#this feels canon compliant

[bluisp]

i feel like this is something he’d do

[topzsun]

TO FIND YOU

── ♡ SATAN

you held no ill will towards lilith. all she had done was exist. that doesn't stop others from warping their perception of you. luckily, satan understands how you feel.

His world began with the scent of copper and scorching heat that nipped at his skin. Yours began in the arms of your mother and the fluorescent light of the hospital room. He was bathed in blood that was not his own whilst you were dressed in warm, cotton gowns. His father mourned not for his birth, but for the loss of someone of greater importance than him. Yours will kiss your chubby cheeks and hold your tiny clenched fists.

Your beginnings couldn’t be any more different. However, that will not change the antecedent of your and Satan’s existence. Lilith, a woman neither of you met, but suddenly became the forefront in your and Satan’s minds. Belphegor’s attack, your ancestry and the proceeding actions of the brothers muddy the sight behind your eyelids. Your late-night contemplations end up coinciding with Satan’s when you both catch each other in the act of making chamomile tea. You wonder what would have happened if you had never gone to the kitchen that night, never knowing of the identical internal strife Satan would be having.

He told you that after the incident, thoughts of Lilith have also begun to plague him. You take in the defeat in his tone and launch into rambles of your own because if Satan is beginning to peek over the emotional wall he has made, you will have to break it down on your own. You tell him she doesn’t threaten you, a ghost who hadn’t existed to you before this week. You know you are still you, you are just afraid of that day you will no longer be considered that by his brothers.

He listened to you quietly, sipping on his tea, and once you were done you finally took a long look at him. Satan is a gorgeous demon, beauty touched by something beyond your understanding. No human man can compare to him because humans are decorated by flaws, scars and history. Demons are above earthly qualities like that. Yet, when you take in the dimness of Satan’s emerald eyes and how he tilts his head back to rest it against the headboard you begin to see it. The weight that strains his shoulders, and the mask he meticulously puts on. You are reminded that even he can share the burden of overthinking and late-night worries with you.

He tells you of his childhood (“If I can even call it that,” He scoffs). His birth marked the end of Lilith, and when he was first brought home in Lucifer’s bleeding arms, there was no denying the role he had already been dressed into. It was a sick joke, he thinks, to have been born so similar to Lilith with golden hair and eyes the colour of dew-covered grass. He recalls to you how Beelzbebub and Belphegor could barely look him in the eyes, how Asmodeus attempted to falsely dote on him because he never really saw him but his baby sister, of how Lucifer would meet his gaze as if he’s seen a ghost.

“But I was not her. I never could be,” He tells you firmly, eyes steely as if wanting to make this fact clear to you as well. He didn’t need to. You know very well he’s Satan, a tired Satan who's sitting on your bed with you and nursing his tea like a lifeline. He is intelligent, cunning, multitalented, someone who has trouble wearing his heart on his sleeve but the diehard romantic in him wishes he could. Lilith was bluntly honest, unconditionally kind, brimmed with curiosity and tended to make herself seen wherever she went. You don’t need to list these differences for Satan to know he couldn’t be her replacement, and she could never replace the role he’s built in this house either. As if reading your mind, the blonde smiles wryly.

“I know what I am,” and as if to say “You know what you are too”, Satan taps his fingers three times on the exposed skin of your arm. His eyes are rounded in affection, and you can’t bite back your sheepish smile either.

Things will be okay.

[qweenofurheart]

oldest 🦇 youngest 🦇

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

still unwell over the prospect of Howdy slowly putting the pieces together and having a complete mental breakdown over it. Laughingstock edition!

[wewerebornsextuplets]

not my finest but i was thinking of them

[silna-pdf]

This machine does not know the difference between metal and flesh [WIP]

I don’t know if I’ll finish it

[asurrogateblog]

paul is dead trutherism isn't taking it far enough we need to invent even weirder conspiracies. suggestions include:

paul isn't dead because he never existed in the first place he's a symptom of mass hysteria and if we all just face reality and stop believing in him he'll finally disappear

paul did die in a car crash but the other three necromanced him back to life so it's basically a wash

paul did die in a car crash but after they hired billy shears to replace him they summoned paul's ghost and got billy possessed so it's basically a wash

paul is john's childhood imaginary friend that he imagined so vividly he came to life (this could also work in the reverse direction but john's current real-life occupation is already "paul's imaginary friend")

paul, john, george, and ringo are actually all the same guy who's in a closed-loop reincarnation situation as karmic punishment

[storytellering]

if anyone's looking for me, I'll be in delulu land manifesting Tony Redgrave for the new dmc anime, don't try and get me back xoxo thanks

[ms--lobotomy]

Thinking about arch-traitor Vulkan.

How would one of the only Primarchs who can truly empathize with humans feel seeing them cooped up in hive cities, eating corpse starch to survive? How would he feel about guardsmen sent to die in the name of conquest, let alone his own flesh and blood?

Even if his kindness doesn't extend to the xenos of the galaxy, he's bound to see one too many of his sons die in the name of the Imperium. In the name of a civilization that will never occur, at least, under the cruel Emperor. He's bound to build some resentment against Him.

He'd lash out, again and again, and he can never truly die. Even if his vision of the galaxy is never meant to be, he can at least be on the right side of history.

[elmundodeflor]

And just like that, she’d fallen for him.

Spring. Summer. Autumn. The world had its cycles. There had been peace before war, and peace would come after bloodsheds and battles.

