#This was conceived as a joke but funny enough it *is* one of the most romantic things about sskk‚ unironically

[kyouka-supremacy]

It's so funny to me when fic writers mention a new made up first encounter of sskk when it's actually part of canon and we know how it went. Akutagawa ripped off Atsushi's leg. Good luck finding anything more romantic than that

[sixpossumsinatrenchcoat]

Natural Satellite [ch 12]

An In Stars and Time AU. In ch 12, Loop returns to the House. You can start from the beginning here.

When you reach the kitchen, your stardust balks in the doorway, eyeing that stupid blinding countertop. You sigh. “I’ll get it.” “...Would you?” “Don’t feel bad,” you tell them, patting their head with all the condescension you can muster. Which is a lot. “Not everyone can be as graceful as yours truly.” Then you saunter up the aisle and— —hit your hip on the kitchen counter. Oh, okay. Haha! Okay!! You’re going to kill yourself!!!!

[spoiler warning for all conceivable endgame spoilers, including the secret end]

Whaa~aat are you doing here? Haha… What are you doing here. Literally why would you ever, ever, ever come back here? You did this already. You played this game and lost. It’s someone else’s turn.

Oh, you were bored? Re~eally? You were bored and lonely and so blinding pathetic that you’d agree to play pretend with a lot of vacant husks of the people you failed? The family you abandoned? A lot of stupid ugly strangers who don’t even recognize you? And that seemed like a good idea?

Stars. It’s the worst joke you ever told. And as usual, you’re the punchline.

A colossal hand rears up from the shadows. Absently, you just attack it. There’s no satisfaction in watching it shudder and fall. No pleasure in hearing your stupid stardust’s stupid Kid marvel at your strength. The whole performance is almost as empty as you are.

That idiot understudy even tried to give you your— their dagger. “I don’t really need it,” he said, shuffling his feet. “I’m pretty strong now.”

Of course you laughed in their face. You weren’t even trying to make them feel small. It was just so blinding funny.

There’s someone saying something. More sepulchral whispers from the ghosts you left to die. Talking to them at the Tree was bad enough, but seeing them in the House is—well, it’s just hilarious. It’s so funny you could cry. You remember how they used to wail and moan every time you drove your blade into your throat. Would they cry for you now?

(Stupid. Of course they wouldn’t. Who could cry over a stranger?)

“You’re pretty strong,” the Fighter tells you, grudging, after you one-hit another Rancoeur, and you nearly fling yourself into the nearest Tear. But what would be the point? You’re already living your worst nightmare.

The ghost of your Fighter is the one who hates you the most. Isn’t that funny? Isn’t it hilarious? He took to you so quickly once. He thought you were sooooo~ cute. In all fairness, you definitely were. And you used to wear a lot more… clothes. But your surface isn’t exactly solid, nowadays. If you tried to put a hat on, you’re not sure if you’d set it on fire or if it would just fall straight through you. Not that you want to wear a hat. You have no one left to hide from.

Slapstick is a little low-brow for you, anyway.

But these actors are a bunch of hacks. They don’t even remember their lines! You have half a mind to fill in for them. A call and response between you and your understudy. Practically a one-man show! So high-concept!! So avante-garde!!

The only problem is, audiences never like a one-man show. Normal people find them inaccessible. Masturbatory. Pathetic.

But you knew that already, didn’t you.

When you reach the kitchen, your stardust balks in the doorway, eyeing that stupid blinding countertop.

You sigh. “I’ll get it.”

“...Would you?”

“Don’t feel bad,” you tell them, patting their head with all the condescension you can muster. Which is a lot. “Not everyone can be as graceful as yours truly.”

Then you saunter up the aisle and—

—hit your hip on the kitchen counter.

Oh, okay. Haha! Okay!! You’re going to kill yourself!!!!

* * *

Running the House goes a lot more smoothly with Loop around. They’re remarkably efficient. Sort of alarmingly efficient, actually. Not for the first time, you find yourself wondering what their deal is. And not for the first time, you find yourself strangely reluctant to think too hard about it.

