#these two own my heart and soul

[mrsfitzgerald]

belgrade, 24.05.24 ♥︎ video: me

[synthshenanigans]

I miiiight color this properly but have a funky soul design i did for fun :}

[close up + a small text about the guy below and then some]

While it is mainly just for fun & not my main design for Soul, i think Soul's form would change throughout Cacophony a fair amount. There's still some things it cant change but depending on its view on himself, Heart & Mind, or Whole would alter how his apperance looks. Not necessarily a bad thing either, just a form on how he feels or views himself. Kinda like when you make a persona i guess? He just swaps a lot between them.

Also smaller thing being that it's "tail" can change as well! More obvious being the relation to the instrumental album cover but also it can changed into other things as well. An Umbrella for Spring and a Storm, a gavel for parts of Mucka Blucka, TSE & The Bidding, or it being one of those bid cards youd hold up to bid your amount [also during The Bidding]. Can also change to the trident during TSE & The Bidding too, the red guitar in Two Wuv as well. Just generally whatever he want/feels like!

[thefandomchaos]

Justice for Two-Bit, he din’t deserve any of this

(Check posts for other version of the scream)

[john-cleven]

Under the Same Sky (You and I)

“Come on, Buck, keep pace with us,” John mutters as he watches the squadron flying behind them. He knows he has to stay calm, has to stay focused, but the farther they creep into Kraut territory, the more John’s thoughts veer helplessly towards Gale. 

It’s not long before they’re ambushed by fighter pilots - far too many to count. They swarm the air like viscous wasps, intentions coated with violence. John can practically taste their hunger to kill as they surround the American planes. The Germans slip in from all sides, tearing apart formations with their high velocity bullets like the flying fortresses are made of paper mache. 

Amidst the assault, John hears Gale’s name through the comms. Alert and anxious, he swivels around to peer out the window of the B-17, searching. John’s heart jolts into his throat. Gale’s fort has been hit. Agitation and concern electrify the ends of his nerves, lighting him up from the inside out. Gale’s fort has been hit. 

Without thinking, John scrambles towards the back of the plane, fingers itching with murder. Fear and fury rampage against each other within his veins, clouding his mind. He pushes Murph aside and grips the machine gun with trembling hands. Red spots swim in his vision as he targets the Luftwaffe, soul salivating for their demise. He mercilessly fires upon the enemy fighter pilots, outraged that they continue to target Gale. How fucking dare they. 

Carnage surrounds them as they fly through the flak. B-17s erupt in massive clouds of smoke and fire. Crews leap from their wounded planes, desperate to survive. Airmen swing from parachutes, vulnerable to the bullets whizzing through the air. Bodies explode and break apart in bursts of crimson as they slam against forts, unable to change their trajectory, unable to avoid such gruesome, gory deaths. 

Time slows to a crawl as John ceaselessly fires the machine gun. He’s hyper focused, consumed by a burning revenge, consumed by a primal urgency to protect Gale’s fort from the German fighters that circle them like starving sharks in blood-infested waters. 

Finally, the Luftwaffe retreat, fuel running too low to continue their deadly hunt. John pries his quivering hands from the smoking machine gun in front of him and collapses to the floor. He tries to blink away the red clouding his vision as his lungs heave for air. They manage to drop their bombs on the factory, a successful mission. Still, John cannot swallow down the dread that has infected his body. Cannot tear his distressed thoughts away from Gale.

 “Is Cleven’s fort still with us?” he asks, eyes glued to the blue sky around them, as if Gale’s plane might emerge from the clouds at any moment, safe and sound. 

“They’re beat to shit and trailing way behind, but they’re still with us.” Intense relief causes John to nearly go boneless. He closes his eyes briefly and repeats the words in his mind. Gale is okay. Gale is still with them. 

Miraculously, they land in Africa. As soon as John’s feet hit the ground, he turns to wait for his friend. He watches the distant sky with intense focus, feeling suspended in that singular moment. Dread and hope clash against each other, sending the electrical currents in John’s brain into overdrive. He feels himself nearly shaking apart, feels himself nearing the edge of a precipice – because it’s all or nothing. 

Finally, Gale’s plane glides into view. At last, John’s heart has returned to him. He rushes to a jeep, blood pounding through his veins. He has to see him, has to make sure he’s okay. When John pulls up, Gale is helping his injured crew from the torn apart fortress. He leaps out of the jeep, barking out orders to help the wounded, then watches Gale carefully from a few feet away. He’s banged up, but John doesn’t notice any severe wounds. He clenches his fists and keeps his distance as he drinks Gale in with hungry eyes, all too aware that they are not alone. 

