every sense of the word, but why would you need to when you have a rich experienced man by your side? there’s a lot of people out there who don’t have the best intentions. especially with a girl in her twenties. that’s where art comes in.

he decides that you still need some convincing even after today's date, so he keeps you in his master bedroom for a few hours.

he wants to rewire your brain and ruin anyone else for you.

“you don't get it, do you? when i said i liked you, it wasn't just skin deep. ive got some bad intentions. i wanna take every inch of you and make it mine; i want you to breathe for me, eat for me, i want all of your orgasms to be because of me.”

the only heaven i’ll be sent to is when i’m alone with you

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Tell me something Miller gave up

Do you ever think about media and stories reflecting the anxieties of the cultures that create them? Or how sci-fi sometimes predicts or inspires technology? Do you ever think about Halo and Aliens and Starship Troopers and disaster movies and real life and

I poured my brain out onto a page stream of consciousness style so it's a mess, but a fun, terrifying one I hope

hi

-

There's a lot of buzzwords people throw around. People saying one thing but meaning seven different things. The difference between sacrificing and giving up. Victory at any cost, pyrrhic, hollow. A play for time.

Sacrificing something is good and noble and for the greater need of the many. Giving up is cowardly and shameful. These words are black and white, most of the time. Other words like risk, are more complicated. A risk can pay off or it can put everyone in danger. A risk can be a sacrifice or it can be worse than giving up.

Miller's from a generation that doesn't know what it's like to live without war. To live without the threat of surveillance, both foreign and domestic, enemies listening in or sacrificing privacy for the greater good. Some planets get labelled with the words too, once they're glassed. As a kid, Jared thought it was strange to think anyone gave up their planet, their home, or that somehow the planet gave up. It was the bad guys.

The bad guys are scary and if they find you they will kill you. They destroy your homes and your way of life. They might eat you! They speak a different language and have technology that can kill you before you can blink. That's why you need to be careful and a good citizen. The UNSC is doing its best to keep the colonies safe, but if they would just listen then the bad guys wouldn't get them. That's why you can help be a good citizen and fight the bad guys. All you have to do is sign up when you're 16! You can be a marine or a pilot or drive a tank or maybe even meet one of them. The UNSC needs you, but also it is doing great on its own! The war effort requires everyone! But do not panic, panicking is weak and cowardly and helps the bad guys.

The bad guys are unstoppable, but also weak and stupid. They can't stop the UNSC's greatest weapon.

The Master Chief is a hero and he stops the bad guys. There are other Spartans too and they always win. They never give up. They never die.

Miller enlists. He works hard. He's an asset, not a drain. He won't give up.

The war ends. The news around Master Chief quiets. Miller becomes a Spartan IV. There's always still more work to be done. There are different bad guys now. Some of them look like him.

Miller learns that not every alien is a bad guy. There are asylum seekers on multiple worlds, even Earth. Refugee is another word for asylum seeker.

Miller's in an early enough class of IVs to become a mission handler. He works intelligence and planning. He keeps his head down and ears open. He learns more than he wanted. Sacrificing children. Giving up homes? Childhoods? Giving up requires a choice in the matter. He thinks about it. Sacrificing also implies a choice.

IVs have a choice. He was an adult when he signed on. To be a Spartan. He was still under 18 when he joined the UNSC but that's okay. He knows other Spartans who are in the same boat. Other IVs are older. They have even more skin in the game, they've been fighting the bad guys longer.

The bad guys have changed but that's okay because while they're strong they're weaker than Spartans and Spartans never die. Except Miller has lost Spartans. He's seen whole Fireteams wiped out in an instant. He's heard people dying on worlds a million miles from home for no clear reason.

The bad guys are there because the good guys- the UNSC - are there. Spartans are the UNSC's gun they point at the bad guys. Some of the bad guys are humans again. Some of the aliens are good guys. Why is there still a war? Why do they need Spartans for this? Manufactured conflict.

Sacrifice or giving up? Wasted or Spent?

[t4tails]

i cant go to sleep theyre haunting me

ive never even played halo. my life is a lie

[kaaaaaaarf]

Always an Angel, Never a God (the playlist)

I made a playlist for the fic Always an Angel, Never a God by @butcherbacterium. B is my number one cheerleader/enabler and I am so, so lucky that she is my friend! Always An Angel is such an iconic and beautiful fic, and I wanted to pay it tribute in the only way I know how — through music. This one's for you, B. ❤️

1. Family Tree // Ethel Cain (Sirius) These crosses all over my body Remind me of who I used to be Give myself up to him in offering Let him make a woman out of me ... So take me down to the river and bathe me clean Put me on the back of your white horse to ride All the way to the chapel, let you wash all over me

2. Faster, Faster // Bree Sharp (Sirius) The dusty road that's ahead will Be my board and my bed till What I am looking for is found … And yesterday is right behind me like a loaded gun So I'm racing toward the horizon ... I met a sucker on Sunday I took his wallet on Monday Then I was out on the road again

3. Acts 9:3 // Sluice (Sirius) Yeah I'm walking towards Damascus My body’s weary and my heart is too Ive had no revelations in the wilderness ... Jesus finally came to me at a crossing ... He smiled, gun on his hip Offered me an oxycodone and he split

4. Abbey // Mitski (Remus) I am hungry I have been hungry I was born hungry What do I need? I am something I have been something I was born something What could I be? There is a light that I can see But only, it seems, when there's darkness in me There is a dream that I sometimes see That only appears in the dark of sleep I am waiting I have been waiting

5. Lone Wolf // Eels (Remus) I am a lone wolf I always was and will be I feel fine, I am resigned to this I am a lone wolf ... It blows my mind That people want to try to get inside my tired head ... I am a lone wolf Nobody needs to get too close to me

6. Drunk Kid Catholic // Bright Eyes (Both) The drunk kids, the catholics They're all about the same They're waiting for something Hoping to be saved ... And every night I think I certainly won't ever sleep sober or alone And then suddenly it occurs to me I've slept alone before you And so I pour myself the stiffest drink my stomach can stand And convince myself to lay back down again

7. I Am the Antichrist to You // Kishi Bashi (Both) Who are you? Who am I to you? I am the antichrist to you Fallen from the sky with grace Into your arms race Lucid lovers me and you A deal of matchless value I was always quick to admit defeat Empty statements of bones and meat And my heart it shook with fear I'm a coward behind a shield and spear

8. Glory // Liz Phair (Both) You are (you are), you are (you are) shining some glory You are (you are), you are (you are) shining some glory On me, on me

9. God In Jeans // Ryan Beatty (Sirius) God is real, he was sleeping in my bed last night We were naked with the radio on Played him favorite song ... I pray to the open sky This is the one I wanted This is everything Give me more, I'll be all your love I believe in heaven above Come and give me life Show me what it's like to fall into your arms

10. Flower // Liz Phair (Both) Every time I see your face I think of things unpure, unchaste I want to fuck you like a dog I'll take you home and make you like it Everything you ever wanted Everything you ever thought of Is everything I'll do to you ... Everything you ever wanted Everything you ever thought of Is everything I'll do to you I'll fuck you till your dick is blue Every time

11. Sacrilege // Yeah Yeah Yeahs (Remus) Fallen for a guy, fell down from the sky Halo round his head Feathers in a bed In our bed, in our bed It's sacrilege, sacrilege, sacrilege, you say ... And I plead and I pray

12. I Wanna Be Yours // Arctic Monkeys (Both) I wanna be your vacuum cleaner Breathing in your dust I wanna be your Ford Cortina I will never rust If you like your coffee hot Let me be your coffee pot You call the shots, babe I just wanna be yours Secrets I have held in my heart Are harder to hide than I thought Maybe I just wanna be yours I wanna be yours

13. Take Me To Church // Hozier (Remus) Every Sunday's getting more bleak A fresh poison each week "We were born sick", you heard them say it My church offers no absolutes She tells me, "Worship in the bedroom" The only Heaven I'll be sent to Is when I'm alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well A-, Amen, Amen, Amen Take me to church I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life Take me to church

14. Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want // Deftones (Remus) Good times for a change See, the luck I've had Can make a good man Turn bad So please, please, please Let me, let me, let me Let me get what I want This time Haven't had a dream in a long time See, the life I've had Can make a good man bad So for once in my life Let me get what I want Lord knows, it would be the first time

15. Good Days // Sza (Sirius) Tell me I'm not my fears, my limitations I disappear, if you let me Feeling like (on your own) Feeling like Jericho Feeling like Job when he lost his shit Gotta hold my own, my cross to bear alone, I Ooh, paid a deal, way to kill the mood Know you like that shit, yeah, groovy baby, baby Heavy on my empty mind shit I gotta keep from losin' the rest of me (losin' the rest of me) Still worry that I wasted the best of me on you, babe You don't care

