#this band is too special

[cloudiness]

A little something I made inspired by this amazing photo and these last two nights of My Chemical Romance performing “The Black Parade” in its entirety for the first time since October 2007 wow im fine and so very normal about everything as I’m sure you all can tell soooo normal

New version of this work here

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve Harrington was wearing a Hellfire t-shirt.

It was far too tight on him, the name of the club stretched wide over his chest. The sleeves dug into his biceps, making them pop even more than they usually did, and that was before he crossed his arms. 

Worse?

It was short.

Which meant the damn shirt was constantly riding up to give everyone a nice show of the smattering of hair that trailed down past the band of Harrington's jeans. 

The same hair that Eddie was determinedly not looking at. 

“Henderson, a moment?” He crooked a finger, a smile on his face that was more feral than welcoming. 

Rather than cower or even acknowledge that Eddie was two seconds away from murder, Dustin just gave him a gummy grin, all too pleased with himself and his scheme. 

“Sure Eddie. Steve, don't just stand there, go help set the booth up!” Dustin gestured to Hellfire’s sad little table, crammed all the way in the back of the gym. 

Jeff and Gareth both reacted to the suggestion like a rabid squirrel had been set upon them, nervously inching towards the other side of the booth as Harrington sighed and--shockingly--did as he was told.

‘What,’ Eddie thought angrily, ‘in the everloving fuck.’

“Do you guys mind if I set this down on the table?” Eddie heard Harrington ask as he stormed away, Dustin on his heel. 

They wandered just around the corner, out of sight and hopefully, out of the fallen king’s hearing range.

Eddie wasn't sure if Harrington would try and white knight the very much deserved dressing down he was about to give. 

Didn’t want to chance it, considering the downright weird relationship he had with Hellfire's freshmen.

(While he’d heard many a tale at his table regarding King Steve since the newest recruits had joined Hellfire, most of them dissolved into arguments without ever really going anywhere.

 Best anyone could figure out was that Dustin and Lucas had a bad case of hero worship, while Mike owned a begrudging amount of respect that hailed from a series of misadventures. 

The very same misadventures that, despite all protests to the contrary, was clearly some sort of babysitting gig for Harrington.) 

Either way, plenty of the King’s court would have loved to take this opportunity to fuck with Hellfire.

Given that Henderson was absolutely too old to require a babysitter at fourteen, Eddie would bet his lunch money that was what Steve was here to do.

Something the club couldn’t afford since they were forever and always two seconds away from being stripped of club status and banned from school grounds. 

“I would love to know what went through that all A’s brain of yours when I said,” Eddie whirled on Dustin when they were firmly in the clear, voice low and furious.  “no Henderson, do not invite King Steve to help, he is an invading force and would ruin our peaceful kingdom!?”

He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning into Dustin’s face. “Because clearly whatever you heard wasn’t that.” 

To Eddie’s continued frustration and confusion, Dustin did not treat this like the threat it was. 

None of the freshmen had ever truly treated Eddie like a threat--had somehow skipped that part of the usual onboarding ritual entirely.

Eddie, town freak and drug dealer, who had cultivated his looks and craziness to such a degree that most everyone steered clear, wasn’t used to it. 

Everyone had been afraid of him at some point in this shitty school. Jeff, Gareth, hell even half the staff--and that the dorky trio of fourteen year old's clearly thought this all was play-acting made his eye twitch.

Even if it was--maybe, sometimes--welcome. 

“I know what you said, but I’m telling you I’m right.” Dustin argued immediately, and oh God, he was using that tone again. 

A hand went up into the space between them and Eddie groaned aloud, knowing what was coming.

“First,” Dustin ticked a finger up, “Hellfire really needs the money. Even thirty dollars would get us new figures, but more than that, if we don’t fundraise, we can’t go to Gen Con!” 

Dustin's eyes bored into Eddie’s, full of fire and conviction

“Yes,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, “but--”

“Second!” Dustin cut him off, and God the little shit even threw him a look while he did it, like Eddie was the one being ridiculous here!

“We had to fight just to get our table! Principal Higgins was in algebra today practically begging the mathletes to show up, but then tried to tell us we couldn't be here? That’s messed up!” 

As if denying them a spot to fundraise was the worst thing that asshole had ever done.

Eddie sighed, breath blasting out of his mouth like a dragon’s. 

“Because people think we’re freaks and satanists, Henderson. You don’t typically invite freaks and satanists to the school’s annual Holiday Bazaar. Especially not when all the local moms are paying to hawk their bullshit crafts and tupperware!” 

It was more than that of course. The Hawkins High Holiday Bazaar was a tradition spanning several years now. Starting in the gym and spilling clear into the parking lot, everyone from local artists to even some local shops came to host a small table for the day, thus growing the event from a small school fundraiser to a Hawkins' “must-do.” 

Half the fucking town was here to sell, and the other half was here to shop, which meant Principle Higgins had wanted Hellfire banned from the fucking premise. 

