#wrote this did not edit it here it is

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The most evil celebratory kiss

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[jackslocket]

IL PREDESTINATO VINCE.

(inspired by @scdria's super awesome monaco poster)

[surreal-duck]

tin soldier and a disastrous doll

[dapper-lil-arts]

Girl...

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

chat is this real

x

[lover-of-mine]

Buddie Countdown to Season 7:

40 days.

[delta-piscium]

@steddie-week day 1: Hunger | 1.1k words cw: light angst in that Steve is a little sad/dealing with some mental stuff but like hurt/comfort (not EDs which mental stuff combined with the prompt word might make it seem like, hunger is used as a metaphor)

Sometimes Steve doesn’t talk to anyone for days. He just shuts himself in his room and hides, barely leaves his bed. Pretends he doesn’t exist, or that time has stopped and he’s the only thing that exists.

Sometimes, he’ll go back too soon, feel bad for the ignored calls and drag himself out of bed to see the people who matter most to him. But it won’t feel warm and soft those times. He’ll be too raw and It’ll feel like they’re grabbing his insides and eating them. Pulling his heart and brain out of his body and devouring them without letting him eat theirs in return. 

Usually, he’s okay with that. He knows his place, he knows that’s what he’s for. For other people to get fed. And he’s happy to feed, to do that for them. 

He loves them, of course he’s gonna give himself over. It’s just that sometimes they take too much. They don’t know they do he thinks, they don’t know they’re eating him alive. That he’s presenting himself on a silver platter and letting them take take take, and that sometimes they take too much.

That’s why he disappears, so he can grow back. So he can give more. Because if he stops giving he's afraid they’ll get tired. He won’t be useful, he can’t give when he’s like that. He starts craving, he starts wanting. He feels starved and wants to take and feed too, and that’s not part of the deal. He’s not supposed to eat, he’s supposed to be eaten. So when he turns hungry and ravenous he hides, he isolates. 

Robin is the only one who truly gets this about him, who doesn’t take and demand. She gently accepts the things he gives and never without giving too, forcing him to stay whole. It’s overwhelming and sometimes he has to hide from that too, he doesn’t know how to deal with the force of it. He’s so used to the constant hunger it’s a shock when it’s gone but he’s gotten better. And anyway, he and Robin are part of one whole so whatever is given or taken between them is never really gone. It stays with both of them.

Robin is the only one, or she was the only one he should say. Because now there’s Eddie. Eddie who gives and gives and gives, almost as much as he does. But who doesn’t seem to dwindle and dim like Steve does. Who doesn’t seem to starve or hunger. Eddie who notices when Steve does, when he stumbles and gets greedy. Who holds him up and makes him whole with a look, a touch, a word. 

Eddie who breaks in through his window when he shuts himself in his big empty house and lays with him in his bed, softly telling Steve stories and running his fingers through his hair. 

It’s wonderful.

It's the worst. 

“I’m afraid you’re gonna end up as empty as me,” Steve tells him, whispers it into the dark. “That you’re here now and you’re giving and I’m taking and you’re gonna be the one left with nothing.” 

Eddie doesn’t respond immediately but hums in acknowledgment, lets him know he heard and is thinking. 

“This is good for me too,” he says eventually, “being with you and resting. Getting to be here for you when you never used to let anyone but Robin be. It’s good for me too.” 

“It can be good and still drain you.” Says Steve, knows it to be true. He doesn’t resent giving the way he does, he loves it, it’s good. It drains him. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, “this doesn’t drain me, you’re comforting me too. It’s balanced.” 

Balanced. That’s what Robin tells him too. That’s what Nancy sometimes asked him for when they dated and he couldn’t let her see the cracks. That’s what he wonders about with his other friends. 

He doesn’t usually know how to do that. He doesn’t know where the lines are. He doesn’t understand how Eddie knows. 

“You let me give, and I let you give, so it’s balanced. We don’t take from each other, we gift and we receive. It’s balanced. You have to let other people give sometimes too, Steve.” 

It hits something deep in him, the last words. He knows this, he doesn’t want to know it. 

“I’m afraid they won’t. if I open myself up to it. If I ask, I’m afraid they won’t.” He says it so quietly it’s almost inaudible but Eddie hears. 

His hands still in Steve’s hair for a moment before moving again, gently scratching his scalp. 

“I know baby. But that’s not fair, they want to give too. If they knew how much they took without giving back they’d be heartbroken. It’s not fair to you or them.” 

Steve lets Eddies words wash over him, he knows he’s right. They’d be nauseous with it. His sweet wonderful friends and family would be crushed.

“Sometimes it will happen, maybe,” Eddie continues when Steve doesn’t respond beyond a sharp breath in. “Sometimes people won’t know how to give after only getting but you gotta let them try. Sometimes they’ll learn and adjust, sometimes they won’t and you’ll have to deal with that. But you can’t starve yourself like this because you won’t let them try.” 