16. Prayer // Leith Ross (Remus) Last night, I wrote a prayer To the water in my head Read the book my mother read See, I don't believe in God At least not one that's not as human as me and anyone that ever was ... See, I have to believe there's some kind of deity In broken bones and skin that bleeds I can't count upon heaven or hell or law When I'm scared and lonely Amen, amen, amen, amen

17. Real Pain // Indigo De Souza (Remus) When pain is real, you cannot run You can cover, but come undone And love might go, but is not gone I still know you, I still know you ... I wanna kick, wanna scream, I wanna know it's not my fault I wanna know it's not my fault, I didn't mean it

18. Checkout Blues // Eels (Remus) I've got something Maybe I should tell you I may check out At any given time Things won't get better Until they get much worse Is the curse stronger than me Or am I stronger than the curse Everyone is scared of me And I'm scared of me too Never know just what I'm gonna do

19. Way down We Go // KALEO (Both) Oh, Father tell me, do we get what we deserve? Whoa, we get what we deserve And way down we go Way down we go Say way down we go Way down we go

20. God's Silence // Eels (Sirius) (Instrumental)

21. Fallen // Bree Sharp (Sirius) Little girl, little girl questioning me She says, "Why doesn't everyone have what they need? Where are the angels, angels, angels? Where are the angels, angels, angels?" I cannot tell you my little darling All my faith has fallen, fallen, fallen

22. Sleep Talking // Indigo De Souza (Sirius) Nothing left but a feeling in there somewhere Nothing left but a feeling in my toes When I get home, I'm gonna love you so well Please get me out, out of the depths of hell When I get home, I'm gonna sell you my soul When I get home, when I get home, when I get home I'll break your bones with all the love I carry

23. Jesus Christ // Brand New (Remus) Jesus Christ, that's a pretty face The kind you'd find on someone that could save If they don't put me away Well, it'll be a miracle Do you believe you're missing out? That everything good is happening somewhere else But with nobody in your bed The night's hard to get through And I will die all alone And when I arrive I won't know anyone Jesus Christ, I'm alone again So what did you do those three days you were dead? 'Cause this problem is gonna last More than the weekend ... Do I divide and fall apart? 'Cause my bright is too slight to hold back all my dark ... I know you're coming in the night like a thief But I've had some time alone to hone my lying technique I know you think that I'm someone you can trust But I'm scared I'll get scared and I swear I'll try to nail you back up (everyone now)

24. Francis Forever // Mitski (Sirius) I don't know what to do without you I don't know where to put my hands I've been trying to lay my head down But I'm writing this at three AM I don't need the world to see That I've been the best I can be, but I don't think I could stand to be Where you don't see me

25. Into My Arms // Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds (Remus) I don't believe in an interventionist God But I know, darling, that you do But if I did I would kneel down and ask Him Not to intervene when it came to you Oh, not to touch a hair on your head Leave you as you are And if He felt He had to direct you Then direct you into my arms

26. Tender // Blur (Both) Tender is the night lying by your side Tender is the touch of someone that you love too much Tender is the day the demons go away Lord, I need to find someone who can heal my mind Come on, come on, come on Get through it Come on, come on, come on Love's the greatest thing

27. Not Strong Enough // Boygenius (Both) Black hole opened in the kitchen Every clock's a different time It would only take the energy to fix it I don't know why I am The way I am Not strong enough to be your man I tried, I can't Stop staring at the ceiling fan and Spinning out about things that haven't happened Breathing in and out ... Always an angel, never a god Always an angel, never a god Always an angel, never a god Always an angel, never a god Always an angel, never a god Always an angel, never a god Always an angel, never a god Always an angel, never a god Always an angel, never a god Always an angel, never a god Always an angel, never a god Always an angel, never a god

[anglerflsh]

oh man Im late but it is SO interesting to see how everyone is affected by church architecture. I've actually had a personally very jarring experience with How Churches Look, via switching Church Styles suddenly as a kid. From infancy to kindergarten I went to a church that wasn't huge, but had high cielings, a big window with a geometric cross design on it, burnes incense on holidays and had MASSIVE tapestries of some saints hanging up. Also a small brick fountain of holy water to baptize babies in. I was very young so my thoughts on it weren't complicated-- didn't even know the tapestries were saints for a long time (I thought their halos were space helmets, genuinely), but everything in the church was old enough to feel well-established and meaningful, and big enough to feel important without quite being imposing. The light filtering in through the window made me imagine a God that was distant, but kind. When my parents got divorced, my mom started taking me to other churches in the area and I suddenly found out my old church was the odd one out. A lot of churches in my area (and there are A LOT) are built in old shopping centers or are built in the style that you would build a large chain store or maybe an office building in: HUGE, brand new, exposed steel beams in the cieling but painted a uniform color, no windows, nonthreatening decor, and DEEPLY GENERIC. I went to three or four churches, all much much bigger than my first church, and they all felt so...deeply impersonal. The decor in the designated kids areas were often aggressively trying to be hip and with it, and it always made the religious stuff feel like a joke to me. It was all so liminal and distant. The worst one had to be the actual megachurch I went to, which played a livestream of a pastor in another state on 3 huge projectors while everyone sat in a massive, all-black room in what was essentially a very clean warehouse. The presence of God there was so insubstantial and vague but I was TRULY desperate to feel it at the time. And the pastors at churches like that really REALLY push that you're A Part Of Something just by being there. It's so weird to look back on! I'd still go to my old church on holidays with my dad and for a while I worried all the ceremony was like heretical or something but I've since decided that it's fun to see them swing around the incense orb. Anyways sorry this is so long but Ive been obsessed with the effect of those stark architechture differences for ages so thanks for the opportunity to ramble about it! hope this was interesting lol!

That's a really good way to explain it actually! I've only seen one megachurch in my life when I visited america and I can absolutely see how it would be jarring to associate an impersonal space like that with the message they're giving. It's surreal for me to imagine a service being projected honestly, my sunday school told me that it happened in some countries but for the longest time I never believed it actually did - but then again in Italy it's pretty common to follow church from the tv directly (they telegraph the Pope's sermons on sundays and holydays) so

[babymorte]

14. Something that changed your life 21. Which swear word do you use the most? 48. What’s your ringtone?

e52. Did you get a chance to watch Hardcore Henry yet?😂😂

14) getting chunky honestly. that little dude is legit my everything.

21) oh it’s absolutely gotta be fuck right?? like i don’t think i can go two sentences without saying it it’s honestly so bad i should try to stop 😂

48) uhhhh well my text tone is the inventory blip from REmake (are we surprised) and i had to look what my ringtone was 😂 it’s just the default iphone one cuz i guess i never changed it 😂 but i think im going to now 😅

i haven’t! i haven’t watched any movies since we talked about it ive just been playing halo in my free time 😂 I was gonna binge some anime tomorrow so maybe I’ll try to watch it before the binge starts~!

[tmarshconnors]

My Gaming Story

So here we are my next blog and after I did "My Apple Story" I thought it was only fitting that I did "My Gaming Story" You see gaming has played a big role in my life. I really don't know what I'd do without it. It's not simply a hobby it's a lifestyle. Sooo here we go! 1995-2000

Well, it all began in the mid-90s. I started my gaming life in 1995. It started on the PlayStation one. I played so many classics like Crazy Taxi, Gran Turismo, Crash Bandicoot, Spyro, Tomb Raider, Metal Gear, Tekken, Croc and Grand Theft Auto. Just to name a few. Trust me if I started listing each and every PS1 game we would be here all day.

Also had a Nintendo 64 and a few handheld game consoles too such as the Grandstand Galaxy invader 1000. I also owned the original Nintendo Gameboy.

2000-2009

As the new millennium began I got a hold of a Playstation 2 and oh my how I played that thing. I am honestly surprised looking back it never broke once. Truly a remarkable console it never let me down once. Just like the PS1 if I took the time to list all of my PS2 games we would be here all day. You name the game I probably played it once or twice. I had far too many games In all truth there were only about twenty-five I mainly played.

Some of my games really made an impression on me which I still talk about to this day. One of those games was "Grand Theft Auto Vice City" was such a memorable game, everything about that game I loved. Or some games I'd played just freaked me out for some bizarre reason. Like for example I played the game Harry Potter Chamber Of Secrets on PS2 and there was a mission where I had to do something in the Hogwarts Libary. I don't recall what it was but something about that really freaked me out where I couldn't pass it no matter what I did. Foolish looking back but hey. I never did complete it.

Around 2003 I was given something called the N-Gage which is a handheld gaming device and a phone all in one. I never really got along with it. I also got given the Nintendo GameBoy Advance SP but for most of the early 2000s, I played the PS2. Somewhere in 2006 or 2007, my Mother bought me the PSP the handheld PlayStation of the time.