Eddie had been forced to pull out one of his trump cards he’d been saving--blackmail on Higgins that related to the man’s not--so--legal addiction to Percocet that he relied on Reefer Rick for. 

(And bless Rick, that hadn’t been the only tidbit he’d shared with Eddie about Higgins. That information, however, Eddie needed just so the asshat wouldn’t give him the boot from school entirely.) 

The only reason Eddie had pulled it out to secure their rightful spot, was because of Gen Con. 

It was Hellfire's White Whale, their grand adventure, and this was going to be his year to take his friends on one last epic quest to make memories of a lifetime surrounded by people who understood them.

Come hell or high water, Eddie was going to Gen Con--but being able to fundraise by selling wares and baked goods at the stupid Holiday Bazaar would go a long way to help.

Even if he had to listen to the band repeatedly play ear-bleeding renditions of Christmas songs.

“All the clubs get to have a table, and we’re a club!” Dustin continued, like it was that simple. “But you know, I get it. We look scary.” 

He gestured down to his own Hellfire shirt, before gesturing towards Eddie’s entire outfit.

Like Eddie didn't know what he looked like, let alone that he'd made this outfit specifically to scare people away from him.

(And maybe add some rockstar flair to this dinky little hick town.)

“You know who doesn’t look scary?”

Dustin held out his hands and swiveled his body like he was presenting a prize instead of gesturing in the vague direction of; 

“Steve!”

Eddie’s left eye twitched.

‘You can't kill him, you need his character for the campaign.’ He told himself firmly, even if he envisioned strangling Dustin like a chicken.

Cartoon squawking and all. 

“The King isn’t going to help us fundraise, Dustin.” Eddie said, in an effort to break down why Harrington couldn't be here. “He's just going to cause us problems that we can’t afford to have.” 

So many problems, half of which Eddie couldn't think of because if he did, he'd start spiraling.

“Really? Because as you keep saying, Steve used to be the King. People love him, Eddie! Mom’s love him.”

Eddie had pulled himself back up to his proper height a while ago, and now rocked back on his heels while he ran a hand down his face.

There was no getting through to Henderson when he was like this. 

Not unless Eddie really lost it, and it was practically club lore that he only lost it when someone missed an important game. 

One cannot keep a herd of sheep if their flock is terrified of them, after all. 

(“Perhaps you’re just a giant fucking softie.” Tiff, one of Hellfire’s graduating members, told him once. “Honestly dude, I bet you throw up stuffing.”

“Shut up Tiffany, your choker is on backwards again.” He'd spat back, completely offended and not at all trying to distract from how true that was.) 

“We can’t be satanic if Steve’s the one selling cookies!” Dustin finished doggedly. 

“We’re not even selling cookies--that’s not the point!”” Eddie shook his head, hair flying. He was not going to be sidetracked, he wasn’t!

 “Harrington is going to end up siding with all the moms about how we’re all wasting time with D&D, if he even spends the whole time at the table. Is that what you want?” 

He stuck out a ringed finger, poking at Dustin’s chest.

“Every single person who comes by our table has to be convinced D&D is a writing and math based game. Good for the mind and souls of growing, impressionable children. A game that got a bad rep because of  a few silly images.” 

A pitch he and Tiff had come up with during the third or fourth time they had to convince an adult that no, just because their shirts had a dragon on it, didn’t mean they were summoning demons in the drama room. 

“Harrington can’t do that because Harrington doesn’t even know how to play!” 

This Eddie punctuated by throwing his hands in the air. 

Given the startled look of the mother-daughter duo passing him by, clearly was louder than he’d intended--but screw it!

He was right!

Hellfire was in a precarious position to both fundraise and do a little damage control among the slightly smarter members of this shithole small town, and Harrington rolling his eyes and gossiping about how stupid it was would hinder that.

“Okay, first of all, Steve’s played D&D with me and he didn’t even kill his character.” Dustin said it like he was unveiling a smoking gun and not lying through his ass--which Eddie would absolutely be calling him on the second he was done talking. 

Because King Steve? Play D&D?

'Ha!'

“And he’s not gonna say shit because we--me, and Lucas and even Mike!--asked him to help, and he helps when its serious. I know you have some weird grudge with him, but I’m telling you Eddie he’s our golden ticket to Gen Con!” 

“You’re killing me. You are standing here, acting as a friend, when you are bringing a-- a dark force into the midst our of mission--” Eddie hissed, because he was losing the fucking fight and he knew it.

Dustin Henderson was not a man easily swayed. 

Had never been, even when the odds were stacked against him (and Grant and Gareth were howling in his ear.) 

The set of his shoulders and the glint of the little shithead’s eye meant Eddie wouldn’t be able to use him to oust Harrington--if he even could get him out without the dick causing a massive scene anyway. 

As always when outgunned, Eddie flipped to dramatics.

“Betrayed! By my own chosen heir no less!” He moaned, pressing the back of his hand over his eyes as Dustin scoffed.