"What if I take too much?"

"Then they talk to you, like you should talk to them."

“When did you get so wise,” Steve snorts, his voice is tight but he makes the effort, tries to lighten the mood. Deflects, like he always does. 

Eddie lets him, a little, knows Steve has to. But he’s still serious when he answers.

“Wayne is like a never-ending well of insight and digging around in everything, never lets me get away with shit.” 

The opposite of Steve’s parents who were the first to take from him and never give, never look into his eyes and tell him to eat. 

“He’s a good guy,” Steve tells Eddie instead of weighing him down more than he already has. Instead of acknowledging and relieving the hunger pang that strikes him at the thought. Even now, here, he doesn’t know how. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “I’m here to relay his wisdom, like playing telephone with whatever stuff he teaches me. The things your parents took away from you.”

Eddie still knows, of course, he does. He always knows.

“And what do you get?” Steve has to ask.

“I get you. I get everything.”

Steve smiles, turns around to kiss Eddie. He doesn’t feel empty when Eddie kisses him back, hungry. When he takes and devours. 

[beatcroc]

on the peppinos, postgame

i like to think the peppinos are pretty good friends now, but that certainly wasn't always the case. in fact i think they were both pretty terrified of eachother for a good couple months or so after the tower's fall. here's a moderately-sized ramble on how they went from one end to the other, with some extra thoughts on their current dynamic.

peppino's deal here is pretty obvious. being anxious and afraid of everything all the time is like his main character trait, but frankly he has every reason to be terrified of fake pep even aside from that, given the... you know. the everything. everything that went down in and around their fights, and just the nature of what fake peppino is-both as a general horror creature and also, specifically, as some kind of fucked up parody of himself that exists for reasons unknown to anybody. the only reason peppino let fp hang around in the first place was out of fear of pissing him off and getting attacked if he did try to take some action to Remove him. he tries his best not to invoke that, and stays far away from fake pep.

but fake peppino is also pretty terrified of peppino for the same reasons- he's really only ever seen peppino at his most violent, he's already gotten his ass kicked twice, and what's more he's acutely aware that he's on borrowed land and borrowed time out here. he only went to pizzeria in the first place out of instinct and because he didn't really have anywhere else to go without the tower, but he knows damn well that this is not his turf to be hanging out on, and that peppino has every right to defend it if he wants. he tries his best not to invoke that, and stays far away from peppino.

unfortunately, neither of them are perfect at that, and both of them are peppinos, so...

their paths do tend to cross on occasion. fortunately, neither of them actually want to fight again, so these run-ins never escalate to conflict, and end with them both scrambling away as quickly as they spot the other.

as it goes, time passes and they get more used to eachother at a distance; fake pep being naturally curious and poking around despite his reservations, and peppino sorta noticing fp is skittish whenever he ventures a bit past his usual boundaries. with that and the fact they've never actually had any violent encounters with eachother, peppino eventually catches the vibe that "oh maybe this thing isn't just here to menace me''. there is definitely still the aspect of "why the fuck is this freak here and what does it want" to deal with, so he doesn't drop his guard entirely, but he does go from ardent avoidance to more a... neutral observation.

and it's a bit of a positive feedback loop; fp seeing peppino being less Reactive about him means he's less worried about being Retaliated Upon & thus a bit more venturous still. perhaps even enough to be seen Inside the restaurant...?

from here it doesn't take long for peppino to start seeing fake's, uh, utilitarian benefits. he eats the rats so it's free pest control, and noise seems really afraid of him too which is funny as hell, so pep just kinda starts going lik ''oh lmao ok maybe this is kind of cool''.

for fake pep i think it was just... the first time peppino showed him any kind of thanks or congratulations for such. a moment of "??? does he like that?? does he like me?? do i not need to be afraid of this guy???" and so this is where fp starts trying to Deliberately interact with peppino a bit, and things just kinda grew from there.

i think it's neat because while peppino may have been the first to get over his fear and technically 'be accepting' of fp [shockingly???], it still takes the both of them because without fp trying to Initiate something, i really don't think pep would have ever gone out of his way to Give A Shit or achieve anything besides a mutual tolerance.

it is also so funny because like. i think peppino still is not seeing his end as anything more than a tolerance. sure, by now he knows fake pep likes him a lot, but as far as he's concerned he still only keeps fp around because he's '"'useful''", and because he thinks "ohhh i guess this guy is just never gonna leave ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i guess there is nothing i can do about this ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯" when in reality it would take very little to drive fake pep off, and also, i need to reiterate, peppino has very much already beat fp's ass twice [when fp actually WAS trying to fight no less!], and could very much do it again if he actually wanted to. he just doesn't want to. he isn't actually any more stingy towards fp for all this, but it also means like, he's never going to give fp an actual "name" because that would be waaaaaay too direct an admission.

