#cant live without each other

[starry-nights-17]

[thirdsonofeve]

Innocent changes the rules to allow priests to marry, but they can only marry other priests bc of issues regarding inheritance and nepotism and potential distractions that might come with family life (also heavily implied that they are expected to still be chaste so it's not really a marriage it's more... "lifetime partnership").

Queue bellesco chaos wedding. Aldo agrees after Tedesco proposes for the eleventh time (while Aldo was fucking him, mind you). Thomas almost dies on the spot when he hears about the engagement.

They're both bridezillas. Mandorff has to study ceremonial code for three weeks to figure out how it's supposed to be done while both Aldo and Tedesco ague about it (with him and with each other). The ceremony is heteronormative to such a degree that Tedesco (being lower in the church hierarchy) has to be referred to as the "bride".

The media is going nuts about it, the coverage is on the level of a british royal wedding. What do you mean the progressive secretary of state and the archconservative patriarch of Venice who were both trying to become pope six months ago are getting married?????

The ceremony is public (and live-streamed) and Vincent panics while pronouncing them "husband and wife in their service to the Lord" and blurts out that Aldo "may kiss the bride". That was not in the script AND it's their first kiss.

When they are sent off on their honeymoon Aldo realizes this entire thing was just a scheme to force him to take a vacation and to keep Tedesco distracted while Vincent pushes through his most radical reforms.

[honey-bird10]

just two business partners doing business partner things as per usual

[casualavocados]

…It's nice. You're so noisy. […] Actually, it'd be better if we died together. That way, neither of us would have to suffer the pain of losing the other, right? Shut up.

KISEKI: DEAR TO ME Ep. 13

[blobbei-art]

When you are one person stuck in two different bodies, you can just let your extroverted half do all the talking.

[bunnybrained]

GAYEST EPISODE ON TBE PLANET GYYS GUYS THEYRE SOOOOOOOO IN LOVE WHAT THE FUCKKKKK????? DEBORAH FINDING HER OWN PICTURE IN THE CABINET FROM THE SHITTY COMEDY CLUB HER RUNNING HER HANDS OVER HER JACKET AS SHE MISSES HER??? HER RUNNING INTO TBE OCEAN FOR HER?????????? THEM SHARING TBE KRUG??

[harringroveera]

Co-dependent boyfriends core

[willowser]

another thing about the assistant angle is like. being there when bakugou reaches the hero top 40 and branches off with kirishima and sero and denki for their own agency. it's a bit of a mess bc they're barely twenty years old but—you're his only employee. he can barely afford to pay you and he doesn't even really know what you're supposed to do besides answer the phone and he's so emotionally unavailable but you're there, every single day. friendly with his friends. sometimes you bring lunch in for all of them and it's out of your own paycheck and it's not the best but you do it, for them. he lets you make the schedule for two weeks and you fuck it up so bad, but eventually you get it right and you try to be so fair—and that's hard to do, in the pro-hero world. there's nothing fair about a twenty year old man with trauma up to his ears risking his life every night because he doesn't know how to live with just himself, as just a man and not a hero, but goddamn it if you don't try to keep it fair, for every single one of them. you're one of his emergency contacts. you pick them up in the middle of the night when they're all the way across town, in another district police department bc that's where they caught the guy and where they have to turn him in. sometimes you bring their clothes or costumes home and wash them bc they don't get the chance. like it's everything.

[beemaya]

This quote by dostoevsky "You were destined for me. Perhaps as a punishment." screams both webgott and loosier, and it's hilarious.

[moeblob]

So, lore?

Lo'en is a half elf and across the world there are designated elven kingdoms. One of them! Where she was born and her mother (elf) still lives, is frigid and in the north. Humans still have an odd tradition for Santa and so she hides her slightly pointed ears so that she doesn't have to sit through ANOTHER "Saint Nick" story that the northern elf king refuses to be offended by. His name is Niklava and he rather LIKES the association of how giving the cold can be! Lo'en could easily live without hearing another comment about ol' Saint Nick and his elves though.