"Don’t be so dramatic! Steve will help, I promise! Just don’t be a dick to him.” 

 Conversation apparently over, Dustin turned around to head back to the table

Snidely, he added over his shoulder: “Plus we’ve all caught on to the heir thing Eddie. You tell everyone that so they do what you want.” 

The dick.

“You’re too fucking smart for your own good. I’m gonna start feeding you paint chips to bring that IQ down.” Eddie muttered angrily as Dustin went back to their little table.

He gave himself a moment to get his shit together and stomp a foot like a child when Dustin was around the corner and thus couldn’t witness it, before following his wayward sheep back.

Could only pray to any deity listening that Henderson’s meddling didn’t blow up in Hellfire’s face.

[beedalee]

🥀 Martyr of Rose 🥀

This is the final time I'm waking up Inside a dream that doesn't break enough- of the soul that I once was; In the light I once loved...

04.07.2024

(bonus wip gif)

[astrolionking]

Shoutout to Grandma Rosiepuff for gambling while her eldest grandson’s mental health was slowly declining bc he suddenly had to raise four little brothers on his own and that affected his brothers’ mental health.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

miles kane, one man band tour europe 2024 ☀️

[marblerose-rue]

click for better quality!

commission for @imperfectlovesong of his fursona!! :-) this is not my beautiful house!!! this is not my beautiful wife!!!!!!!!

[goodluckbabeheffron]

currahee moe 4 today

[xejune]

If you're still taking troll requests can I ask for hamster!Floyd in a little hamster cage? Maybe he's running on the wheel or eating seeds or looking through the bars all sad at being neglected by Velvet and Veneer? Thanks! 🐹

this cage is too dang small for that hamster

WOAGH IM SO LATE. i had like sixty different ideas for this and a whole bunch of sketches & i was planning to do at least 2 or 3 of them but the program kept overheating my ipad so i had to bail on that idea. sobbing.

i cant find most of the sketches rn? (might be in my sketchbook actually) but heres one i did find :3c

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

your post about ifrit and alpha??? it was so amazing??? so so GDMSVNSVND

also, alpha seeing who he could've been in ifrit? yeah so i think it killed me, in the most possible way, if you wanna say anything more about them, together or alone i would love to hear your thoughts

Oh you can’t ask me that I have SO MUCH to say…this is about Ifrit, it’s already too long and unorganized (literally all my thoughts randomly put there) so I’ll do Alpha another time…

Ifrit, oh, Ifrit. A people pleaser at heart, wearing said heart on his sleeve, not only always giving but also always letting people take - and yes, to me there is a distinction.

Ifrit loves hard and all consumingly, his relationships, platonic or not, woven into him. He forgets, sometimes, that he doesn’t have to be perfect all the time, that his needs deserve to be tended to just how much as his loved ones’. 

On a lighter note, Ifrit is also very crafty. He loves to make jewelry, carve wooden objects…While Alpha is the official ghoul tattoo artist (half the ghouls are inked thanks to him), Ifrit is the piercer, with his ears heavy with jewelry, rings looped through the spade of his tail clicking gently when he walks, announcing his presence.

Ifrit has a good relationship with Mist - she has a weakness for him that she swears up and down has nothing to do with his sad puppy eyes. Him and Ivy also get along very well, they’re often found chatting while sunbathing in the Church’s gardens.

Ifrit is a very physically affectionate person, touch helps grounding him, reassuring him. Aether and him are constantly holding hands whenever they can, Ifrit feels a very special brand of safe with Aether by his side ; the quint has a tendency to wrap an arm around his waist, hand resting low on Ifrit’s hip, while the other instinctively tangles their fingers together, that makes Ifrit go all mushy inside. 

One thing about Ifrit is that he can be a smug little shit. With the way he walks a thin line between all consuming self doubt and absolute confidence, you never know what you’ll get, but oh boy can he be cocky.

Him and Swiss, oh, I could say so much about them. They just match so well, encouraging each other’s antics, with their sparkling grins and irresistible fits of laughter. They get each other’s humor and little quirks, they just click so well, effortlessly. With their easy charm and penchant for mischief, they are absolute menaces. They’re also the kind to call each other « bro » and « dude » only half ironically while cuddling and making out.

Ifrit also strikes me as the kind to get up at the ass crack of dawn despite not being a morning person at all, because he needs to be productive - read : do a shit ton of stuff - or else he feels like he wasted his time.

He’s also a big sap and not ashamed in the slightest. He adores Valentine’s Day, rom coms and all that stuff.

Ifrit and Zephyr have this relationship that screams of domesticity. They are attentive to each other’s need, able to read each other like a book. Zephyr has Ifrit wrapped around their finger, but if we’re being honest, the contrary is also true. Ifrit made them matching necklaces and they sometimes get tangled when they kiss. 

Ifrit sometimes forgets how strong he is, but never with people. He handles them with delicacy, without treating them like they’re fragile little things either - a good balance that he perfected over the years, caring but never overbearing.