i wouldn't call peppino emotionally Stupid or immature, but i like to think he is often very....oblivious of his own actual state even when LITERALLY everyone else knows otherwise.

fp knows bc peppino lets him get away A Lot Of Shit and even openly solicit affections, gus knows bc peppino actually defending fp and/or making an effort to work him with is an insane leap of faith/trust for this man to have made, every random customer who sees the two buddying around knows, hell even noise knows [and is terrified of it] bc why the hell would the most panicky man on earth casually have a freak fucking beast around in the first place?

and nobody really tries to press peppino on this because he is stubborn. it's a good bit of denial, but it's also partially him thinking he's just being logical; "why would i be mean or try to chase him off if he's beneficial?"

if you asked him whether he was gonna give fp a name he'd get all defensive and probably straight up say some shit like ''noo you know how they say if you name it you'll get attached'.' dumbass. you are already attached.

we all know peppino is a nervous animal but really i think they are both nervous animals. pep is a nervous prey animal who's mostly stressed out and afraid for like, self-preservation reasons; and fake pep is a nervous predator animal like a cheetah who needs constant companionship and reassurance or else he's Also going to be very stressed. and they're like weirdly good at covering this for eachother & so trust the other way more than they probably realize.

for peppino it's as simple as "if this guy was going to hurt me he already would have", perhaps with a bit of extra "if this big scary thing is on my side maybe i'll have less to worry about in general" [i mean this mostly in the powerful allies "oh he can kill things for me" sense, but i'd like to think there's a bit of a confidence boost in the sense of "if i can overcome/make peace with this maybe i can overcome other things too" somewhere in there as well]

for fake pep I think a lot of it is that peppino is like completely incapable of hiding his emotions. it makes him very easy to trust in that regard, and for a guy as Unsure about everything as fp is it's very good for him to have that kind of straightforwardness. there's never any guesswork with peppino; if you are doing something he doesn't like or makes him uncomfortable...you will know it. and for the same, on the rare chances he's showing approval, you can be sure that's genuine too.

[daily-xisuma]

[025] I memorized the enochian characters for use as a cipher :-)

[necrotic-nephilim]

about me

hi, i'm luciferos. i'm 22, disabled, Deaf, queer, and a general menace. my pronouns are they/them. this is an 18+ batcest blog. i'm pro-fandom and pro-kink. I avidly support SALS, YKINMKATO, and DLDR. most of what i write is of the darkfic, dead dove variety. i'm a fan of the comics, mainly the pre-Flashpoint era of the Batfam. some of my favorite comics are: Red Robin (2009), Batman/Huntress: Cry For Blood, Birds of Prey (2010), Young Justice (1998), Huntress (1989), Sword of Azrael (2022), Grayson (2014), Robin War, and the Question (1986). i can be a comics purist, but i just tend to leave alone fandom content i dislike and i think everyone should have fun with their blorbos, whether they've read the comics or not.

my DMs are open for anyone who wants to chat, make friends, or just yell about your favorite character/ships. asks are also open if you wanna send a headcanon, question, or just, you know. yell. please feel free to come talk to me, i thrive on being asked my opinion on things! my (mostly unused) main blog is @devilbonesofmetal, so that's where follows and likes come from. i don't do DNIs, your internet experience is your job to curate, so feel free to block me if you're uncomfortable with what i post.

if you ever want to create a translation/podfic/fanart/etc or write something inspired by one of my fics or posts, you have *complete* permission to do so! just tag me because i'd love to see it too!

some of my favorite ships are: Tim/Jason, Tim/Dick, Tim/Damian, Dick/Bruce, Jason/Bruce, Ra's/Tim, Slade/Tim, Slade/Dick, Tim/Bruce, Jean-Paul/Tim, Cass/Tim, and Robin Pile.

and some of my favorite characters are: Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Cass Cain, Helena Bertinelli, Luke Fox, Jean-Paul Valley, Bette Kane, Kara Zor-L, Zinda Blake, and Slade Wilson.

i write fanfiction, but i write anonymously on ao3 (for reasons explained here) so if you'd like to see all my stuff, here's a link to my tumblr masterlist and here's a link to my ao3 series, both of which contain all the fics i've written. aside from the typical ship and character tags, my vague tagging system on this blog is:

necrotic festerings - any ship/fandom metas i've written

necrotic answerings - answering any asks

necrotic writings - my fics

necrotic works in progress - rambling about fics i'm working on

divine and necrotic - tag for my partner @divine-dominion and i being gay on main

necrotic apcryopha - tag for my other partner @eebuckley and i also being gay on main

necrotic nuisance - my shitposting/low effort/non-serious tag

and, just for fun, some of the more interesting metas i've written:

why DC x DP crossovers are so popular

why the Batfamily fandom doesn't interact with canon & related thoughts

JayTim in the New-52 Deep Dive

"why aren't ships involving the women in the Batfam considered Batcest?"

advice for getting into pre-Flashpoint comics

[waywardstation]

WIP FRIDAY

I apologize for getting this out two days late, I’ve been busy with lots of packing and events! But I have a little reprieve, so I wanted to post another WIP; this one is from Heart Full, Bowl Empty.