2008-2014

So as the years rolled on into 2008. I was given a PS3 and oh my I loved that device. I spend HOURS on end playing their social game called PSHome it was so far ahead of its time. It was a bonus that it was free. I was deeply saddened to hear when they closed it down in 2015. I guess nothing lasts forever eh? PlayStation Home launched as an open beta in December 2008 and was a 3D social gaming platform that PS3 owners could use to interact with other players and visit various themed areas.

A year later in 2009, my Grandmother thought it was a good idea to buy me the Xbox 360 and with that, it crossed me over from PlayStation.

I am very happy to say I have never looked back. I have many fond memories of my Xbox 360. So so so many games too. Halo 3, Grand Theft Auto IV, Blur, Minecraft, Crackdown, Mirrors Edge, Call Of Duty World At War. That's just a few to give you an idea of what I am on about.

2014-2023

Then in 2014, I decided to get the next generation of Xbox. The Xbox One. Well, I must say that was an upgrade to my by this point old Xbox 360. Like before I played that a great deal also. In 2019, I got myself the Xbox One S 1TB. I didn't have it that long. Two years in fact. Before I got myself the new Xbox Series X which really is a powerful console.

 I play games nowadays like Microsoft Flight Simulator or GTA V. My girlfriend recently bought me a Nintendo Switch OLED. It is truly a brilliant handheld device.

Which has sparked my old Mario and Donkey Kong interest. I still love them dearly So there you have it "My Gaming Story" Any questions. Use the ask me anything button on my homepage.

PEACE!

[medicatedonwater]

Dies ist nur ein music review

So sometime last year i met this rad girl who also listened to warped tour bands. As she described it it’s like she started in the 2010s or something and just never stopped. And for me, I started around 2009 like rly seriously playing the 04-06 albums on repeat playing halo and suddenly clicking with “The Phrase that Pays” by The Academy Is…

That song totally kicked off a series of me getting hella invested in punk rock / emo / etc but i never had like an actual scene phase and i’m living it now haha. I so wish i’d listened to the albums these songs had come from. I wonder how it could have influenced my life back then, but whatever, i’m still here now and finally getting to it!!

I at first wanted to listen to all the Warped Tour Compilations and i was sad to see FUCKING TWTTR killed warped tour. fkn garbage fire site. (well, warped tour SHOULD be coming back next year and i am so hella hyped i can’t wait to get the most exquisite sunburn as i claw and scrape my way to the oasis that is a hose of fresh? water.)

I quickly got through all the warped tour albums from 1996 through 2018? 2019? lotsa music i missed out on. stuff i really wish i *had* been around for but most of the 2010s is voided out for me, between floundering around in college and part time jobs and rediscovering alternative music around 2015. This project intends to listen to the full discography of *every* artist with a song on a warped tour compilation. I’m skipping the DVDs but also including the punk-o-rama albums which did a crossover with warped tour in 1997, and including the european and australian tours cuz why the hell not. Throwing in the local stations top songs list starting at 1997 cuz of how much they’ve influenced my modern taste in music. I’m mostly using spotify - for artists not on spotify i’m just listening to the album (or single/EP) that particular listing came from. youtube is clunky as hell with no background play and i need some form of organization and spotify i have hella mix CDs on…

Anyway, the first album is Punk-o-rama from 1994, with FUCKING, BAD RELIGION. OH MY GOSH IVE WANTED TO listen to these guyses discography for AGES.

I honestly, like, right out the gate they’ve very politically on fire, like, they’re saying the kinds of things people need to fucking hear. they’re so real for it, and as they grow older some of the stuff is kinda tamer, the sound softens a bit, but hot damn if “the kids are alt-right” doesn’t point out the ongoing problems that still need solvation.

and of course they’ve got the classic crazy taxi songs too :D (omg can’t wait to hear the offspring tooooooo)

I recall the warped tour i attended back in 05 that bad religion had performed there the previous day. I don’t believe they were there for that particular warped tour date tho. I would absolutely love to see them live or at the very least get some merch :3 they’re just so, raw. so real. “Punk Rock Song” is still stuck in my head, and i’ve already moved on to NoFX (which, holy fuck they start out crass but mb it’s the bias speaking… they get good FAST)

Bad religion was a great time through and through, ramping up to No Control with some real bangers. Against the Grain had the song “21st Century (Digital Boy)” which I’d all but forgotten about since my first exposure to it nearly four years ago. Stranger than Fiction and The Grey Race had some of my old favorites like “Infected” and “Ten in 2010” with “Gods Love” coming along in 2003. New Maps of Hell for whatever reason lives in my head as a rly good album.

A lot of that early energy was really important for setting the stage for an awesome presence.

Apparently liked 98 Songs… this may go down over time but hey, they’re good. heck.

The particular showing for Punk-O-Rama was “Do What You Want” from Suffer in 1998. Can’t say I entirely remember the track, oh wait hang on, guess i’ll break all the fucking rules and go to hell with superman!! yeah no this song is lit af. love this scene. i gotttttta see these guys at some point.

Next on the docket is NoFX… I’m to “Usa-Holes” off Wolves in wolves clothing.

See, I knew I was amongst cool folx when i went to a party and this dude had a bad religion shirt.

Looking forward to more from this project!

OH, I TOTALLY FOUND TOUR WATER THE OTHER DAY AND IT FKN AWAKENED SOMETHING IN ME.

[robotskissingrobots]

Additional propaganda for mv2

What if I was the loneliest girl (not real, a concept) in the world and you fell from the sky all of the sudden (killed by your predecessor who looks like me except I had no wings) with only a few hours life before you die?

What if I was your psychopomp, your personal guide to the afterlife? What if I showed you around before you finally pass? What if there was a frame where I was drawn with a halo around my head?

What if you were a redesign of your predecessor (second place since the beginning) and you were not meant for the battlefield (Made to protect, not to win)? What if you were an attempt to make money because the V model costed so much to produce (but you never sold and you died in the greed layer)? What if your last request was to see the ocean because you've never seen it before?

What if you were dying and I'm not sure what to do here. I've never had to say goodbye to someone. I don't know what to say-

And our story was an inspiration to many other creators who made comics, stories, homages, videos, and art based on us. And the creator of the game we both came from had drawn/made a reference to us. And we were both girls

ILL ADD THIS IN THE NEXT POLL . ill try and get it up today ive been playing terraria . on that grind

[lordshaxx]

i might complain a lot about not having shaxx dlc but i love bungie w all my heart ok theyre trying their best and i love them

[waspenned]

scenes from an italian restaurant • part eight • peter parker

apparently the guy you’ve been working with for the past few months is spider-man, because your life is excellent. someone pays you a visit. • 5k

warnings: some language? not much other than that

now playing: this night by billy joel

part one / previous

a/n: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG IVE BEEN BUSY LOL anyway here’s my taglist and masterlist u kno the drill

There you were, haloed in orange lamplight, the cast of it picking out the flyaways in your mussed hair and the gloss of your lashes. If it had been lit properly, he’d be able to see the flush on your cheeks and chest, the spark in your eyes, despite the fact he was crawling along the popcorn ceiling, dusty under his fingertips, trying his best to be silent. You’d be mad he’d gone against you, he knew that, he just hoped you’d understand why he did it, after the fact.

You hated him. You said it yourself. Granted, you didn’t know that he and Spider-Man were anything more than vague acquaintances, but the distinction between the two was getting smaller and smaller. Spider-Man was eating into his life, Joe’s was supposed to be a low-risk escape from that. A few times, when he was feeling brave, he’d risked not even bringing the suit to work - enjoying the feeling of normal clothes against his skin, being able to roll his sleeves up without exposing anything too telling. It was like being able to breathe again, the knots in his chest loosened to near nothingness. He was just Peter again; he hadn’t been ‘just Peter’ since he was in high school.

He was lucky that this wasn’t one of those days, because as soon as that gun was pointed at you, he was seventeen again; the rain running tracks down his spine and soaking its cold fingers through his hoodie. Warmth spreading over his lap and hands, slippy as he pulls Ben into his lap, then cranes over him to try and shield him from the relentless New York downpour. His jeans had been stained red, stiff and cold in the hospital waiting room. He’d thrown them out when he got home.

It was this sort of thing he was supposed to prevent, and you were the sort of person he was supposed to protect, his responsibility. It was ironic, really, the two of you pulling the same card, but he would have to respect it. You had the ability to protect those in your care, so you had to. It was the same thing he hated in himself.

So he’d bitten the bullet and intervened, he had to suck it up, no matter how much your wrath would cost him. He didn’t want you to know about Spider-Man, and he didn’t want to ruin things between you (already very precarious Things, after Christmas), but he’d decided a while ago that he’d do nearly anything if it meant you lived. It was agony on a good day; being shit on online everyday, having a whole city rely on you for safety, having to walk around like normal with his ribs shattered to pieces - but it hurt him the most to lie to you, to look you in the eye and not be able to defend himself, or apologise for not being there when you needed him most. And yet, you’d seen him - even when he had a mask on, even through a television screen, even when you didn’t know it was him - and you still cared about him.