[waitwtfismylife]

brian mays singing voice is so fucking angelic

[sarcasmic-skies]

hearing the opening notes of ‘sing, sing, sing’ and the collective groan from everyone at the swing dance. bc it is SUCH a good song and it is THE swing dancing song BUT it’s the full 8 minutes & 40 seconds you’re committing to dance to at an unending fast tempo and by the end EVERYONE is experiencing the gasping for air with burning lungs and quivering muscles and slippery palms and cramps under the ribs and beads of sweat running down your body like raindrops on a windshield and your feet weigh a thousand pounds but you can’t NOT dance. you can’t slow down. you can’t quit halfway. you HAVE to make it to the end. so ‘sing, sing, sing’ comes on and there’s the collective groan and then the frantic scrambling for a partner and then the aggressive jockeying for a space on the dance floor and THEN everyone comes alive to the sweet sounds of benny goodman & his orchestra and the feeling is unlike anything else in the world

[ghoulish-art-tendencies]

Hi! Do you want to rant about space dementia? I always like learning about new songs and their meanings :)

Bye <3

I DO.!!1! Okay so let’s strap in bc this might be a little long. Sorry!!!

First i’ll put the put the song for reference

Okay to understand this analysis, you have to understand what “space dementia” actually is. Space dementia is a type of (fake) sickness that some astronauts will get, that makes them feel lonely/depressed, and that they or anything else doesn’t matter anymore. Basically because they’re in a giant space of literal nothing, it makes them feel so insignificant and also feel like just another nothing floating along in it.

Now, there is 2 separate analyses for this which might make this really long so..sorry. One looks at it through the more direct lense of space dementia, while the other is how Space Dementia can parallel the feelings of a toxic relationship. You can skip one or the other if you want and i’ll label them.

Also throughout this I will be saying him when referring to the person singing due to the person singing Matt Bellamy and I can differentiate what I am talking about.

SPACE DEMENTIA THROUGH A DIRECT LENSE:

“H8 is the one for me

It gives me all I need

And helps me coexist

With the chill, ooh”

Although this part is one of the few confusing bits to me, h8 is often used as hate in chat, which could be saying “hate helps me coexist with the chill” such as being cold and hateful yourself helps you coexist with the chill of space that makes you feel worthless.

“You make me sick

Because I adore you so

I love all the dirty tricks

And twisted games you play on me, ooh”

Okay starting off “you make me sick” is fairly obvious; space dementia is making him sick. “Because I adore you so” is interesting and i love this lyric. Obviously if you didnt love space you wouldnt go and be an astronaut and go into space in the first place. Its saying it exactly as it means: i love you so much that I came to see you for myself, even if im getting sick because of you. “i love all the dirty tricks / and the twisted games you play on me” is basically again saying he doesn’t care what space will do to him, he will still love it as it is.

“Space dementia in my eyes and

Peace will arise

And tear us apart

And make us meaningless again”

“space dementia in my eyes” is literally about how its consuming him and is inside him and how much its affecting him. “peace will arise / and tear us apart / and make us meaningless again” grouping these all together as they basically say the same thing. Saying that everything will eventually stop existing (either the sun consuming earth, black holes consuming space) and make them all meaningless again because everyone, everything will be forgotten, even himself (especially if hes stuck in space).

“You make us wanna die

I'd cut your name in my heart

We'll destroy this world for you

I know you want me to feel your pain, ooh”

“you make us want to die” again, makes the guy want to die bc of how depressed and meaningless its making him feel. “Id cut your name in my heart” he would do anything for space because he loves it so much. Carving your name into my heart is often seen as a metaphorical act of love. “we’ll destory this world for you” not entirely sure on this, but could just be a reaffirmation of literally doing anything. “i know you want me to feel your pain” space is the one inflicting this sickness onto him, making him feel lonely and empty just like space is.

After that is just repeating lyrics but thats Part 1.

-

SPACE DEMENTIA REPRESENTING A TOXIC RELATIONSHIP:

now, this is my favourite/most thought out interpretation, but there are so many different interpretations that follow a similar path of toxic relationship, so that’s what I will explain. If anyone else has thoughts please share though! <3

“H8 is the one for me

It gives me all I need

And helps me coexist

With the chill, ooh”

Hate is the one for me and the rest of this could be like how it helps him coexist in this world even though its not healthy. It could be like he is used to love being hateful possibly from trauma as a kid.

“You make me sick

Because I adore you so

I love all the dirty tricks

And twisted games you play on me, ooh”

Now starting on the actual toxic relationship, I will be talking about space as a person and referring to them as so, so don’t be confused (using she/her for space as well so it doesn’t get more confusing). “you make me sick / Because I adore you so” he loves her so much, so sticking around even though its making him feel horrible about himself. “I love all the dirty tricks / and twisted games you play on me” he loves them all because he loves her so much, even though they’re dirty and twisted. He can’t see past his love for her.