BE AWARE THAT THIS SEGMENT INVOLVES A CONVERSATION REVOLVING AROUND UNWILLING BUT INTENTIONAL STARVATION. I know there are people who say they can’t read this fic because of themes like this, so be aware of this before reading this WIP!!

I included this snippet in today’s WIP because I have like three versions of the entire segment this snippet is from. I feel like it’s a really important segment with a really important conversation, and I’ve had a hard time balancing all the emotions the way I want to between Ingo and Akari, with frustration, sadness, anger, and empathy, to realistically get them to the resolution I want at the end of it.

The final version will probably only include a few parts from this particular segment.

Enjoy!!

—————

“I knew it! You’re doing it again!” Akari’s eyebrows scrunched, trying to understand through the frustration. “You said you wouldn’t!”

“Circumstances will improve soon.” Clearly done with the conversation, that was all Ingo said, but it was confession enough that he had fallen back on his word. Shame contaminated his voice, but if there was any regret, he hid it well.

“No, it won’t!” They were not even half-way through winter yet. “And you know it won’t!”

Ingo said nothing as the kits carefully moved around his slumped form, finding comfortable places to settle around him. She didn’t know if he intended to snuff the conversation out with angered silence, or if he was just too exhausted to care about arguing with her anymore. If it wasn’t for his small occasional signs of movement or acknowledgement, she’d think he was actually sleeping.

Akari carefully stepped into the nesting layers, moving to sit down next to Ingo. She settled with her back against the cavern wall, pulling her knees close as a few kits shuffled around to accommodate her. “You know I’m right.”

Huffing out an irritated sigh and nothing more, it didn’t seem like Ingo had any intentions to engage with her argument anymore.

“You couldn’t even pull yourself up over the ridge,” She prodded at him again, trying to motivate more conversation out of him. “I had to help you!”

“There are many, many factors that go into that.” A reluctant answer, perhaps a reflexive attempt to quell her worry; Ingo feebly rubbed his wrapped hand, almost as a display for his excuse.

“I’ve seen you do more when you’ve been hurt worse.” Akari retorted, a little softer now but still cold.

Ingo’s eyes remained closed, though his hardened expression implied that it came across as more accusatory than she’d intended. But perhaps it was precisely the time to be accusatory.

“Ingo, you’re so tired all the time now – you stopped coming to the training grounds because you just can’t make the trips all the time anymore! And you’re sleeping so much more than you used to, and it’s like you’re always hungry all the time, even though all I see you doing anymore is gathering food!” Akari’s voice grew more jagged as she continued to jab at him, entirely uninterrupted.

It was getting difficult. With Ingo’s tunic still sopping by the bucket, still somewhat red from the exhausted effort of washing out the blood, it could not hide the ribs that pressed out just a little bit more, or help fill out what the waistline had lost under the loosening belt. The abject dread of directly acknowledging that was too much.

“And- and look! You aren’t even willing to hold a conversation with me anymore, and I don’t know if it’s because you just won’t, or because you can’t!” The kits shifted uncomfortably as Akari retreated back into her own frustration instead. “People think you’re sick, Ingo! They’re asking me about you! What are you doing?”

The exhausted man remained where he laid in the nesting material, only moving his hands to rub at his face and sigh — a deep, forced sigh that swelled his side before releasing. Akari almost didn’t think he’d answer her, but with some effort, he propped himself up first onto his elbows, then slumped forward. The teen watched him run shaky fingers through his hair as he sat next to her.

“…I don’t know what I should do.” The guilt. The weary guilt cracked his voice and tore Akari’s anger down to heartache.

[greenerteacups]

What do you think as Hermione's career would be post battle of Hogwarts? To me her being minister for magic really doesn't make sense. She does not have patience or tact to wade through murky waters of politics 😭😭

So hard to say! The Trio are so, so young when we leave them, I find it almost impossible to project their futures farther than a few years out. The job that suited me at 17 would be radically unsuited to me now. That's why of all the Trio, Ron's ending strikes me as the most realistic — he jumps straight into the save-the-world business again, burns out, realizes he's actually Done The Fuck Enough, Thanks, and pivots into a low-stress career where he gets to see his family a lot. Feels accurate! The others are weirder to me because they do seem to just... pick a lane and stay there.

With Hermione, you could spin her a couple ways. You could say that she leans into her bookish side and does research or teaching, which is not my preference for a couple reasons (namely, I don't think Hermione would like academia as a profession; she finds her classwork interesting and enjoys intellectual validation, but she'd be stifled and wasted in a DPhil program, and she'd be infuriated by the administrative politicking of your average higher-ed faculty). You could say that she gets disaffected with politics and ends up as a barrister or a lobbyist of some kind, but if anything that requires more political finesse, because you don't actually have institutional power, you're just handling the people who make decisions and trying to persuade them of your goals. This is not Hermione's preferred method of influence. She's not even particularly good at persuasion, she just happens to be smart enough (and right often enough) that people take her ideas seriously.