“I don’t know how you flew that thing all the way to Africa, but you couldn’t make the runway,” John says, feeling like he might collapse when Gale finally makes eye contact with him. God, he is so beautiful. John can’t help the affectionate smile that blooms on his face as he forces himself to not reach out for the other man. “It’s right there.” 

Gale doesn’t reply and walks a few steps away, looking for the rest of his crew. John follows after him, like a moth to a flame, but his heart drops when he sees the body the other men are carrying. 

“Who is it?” He asks quietly, eyes glued to the mutilated corpse of the airman. 

“Norman Smith, radio operator,” Gale replies, voice husky with sorrow and regret. John swallows down the bile that rises in his throat. Even though he knows that Gale is still reeling from the loss, John can’t help but to imagine the roles reversed. What if that had been Gale, blown apart? What if John never saw him again? 

“I lost four forts,” Gale says, tearing him away from his spiraling thoughts. John watches as the blonde aimlessly wanders away from the plane, eyes empty. 

John turns after him, trailing behind, “I know.”

John can see that Gale is drowning in his grief, still shocked from the bloodshed he’d barely managed to escape. He glances back at the few men left that are still checking on the plane, irritated that they aren’t gone. His fingers itch with the need to touch Gale, to feel his heart beating beneath his palm. He wants to hold him and comfort him, wants to climb inside his skin and live there forever. But not yet. 

“We’re gonna get through this. Come on, don’t stop believing that,” John says, trying to pull Gale back to him, away from that battle where Gale can only re-experience the demise and suffering of his squadron, of his men, of his friends. 

“Sure, Bucky,” Gale says, but John can tell he doesn’t believe it. 

Gale turns towards the setting sun, blue eyes dimmed and distant. John glances backwards one more time and breathes a sigh of relief when he notices they're finally alone. He reaches out his hand and twines his fingers through Gale’s. The man beside him barely twitches, still staring out towards the mountains that have begun to shroud the sun. John tugs Gale around to face him and places a gentle hand on his injured cheek. Gale stares at him, eyes still glazed over with anguish. John slowly presses forward to lean his forehead against Gale’s and strokes his jaw with his thumb. 

“It’s you and me, Buck,” he whispers, his love for this man spilling out from every pore on his body. 

He hopes that Gale knows that John would do anything for him, go anywhere for him. Without Gale, there’s no life worth living. John has been completely and utterly bewitched by the man in front of him since the moment they met. For John, there can be no one else. He patiently waits for Gale to see him, to come back to him. Finally, Gale’s eyes focus and he squeezes John’s hand that’s still linked with his. 

“You and me,” he softly repeats, eyes fluttering closed as John tilts his head and presses his lips firmly against Gale’s. 

[bora-panda]

Love, love, I need somebody to love ~ 🎶🎵

I love them i love them i love them i love them (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)

I needed to do more MSP fanart and i just looove this MV sm so it seemed like a good option ( *ฅ́˘ฅ̀*)

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

Send me good wishes yall. I'm going to try and work on some late work when I get home but I'm chronically bad at doing that without an energy drink but I'm not ready for the impending doom of selling my soul to energy drinks so I can function

Uuhhhhhhhhh I accidentally went on a tangent and there's a whole vent in the tags oopsies

[acourtofquestions]

"I didn't break," she said quietly. His heart cracked at the words. "I didn't tell them anything."

She didn't say it for praise, to boast. But rather to tell him, her consort, of where they stood in this war. What their enemies might know.

"I knew you wouldn't," he managed to say.

"She ... she tried to convince me that this was the bad dream. When Cairn was done with me, or during it, I don't know, she'd try to worm her way into my mind." She glanced around the cave, as if she could see the world beyond it. "She spun fantasies that felt so real..." She bobbed under the surface. Perhaps she'd needed the cooling water of the lake to be able to hear her own voice again; perhaps she needed the distance between them so she could speak these words. She emerged, slicking back her hair with a hand. "They felt like this."

Half of him didn't want to know, but he asked, "What sort of illusions?"

A long pause. "It doesn't matter now."

Too soon to push—if ever.

Then she asked softly, "How long?"

It took the entirety of his three centuries of training to keep the devastation, the agony for her, from his face. "Two months, three days, and seven hours."

Her mouth tightened, either at the length of time, or the fact that he'd counted every single one of those hours apart.