Hold, while technically human/mortal, is cursed to live life over and over. And he has plant/green powers. He gets a lot of the "oh you'll grow up to be fine one of these days!" "you're still a sprout in this life time" "you still have time to bloom then!" and he also hates it.

Because Hold has to continue living even after he dies (though his body regresses to a child like age as he "recovers from death") he's absolutely enamored with Lo'en who just continues to exist. Her life span is way longer than a humans, longer than his /should/ be. And he admires her a lot and is really grateful to have her around for so many of his lives lived. Lo'en is relieved to have someone she gets along with who won't die and leave her forever. He dies, sure, but he gets better.

Lo'en meets Hold first while during one of his sister's dead phases so that's why the two are much closer than Lo'en is to Hold's sister. The two girls do help keep Hold safe when he's dead but they aren't super best friends or anything.

[aq2003]

"i want wild blue yonder to have cameos in it" well IIIIII want wild blue yonder to be like one of those heart to heart 10k character study hurt/comfort gen fics that you only find one of in each fandom you get into, exclusively for donna and the doctor. we are not the same

[b0ylik3r]

zadr works so well because dib is obviously weird in more ways than just liking paranormal stuff, hes an asshole to everyone, seriously obsesses over his crush, genuinely stalks zim, talks to himself, he's creepy but the thing is. zim doesn't really see that. he doesn't feel put off by dib in the way that other humans would. he lacks the 'uncanny valley' autism thing that humans have because he has that with every human. every human is weird to zim, dib is just another person to him. thats what makes them work so well. zim doesn't think dib is especially weird and can't, making him and dib the only people for each other. he's the only person who doesnt think hes crazy. the only person who doesn't think he's weird. that's what makes them great. or maybe im crazy idk

[casualavocados]

"Who is Ai Di to you?"

Nat Chen as CHEN YI KISEKI: DEAR TO ME (2023)

[creepycoffins]

May I ask… about your jotakak headcannons? Any of them that you’re willing to share. Please I beg

YEAH OFC uhhhh hold on I'll put a cut here so I can go into detail

First of all, addressing the elephant in the room: It's very clearly stated in canon that Kakyoin hates submitting to people. That goes for friends too. If you are Kakyoin's friend, it means that you have earned his respect. So I think it's safe to say that he would not be submissive in any part of the relationship, romantic or platonic, and likewise fail wife Jotaro getting assigned suave dom top is SOOOO funny like did we watch the same thing. Fandom always does this it's binary thinking it's heteronormative it's tired dude!! Kakyoin MELTS Jotaro like a hot knife in butter dude, ain't noooo way. Also Hierophant is RIGHT there with his whole thing?? Right ok

Wrt Jotaros Issues, I think Kakyoin can see straight through him. Jotaro is known to believe that his actions speak louder than anything he could communicate verbally, which DOES incite many miscommunications, but Kakyoin is insightful, thoughtful, and observant enough to see and understand most of jotaro's intentions (ur not cool and stoic, jotaro, ur purposely putting urself in harms way so that you are the only one who gets hurt bc you at least know how you'll handle it!!!)

I like to think that if Kakyoin had lived, Kakyoin would have been Jotaro's confidant, and vice versa (since, despite his straightforward sincerity, Kakyoin definitely has some work to do on communicating his feelings and being vulnerable as well). I think, despite both of them being stubborn as hell they get each other, bottom line.

Also their stands are suuuuch a good battle couple combo hierophant holds them down/weakens defenses and splat punches the shit out of them it's baked in!!!

Other lil things I'll put in the tags bc I've already typed enough ty for coming to my ted talk :))

[so-very-small]

for context: i have these OCs that are a size-shifting knight and the mage she protects. there’s always a tense animosity between them, except for when she’s (unintentionally) small after battles. i don’t have much of their story written, but i do have this bit and i’ve been rotating it in my head all day

[vasito-de-leche]

a little prompt, if you don’t mind

what about mercenary!reader and symbiote!Pavia? it’s just Pavia’s ult/wolves kinda remind me of Venom and i think it would be fun to imagine him being something like Venom

;R1999 PAVIA - "under your skin"