Or you could say her brashness fades with the years into a softened flavor of tell-you-like-it-is honesty, which some politicians actually do successfully trade on; as we see in British politics today, you don't have to be all that charming or clever to get ahead, you just need to be really driven and well-connected (which Hermione completely is; she fought shoulder-to-shoulder with the first postwar Minister and her bestie, the Literal Messiah, runs the Auror Office.) But I don't know if Hermione especially wants to be Minister, after the war. She's just watched years of horrendous bureaucratic incompetence plunge the country into a violent civil conflict. She's had not one, but two Ministers of Magic try to bully or shame her friends into complicity with fascism. Her view of government is... likely extremely dark.

But Hermione also isn't the kind of person who sees her life as a quest for happiness. Babygirl has a savior complex that makes Harry look selfish. (She basically kills her parents — yeah, obliviating is a form of murder, #changemymind — "for their own good," and justifies every batshit, vindictive, mean-spirited move she ever pulls on the grounds that it "helps" one of her friends.) She is a mean, lean, dragon-slaying machine, and she needs a dragon. After Voldemort, the Ministry is the no. 1 threat to muggle-borns and non-wizarding Beings. As a war heroine with basically infinite political capital, I'd be surprised if she didn't try to do something there. That said, Hermione is so vivacious and dynamic that she could potentially grow in a hundred different directions; it's possible that all of this, while true of her at 18, becomes completely inaccurate by 22. That's why I'm not too fussed about any particular fanon interpretation.

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

My Dearest Friend...

Glaciated Memory AU | Master Of Ice Art | More to Me (pt 2)

1k

[]

Imagine this, if you will: you meet your best friend when you’re young and he already has graying hairs.

Well, young is a relative term. You’re not exactly young, or at least you don't think so. The younger children around the village call you old even though that’s hardly something to judge one's age by--you’ve only just started university--but your friend is older.

You had never enjoyed the snow coating the grass or the cold and frost that cling to your lashes on the early morning walks to your winter classes before, but that day, with ice stretching in front of you, shielding you and keeping you safe from harm, that day when he looks back over his shoulder at you and gives you a warm smile that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, you exhale and see the frost on your breath and you suddenly find you can never look at things like winter and white and cold the same way again.

His eyes are so light of a blue they are almost white. They’re a heavy contrast to his dark skin. At first you think the ends of his long hair are white but it sparkles like glitter and ice and you realize it's coated in frost.

He saves your life.

He has a limp you notice when he leaves the village, simply a traveler passing through like a snowfall. You drop your papers, your pencils, your projects and they spill over the ice at your feet.

“Wait--Wait!”

He waits.

You design and build a leg brace for him in your dorm. He waits patiently, standing, still as an ice sculpture until you're finished the next morning.

“Come back if it stops functioning,” you tell him.

He studies you with calculating eyes that shouldn’t have been so warm when their colour was so cold. He nods.

And he does come back. A few months later. You offer him tea and show him your plans for a new brace--one that improves upon the failures of the old one--something you started designing the moment he’d left the first time. He sits down this time and smiles and you chat. Your breath shows in the air with every exhale the longer he stays. Your teeth chatter through your grin and he grins back before throwing back his head to laugh.

You become fast friends after that.

You learn to wear more layers. His hair grays more and you graduate after many long sleepless nights studying and designing. Biomechanics, biomechanical engineering, robotics--you find fascination with building, with bodies. “A marvel,” you mutter. “A marvel. I wonder if I could replicate it.” And he smiles at you.

He comes and goes as often as cold weather. You stay holed up in your house for the most part. Designing, building. You wave him over to his new brace, made from a material more resistant to cold than the last. You’re learning. He stays for tea and you make up a guest bedroom just for him. It stays there for years to welcome him whenever he visits.

Once, someone comes to find you for knowing him. You need a leg brace of your own after that.

He has more enemies than he has friends it seems.

“I am sorry, my dear friend,” he says. There is a blizzard outside.

Your discoveries are stolen one night and someone else’s name is plastered across your work no matter how hard you try. That breaks you more than anything else.

“I’m thinking about moving,” you tell him one night, as though you haven’t been silent for the past three days.

“Oh?” he says. “Where to?”

“Somewhere cold.”

He laughs.

He takes you to a place outside of any town. Remote and freezing.

“This is my home,” he says to you. It’s a perpetual winter.

“I think I’ll build a bunker,” you say, your nose numb from the chill.

You get kicked by a treehorn and you make a sign Beware of Treehorns and hit your dearest friend with it.