“Space dementia in my eyes and

Peace will arise

And tear us apart

And make us meaningless again”

“space dementia in my dementia” could be referring to how hes blinded by love, and how eventually everything will tear/fall apart and make everything that they had meaningless.

“You make us wanna die

I'd cut your name in my heart

We'll destroy this world for you

I know you want me to feel your pain, ooh”

“you make us want to die” space is making him want to kill himself becuase of her toxic behaviour. “id cut your name into my heart / we’ll destroy this world for you” he would do anything for her basically. “I know you want me to feel your pain” shes making him suffer, possibly disguising it as how shes suffering.

TLDR: or Basically, if that made no sense, this guy is stuck in a toxic relationship and he is too blinded by his lover for him to leave, and shes constantly hurting him, but he sees it as love. He would do anything for her, as he feels like nothing matters except her.

Now for side notes on why else I love the song beside the lyrics. I LOVE Matt Bellamy’s voice in this song specifically. The high notes he manages to pull off are just beautiful. Not only that but the instrumental at the end after the lyrics come to an end just ascends my body every time. It truly feels like you’re floating in space and that everything feels BIG around you, and yet empty. The song feels and sounds so sorrowful too and I think the emotions come through so well through both the vocals and backing track. Something that stuck with me that someone told me was “it sounds like a 70s art studio in the middle of the night” and GOD yeah it really does. Everything about the song is perfect and I hope I never get tired of it from playing it on repeat too much.

thank you for coming to my ted talk on Space Dementia. Sam try not to write a whole essay for every ask about a special interest challenge (IMPOSSIBLE). Im so glad to have this out of my system though and it probably made no sense whatsoever as all my thoughts are usually incoherent written down or said aloud. ^_^ Thanks for the ask and permission to rant and have a great day <3

[mildmayfoxe]

mentally slapping myself on the wrist to stop myself from looking at stringed instruments online (an instrument family i DONT PLAY) to instead google brass repair shops locally to finally maybe get an instrument i do actually play and OWN cleaned and found a french horn place that does cleanings ($95 totally reasonable) and was like "hehe maybe when i go i'll buy a cheeky little horn" except then i clicked on the used horns for sale and even the cheapest ones are a couple thousand dollars. WHOOPS

[steinwayandhissons]

hey guys, something a little bit different here….

im going to see miles on the 18th of july and because it’s one of his acoustic gigs (so more intimate), he’ll be doing some signing of prints and stuff which means that maybe ill get to meet him?!?!? anyways without dwelling on that fact or i will literally go insane i was planning on writing him a letter because there’s way too much that i want to say to him with too little time

my point is that if there are any burning comments or things you want me to include in my letter please message me so we can spread the overwhelming love and appreciation we have for him!!!

please reblog so i can get as many voices that want to be heard as possible

[forlorn-crows]

Mountain worshipping and Praising Aether During sex, carresing his body plus being all sweet? Aether is Getting wrecked~

im feeling mushy again, these two are literally so sweet and hot.

To put it simply, Mountain loves Aether’s body. He loves his soft edges; the little pudge and love handles that always sit over the waistbands of his pants. He loves the hair that covers his chest and draws a line all the way down to his groin.

He loves his face; his wide smile, the way his nose and eyes crinkle when it lights up his face. He loves the way his lilac eyes sparkle and how expressive his ears are. He loves his strong arms and calloused, thick fingers.

He loves his thighs,—fuck, does he love his thighs—the way the muscles curve above his knees and merge into the fat of his ass. He loves his pecs—his tits—and how juicy and palm-able they are.

And he loves his fat little cock, which is currently fully chubbed, leaking and pink against his soft stomach. Aether is laid out for him, blushing a dusty rose and squirming beneath Mountain’s song of praises. Mountain’s caressing every inch of his body as he goes, coordinating his words with each part he touches. Some touches are firm, kneading and needy; others are so feather-light it makes Aether giggle between desperate pleas of begging to be fucked.

“Patience, starlight,” Mountain chides from between his thighs, continuing his worship of the quintessence ghoul. “You’re so gorgeous like this,” he says, almost as an afterthought, tracing the space around Aether’s length with a slender finger. He bucks his hips into the touch.

“Mount, please,” he groans.

Mountain draws the pad of his finger two hair-widths closer to that ruddy head, perfectly pink and swollen with need. Aether’s breath hitches, but he bites back the moan that follows.

“Oh Aethe, can I hear you? I love your voice, don’t hide it.” He whines at that, of course he does. How could he hold it back when Mountain asks in such a gentlemanly way. Praising even the way his vocal chords present sound.

“That’s it.” The earth ghoul’s voice turns huskier. “Fuck, that’s it.” His hand closes around Aether, hand completely encompassing his short girth. It’s perfect how Mountain just fits around him, like his dick was made for his hand.

“Yes, Mountain, fuck yeah,” he moans, hands curling into the sheets.

Mountain swipes his thumb over the head and spreads the bead of precum newly gathered there. He loves the way Aether’s cock kicks in response, how it fills out his hand. And he tells him so, tells Aether how beautifully thick his cock is, just to watch that blush creep up to the points of his ears and down across his collarbones.