She ran her fingers through her hair, its strands floating around her in the water. Still too long for two months to have passed. "They healed me after each ... session. So that I stopped knowing what had been done and what was in my mind and where the truth lay." Erase her scars, and Maeve stood a better chance at convincing her none of this was real. "But the healers couldn't remember how long my hair was, or Maeve wanted to confuse me further, so they grew it out." Her eyes darkened at the memory of why, perhaps, they had needed to regrow her hair in the first place.

"Do you want me to cut it back to the length it was when I last saw you?" His words were near-guttural.

"No." Ripples shivered around her. "I want it so I can remember."

What had been done to her, what she'd survived and what she had protected.

Even if the woman treading water before him didn't seem to have vengeance on her mind. Not so much as a hint of the burning rage that fueled her.

He didn't blame her. Knew it would take time, time and distance, to heal the internal wounds. If they could ever really heal at all.

But he'd work with her, help in whatever way he could. And if she never returned to who she had been before this, he would not love her any less.

Aelin dunked her head, and when she emerged, she said, "Maeve was about to put a Valg collar around my neck. She left to retrieve it." The scent of her lingering fear drifted toward him, and Rowan lurched a step closer to the water's edge. "It's why I—why I got away. She had me moved to the army camp for safekeeping, and I ..." Her voice stalled, yet she met his stare. Let him read the words she could not say, in that silent way they'd always been able to communicate. Escape wasn't my intention.

"No, Fireheart," he breathed, shaking his head, horror creeping over him. "There ... there was no collar."

She blinked, head angling. "That was a dream, too?"

His heart cracked as he struggled for the words. Made himself voice them. "No—it was real. Or Maeve thought it was. But the collars, the Valg presence ... It was a lie that we crafted. To draw Maeve out, hopefully away from you and Doranelle."

Only the faint lapping of water sounded. "There was no collar?"

Rowan lowered himself to his knees and shook his head. "I—Aelin, if I'd known what she'd do with the knowledge, what you'd decide to do-"

He might have lost her. Not from Maeve or the gods or the Lock, but from his own damned choices. The lie he'd spun.

Aelin drifted beneath the surface again. So deep that when the flare happened, it was little more than a flutter. The light burst from her, rippling across the lake, illumining the stones, the slick ceiling above. A silent eruption. His breathing turned ragged. But she swam toward the surface again, light streaming off her body like tendrils of clouds. It had nearly vanished when she emerged.

"I'm sorry," he managed to say. Again, that angle of the head. "You have nothing to be sorry for." He did, though. He'd added to her terror, her desperation. He'd— "If you had not planted that lie for Maeve, if she had not told me, I don't think we'd be here right now," she said.

He tried to rein in the twisting in his gut, the urge to reach for her, to beg for her forgiveness. Tried and tried.

She only asked, "What of the others?" She didn't know-couldn't know how and why and where they'd all parted ways. So Rowan told her, as succinctly and calmly as he could.

When he finished, Aelin was quiet for long minutes.

She stared out into the blackness, the rippling of her treading water the only sound. Her body had nearly lost that freshly forged glow.

Then she pivoted back toward him. "Maeve said you and the others were in the North. That you'd been spotted by her spies there. Did you plant that deception for her, too?"

He shook his head. "Lysandra has been thorough, it seems."

Aelin's throat bobbed. "I believed her." It sounded like a confession, somehow.

So Rowan found himself saying, "I told you once that even if death separated us, I would rip apart every world until I found you." He gave her a slash of a smile. "Did you really believe this would stop me?'

She pursed her mouth, and at last, those agonizing emotions began to surface in her eyes. "You were supposed to save Terrasen."

"Considering that the sun shines, I'd say Erawan hasn't won yet. So we'll save it together."

He didn't let himself think of the final cost of destroying Erawan. And Aelin seemed in no hurry to discuss it, either, as she said, "You should have gone to Terrasen. It needs you."

"I need you more." He didn't balk from the stark honesty roughening his voice. "And Terrasen will need you, too. Not Lysandra masquerading as you, but you."

A shallow nod. "Maeve raised her army. I doubt it was only to guard me while she was away."

He'd put the thought aside, to consider later. "It might just be to shore up her defenses, should Erawan win across the sea."

"Do you truly think that's what she plans to do with it?"

"No," he admitted. "I don't."

And if Maeve meant to bring that army to Terrasen, to either unite with Erawan or simply be another force battering their kingdom, to strike when they were weakest, they had to hurry. Had to get back. Immediately. His mate's eyes shone with the same understanding and dread.