“I apologize, I should have warned you,” he laughed. “I had forgotten they were unfriendly to others.”

“My ribs do not accept your apology,” you sniff.

“Will you accept it instead?”

You huff and puff out frosty breaths and jam the sign into the ground.

Of course you forgive him. How can you not?

You build something to protect you and your bunker from the creatures when your friend is not there.

He enters your bunker shaking snow off his layers and off his straw hat.

“No--not on the floor.” You throw your hands into the hair. “Now I’ll have to mop it all up.”

“My apologies,” he says, though he’s smiling wide enough to show his white teeth. “I shall assist you.”

When the frost finally melts from his hair in the warmth of the bunker you see it wasn’t the ice and snow making it look white this time.

“What is this?” he asks, looking at your project, a skeletal structure made of spare parts you’ve started to construct, loose wiring and tools scattered about it.

“A marvel of engineering--or well, it will be soon.” He looks dubious so you take off your glasses and wipe them on your shirt. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m only just beginning to build what I need.”

“I won’t be back for a while,” he says quite suddenly.

You put your glasses back on hastily. “Is something wrong?”

“Please, keep far away from the north side of the forest until I return.”

You’ve known of the serpentine war for a long time. You hear of it in the north when you’re purchasing supplies from the nearby town. You know it's over when he stumbles into your bunker and collapses face-first onto your carpet.

You have never seen him in red before and you find you do not like the sight.

The type of first-aid he needs is one that requires study and time that you do not have.

He catches your hand mid-way through bandaging his side.

“I’ll be alright,” he says, his voice like a cool, barely-there breeze.

“Of course you will.” Your teeth are chattering, you realize, even though it’s not cold in your bunker.

He does heal up. It takes a few months before he’s hiking with you to the town, leaning heavily on you and the walking stick you’ve made him. Your project lays on the table forgotten.

The Birchwood Forest is colder than it ever has been.

“I’ll be back,” he says once he can walk on his own.

“You won’t be leaving,” you say firmly.

“Julian,” he says. “My friend. I must go.”

You wonder if it makes you a terribly bad or terribly good friend for letting him.

You pour yourself into your work. A body takes shape in front of you. You do everything you can to make it human.

No one can steal this from you. It is yours and yours alone and it is marvelous.

It’s years before your friend returns.

Your creation is walking by then. There are wires still exposed and kinks to work out but you’re so proud of it. He enters through the door, slowly and with enough snow on him you’ll be swimming in it by the time it melts, but you don’t care.

You introduce him to your work.

“I used the face I knew best!”

Your friend smiles. There’s sadness there.

“Julian,” he says. “I’m dying.”

His hair is fully white.

Your smile vanishes.

You hadn’t noticed your own gray hairs and wrinkles until then.

“I have no family. No one to pass my element to. I have been looking, Julian, but…”

He needs your help. Not to live, no matter how much you talk to him, but to ensure the element he carries within him does not die.

So you create something that can store it. You travel to places together, you gather what you design, you design and through trial and error you make something that can hold the power.

“There’s no one I trust with it more,” you tell him as you tinker with your creation. “He’ll keep it safe. I designed him to protect.”

“Thank you,” your old friend says, like a breath of relief.

You create him a holder for his element and store it in the creation that shares his face.

He wants to pass in the snow. You carry him the Glaciar Barrens and it is there your friend takes his final breath.

And you discover you have done more than store his element.

Your Zane acts differently. From the moment your friend takes his final breath, your Zane seems to wake up.

You continue tinkering, researching and you don’t know what you have done but nothing can explain it.

It’s his eyes that are the same. His face that you replicated to the best of your abilities still has some differences.

The eyes however. The eyes you know.

You don’t have time to begin to miss your friend when he’s standing right in front of you.

Zane feels, just like you wanted him to. You put everything you can into upgrading him until he’s as human as he can be. Until he can feel the temperature of something by touching, until he can feel the breeze and the snowflakes as they fall on his skin.

You add a memory switch, something that is not human. You hope that it will return his memories from before, but it does not. You leave it untouched for years.

And then you are old.

You are old and your friend has not aged. You have built him everything, you have taught him how to speak again, to learn to read and observe, you have taught him everything you can. But you do not know how to teach him to move on. You never did.

“Goodbye, old friend,” you say and you flick the switch so that he may start anew and live on without you.

You watch the light fade and his eyes darken to brown.

You close your eyes.

And a long time later in a dusty empty bunker, they open back up.

----

Zane blinked.

It was cold.

He was standing at the edge of a village, bare feet in the snow. His toes were numb. Villagers who had caught sight of him were approaching, calling over others to bring warm water and blankets.

He felt as though he was forgetting something rather important.

[gifti3]

hii im posting this old fic for asmo, it was for his bday but i put it off cause i wanted to keep editing it and before you know it its been over year of it just sitting untouched 〒▽〒 so i decided to just post it without a reading over it again its pretty light hearted and silly, its an AU where Asmo is literally a queen and reader is one of those passing merchants (probably) reader is gn here and yep thats it!