He’d already held someone he loved after they were shot. He’d already sat there, desperately trying to hold them together with his shaking hands, leaving handprints over their skin and clothes, holding onto their last bit of life. He’d already gone home covered in the blood of someone that would no longer be there to catch him when he fell. He wasn’t going to do it again, he was pretty sure he couldn’t - Ben’s death had taken so much out of him, and he wasn’t really sure there was much of him left.

The look on your face when he tells you is enough to make him wish he’d never been bitten by that fucking spider in the first place.

-

You wish, just once, you could live your life not being wracked by guilt.

You’d left, obviously. After doing the bare minimum, legal requirement for your job, you’d simply gathered your stuff and bolted. Peter would deal with it, considering he’s apparently used to this sort of shit. Goddamn it. Fucking Peter. Fucking Spider-Man. By the time you got out, it was one in the morning - but you’re still storming home through the streets, your phone buzzing in your pocket. It’ll be him, it’s been him every time. You’re ignoring him. He can fuck off.

You don’t really care what he has to say, frankly. Everything after That Bit was just white noise as you got your shit and left. You’d only barely remembered to throw him the keys to the diner. Peter had been trying to talk to you, you remember that much, babbling and trailing after you as he frantically tried to deal with the situation at hand, but there was only roaring in your ears.

Spider-Man had been trying to talk to you, and you’d ignored him.

It wasn’t quite sticking in your head. You almost didn’t believe him, because there was no way in Hell you would ever consider the two of them interchangeable. Peter blindly accepted his fate as ‘Peber’ until you got his name tag fixed up, how were you ever supposed to believe that this was the same guy keeping the city from rack and ruin. That would mean you nearly had sex with Spider-Man. That you’ve seen Spider-Man, not just without the mask, but without most of his clothes. That would also mean that Peter was that poor kid saving lives every day, instead of enjoying the last precious seconds of his teen years, or studying for his exams, or spending time with his friends, as he so desperately deserved.

It would mean that Peter was the one who let you down, back then. Peter didn’t get you out of the diner, didn’t stop the fire, didn’t save the day.

The whole thing made you want to vomit, and the almost incessant buzzing of your phone was certainly not helping. Messages flicker across the screen as you fish it out of your pocket, using the torch to illuminate your apartment door while you scrabble to put your key into the lock. It’s mostly Peter spamming you - though it seems to just be updates on the situation mixed with the odd, panicked message - with a few from Sal. Apparently Spider-Man dealt with the situation, got the guy arrested, and was currently working on dealing with the CCTV footage. Apparently the force of your pizza pan on his head meant the dude forgot most of the robbery entirely. Apparently your phone isn’t quite finished buzzing yet.

New Message from sal joes: What the ever shitting fuck is going on with my restaurant !!!!!!!!!!!

That one you’ll have to reply to. Goddamnit. God-fucking-damn it. Sal would probably wash your mouth out if he knew how much you were taking the Lord’s name in vain. You feel like Peter’s ratted you out to your teacher or something, and now you have more shit to deal with on top of the slew you’re already struggling with. Somehow, you manage to pull yourself together enough to reply - not enough to be polite, but enough to get him off your back for the night.

Reply to sal joes: it’s fine pete’s handling it. i had to go.

Kicking your shoes off in your hallway, you decide you need to say more than that - promise him an explanation when you’re less zombie-like at the very least. It’s not really fair, you like Sal and he hasn’t done anything to deserve a bad attitude from you - it’s not like he’s listened to you rant about a superhero for months on end only to turn around and be the bastard.

Reply to sal joes: ill tell you tomorrow it’s late. sorry. goodnight sal.

He starts typing back almost immediately. Your coat and bag are cast to the floor too, loose change and old, crumpled receipts spilling out across your hallway, followed by your diner cap. You’ll deal with it in the morning, you’re too tired to do anything else.

Glued to your phone, you somehow make it to your bed, cocooning yourself in the sheets and curling into a ball. Your heartbeat hums through the covers, seemingly shaking them with every sluggish pulse, as you watch the three dots under Sal’s name stop, start, then stop again. Eventually, something comes through.

sal joes: OK, as long as your safe. Peter is texting me about it.

sal joes: Sleep well Camino :)

Wrong ‘you’re’, but the sentiment still stood, and flooded you with a weird sense of comfort. Then, even though you were trying not to look, Peter’s name pops up at the top of your screen, your name typed underneath, alongside a plea to respond to him.

The comfort of Sal and your bed quickly stales, spurred on by the still-lingering shaking in your hands, and the emptiness of your apartment - a pitiful place you didn’t really have enough money to decorate, filled with anything you could thrift or get free from the street. Your dining table was missing a leg from where you found it in Brooklyn, but it didn’t matter much because only one person used it anyway - you just had to eat on one side of it.

It’s worse in the dark - the loneliness of it. You spend however many hours a week in some fluorescent-lit kitchen, or sat in the sunspots in the front of the diner, the darkness of your apartment seems like the emptiest place on the planet in comparison. You may as well be in the fucking Arctic circle.

You used to hate your job because it was a stupid job; the parties, the customers, the constant smelling of passata. Now you hate it because of what it’s done to you - you can’t even sit alone in the dark like a normal person, you have to be able to mumble your way through O Sole Mio, and know fifty different types of cheese, and get all attached to your stupid idiot coworker. Who even are you anymore, some capitalist dumbass? Your phone buzzes again, and you catch some more messages from Peter, a few minutes apart.

peber joes: i know u don’t wanna talk but can you please let me know you got home ok?

peber joes: are you alright?

peber joes: if you don’t answer im gonna have to come look for u

Location Request from peber joes.

peber joes: please just answer

The light of it hurts your eyes, the screen trembling in your grasp, your wrist tourniqueted in your bedsheets. You need to do something though, let him know you made it home, even though the thought of talking to him makes your skin crawl. Your phone is buzzing again, Peter barraging you with messages. You don’t have the strength to read them, just let your phone fall to your mattress. The vibrations reverberate through the old springs and stuffing, echoing through the fabric against your ear.

Outside your window, New York murmurs and chatters, small needles of the city coming through your curtains. You’ve left the window open again, but you don’t have the energy to get up and close it, even though the chill is beginning to make you shiver. In the distance, there are horns and sirens, as there always are in New York, the sound washing over you and yanking you under like a riptide.

And you, alone in your room, crumple.

It’s been a while since you’ve had a good cry, you were probably due one, but by fuck does it hurt. You’re not even sure why - though it’s probably something to do with the fact that you nearly had sex with your co-worker, then found out he was the spandex guy you’d harboured a grudge against for months, then nearly died - all in the space of an hour.

You suppose it makes sense in retrospect, as most things do. The reflexes, the abnormal strength, the lateness, the white ‘goo’ that cropped up in odd places, patching leaky pipes or holding rickety furniture together. After the cupboard incident a few months ago, you’d gone to check on the shelving the next day, and found more of it bolting the units to the walls of the pantry. You’d just assumed it was some new construction bullshit, because what the hell else could it have been. It was frustratingly obvious. He’d even told you so many times about his ridiculously stressful ‘other job’ and you hadn’t bothered asked him about it - instead, you’d looked him in the eye and said ‘What are you, Spider-Man?’, like some idiot. Your chest burns with embarrassment. Everything just seems to hurt, the strength sapped out of you and consumed by whatever sinkhole was opening between your lungs.

For the millionth time since you met him, you think ‘fuck this guy’, even though tonight you nearly did. You were tired of being tired of him, he was on your mind near constantly, but it had started to become comforting - he was, if anything, a constant. Whether that was constantly annoying you, or the determination he has towards being your friend, Peter was always just there. Why wasn’t Spider-Man?

It’s now that you notice that your phone has stopped buzzing. Something else has replaced it - some soft knocking on your window.

Your heart leaps to your chest for a split second, before you realise there’s only one person you know that could knock on a window five stories above the street; then, it sinks right back down to the pit of your stomach. When you shrink back into your nest of sheets, trying to stifle those snotty, post-cry sniffles, you can see his silhouette through your curtains, backlit by the lights of the city. It’s not him, you know it isn’t, he’s all spidery and angled, perched on the railing of your balcony. Peter hasn’t come to check on you, Spider-Man has - Spider-Man is at your window and calling your name all soft, in Peter’s voice, turning your stomach. You debate ignoring him, but then your curtains shift in the chilly New York wind, and you remember your window is wide open - ignoring him would just make him try and get in, and then he’d see the pathetic, sad lump you’d become.

“Go away.” Your voice is weak, almost laughably so. He shifts outside, a quick, sharp movement - as if pricking his ears at the sound of you. Your name comes too easily to his mouth, sending stabs through your ribs and lungs, winding you. There are a few painful moments of silence, the metal railing creaking underneath him as he shifts his weight. Eventually, he speaks.