He dips his mouth down to lick from his balls all the way to the tip, tracing the prominent vein that runs along the underside. Mountain tells him how he loves that too, how much he loves to lave over it, all day if he could.

“Can I take you, just like this?” Mountain asks softly, pressing and petting around Aether’s entrance. “Fuck you nice and slow, tell you how much I love you right into your ear?” The earth ghoul rises, looming over him to kiss and suck just at the back of his jaw. “Just like this?” he purrs against the shell of his ear, his low baritone rumbling through Aether.

“Oh,” Aether breathes. “Yes. Please yes.”

So Mountain works him open, nice and slow, caressing every part of his torso, his thighs, anywhere else his free hand can reach. He continues to praise him and wring those beautiful noises from his blushed throat. Tears sting the corners of Aether’s eyes by the time they’re both ready, emotional and desperate.

“Fuck, I’m ready,” Aether chokes out as Mountain’s fingers brush against the bundle of nerves inside him. “Please, Mount, please.”

Mountain smiles and removes his fingers slowly. “You’re so polite, saying please so much,” he jokes. But he says it genuinely, without any bite. The earth ghoul slicks up his cock, watching as Aether clenches around nothing. It makes his mouth water. “Lucifer, look at you.”

Aether keens at that, scooting closer to the head of Mountain’s cock. Mountain puts a hand on his belly, firm but gentle. It migrates to the dip of his hip as he pushes in, fingers dimpling his soft gray skin. The quintessence ghoul gasps through it, little moans with each inch that stretches him. His cock spurts more precum as he takes it all so well, so good Mountain tells him.

Once his hips meet the back of Aether’s thighs, he folds over him as promised, bracketing his head with his elbows and dipping his mouth down to Aether’s ear. He drapes his arms around Mountain’s neck, already trembling. Mountain’s breath ghosts over the shell of his ear, warm with the promise of praise.

“Do you know how much I love you like this? How much I love you?” he hums, pulling out to thrust shallowly, slowly.

He really could listen to Mountain whisper adoration in his ear forever. It’s the closest to holy he thinks he’ll ever get.

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Special angst. Featuring touch-starved Special, homemade quintessence fuckery and lore, basically Special can't touch anyone or they die, Omega and Delta try to help.

CW : Angst, like pretty heavy angst I think, Hurt/comfort, talk of death

Ghouls are social creatures. Not all to the same extend, not all in the same way, but the fact remains : ghouls thrive in eachother's company, in the knowledge that someone, somewhere, is waiting for them, ready to welcome them.

And, ghouls are physically affectionate, as a result of this need to be close and feel surrounded by loved ones. Of course, it's a generic rule, and it doesn't applie the same way to each individuals, but, most of the time, ghouls live off of casual touch, hand holding, hugs, cuddles, clasps on the shoulders, arms slung around waists, tails intertwining.

It's Satan's best joke, really, that Special can't even have that.

That he's so fucked up that not only no one bears to be in his presence, but he could also kill the poor ghoul who'd pity him enough to try and give him a hug.

Because Special's elements are all pulling him in different direction, trying to evade the too tight confine of his body, weak fire sorrowfuly begging to be smothered out, destructive quintessence furiously grasping at every bits of vital energy it can find, literaly sucking the life out of anyone stupid enough to have any kind of skin-to-skin contact with Special.

At least it's vaguely less awfull now that he managed to contain the devastating effect of his quintessence to his body - the screams of agony of the people who tried to approach him after his summoning, Omega's pained grunts as he backed away, the soft blanket he had held out for Special falling at his feet, the sheer terror on the ancient ghoul's face as he watched the humans unfortunate enough to be in Special's quintessence's range dropping like fly, oh, Special remembers it all so well.

Six Siblings died that way, simply because they were standing too close to him. Omega was, too, and is only alive because of his highly resistant nature, allowing him to stumble back in time.

It took weeks of sitting across from Omega, safe distance between them, training relentlessly to try and tame his quintessence, before Special could evolve around people without draining them. But it worked.

Provided he stays dressed head to toe, not a silver of skin showing, of course.

Special could, theoretically, be on the recieving end of ghoul's typical affection, the soft nudges, pats and caresses rythming their lives, long as no one makes contact with his skin, long as all those displays take place through a layer of clothing.

But then again, Special can't blame them for being wary, and prefering to stay away altogether. They're right, after all. You never know what might happen, if Special won't suddenly lose control and kill everyone in a three meters radius just by existing.

Special hasn't see anyone in days. Omega said he'd come by, but he hasn't yet. Special vaguely remembers something about Delta the...water ghoul, right ? Well, one of them anyway. There's a lot of those around, Special keeps forgetting who's who, doesn't see them enough to properly remember. He sticks to the dark corners, only goes out in the dead of the night, only watches the other ghouls from afar, except maybe for Omega.