Symbiote!Pavia x Mercenary!Reader 2.5k words body horror What you and Pavia have is nothing more than transactional—you need him to make a living, and he needs you alive to ensure a comfortable life. It's taken some time to get used to these changes, to share everything you have with him for the sake of convenience: your home, your food, your job. And most importantly, your body. Perfect symbiosis, or dysfunctional parasitism? You've yet to figure out where you two stand. One thing is clear, though; he's the best at getting under your skin.

i just want you to know that this prompt speaks to MY SOUL bc i love venom and pavia so fucking much. you dont understand how hard i think about the concept of a symbiotic relationship between symbiote and host. so I went extremely self-indulgent with this one <3

as usual, this is written to be read as platonic or romantic, whatever floats your boat!

Bang!

A clean kill.

The only reason you watch as the body drops to the ground is out of respect for the work you do, nothing else. You've done this a dozen times, and you will do it a dozen more -- the gun in your hand has become a reliable friend rather than a tool for mindless murder, its familiar weight a fleeting comfort in the tedious routine. A shame it came from the most annoying person you know.

Screaming ensues as everyone surrounding your target runs around in panic. You remain, eyes locked on the target. When someone moves their body, attempting to cradle that lifeless corpse, you see it; a bullet right between their eyebrows, the perfect shot.

You feel a tug, but it comes from within your chest cavity. Something squirms inside you, pulling you back, and you understand this as your cue to slide back into the shadows. It begins with a single step backwards, then another, until you feel the texture under your shoes shift -- what was once solid ground is now a dark, velvety mass, floating upwards and fading away like smoke. It licks at your ankles, providing an initially cold sensation that permeates your clothes, and then it continues upwards to your calves, your knees, your thighs. The gun slowly dissolves into slime, taking the shape of what you assume to be a hand, horrible and sticky fingers intertwined with yours, pulling you downwards.

By then, you feel that burning sensation, and then you're dragged into the abyss.

"That was a lousy shot."

A voice echoes in your mind, it is not your own. It feels like a thousand ants marching alongside your cranium. Or rather, what you assume to be your cranium -- in this current state, you can't separate yourself from the embrace of the void. The voice might as well reverberate all around you.

You scoff and insist. No, it was a perfect shot.

"Perfect my ass. You were off by 2 centimeters," the biting remark makes you clench your jaw. You don't reply. The voice does the same, it remains still, only a semblance of white noise, but you understand its silence as a smug victory.

Suddenly, vertigo takes hold of you. It only happens for a split second, always unannounced, but you know better than to brace yourself. Doing so, as you've learned, would only make you nauseous, dizzy and weak -- instead, you let go and the shadows gently coax you back into the light before dissipating in the air.

You find yourself in front of your apartment door, an odd and anticlimactic way of ending a productive day. What, no snack run today?

"Not feeling it today. So you either open the door on your own, or I'll do it myself. Get a move on."

Some of these threats tend to hold more water than others, but more often than not, they're just empty words and loud, useless barking. And so you've learned to ignore them all -- however, you feel a faint prodding inside your back pocket, like a tentacle in search of something. Right, your keys. The roll of your eyes and the slowness in your movements are the only means of rebellion you have against this annoying entity in your head, it continues to breathe down your neck, impatient as ever, until the door opens and you step into your safe haven.

"Finally! Guess there's some activity in that brain dead head of yours."

You're forced to make a bee-line for the kitchen and the fridge, puppeteered by a force much more stronger, much more ancient than every insignificant emotion you've ever felt: the damn parasite inside of you is hungry.

As you both scan the leftovers -- your leech of a roommate seeing through your eyes, smelling through your nose -- the voice returns, this time in a more playful tone, less grating than before.

"Scusi, what's with the silent treatment today?" You bite the inside of your cheek and it laughs at you. "Don't tell me, wolf got your tongue? Are you mad that I saw right through your poor, shitty technique?"