“Please talk to me.”

“For fuck’s sake.” You’re up in an instant, scrubbing tears from your face with the heel of your hand. Everything seems to have fermented into anger, as it usually does for you, festering into some acrid, heavy thing in your throat, a tangle of barbed wire. You rip your curtains open, only to be met with a gloved hand. Spandex-ed hand, even.

It’s not Peter, it’s him, in the suit and everything, his hand outstretched and about to knock again. You must startle him, because he jolts backwards, tipping over the balcony and towards the street far below; instinctively you reach out to grab him, gripping his wrist and stopping the fall, your shoulder jolting with the sudden weight. You yelp, the fabric textured and unnatural under your hand, almost letting go of him from the shock of it.

Spider-Man stares up at you with those big white eyes, reflecting the moonlight and streetlamps, the lenses of his mask adjusting in the dim light. It kills the anger, and festers some odd fear instead. His face, or lack thereof, is distinctly alien and blank, sorely lacking the marks and dimples of Peter’s face - your heart aches with the knowledge that he’s under there, your Peter. If you squint, you can see the rise of his cheekbone, marred by the black webbing that runs over the suit, wrapping around the curves of his arms and ribcage. His free hand comes up, scrabbles around along his collar line for a seam, gets his fingers under it and pulls - exposing his neck, and then his face in a puff of brown curls.

When Peter looks up at you, his eyes are wide, lips parted as if about to say something - but neither of you say a word. You knew it was him, that it had always been him, but seeing him pull the damn mask off - seeing it in person - makes your ribs squeeze your lungs. His chest jumps with a sharp inhale, an anxious pulse thrumming beneath your fingers like a bassline. Every word you’ve ever learnt seems to dissolve on your tongue, your mouth thick with nerves, but your body acts of its own accord and pulls him upright again.

You must overestimate the weight of him, though, because he’s suddenly right there, in front of you, barely an inch or two between you. That feeling floods you again, the one you normally get when Peter’s around, and the one you apparently get when he’s this close. You can smell him, the soft scent of his deodorant, mixed with the cheap laundry detergent you can buy in bulk in the city. There’s dish soap and lemon and coffee, smudged ink from studying on his breaks, and caramels from plating desserts. It’s an odd effect; this is apparently the magic combination that quiets the buzzing in your head. That, and the softness of the flannels he wears before he changes into his uniform. And the way his hands warm your upper arms on particularly cold shifts. And the way he holds cigarettes like a pen, stubs the embers out in little twists on the paving flags. He’s so close that all of it comes rushing back to you, and the suit does nothing to prevent the heat of his skin warming you through, melting you into syrup. If you just leant forward you could -

His nose bumps yours softly, and before he can shy away from you again - before you can get all warm from the proximity of him - you retreat into your apartment. Peter follows, manoeuvring himself in through the window and pulling it closed when he notices the chill in your home. He’s stuck to the wall, and he watches you avoid the sight of it, slowly lowering himself to the floor; mask is wrung between his hands as he watches you pace and clatter around your tiny kitchen, setting a mug and a tea bag next to the kettle before clicking it on. Another mug is in your hand, and you turn to Peter, but your voice dies in your throat when you see him. His name sparks on your tongue like popping candy, but you swallow it back, your head filling with the crackling racket. There’s more silence, each of you waiting for the other to speak - until you both do.

“I got you the day off tomorrow.”

“You want a tea or something?”

You can’t help it, but the iron grip on your chest loosens with relief at not having to go to work tomorrow; you’re not quite sure you could take the interrogation from your coworkers, let alone the fucking police. When you finally force yourself to make eye contact, Peter’s face is all tense and red - not like when he gets embarrassed, but with the wind and rain against his cheeks. It’s odd to see him like this, not dressed as Spider-Man (though you’re not sure you’ve processed that yet, either) but so uncomfortable and stiff. Sure, he had his moments of awkwardness, but not to this extent. He sniffs, pushing his hair away from his face, waiting for you to answer first. The suit must not be waterproof, because his hair is damp, his curls clumping together in a shiny mass. He’ll be getting cold - unless he doesn’t get cold anymore.

“Thank you.” You mouth, afraid to say it any louder than a whisper.

“No problem.” He mouths back, then clears his throat and speaks aloud. “A tea would be nice. It’s fucking cold.”

It’s soft, his voice, barely audible under the rumble of the kettle behind you, like he’s scared of being heard, and you sorely miss the sound of it. There’s a distinct Queens tang to it, the auditory equivalent of fresh newspaper and spearmint. The way Peter’s holding himself, shy, contained, eyes peering around the room and taking it in - you realise you’ve never seen him outside of Joe’s before, let alone your apartment. You’ve not had a friend around to your apartment before, never mind a coworker. Does Peter still count as a friend?

He’s made new, you think, backlit by your lamps, parts of him soaked in their warm glow, like the dappled sun through leaves. He’s softer when he’s not under the diner fluorescents, soft threads of copper picked out in his hair, his bone structure illuminated. It’s the first time you’ve been able to get a good look at him without his uniform or some ratty hoodie - not quite naked, but close enough. He’s toned, the light casting shadows across the curve of his arms, but he’s skinnier than you’d thought; not quite a surprise, though, it wasn’t like he was in the best financial situation at the moment. All that swinging probably didn’t help.

Swinging. Fuck. Spider-Man is in your apartment.

You only notice how quiet it is when the kettle’s boiling comes to an abrupt stop, and it jolts you into action. The tea is poured, steeping the bag, and you watch the rich colour blossom in the water - suspended like ink. He doesn’t come near until you beckon him closer, and you can tell he’s trying not to touch you as you hand the mug over; whether it’s because of the Spider-Man thing, or the sex thing, you’re not quite sure. He can probably tell you’re trying not to look at the suit, focussing on tugging the teabag around by the string, bumping it against the walls of the mug.

You just nearly had sex with Spider-Man. You feel gross for thinking about it so much, but it’s not something you can easily move past.

“I’m sorry for leaving earlier.” You find yourself saying, though you’re not entirely sure you are sorry, it wasn’t like you disappeared for no reason. In fact, it seemed like one of the better reactions - if anything, you were proud you didn’t pass out or get all weird with him. Peter doesn’t even attempt a sip of the tea, just sets the cup down and stands around. If it was any other time, you’d offer him a seat.

“Don’t be. I understand.” He says, his voice raw. There’s a moment as he watches you force the scalding liquid down your throat, barely tasting the tea, refusing to give anything away to him about how awful you feel. You’re fine, look how normal you are, drinking tea and being fine. You gulp, and he clears his throat from whatever’s caught in it. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You know what, but you want him to tell you. You want to hear it out loud, have him present the whole thing to you, spill it over your floor. You want an evidence board, with pictures and receipts and red thread strung between. Instead, Peter shrugs.

“A lot of stuff. The whole not telling you thing.”

You scoff. “That’s part of the job description, dude. I don’t blame you.”

It’s the right thing to say, so you say it. You don’t mean it, but there’s not really an alternative. It’s unreasonable to expect him to tell you everything about his life, especially after you spent so long ranting about it, but the selfish part of you hoped he would at least spare you the embarrassment. Peter huffs out some dry chuckle, though there’s no humour in it, and your ears burn at the sound of it.

“You blame me for the other thing, though.”

“What?” You know what he’s talking about, you just hope he isn’t. Your eyes are glued to your sink, as you rinse already-clean plates and mugs under the tap, just to give your hands something to do - just so you don’t have to look at him. Peter swallows some tense breath, then bridges the gap between you, resting a comforting hand on your arm. You jump at the touch of him, squirming away and pressing yourself against your cabinets. He takes a few steps back out of the kitchen, hands raised, and your breath rattles in your chest as he builds the courage to speak again. Eventually, it just tumbles out of him.

“The fire. I’m also sorry about the fire.”

Something hurts inside your head, but you swallow it like a crumpled ball of sandpaper, pushing away the fuzzy feeling that was already building in your ears and fingertips. Even the mention of the fire is enough to set your heart racing - you already think you smell smoke.

“The fire was a stupid thing, Peter.” It wasn’t. It lives in your skull like some smoking, lurking thing, sapping away at you. Your rinsing has turned to scrubbing at this point, trying to get the ash and soot out from under your nails, but you’re not quite sure it’s there.

“Yeah, but you were in trouble. If you had been-” Peter cuts himself off, and the millions of paths that sentence could have taken are immediately closed off. He takes a breath, and your heart is still racing under the softness of it. “If I’d known, I would have come, I promise.”

You know it wasn’t his fault, and you know there’s nothing he realistically could have done to stop it, but your heart still twists, still hardens against him.

“But you didn’t.” It comes out before you can stop it, completely forced out between gritted teeth. Peter can tell, he’s creeping closer, pricking your flesh into goosebumps. “It’s done now.”