----

----

Queen Asmodeus's Birthday

This was the first time you'd actually be present during Asmodeus's birthday. You heard about previous ones in passing during your travels, but now you'd get to experience all the hoopla in person.

You observe yourself in the mirror and smooth the front of your outfit down. It wasn't something you would usually wear on a day to day basis, but today….what the Queen says goes. Like any other day really, but now wasn’t the time to be contrarian. If any day needed to go smoothly, today was that day. So after one more look, you exit your room.

Making your way down the hallway you dodge several servants handling last minute preparations. You head downstairs and weave your way through mingling guests.

When you enter the grand banquet hall--not to be mistaken with the regular one--you whistle to yourself. It always looked nice but today it was at exorbitant levels of presentation. The long tables, the walls and even the ceiling seemed to be covered in the Queen's favorite shades and flowers. Everything was so flowery and pink.

Your eyes fall on the “Esteemed Guests” table and you make your way towards it.

"Hey guys." You greet the group of brothers. You nod at a few faces you weren’t quite familiar with, but they must be important to the Queen if they were at this table.

Before the brothers can say anything you interject. "No need to comment on the outfit. I know," you smile.

Several of them shut their mouths.

You take a seat at the head of the table, Asmodeus's spot. His chair was quite literally the center of attention. In the middle of the room it sat, the most immaculate and eye-catching. It was almost gaudy to be honest. And from here, you'd be able to see him from anywhere in the room.

“So…when does this start?” you ask.

“Hopefully he comes out within the hour,” Satan answers.

You’d think he was exaggerating if he wasn’t currently reading. In all this noise, you weren't sure how.

Lucifer sat back with his eyes closed, probably thinking of work, while Mammon and Levi talked (or maybe they were bickering) about something. Beelzebub frowned while rubbing at his stomach and Belphegor’s head was laid on the table.

Even though they seemed indifferent about being here, you knew they wanted to keep their brother happy. And anyways if they missed today they wouldn’t hear the end of it until his next birthday.

By the time his Majesty is formally introduced to the hall, an hour must have passed and Beel looks visibly famished. He gently nudges Belphie awake though. 

“Ah, the star finally appears,” Solomon says. You had met the sorcerer for the first time today but he seemed decent from the conversation you had. Mostly everyone at the table seemed a bit perturbed by his presence though.

Anyone standing around moves quickly to sit down so as not to be chewed out by other guests for blocking the view.

All attention turns to decorative stairs at the front of the room as the Queen appears. Slowly rose petals magically start falling from the ceiling. Everyone watches as Queen Asmodeus gracefully makes his way down, his (very expensive) skirts following down behind him. 

Mammon sits back crossing his arms and says under his breath. “He does this every year…” 

You wonder if anyone outside his brothers would ever grow tired of it though. You swear you could see tears glistening in some of these guests' eyes.

You manage to catch Asmo’s eye and he winks at you.

The whispers amongst the guests go silent once Asmodeus begins talking to his closest family, friends and allies.

"Thank you for gathering here to celebrate this special day--my birthday. Seeing everyone's lovely faces smiling for me makes me so happy!"

You hear a couple of dreamlike sighs among the crowd.

"I’m excited for the fun to start so please everyone enjoy the food. The festivities will start right after.”

There’s cheers and Beel’s face brightens as servants file in with various dishes.

Asmo makes his way towards his seat waving and talking to people along the way.

"How'd you like my entrance MC? Wasn’t it perfectly befitting for someone like me," Asmo asks by the time he finally makes it to the table.

Most of his brothers look exasperated but you grin. “It was very Asmodeus-like. You look really amazing by the way. Your dress is very beautiful.”

He smiles at the compliment. “Not as beautiful as me though, right?”

“Heh, of course.”

Satisfied with your answer, Asmo rests a hand on your shoulder.

"Thank you all for coming. I hope you all brought presents ❤️"

Lucifer smiles, already prepared with his gift, "Happy Birthday Asmodeus."

“I didn’t skimp out this year so you better be grateful,” Mammon says.

All the brothers take their turns passing their presents for Asmo to open and gush over. And these were no simple gifts. These were items the average person could only dream of having but apparently this was nothing too hard for these brothers to acquire.

You watch Asmo brandish the beautiful sword Santa had given to him. You had never seen anything like it before. Where did he even find that? Maybe you should inquire with him about it later.

During the rest of the dinner, you see a shift in Asmo’s demeanor from fairly pleased to absolutely bored. Finally, he stands and clinks his glass with a fork to get the room's attention.

He takes a drink and raises his glass high. "Let's get this party started!"

-------

It had been 3 hours so far. The beginning of what would definitely be a way too long party.

You hadn't seen the Queen since dinner as he was mingling with the endless party guests.