But Omega's not here, hasn't been here for too long, busy taking care of Delta, whatever that means. Special wonders if he'll come back. Special wonders why he needs Omega to come to his room, why he can't bring himself to get up and go find the quint by himself. It's not like it's forbidden or anything. He just can't do it, the thought of opening his bedroom door in the middle of the day strictly unfathomable.

No, Special, at least during the day, needs someone to open it, someone to drag him outside if he really is needed, like for interviews, because apparently he's the only fucker who agreed to do them when neither Papa nor Omega are free.

A third choice, that would probably be even further down the list of candidates if it wasn't for his uncanny ability to entertain humans, with jokes and crudes, snarky remarks masking the cracks of his shattered soul.

So Special waits, sitting motionless in the middle of his bed. He hasn't seen anyone in days. He hasn't been touched since forever. No, that's not true. Omega cupped the back of his head the last time he was here, protected by the mask and balaclava Special always has to wears, and pressed a kiss to the metal covering his forehead.

It had nearly unraveld him.

Special doesn't know why Omega still bothers with him, what sick sense of responsability pushes the quint to visit Special as often as he can bear, why he insist on being so patient, so gentle, smiling with sadness in his eyes.

Special doesn't want pity. But he could never tell Omega not to come back.

His hair is getting too long. It's itchy in the back of his neck, keeps getting stuck in folds of fabric. Special shifts uncomfortably, thinking about stealing a pair of scissors and chopping it off himself. It's always a delicate task, cutting his hair : he's not good at it himself, but whenever Omega's doing it, he has to be extra cautious, avoiding any contact with Special's scalp, not even able to properly run his fingers through it. Special's hair is never perfect, always a bit messy, as a result, but now it's even worse.

He really needs Omega to come back.

It hits Special like a freight train.

He needs Omega to come back. He needs to hear his voice, to see the lines and creases on his face, the tired slope of his broad shoulders, the softness of his eyes. Special needs his tentative, fleeting touches, needs to talk to him, needs to be carefully held, even if it's all tainted with Omega's guilt, obligation and pity.

He needs to know Omega hasn't moved on, hasn't chalked him up as a lost cause, that Special hasn't lost the only comfort life ever granted him.

A knock startles him out of his thoughts, his whole being shaking with relief at the familiar pattern.

"Spesh ? Can I come in ?"

Special nearly sobs. His voice scratches in his throat.

"Yes."

Omega slips in the room. He's maskless, and Special drinks him in like a ghoul starved. He looks tired, like he hasn't slept in days, but. He's smiling. Omega is smiling, wide an bright, eyes gleaming. It makes Special's own lips pull in an unfamiliar direction, up up up, until concealed under the mask, his mouth weakly mimics Omega's.

"I have good news for you, Spesh. Really good news. Would you let me bring someone else in here ?"

Special visibly flinches, though still half frozen, cossed-legged on the bed. Omega's face softens in that way Special yearns for.

"It's okay, it'll be fine. I promise. Do you trust me ?"

Special doesn't need to think about the answer, nodding with more conviction than he ever displayed before. It gets a soft chuff out of Omega.

"Attaboy."

The quint moves with a grace Special envies, reaching for the door and opening it like it's the easiest thing in the world. Maybe, to him, it is.

The ghoul that steps in looks just as tired as Omega, if not more, but is also sporting a smile, hair an absolute mess, looking like it got chopped with absolutely no regard for the aesthetical result, as uneven as it is unruly.

"Spesh, this is Delta, remember ? Delta, this is Special."

Special blinks, unmoving as a statue, as he often is. Sometimes, he thinks that if he keeps perfectly still, the universe will forget that he is supposed to be, and simply let him stop existing.

Delta. Yes Special remembers. He doesn't smell like most water ghouls, though, it's quite disarming.

"Hello, Special," Delta breathes, barely above a whisper, "it's nice to officially meet you."

Unsure of what to do with that soft tone, with how genuine Delta apparently is, Special looks toward Omega, silently begging for guidance. The quint goes to sit next to him, one hand brushing his back ever so slightly. Special has to bite his tongue to contain a relieved whimper.

"He's here because we discovered something, and I have a theory," Omega explains.

Delta is standing straight, hands folded behind his back, withstanding Special's wary scrunity with an easy smile. Something about him is...off, Special notes. It's not necessarily bad, but it intrigues him.

Delta looks like a water ghoul. Blueish tint to his grey skin, gills, needle sharp fangs, webbed fingers, a few fish-like scales visible on his forearms. And yet...

Special doesn't realize he's leaning forward until Delta tilts his head in amusement. He leans back immediately, clasping his gloved hands tighter on his lap.

"I think," Omega goes on, "that he might be able to touch you without consequences."

It's instinctive, the way Special stiffens, shaking his head desperately at Omega, clearing his throat to find his voice again.

"No, no, no, Megs, it'll end up badly-"

"Listen- listen to me, Spesh, listen," Omega interrupts his panicked babbling, craddling his masked face between two big hands, "i'm not pulling this out of my ass, okay ? Delta here, well, we needed a new quintessence ghoul, at least for a little while, until we could summon a new one, and...Delta volunteer for an...elemental transition of some kind."