“I saw it on the news the day after, I felt awful. I took one day off, and next thing I know, Joe’s is-” You interrupt him before he can say anything else, your throat burning, spitting out your words like you were coughing up soot after the fire. They’d sent you home, the NYFD, then interviewed you a few weeks later for the investigation before the new Joe’s opened. Your fingers itch, and when you look down you think you see your fingertips stained yellow with tobacco. When you blink, there’s nothing there. You scrub at them harder.

“It’s not your fault.”

“You kind of seem to be upset with me, though.”

“It’s not like you started it.”

“Well, no, but-”

The buzzing in your ears sends a jolt through your brain, and you slam the tap off - the force of it juddering through your pipes. In the sink, your hands are burning, and you yank them out of the steaming water, suddenly aware of the sensation. There’s something hot and rasped caught in your throat, and you want to cough it up, spit it out, but you’re terrified it’ll come out black.

“Listen, Pete, I’m upset with Spider-Man. Not you.”

He blinks, eyebrows drawn together in that stupid, concerned way they have been for the past couple of hours. You can only last a few painful moments, looking at him, before you can’t stomach it anymore. Peter speaks slowly, shamefully, somewhat regretfully.

“We’re the same person.”

“Really? Really, Peter? Because Spider-Man seems to have a smart ass comment ready twenty-four-seven, and you once told a customer we were out of ‘ordange’ juice.”

Now, that seems to get at him, strikes a nerve somewhere beneath the spandex and knocks the wind out of him with a sucker punch. Already, your tongue stings with something acrid and rotten, your heart sinking into the pit of your gut. It’s like kicking a puppy, the way he looks at you, like you just took every precious thing you’d shared over the past couple of months, and ripped them to shreds in front of him. He breathes, chest heaving, blinks. It is, unfortunately, painfully, human.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Me neither.”

In your apartment, a clock ticks. The pipes rumble. Outside, a distant siren pierces the Manhattan smog. Peter’s hands twitch at the mask twisted between them, pulling the fabric into a thick, tense rope. He sniffs, pushes the wet thatch of hair back from his face, and finally speaks - quietly, delicately.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

It softens you. Melts you. You want to apologise - not out loud, no, just cup the wishbone of his jaw in your hands and feel the scratch of his stubble against your palms. Hold him. Run your fingernails over his scalp, make his nerves sing and the tension in his shoulders ease. Maybe then, he’d let you kiss him again. You’re awful to him.

“Me too.” You eventually manage. Then, in case it wasn’t obvious, “About you.”

Peter nods. He knows what you mean - and that you’re not saying what you want to say. He knows, because he’s not saying it either.

“I, uh, care about you, y’know?”

“I know. I care about you too.”

Maybe one day you’ll be honest with each other. You keep saying you will, but it never ends up that way. It’s easier to lie - he probably knows that better than anyone. The lenses on his mask look up at you, reflect the lights of your kitchen. You look away from Spider-Man’s eyes, and focus on Peter’s. His nose twitches, an awkwardness strung between his shoulder blades.

“Do you want to talk about what happened tonight?” He murmurs - then, when you pull a face; “Not the burglary part, the part… before. Though we should talk about the burglary too. And-”

There’s a measure of speechless gesturing; a flap of a hand connecting the two of you, binding you into a single, nameless unit. Not quite a relationship, but more than anything else.

“This.”

There’s something at the root of you that wants to invite him to stay, plant him in your bed, and glue yourself in his hair, so he’ll never leave. Something else wants to never see him again. Your soul screams, reaches for him, strains its muscles, and you breathe in the absence of him.

“I think I just want to go to bed, Pete.”

“Okay.” He’s offering some pitiful half-smile, letting you break his heart and sweep the cracked porcelain of it under your kitchen cabinets. In the dim light of your apartment, the rings under his eyes look darker than ever. “It’s been a long day.”

“It has.”

The mask comes back on, though he hesitates before he can slip it over his mouth, then moves closer into the safe bubble of your kitchen. Before you can react, he presses his lips to your forehead, the mask bunched up on the bridge of his nose, and climbs out of your window. He closes it behind him again, because of course he does. You miss him already.

The tea you made for him is untouched, still steaming on your counter.

[thewritetofreespeech]

hello!! i've made a request before but this idea came in my brain and i heard your requests were open. So ive seen a lot of fics of the brothers saving mc, but what about mc kinda of saving the brothers, i mean like badass sword fighting style. Just like a stereotypical disney prince saves a princess mc kinda saves the brothers from getting killed by a lesser demon with a sword and just being badass (and sword) and the bros find it hot (weak humans? never heard of them)

*spongebob narrator voice* 400 years lat’er..... So sorry this took so long! I genuinely don’t know why I couldn’t get it done. When I actually tried, I got it done in like 2 days. My only excuse is that I’m a horrible trash munny >.<

Obey me Boys + Power Princess MC

Lucifer

It offends him that this creature, this being not fit to lick the soles of his boots, would raise their hand to him. The attack was not even what upset him, but just the gall. The utter stupidity of this decision to throw one’s life away. The fact that they had attacked with you around only made him wish to end that pathetic life that much sooner.

“Step back [Y/N]. I’ll deal with this quic—” Lucifer cut himself off when you rushed forward. A bright shining sword in your hand as you lunged. Slashing through the demon, who wailed and instantly turned to dust & ash. “What on Earth was that?”

“Oh. It’s my sword.” You reply nonchalantly. Turning around to show it to him. “It’s a holy arc sword, or something. I can summon it from my bracelet whenever I need it. Cool to know it actually works in a pinch.”

“And where did you get such a magical artifact?” Lucifer asked. Perplexed beyond reason, but trying not to show it.

“Lord Diavolo gave it to me when I first got here.” The demon arched a brow. Lord Diavolo? “It would be really irresponsible of him to just let a human wander around hell without some kind of weapon.”

He paused for a moment. Trying to piece all of what you had just said together. Then he just chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it would be.” And here he thought that he had been the only one protecting you. When all along you could do it yourself.

His hand reached out to pat your head fondly. His breast swelling with pride. “I’ll have to thank him for giving you such a thoughtful, practical gift. We’ll also have to add sword play to your lesson plans. I’d be more than happy to be your tutor.

Mammon

‘Shit!’ Mammon mentally cursed as he was hit again.

This wasn’t the first time he’d been rough up outside a club. Given his lifestyle, and his gambling track record, he’d been pummeled by a few bouncers in his life. With his immense power, he could easily take them; if he tried. But then he would be banned from the club, and ever other, and that was something he couldn’t handle over the humiliation of being beat up by these clowns. He needed this. It was all he had.

So, he took his beatings from lesser demons when they came around. He’d only wished they’d picked a different night to get their ‘payment’ back since you were supposed to be here soon.

“Come on guys. Don’t ya think you’ve had enough?”

“We’ll tell you when we’ve had enough!” One demon sneered at him, before kicking a man while he was down. Classy. “You owe us. And we’re gonna get back every cent you owe out of your hide!”

The demon reared his foot back to kick him again, and Mammon mentally sighed. Preparing himself for the kick and really being over this since it began. But….no kick came.

The demon let out a loud grunt over the sound of a metal ‘wack’ before the two, even lesser goons beside him suffer the same fate and they all slump to the ground. “Mammon! Are you ok?!”

The silver haired demon looked up at you in shock. The light from the street lamp causing a halo to form around you, highlighting your worried face as you brandished a rusty pipe like some great sword. “Yeah…I’m fine….”

“You don’t look fine! You’re all beat up!” He just sat there as you dropped the pipe and dropped down to him. Fretting over him as you looked him over. He couldn’t hear what you were saying over the beating sound of his heart in his ears.

No one had ever tried to help him before.

Mammon lifted his arms and wrapped them around you. “Mammon? What—“Let’s get out of here.” He interrupted as he hugged you. Standing up, and helping you to your feet, after a moment to walk out of the alley. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I wanna go somewhere with you.”

“But….I thought you wanted to go out tonight. Play cards. You said you were feeling lucky?”

He couldn’t tell if that was a jab or not, but replied, “well clearly I was wrong.” Though despite his bumps and bruises, he did still feel pretty lucky right not. “I just want to get out of here. I don’t need this anymore.” You both decide to head home to help Mammon nurse his wounds. He never went back to that club, or really any club, after that night.

Levi

“Levi….I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

“Nonsense!” Levi quipped in response to your perfectly reasonable, concerned feelings. “It’s just a little further. Besides, I want to see Henry 1! I’ve missed him a ton recently, and want to make sure he remembers me.” It had broken his heart to discover his poor, lost serpent had been down here, all alone, this whole time. So he made an effort to see him every now and then.

“Yeah but…isn’t this still like super-secret for Lord Diavolo’s family and stuff? What if there’s like booby traps and stuff?”