A suffocating presence crawls inside you, starting from somewhere below your rib cage and making its way upwards through your esophagus and trachea, shifting until you feel the prodding of cold, slimy fingers in your mouth. They are tasteless and you can still breathe, your body not even bothering to perceive this as an obstruction or an intruding force that must be coughed and spat out. They are careless in their movements, pinching the tip of your tongue and pushing against your clenched teeth in an attempt to get you to open up.

And the worst part is that this is nothing but a mocking gesture, you've come to understand this over the years. To you, this is no different than someone poking at your sides, childishly asking for your attention. You obediently open, enough for a single digit to slip out, one you recognize as the middle finger. It presses down on your lower lip.

And then you bite down, hard.

It dissipates instantly, it is absorbed back into your body through every inch of skin it makes contact with. There is a new sound in the back of your mind, one you weren't quite expecting. Your parasite laughs, amused, no trace of that usual condescending tone.

"Good, you still know how to use that petty mouth of yours. I don't have to worry about teaching you how to chew down your food."

This makes you stand up straight, turning your head and glaring at an empty space, where you assume this presence would manifest if it chose to stop taking residence in your body, "I'm not eating while you're still in there. If you want dinner, then get out."

There is a beat, a momentary silence. You don't give the parasite any time to bargain, "I'm serious. Use your own damn mouth if you're so hungry. I already have to do everything on my own, I'm not going to start spoon feeding you, too!"

The reply comes out faster than you expected.

"Fine."

For a moment, your vision doubles and your body feels like it's being painlessly torn apart. For a moment, you have two sets of eyes, two sets of arms, two sets of legs and two minds. You are both yourself and him, simultaneously. It is like someone is cutting your soul in half, shoving each part into two different bodies.

It is over in the blink of an eye, and there is a presence looming behind you, made from the same material that took you here, the same material that often travels in your veins and every other crevice, nook and cranny available between your organs and bones. The lights of your apartment flicker, and you take notice of his shadow cast over you.

His predatory gaze burns holes in the back of your head, and in the stillness of it all, you hear his steps, the sound his leather pants and the shifting of his shirt fabric as he steps closer -- until you feel his chest against your back. An arm slides into view, closing the door to the fridge and resting there, preventing you from escaping. It is decorated with all the useless, silver jewelry he's taken from your targets, a hand covered with tattoos you've often traced with your very own fingers in the past.

Oddly enough, you do not feel like prey. Not anymore. Your instinct tells you that you should, but truth be told, you could not care less. Especially when you feel his chin dig into the top of your head, his weight pressing lazily on you.

"…But in exchange, I'm cooking tonight. You got 10 seconds to get outta here." He shifts, and his cheek nuzzles into you as he yawns, like he's ready to move on from this conversation.

"Huh?" You slide from under him, finally looking at the parasite concealing as a man -- one you recognize as the bane of your existence, Pavia. "Uh, like hell I'm trusting you with the food! I've seen the stuff you put on your pizza."

"Like you're one to talk! You add too much salt to everything you make. If you wanted to ruin your liver, you should've just let me eat it from day one. 5 seconds left before I throw you out. C'mon."

"Do you even know how to cook? Any actual recipes that don't require winging everything?"

"Does pasta with a side of 'mind your fucking business or I'll make us eat rat poison' sound good to you?"

"I swear if you put anything funny in the food--…"

"Time's up. Out!" Pavia picks you up, manhandles you even, and tosses you out into the living room. As soon as you land on the couch, the door to the kitchen closes and you're left all alone.

It's easy to forget that you have no fucking clue as to who or what Pavia even is.

No last name, no records, no personal information at all. You've touched him before—he looks and feels just like any other person. If you didn't know any better, you could've sworn he bleeds the same way you do. But there are times when that outer layer of normalcy is peeled back just enough to remind you what you're dealing with. Sometimes, the outline of his form darkens, as if the light around him couldn't affect him in any way, and his eyes go dark, so very dark.

You've seen him in this form, unhinging his jaw to uncomfortable degrees and revealing endless sets of saw-like fangs and teeth. His nails have grown longer, thicker and sharper than expected in many occasions. You would find those on the ground, like a wild dog who has never known, let alone needed, a trimmer.

And most importantly, you've allowed him entry to every pore of your body, every piece of cartilage, every muscle, every vein.