Aelin's throat bobbed as she whispered, "I'm so tired, Rowan."

His heart strained again. "I know, Fireheart."

He opened his mouth to say more, to coax her onto land so he might at least hold her if words couldn't ease her burden, but that's when he saw it.

A boat, ancient and every inch of it carved, drifted out of the gloom.

"Get back to shore." The boat wasn't drifting—it was being tugged. He could just barely make out two dark forms slithering beneath the surface.

Aelin didn't hesitate, yet her strokes remained steady as she swam for him. She didn’t balk at the hand he extended, and he wrapped his cloak around her while the boat ambled past.

But Aelin turned toward them, hair dripping onto the stone at her bare feet. Half a thought from her could have had her dry, yet she made no move to do so. "We're being hunted."

"We know that," Lorcan shot back, and were it not for the fact that Aelin was currently allowing him to rest a hand upon her shoulder, Rowan would have thrown the male into the lake.

But Aelin's features didn't shift from that graveness, that unruffled calm. "The only way to the sea is through these caves." It was an outrageous claim.

"And I suppose they told you that?" Lorcan's face was hard as granite.

"Watch it," Rowan snarled. Fenrys indeed bared his teeth at the dark-haired warrior, fur bristling. But Aelin said simply, "Yes." Her chin didn't dip an inch. "The land above is crawling with soldiers and spies. Going beneath them is the only way."

Elide stepped forward. "I will go." She cut a cold glance toward Lorcan. "You can take your chances above, if you're so disbelieving." Lorcan's jaw tightened, and a small part of Rowan relished seeing the delicate Lady of Perranth fillet the centuries-hardened warrior with a few words. "Considering the potential pitfalls of the situation is wise."

"We don't have time to consider," Rowan cut in before Elide could voice the retort on her tongue. "We need to keep moving. Gavriel stalked forward to study the moored boat and what seemed to be bundles of supplies on its sturdy planks. "How will we navigate our way, though?"

"We'll be escorted," Aelin answered.

"And if they abandon us?" Lorcan challenged. Aelin leveled unfazed eyes upon him.

"Then you'll have to find a way out, I suppose." A hint-just a spark-of temper belied those calm words. There was nothing else to debate after that.

And they had little to pack. The others gave Aelin privacy to dress by the fire while they inspected the boat, and when his mate emerged again, clad in boots, pants, and various layers beneath her gray surcoat, the sight of her in clothes from Mistward was enough to make his gut clench.

No longer a naked, escaped captive. Yet none of that wickedness, that joy and unchecked wildness illuminated her face.

The rest of their party waited on the boat, seated on the benches built into its high-lipped sides. Fenrys and Elide both sat as seemingly far from Lorcan as they could get, Gavriel a golden, long-suffering buffer between them.

Rowan lingered at the shore's edge, a hand extended for Aelin while she approached. Each of her steps seemed considered—as if she still marveled at being able to move freely. As if still adjusting to her legs without the burden of chains.

"Why?" Lorcan mused aloud, more to himself. "Why go to these lengths for us?"

He got his answer—they all did—a heartbeat later. Aelin halted a few feet away from the boat and Rowan's outstretched hand. She turned back toward the cave itself. The Little Folk peeked from those birch branches, from the rocks, from behind stalagmites. Slowly, deeply, Aelin bowed to them. Rowan could have sworn all those tiny heads lowered in answer.

A pair of bony grayish hands rose above a nearby rock, something glittering held between them, and set the object on the stone.

Rowan went still. A crown of silver and pearl and diamond gleamed there, fashioned into upswept swan's wings

"The Crown of Mab," Gavriel breathed. But Fenrys looked away, toward the looming dark, his tail curling around him.

Aelin staggered a step closer to the crown. "It—it fell into the river."

Rowan didn't want to know how she'd encountered it, why she'd seen it fall into a river. Maeve had kept her sisters' two crowns under constant guard, only bringing them out to be displayed in her throne room on state occasions. In memory of her siblings, she'd intoned. Rowan had sometimes wondered if it was a reminder that she had outlasted them, had kept the throne for herself in the end.

The grayish hand slipped over the rock's edge again and nudged the crown in silent gesture. Take it.

"You want to know why?" Gavriel softly asked Lorcan as Aelin strode for the rock. Nothing but solemn reverence on her face. "Because she is not only Brannon's Heir, but Mab's, too."

A throwback to her great-great-grandmother, Maeve had taunted her. Who had inherited her strength, her immortal lifespan.