Special blinks, shaking in Omega's grip. Well, that explains the funny feeling, the strange scent.

"But...Delta's still water," Special rasps. Omega hums, nodding.

"Yes, but not exclusively. He's not...quintessence either. It's more like...he became a vessel quintessence can pass through. He can channel it from the outside, dig it from the source rather than something within him like us quintessence ghoul do, quite literaly pull it from thin air, let it flow through him, and release it."

Special frowns, trying to wrap his mind around all this.

"But...raw quintessence, the one that is everywhere, is impossible to access to unless you are a quint, because your quintessence connects you to it, opens you a door. Right ?"

It's more words than he's spoken in weeks outside of interviews, but excitement suddenly buzzes in his body, brain finally feeded something to think about, to analyse, to study. Special is a cerebral creature, no matter what people might thing, and such an incredible discovery makes him feel almost alive.

Omega laughs, a breathless, amazed little thing.

"I know. But, apparently, we managed to crack that door open for Delta. He doesn't have much control over the quintessence he releases, but it's enough for the Clergy, for now."

Special glances toward Delta from the corner of his eyes.

"That's...you wrote it down, right ? Records of this could be incredibly useful-"

The smile he gets makes Special's heart miss a beat. Omega looks so fond, so full of love, it's almost painful.

"I did. I'll hand you my notes. But, back to you. What your quintessence does, is devouring energy out of living things-"

Special hangs his head down, shame creeping up his spine, wrapping around his throat.

"Hey, none of that, Spesh," Omega soothes, pulling his head up by the metal point of the mask's chin, "let me finish. What if someone was full of an energy they can fully dispose of ? If someone could let your quintessence take without it harming them, that means they could touch you. Delta could touch you."

Special blinks.

"But...you can't touch me."

"Because your quintessence takes the one at my core - drains me dry of a source of power so entangled in my being that losing it would mean losing me. But Delta's quintessence doesn't come from him."

Slowly, Delta comes closer, kneeling by the bed, offering his bare hand to Special, smiling, and Special- can't understand why. Why anyone would willingly take such risks - first the attempted elemental transition, now this.

Omega brushes Special's shoulder.

"Please, try it. I know...how hard isolation is for you. Please, sparkle, try. If anything goes wrong i'll pull Delta away before any real damages can be done, I promise."

The coppery taste of blood hits Special's tongue, and it's the only reason he's aware he's biting his lip. Then Delta talks.

"I volunteered, Special. I know this is going to work. I trust Omega's theory, and. I think I can trust you, too."

This time Special does sob.

"If I hurt you..."

"You won't. Give me your hand, Special, it'll be okay."

And Special is terrified. Terrified that it won't work, that he'll hurt Delta, who seems the nicest ghoul you could ever wish for. Terrified that it'll work, that the one time he manages to touch someone without killing them will kill him, that all it would take would be a brush of skin against his own to destroy him.

Despite all that, Special slowly, oh so slowly takes one glove off, revealing too-pale skin and twitchy fingers. Delta' smile widens, then the air shifts a bit, starts blurring around him. One of his eyes turns purple, his skin shimering slightly.

"It's a bit like holding my breath," the water (?) ghoul explains, "i can't keep it for too long, maybe a couple of minutes, after, i have to release it. Open the valves, kind of. But, if I just keep them open, just let quintessence flow in and out freely, like this-"

Another shift in the air. The shimer on Delta's skin dims, his features relaxing.

"Then I can keep it that way as long as i like, effortlessly for the most part. That's how we can touch. I'm ready when you are."

He's going to do this. Special is going to do this. His hand is shaky when he wraps it loosely around Delta's - ready to pull away at any moment - but the second their skin makes contact, he gasps and can't help tightening it.

Delta doesn't flinch. His skin glints a bit more, but that's it. Special's quintessence is hungrily drinking in the one flowing though Delta, but he doesn't need it. He can let Special take it.

Salt. Salt on his tongue, now. Special is crying. Holding onto Delta's hand for dear life, shoulders shaking, Special is crying, the water ghoul shushing him softly, thumb drawing circles on the back of his hand.

Omega helps unclasping the mask, watching with tears of his own as Special takes it off, throws it somewhere, who cares, where the balaclava and second glove quickly follow.

Delta opens his arm, still not letting go. Special sobs so hard he's sure it's going to turn him inside out, slidding off the bed and into Delta's firm, tender embrace, burrying his face in the water ghoul's neck, finally able to touch, to feel, truly feel.

He can't see it, but Omega's crying in earnest now, Delta fighting tears as well.

Special isn't okay. Special might never be okay, Delta might be the only person he'll ever get to touch, it might stop working at some point, there might be a catch, but oh, Special doesn't care.

He'd trade his infernal eterinity for this moment in time, folded in arms that hold him like something precious.