How many people could one person remember off the top of their head?

Escaping the noise would be impossible even if you wanted to. You could hear Queen Asmo's subjects singing, dancing and lighting fireworks through your room window when you made a quick stop for the restroom.

You take a bite of your kebab, waving at someone you don’t remember the name of. Galavanting from room to room to keep yourself entertained in this overstimulation fest.

Maybe you'd go back to the 'bathing room'. It was always interesting there.

Suddenly, you find yourself wrapped in a warm embrace and surrounded by the scent of fruit and alcohol. 

“Darling I haven’t seen you in so long.” Asmo says dragging out the end of the statement.

“It’s only been a few hours though.”

“Might as well been years.” 

You roll your eyes but pat his arm soothingly. “But you’re enjoying yourself right?”

He hums. “Everyone is here for me, adorning me with gifts and praise. I’d say it’s within the top 3 best birthdays!”

“...Isn’t a good chunk of your usual days filled with that though?”

He rests his head on you. “It’s different though.”

Before you can ask more, several people approach you two to talk to the Queen. Asmodeus hooks his arms with yours before you can walk off though.

----

“Asmo, please let me go. Keeping up appearances for this long is killing me.”

“But I don't want you to disappear again!” He nuzzles into your arm and you let out a sigh.

“Can we at least take a break?”

“Are you trying to get special private time with the Queen?” Asmo gives you that stupid innocent smile that was rarely innocent.

“Er, I mean it would be nice…” You hadn’t been able to spend much time with him these last couple days since he was so busy.

“Okay since you’re one of my favorite guests I’ll give you special attention. But you owe me!”

And with that Asmo drags you away to his room.

As soon as you’re behind closed doors you flop on his soft bed. Even with the sounds of a party as background noise, you’d be able to rest your eyes.

“Wait, did you invite me here just to sleep?” You feel the bed dip beside you.

You mumble incoherently before turning your head to look at Asmo’s pouting face. You couldn’t help smiling at his expression though. 

How did he do it? You probably looked very disheveled right now but there sat your Queen completely perfect as always even though he’d been all over the castle today.

“Hmm, has my beauty stunned you~?” Asmo’s lithe fingers trace a pattern on your cheek.

“Maybe…” you sigh and get up from the bed. “That reminds me. You said I owed you and I haven’t given you your birthday present yet.”

You beacon him towards his dressing table and retrieve the small box. You planned to give it to him this morning but he wasn’t here. So you left in his room hoping he would find it on his vanity before the day ended but inwardly scolded yourself for the choice when he eyed you at the dinner being the only one closest to him who hadn’t given him anything.

“Happy Birthday!” You hold out the gift to him with a small smile.

Asmo’s eyes widened a bit. Was he actually surprised? His expression turns pleased as he takes and carefully opens it.

“It’s beautiful…” He carefully pulls out the silver necklace and holds it up. It was adorned with several small jewels but the main star was a deep red painite that sat in the middle.

“And it’s very unique.” The merchant in you was screaming for giving away something this rare for free. But making sure Asmo was pleased with his present was much more worth it. 

You help him put it on and watch as he admires himself in the mirror.

“So you like it right?”

“Of course I love it!” Asmo stands, grabs your hand and leans in to press a kiss to your lips. “I might have to show you how much I love it. You always know what to get me…” 

You lean in hoping for another kiss but Asmo places a finger on your chin to stop you.

“After the party. I want to take my time with you….” He gives you a quick squeeze and leads you out of the room before you can complain.

----

The next day when you wake up in Asmo’s arms to the sound of people being unusually loud through his window. That couldn’t be what you think it was.

You stare blearily at the ceiling. "When does everyone stop partying exactly?”

Asmo yawns and cuddles into you. “Hmm, usually in several days.”

“...How are you sleeping through this?”

[palukoo]

I know I’ve made other posts talking about or alluding to this but like. obviously there are like the old hollywood movies in the sort of dyke subtext canon (all about eve, rebecca, johnny guitar, etc) but like. there are so many movies that like 10 people have seen but I have such a clear gay vision or interpretation for it. most of them aren’t even GOOD. and yet!!

like the great lie is the one that haunts me the most (or the women but I think that one is kind of different for me perhaps bc I’ve already talked about it here a lot or perhaps bc I think of it as being more well known and watched than I think it actually is? actually it’s probably that I think it is an overall good and well executed and entertaining movie which isn’t really true of most of these tbh). but I also think a lot about like when ladies meet, or old acquaintance, or sadie mckee, or the shining hour, or the model and the marriage broker, or a woman’s secret, or the bigamist, or craig’s wife, or born to be bad, or separate tables, or even dark victory to a degree. others too certainly those are just the ones that come to mind. for half of these it’s not even like oh these women are gay together it’s just like hey I think she’s a lesbian. and I’m right. but my genius will never be fully appreciated in my day unfortunately.