Aelin's fingers closed around the crown, lifting it gently. It sparkled like living moonlight between her hands.

My sister Mab's line ran true, Elide claimed Maeve had said on the beach. In every way, it seemed.

But Aelin made no move to don the crown while she approached him once more, her gait steadier this time. Trying not to dwell on the unbearable smoothness of her hand as it wrapped around his, Rowan helped her aboard, then climbed in himself before freeing the ropes tethering them to the shore.

Gavriel went on, awe in every word, "And that makes her their queen, too."

Aelin met Gavriel's gaze, the crown near-glowing in her hands. "Yes," was all she said as the boat sailed into the darkness.

[saunteredserpent]

I'm sorry not sorry, but

it's 'missing stevebucky in 2024' hours

[triglycercule]

give me more horrorkiller content i say as i proceed to post solely about full mtt/mttpoly. i cant I CANT i cant just SOLELY post about one of the duos...... i cant JUST post about 2/3 of them it upsets me. everything MUST be in a trio of else i merge into my bed and rip my skin off when i try to get up

[coyging]

[chimerafeathers]

Wild Side [ youtube | post ] (anime-only friendly)

Burned Out [ youtube | post ] (anime-only friendly)

Lion [ youtube | post ] (major manga spoilers)

watch my amvs boy

[cattoru]

knew this shit was sad but nobody told me it was going to be this fucking sad

[synthshenanigans]

Continuing from my last post bout Mind, we also need to talk more about how paranoid & untrusting/second-guessing your mind can be cause i think its very interesting

[thefandomchaos]

Love Bev but I am not forgiving her for this 😊

(Check posts for other version of his scream)

[ritzcuit]

i aam deep in dhurkedatz specifically thoughts today. Oh the them. oh the unspoken of it all. the unlabeled. we got a good thing going. of course this is my ... he's my. You know. well hes my right hand man of course. im the fangs o' the defiant dragon. but that doesnt explain it fully.. thats business. and their lives are almost entirely business but Not Quite. and beyond the revolution they escape description...thats his best friend. that's his datz..

dhurke loves amara like crazy his love for her never died at all ... datz isn't a replacement ... hes just his datz. you know? 20 years of partnership cant go away like that. theyre together. partners!! and rumors fly and theres jokes. call off your boyfriend! so whens the marriage? and theres shared looks and pitying looks and understanding looks and skeptical looks but no one Speaks on it.. its unspoken!! but its there. by god.

like i wouldnt dream of doing anything without you. or that dhurke knows when he gets reunited with his family once more, for real this time, datz is gonna be there. and amara isn't being replaced so shes not concerned at all lol shes like ... what ... and take away his datz? what kind of monster do you take me for :( Like she knows. and everyone KNOWS. thats just his datz. and thats his dhurke. and you cant seperate them its unethical its cruel and unusual punishment its not nice

All the small tiny things... the years of history in each others actions ... the energy and focus shifting between them without needing to ask. in a discussion fixing to break out into a fight datz defuses it. datz tense and uncomfortable outta his mind and dhurke spots the way he tugs at his scarf and makes an excuse for datz to leave early. he asks to be waken up in a few hours so they can trade ofd guard duty and datz says yeah but they both know he'll stay up the whole night just to let dhurke sleep longer (this i stole from such terrible tales bc that detail made me sick) Like Ugh Like i cant Like i just dont know

and its not that they dont want to label it but its just so...what would change really. dhurke knows datz loves him and datz knows dhurke loves him (though maybe some nights he really does need reassurance, and he gets in his head about it, and somehow- through ways datz doesn't have a clue how- dhurke can tell when datz is quiet from upset as opposed to another reason, and he'll take datz's hand and kiss his knuckles and Thank Him so deeply and earnestly that it burns out any negative thought datz has ever had in his life ... crazy.)

and hes the family friend and the sort of uncle and the right hand man and compatriot and everyone knows just by the way they lean against each other and speak in half finished sentences and answer questions that weren't fully asked ... reference jokes from years ago and diffuse each other and the way datz is obviously gloomy when dhurke is gone vs perks up when he comes back And the way dhurke is on edge and his leaderly dad warmth is slightly colder while datz is in prison like even when theyre not together you can tell the impact left on each others lives LIKE IM SICK FOR REAL

[direwombat]

r: the blood we’re bleeding could fill a broken heart (template)

deputy sybille la roux (hope county’s soldier of fortune) x benjamin shaw (jacob’s chosen)