“Come on! There weren’t any booby traps or anything before. Why would he when he has Henry to keep it…..” Levi trailed off as both of you were ingulfed by a long, dark shadow. A low hissing sound growing louder as a gold, stripped serpent towered over you with a menacing glare. “That’s not Henry.”

The snake hissed loudly with bared fangs and an open mouth, and you both scream and run to get away from it.

The serpent of course chased you. Easily able to keep up, and only loosing you when the two of you duck into a narrow corridor. Levi turned around to say something to you, but you were gone. His immediate thought was that the stranger snake had gotten you, and it was all his fault, and he would never see you again!

When he came to the end of the corridor, walking out like a man on death row instead of running, he looked up to see the snake in front of him. Clearly angered by having to chase him. Levi didn’t care. He wanted to die if anything happened to you. He’d rather die than live one moment without you.

Prepared to accept his fate, the demon didn’t move when the snake unhinged his jaw to eat him in one gulp. Only for a sharp spike to thrust out from his mouth a moment later. A strange, hissing gasp escaping it before it slumped down in a lifeless heap on the floor. “[Y/N]!”

“Jesus! Not to put too fine a pin on it, but this place is literally a maze. One minute I’m next to you, and the next I’m in some armory on the other side of the hall 50 feet away. Are you alright Levi?”

The demon scrambled up the snake corpse to stand next to you and wrapped his arms tight around your being. “[Y/N]! I was so scared! I thought this Henry imposter got you, and you were dead, and I couldn’t think of anything!”

“I’m really ok Levi.” You assure him, as he wept into your shoulder. “Do you still want to see the real Henry? I think I spotted where he actually is when I was running back with the spear?” Levi nodded into your shoulder. Still not prepared to let you go.

Satan

Satan always tried to be a reasonable man.

He hated being referred to as ‘The Demon of Wrath’. It wasn’t his wrath that had caused him to be born. And he wasn’t any angrier than his brothers, so why did he have to be labeled the ‘bad seed’? So he always tried to be level headed. Calm. Patient. But there were somethings he just could not abide. Like the boorish behavior of someone talking loudly in the library.

“Excuse me,” the blonde said, attempting to remain calm, as he came over to the rude demon two tables over, “could you please keep it down? This is a library.”

“Yeah. I know what it is.” He quipped back rather snippily. “What are you? The librarian?”

“No. Just a fellow book lover.” Satan replied. Grinding his teeth now. “And one who can follow the rules and basic social decorum of keeping my conversations to myself in a place like this.”

“Are you calling me stupid?!”

“No. I’m calling you uncouth. A word meaning undignified, and without manners.”

“Why you!”

The demon rose to his feet, towering over Satan now that he was standing. Not that it mattered. Height was not an immediate representation of strength. Look at Belphie. His younger, shorter brother could level a whole city with a flick of his wrist. Satan could easily dispatch of his imbecile without even breaking a sweat.

He never got the chance though, as just after he stood the demon let out a grunt and slumped to the floor; with you standing behind him on his depleted chair with a book in your hand like you had just pulled it from The Stone. “Bet you’re glad I think Kindles are dumb now.”

Satan had to right himself on what he was seeing, and then frowned at you. “I never said that, and get down.” He insisted. Offering you his hand to get down. You hop down with ease and set your weapon book on the table. “Honestly, I could have handled him without resorting to violence or cheap theatrics.”

“Cheap?? This book was very expensive.” You insist, and Satan had to scoff.

“Be that as it may, please do not use books for more than their intended purpose. I appreciate the assist, but I can’t have you hurting yourself or fine literature in the future.”

“You’re such a buzz kill sometimes Satan…..”

Asmo

Asmo always loved going to the club. The dancing. The energy. The pulsing music. The people.

Well…usually the people. Some people, usually bro-dude demons, just couldn’t take a hint that ‘no’ meant ‘no’.

“Come on Asmo! Why are you being so stingy?!”

“I’m not being ‘stingy’,” Asmo replied with a frown marring his beautiful face. “I’m just not interested.”

“You were interested last time.” His pursuer replied. Like that somehow gave automatic permission that things would happen again.

“That was a long time ago.” The dusk haired blonde replied. Sipping his cocktail and looking thoughtful across the spacious VIP lounge over to you.

Yes, things had certainly changed. Once where it would take a whole room of people and attention to make him content, these days all he wanted was you. Just you sparing a moment to look at him made his heart feel incredibly full. He had come here to have a fun night out with you, but it seemed no matter where he went his beauty was always causing problems.

The lesser demon frowned, then looked towards the direction Asmo was looking to land on you. “Shoot, just bring them along with us.”

“Excuse me?” Asmo asked. Beautiful expression turning Ignatius as he sat down his drink.

“Bring them along. I’ve never had sex with a human. But there must be something to it if you’re willing to do them. Not that I suppose that takes much….”

At that, Asmo leapt from his chair and grabbing the brute by the collar. He wasn’t normally one for violence. He wasn’t like his dull brothers. But he couldn’t let a slight like that against you slide. “Take it back!”

The two demon’s scuffle. Clearing out the VIP lounge as everyone ran. Scared that they might transform at any moment and literally tear each other apart. Asmo somehow ended up on his back, a position that usually didn’t bother him, as the other reared back to punch him in the face.

Or, at least he would have if he didn’t start convulsing and fall on the ground a moment later.

“Asmo! Are you ok?!”

The Lust Demon looked at you for a moment. Then delicately covered his mouth with both hands. Returning to normal. “[Y/N]! You saved me!!”

“Yeah. This little thing packs a punch.” You replied. Holding out your little pink taser from She-Sword from your clutch. “I couldn’t let this jerk hurt your beautiful face.”

“No one is more beautiful than you my fierce warrior queen!” He praised. Basking in the moment for only a second before you both scamper off before security came.

You both might be beautiful, but you didn’t want to end up on the evening news.

Beel

“I want to take up kendo.” Beel announced to you one day. Out of the blue. “I’ve been looking for ways to add variety to my workout. I came across this video on kendo and thought it would be fun.”

Of course, Beel knew you had practiced kendo in the past at school. So he might have also been looking for fitness activities for you to do together. In any case, he really liked seeing you in your little workout outfit. It was super cute.

He also liked you showing him the basics of kendo; stance, footing, basic strike movement. When he felt he had gotten the hang of it, Beel jovially asked for a sparring match with you.

“I don’t know….”

“Come on [Y/N], sparring with someone is the best way to learn fighting.” He reasoned. “Besides, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I’m not worried about that….” He heard you mutter under your breath, but thought that he must have imagined it as you squared off.

Standing across from you in the arena, something changed. The hair on the back of Beel’s neck stood up. Not in the excited way that it normally did when he saw you. But something more….primal. His grip tightened a little more as he realized he might have to get a little serious with you.

It was all for nothing though as the match was over just as soon as it started.

The shinai went flying out of his hands, landing across the room just as Beel landed on his butt. His backside throbbing as his bell was rung clear as day. He rubbed his head as he looked up at you. “I may have forgotten to mention that I was three-time national kendo champ all through school.”

The demon looked up at you with a shiny, sparkly gaze only until now reserved for delicious food. “Teach me sensei!”

Belphie

He hated being out. He wanted to go home.

Being outside in the sun, with all these…..people was hell to him. Belphie would rather be home, in actual hell, with his blanket and pillow and quiet, rather than ‘top side’ with you for the whole afternoon. Not that it was you or anything. You were the only bright star on this miserable day. He’d be damned if he’d let one of his brothers spend the day with you when he could.

“Belphie, do you want an ice cream? Maybe that will help with the heat?”

He wanted to say that the only thing that would help him was getting the hell out of here. But, he bit his tongue. The demon knew how important this was to you to come ‘home’ now & then and he didn’t want to ruin it for you. So he just nodded and asked, “strawberry please.”

He sat in the shade as he watched you go over to the ice cream truck alone. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he was just a hopeless shut in. Like Levi, only worse. He just wanted humans so much that being around them was making him crankier than normal today.

“Geez, get a look at that side show over there.”

Belphie looked up from his daze at the human who was a few yards away from him. Snickering and staring with his friends in a voice that a regular human wouldn’t be able to hear. “If you have something to say, then say it, you chicken shit fuck.” Again, he was very cranky.

The human was obviously taken aback at being heard and then called out like that. “What did you say to me?!” He yelled, once he got his bearings on the situation, and took a ‘threatening’ step forward to see if he would repeat it.

“I said ‘If you have something to say, then say it, you chicken shit fuck’.” Of course he repeated it. “Don’t mutter something under your breath like a coward. Say it like a man, or keep your gross mouth shut.” This was why he hated humans. No spine.

Well, metaphorical spine. If he kept this up, Belphie was gonna prove that he had a spine when he ripped it out and made him wear it as a neck tie.