Katara looks at Zuko, at how he stares out to the width in the horizons. The curves of his nose and lips are soft, much like the colors of the leaves around them. The lines of his jaw and cheeks are sharp, in contrast.

He’s a beautiful man; she’s always thought so, even when they were enemies and he’d sworn he’d kill them. She likes it better this way, though— being friends, confidants, long-time companions. Kindness suits him more, either way. She likes how his face looks when he’s calm, — when there’s no rage to contort his scar, no scowl furrowing his brow.

She also likes that he knows her. That they can stand, silence pending between them, and it’s never too tense or uncomfortable. Zuko is just that good to her. He never puts too much pressure on her shoulders, — she’s had enough of that already. Instead, he soothes the rough edges. Lets her make her own choices and never judges her for them.

He looks back at her. An easy smile grazes his features; baffling, tortuous, beautiful. Katara has to fight the urge to freeze some water from her bottle and smash it across her searing face.

“Do you wanna…”, his voice cuts through the wind, raspy as it ever was. When he talks, it’s evident that he’s nervous. That he’s been circling around his thoughts and can’t seem to find the words. “I mean…”, he tries again. “Do you wanna stay here until you decide what to do?”

She hums, then turns her gaze back to the gardens. Aang had asked her to travel the world along with him, — to be by his side and help other people, from other nations and villages. She had yet to give him a proper answer.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to— go on missions, hear the masses’ suffering and be present in whatever way she could. Maybe, it was that she simply had pictured something different for herself. She could be so much more than just the “Avatar’s girl”! She could go home, lend a useful hand to Sokka and her dad advocating for their tribe. She could be an ambassador.

She could be with Zuko.

She can imagine the whole thing all too well, actually, — being on the palace, with him, until she could confront Aang about what to do. They could go for an evening stroll, feed turtleducks by the lake. Zuko’d make tea way past dinner time, and she’d laugh along with Suki when he’d burn his tongue by the first sip.

“There’s nothing I’d like more.”, she tells him, then. They are in one of the many balconies, staring out at the sun. The last scraps of summer have flushed with the breeze, and now the trees look all kinds of reds, yellows, oranges. Almost like they’ve caught on fire.

Zuko smiles at her again. A shy, wonderful thing that makes his eyes glint. His hair’s shaggy and overgrown, and falls limp between the honey of his irises. His cheeks burn a bright pink that, Katara deduces, might be from the gentle light warming up their faces.

“Okay.”, he says. He likes this, as well, — having her around. That he can open up to someone he can share his scars with, both the physical and the ones that lay underneath.

Katara inches close to him, just enough so that their elbows nudge together. The world has its cycles, she believes. Blue skies bleed into the darkness of the night. Ice defrosts when heated-up. And just like that, she’d fall for Zuko— delicate, and raw, and over and over. Helpless, like the moon that carries down the tides. Hopeless, like the autumn leaves that fall, ever so slow, and now gather at their feet like sea-foam.

“Okay.”

[fistfuloflightning]

It was a slip of the tongue, Shen Yuan screamed internally. He’d been thinking of—well, it didn’t matter what he was thinking of! It just slipped out and now Jiu-ge was laughing at him behind his fan and thinking all kinds of awful ways to mock him for those three words.

He risked a glance back up, only to catch Shen Jiu’s fleeting smile before it hid itself again. He closed his fan with a snap before using the end to tip up Shen Yuan’s chin. “Took you long enough,” he murmured. Lips pressed to Shen Yuan’s cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth. “I love you too.”

[sableeira]

dazai makes atsushi take random photos and videos of him throughout the day (most of them are super dramatic and/or aesthetic) only to caption them with the most unhinged stuff when he posts them on social media

[foursaints]

.

[plusultraetc]

ask game!! fake dating real feelings. sounds like some good quality fluff!!!

AH OKAY SO this one is a relatively new WIP and it's a little out of my wheelhouse ngl, but I Love Them and so I am writing it anyway lol. It's also incredibly canon divergent. Like, we've left canon in the rearview, we're borderline making stuff up at this point.

Early 20s erasermic, Aizawa ends up meeting eight year old Shinsou through a case, and in an effort to keep the Commission from squirreling him and his brainwashing quirk away somewhere, decides to foster a child. The problem is, Aizawa lives out of a suitcase in a barren apartment, which means:

Cue Aizawa and Mic committing like. Way too much to their pretend relationship while somehow remaining oblivious to each other's feelings. Aizawa's like "wow, Yamada is really good at pretending to be in love with me. And pretending to be in love with him is really easy. I will at no point consider this any more closely."

(Have some Aizawa hiding in the bathroom while the Commission's '''social worker''' visits Mic's apartment bc if there's one thing this fic is it's fun to write :D)

[idanit]

sopping wet bertie wednesday

[thevelaryons]

ADDAM VELARYON & BENJICOT BLACKWOOD, IF ONLY WE HAD MORE TIME

Fire & Blood, George R. R. Martin // unknown // The Raven and the Mouse, Susan Pace-Koch (illustrated by Emily Stepp) // @slugspoon (Alivia Horsley) // Contradictions: Tracking Poems, Adrienne Rich // Happiness, Raymond Carver // Addam & Ben at Raventree Hall by OrionHakuryu // @wormbus-art // They Both Die at the End, Adam Silvera // The Issa Valley, Czesław Miłosz // unknown // Poem, Langston Hughes // Addam & Ben at Tumbleton by OrionHakuryu // gentle.earth by Mia // Burial at Raventree Hall by asoiafattherite // The Bad Beginning, Lemony Snicket