That's when you get a small glimpse into the eldritch monstrosity living under your roof—sometimes, he's a thick fog. Sometimes, he's an oozing pile of slime. Sometimes, he's the big, bad wolf. Sometimes, you can't even understand what you're looking at when he manifests in front of you. Regardless, you're certain of something.

Pavia is darkness, eternal and haunting as the night.

He is also a huge, ungrateful, bastard.

"Hey! Where'd you leave the gelato!? This freezer's a damn mess!" His voice is heard, muffled. It doesn't carry the same cadence and weight as it does when you hear it from within your mind. He sounds more annoying, in fact.

It's a strange experience, to have him coexist right beside you as if he weren't some sort of parasite, one hair away from eating your organs. But at least like this, he cannot read your mind nor attempt to puppet your body like a moron in broad daylight. You don't answer, fully aware that he's only trying to piss you off and lure you into another argument -- as if he'd ever lose sight of his precious dessert, anyway. Instead, you busy yourself with the usual routine; finishing what is left of your work, contact your employers and whatnot.

Soon enough, the kitchen door opens and Pavia slides into the room with a single plate of warm food. You look at him, eyes wide in indignation. Oh, he wouldn't …

"Huh? What, I thought you didn't trust me to cook, so I just made something for myself. There's some leftovers from your poor excuse of a lasagna, though." The smarmy expression plastered all over his face as he licks the sauce off his spoon is unbearable, and you rush to the kitchen either to find the biggest knife to drive into his chest or to resign yourself and eat those leftovers.

And then you see it, another plate resting by the counter. Full of delicious looking pasta.

Son of a bitch.

"Bring me some of that orange juice you bought yesterday while you're in there, yeah?" Pavia never gives you time to settle down, demanding your attention and your frustration time and time again, unable to form a single coherent thought nor opinion about him.

He's annoying, that's all you've been able to figure out so far.

He's annoying, and he's made a mess out of your kitchen to cook this meal for both of you. He's annoying, and stingy when it comes to sharing his favorite snacks and desserts, but he never attempts to steal your own. He's annoying, and he offers you a power beyond your wildest dreams, to get rid of inhibition and embrace the abilities of an eldritch beast. He's annoying, and he hogs all the fucking blankets at night, planting his cold feet against your legs or back to add insult to injury.

He's annoying, and he's calling out to you once more, telling you to hurry or else you'll miss "that one stupid show" you like, that he'll switch channels if you don't sit down with him to eat. You sigh. The nerve, the hypocrisy. You know the things he likes to watch -- he has no right to criticize your taste like this.

"I'm coming, calm down! Christ …"

You notice that he never lingers nor invades any of your usual places, always picking the same spots for himself, and this is ironic in every way possible given his fickle nature. There's no doubt that as soon as you two retire for the night, Pavia will make a show out of sliding back into your body, to rest with the warmth of your blood and the soothing rhythm of your heart. And you will tell him to fuck off and sleep on the couch, reminding him of that one time he got a little too comfortable, clutching your heart in his claws, causing you to believe you were having a heart attack. Then, morning will arrive, and you will find Pavia either sprawled out or gone, but never truly leaving you alone. You will feel him, that inky slime, both cold and warm in your veins. You will go to work, and you will return home to start all over again. This is the routine, one you stopped questioning a long time ago.

This parasite who gets under your skin, both figuratively and literally, is annoying. He's annoying when he teases you, forcing you to admit that he can cook a mean pasta. He's annoying when he laughs, loud and boisterous, at those stupid moments he often criticizes in all of your favorite shows. He's annoying when he gets clingy, using you as a pillow because he can't be bothered to reach out for one of the many other pillows scattered around.

He's so very annoying when he looks at you with a curious gleam in his eyes, obviously noticing the way you've chosen to rest your head in the crook of his neck. Time stands still as you simply look at each other, as you lose yourself in those bright, sharp eyes.

You stick out your tongue at him, and Pavia blows a raspberry at you. Sure, he might be plenty annoying on his own, but together you're both insufferable and unstoppable.