“You little fuck--!” Belphie, of course, didn’t move when he stomped closer. Not that he needed to, because he was stopped in his tracks rather abruptly when you stepped between then. Holding a knife from your pocket.

“I suggest you get out of here, before the only ‘side show’ around here is your knife swallowing act pal.” The man seemed to frozen for a moment as he tried to process if you were serious. Then his flight instincts kicked in and he took off running with his friends across the park. “Gosh, I think I’ve been spending to much time with you guys. I never would have done anything like this before.” You said after a sigh, then turned back to Belphie.

“My hero.” He cheered softly, in his typical tired voice but still with a soft smile. Seeming extremely proud of the bad influence he was on you.

[hopelesshunny]

the love languages part iii: words of affirmation (f.w.)

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

summary: y/n thinks fred is losing interest in her after he catches another girls eye so he makes sure she knows just how much he loves her.

warnings: kissing, mentions of cheating, misunderstandings, mentions of a breakup, insecurities, mentions of marriage, mentions of pregnancy, very brief joke about a physical fight, ANGST but with a happy ending!!

word count: 1.7k

a/n: this is late and i'm very, very sorry but i started writing it and kinda hated it so i had to take a step back and come back to it! i kinda struggled with this one bc words of affirmation is the farthest thing from my personal love language but i hope i did it justice.

*all photos are from pinterest*

series masterlist // part i // part ii // part iv

The warm sunlight washed over Y/N’s skin as she stepped into the courtyard, a smile etched on her face at the thought of seeing her boyfriend, after spending the entire day in class away from him she couldn’t wait to revel in the feeling of his arms wrapped around her. She scanned the sea of students before her eyes finally found him, her smile slightly dropped when she saw two Hufflepuff girls standing in front of Fred as he leaned against a bench on the ground. The two girls were older than Y/N, they giggled as they spoke to him, one of them twirling her hair around her finger. She could feel jealousy pooling deep in the pit of her stomach coupled with an overwhelming sense of guilt as Fred looked very uninterested with the conversation the two girls were attempting to initiate, constantly looking around in search of her.

“There she is!” Fred spoke when Y/N made her way to him, the smile on his face was so genuine that she almost forgot about all the anger that previously possessed her.

“Hi, Freddie.” She greeted, giving into his outstretched arms to let him pull her into his lap. He placed a sweet kiss to her temple. “Hi.” She spoke softly, turning her attention to the two girls, irritation lacing their features.

“Maybe we’ll see you around Fred.” One of them piped up before leaving, whispering to one another as they retreated.

“Your friends seem nice.” Y/N scoffed, biting the inside of her cheek as Fred’s arms tightened around her, sensing her discomfort.

“Not my friends.” He chuckled, littering the side of her face with kisses which earned a giggle from her. “Just some girls in my Herbology class, they won’t leave me alone.” He added.

“Can’t entirely blame them.” She joked, attempting to make light of the situation. “I don’t leave you alone either.”

“Mhmm.” He started, turning her head to face him so that he could place a kiss to her lips. “But your company is more than welcomed, princess.”

She giggled at his soft demeanor, taking his hand in hers whilst she leaned back against his chest as she listened to him babble on excitingly about some of the new products he and George were working on for the shop. She felt content here in his arms but her mind kept wandering to the girls that were obviously attempting to flirt with her boyfriend.

Y/N knew Fred loved her, knew that no matter how many girls flocked to him he would always politely excuse himself from the situation in order to find her, knew that he wouldn’t even think about cheating on her but was he losing interest in her? What if he was looking at all these other girls and thinking they were prettier than her, smarter than her, better than her? She pushed the thoughts away, not wanting to think about losing Fred to someone else, she could hardly stomach it. But truly, it plagued her, Fred had come into her life and made it completely different, he forced her to live in colour after so long of feeling like she was one of those sad black and white Hollywood starlets. He made her feel special, made the rain seem like a gift instead of an inconvenience, made the sun feel warmer and the moon feel like he hung it in the sky just for her.

Fred noticed that Y/N had something on her mind and spent the next few days constantly asking if she was okay but he knew that she was far too stubborn to tell him what was bothering her. Because of this Fred tried a little harder to make sure she knew how much she meant to him, Y/N knew what he was doing but she wasn’t ready to confess to him that she was jealous of all the attention he was getting from the girls at school, worried that her insecurities would push him away. But that was never something that crossed Fred’s mind, he had assumed that other people flirting with him would upset her which is why he always rejected the advances, always made sure she knew that there was no one else walking this earth more perfect for him, he truly wanted nothing more than to slip a ring on her finger and spend the rest of his days with her. Hell if he had a ring right now he’d propose to her no questions asked.

“Alicia, do you know who that girl is?” Y/N asked as she sat in the library, textbooks littering the table in front of the two girls as they poured over their homework. Alicia spun around in her seat to get a look at the girl in question.

“The Hufflepuff girl?” She asked to which Y/N nodded. “I think her name is Jessica, why?”

“It’s nothing.” She lied in reply, gritting her teeth. “Just asking.”

“No you’re not.” She spoke casually, seeing directly through Y/N’s facade. “You don’t seem like yourself lately, what’s wrong?”

“She was talking to Fred a couple days ago.” Y/N sighed. “I just can’t shake it, I’ve caught her staring at him at dinner a few times and she was so adamant about talking to him that day.” Her voice shook as she spoke, Alicia looked to her with a soft smile.

“Y/N.” She started. “Fred loves you so bloody much, so much so that it's kind of gross sometimes. He’d never even think about pursuing another girl, he looks at you like you have a halo hanging above your head.”

“Thanks.” She sniffed, giggling at her friend. “You’re a good friend, Alicia.”

“And if all else fails, you could probably take her in a fight.” Alicia added, earning a loud, genuine laugh from Y/N earning stares and shushing from those in the library.

She felt lighter after her conversation with Alicia and was excited to see Fred at dinner, she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss his entire face. Her warm and fuzzy thoughts of Fred were interrupted when she saw Jessica running her fingers up his arm, a devilish smile playing on her lips. Y/N could hardly process the sight in front of her, it was making her sick to her stomach so much that she couldn’t bear to look at Fred’s face not wanting to see his reaction to the pretty girl in front of him trailing her hand up his arm. She didn’t even realize that her feet were carrying her body away from the sight in front of her until she could hear him calling after her.

Tears spilled from her eyes, tracking down her face as she ignored Fred’s desperate calls to her, practically running through the common room and up to her room. She slammed the door, sliding down it as she pulled her knees up to her chest, sobs now freely leaving her mouth.

“Y/N, angel-” Fred started, outside her door, he was audibly out of breath from chasing her through the castle. “Open the door please.”

She sat there for a minute, contemplating never opening the door, never speaking to him again, just simply forgetting that she never ever heard Fred Weasley’s name. But she knew she couldn’t, knew she could never forget about him and she also knew she shouldn’t just shut him out, he would never purposely hurt her. With a sigh she lifted herself from the ground and opened the door to find her very disheveled boyfriend, his hair messy from running his hands through it, his face flushed. As soon as she saw him her legs collapsed beneath her, choked sobs making their appearance once again.

“Hey, hey, none of that.” He whispered, taking her into his arms on the floor. “She just came up to me love, I told her she had to leave me alone, that there was never going to be anything between us because I was in love with you.” He rubbed circles into her back as she sobbed into his chest, placing barely there kisses into her hair.

“Are you-” She started, another brutal sob racking her body. “Are you losing interest in me? I-I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay with me if you don’t want to be.” Freds heart was aching listening to her, he cursed himself for the way she was feeling. He should have told her he loved her more, he should have woken her up every morning by telling her she was the only girl he ever thought of, that he ever wanted.

“I love you Y/N.” He began. “H-How-”

“You can love someone and get bored with them.” She spoke quietly. Fred sighed, placing his hands on her shoulders, he pulled her back to look at her.

“I will never get tired of you, you will never bore me and there is not a chance in hell that I will lose interest in you.” Her eyes found his for the first time since she first opened the door. “I think about you all day, everyday, from the second I wake up with you in my arms until I get to fall asleep next to you, all I think about is you. You’re everything to me.” He let a deep sigh leave his chest as he took her face in his hands. “I’m going to marry you Y/N, in the backyard, back home with everyone there and then we’re gonna have a bunch of little red-headed babies, send them off to Hogwarts and argue over what house they’ll be sorted in.” He said, pulling a giggle from her which he reciprocated with a relieved smile.

“You want to marry me?” She asked as he wiped a stray tear from her eye with the pad of his thumb.

“I have since the day you agreed to date a bloody git like me.” He joked, pulling her into his chest. “It’s only you Y/N, it’s always been you, it’ll always be you, you’re it for me.” She buried her face into his jumper, forgetting about Jessica, forgetting about her doubts, just breathing in his scent, just feeling his lips on her hairline, just her and her Freddie.

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