When you get to Euphrasie’s office, Madame Odile spends about ten minutes enraptured by a lot of boring paperwork before you gather the courage to mumble, “Um. Madame? Are you almost finished?”

“Absolutely not,” she says briskly. “Honestly, this organizational system is in shambles. Who in their right mind would put expense reports in the same file as enrollment rates? What’s the common thread there? ‘The letter E?’”

Mirabelle giggles. “My roommate says the same thing.”

You don’t want to interrupt, but… “Is this, um. Do you think you might want to help her organize after we beat the King, though?”

Odile barks a laugh. “I’m no one’s secretary. This isn’t altruism, Siffrin, it’s research. I’m looking for any more information that she might have tucked away on Wish Craft. You know. The thing that might actually free you from an eternity of torment?”

“Check under ‘water bills,’” Loop suggests. “Or ‘waste management.’”

Madame Odile actually snickers.

“Okay, but…” You huff a breath. “It’s just. The rock trap will go off if anyone leaves, but I’ve still got some keys to collect… and if we take too long, we’ll be pretty hungry by the time we reach the King…”

“Understood,” she sighs. Then she rolls up her sleeves. “Isabeau!”

He salutes smartly. “M’dame!!”

“Pull out this drawer,” she tells him, nodding at it. “And this one, too. We’ll bring them with us to the library. That is where we’re headed next, no?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then that’s our first move,” she says firmly. “We can discuss next steps once we’ve resituated.”

But when you get to the library, she gets right back to work.

“Madame,” you sigh. “Weren’t we going to—”

“Oh, absolutely not. This is only because of that trap.” She quirks an eyebrow at you. “If we have other business to attend to, I’m quite sure we can accomplish it in teams, now that we’ve picked up an extra pair of hands.”

Oh. Weird. From your perspective, Loop’s been with you the whole time.

You frown at her. “You think we should split up?”

“Well, there’s no risk anymore, is there? Apparently, failure isn’t permanent. If anything goes wrong, we can simply… start again.”

Loop flinches.

You flinch, too. Technically, temporally, she isn’t wrong. But having the same excruciating conversation over and over and over again… Honestly, it sounds even worse than dying. “Um…”

She flaps a hand at you, her interest already drifting. “You and Loop can go retrieve whatever-it-is you’re so eager to find, and—”

“No,” you blurt out, alarmed. It takes you a second to notice the echo. Loop spoke at the exact same time. You give them a startled glance before pressing on. “Um. You can’t… You need one of us with you. It’s dangerous. And they’ve been with me the whole time, so… they know how to be careful.”

“Teehee!” Loop winks. “I assure you, I’m nothing if not careful.”

“Fascinating,” Odile mutters. “You know what Siffrin’s referring to, then?”

They count on their fingers as they rattle off the answers. “The Crying Key in your Housemaiden’s old classroom; the Scissors Key in the trap room, and—”

“That’s plenty. We’ll keep Siffrin; I have a few questions for him. Loop, what’s your Craft Type?”

“Who’s asking?” they ask automatically.

Odile’s mouth twitches. “Cagy little thing, aren’t you? It’s like meeting Siffrin all over again.”

“No it isn’t,” you both say, in perfect, unnerving unison.

Loop glares at you before rolling their eyes. “I’m Scissors Type. If you must know.”

“Then we’ll send you with a Rock type, to be safe. Isabeau!”

He snaps to attention. “M’dame!”

“Go with Loop. Watch their back. Siffrin,” she adds, making you jump. “Can Isabeau trust them to take the lead?”

You give them a deeply distrustful look, then sigh. “...Yes.”

“Then we’ll see you two shortly. With any luck, we’ll have something to report by then.”

* * *

It’s the worst thing you can imagine. Your own personal void, tailor-made for you. As if your pathetic existence wasn’t torturous enough~!

You do your level best to ignore him. Unfortunately, the ghost of your Fighter makes himself uniquely difficult to ignore. Every time you look his way, you find him already staring. A lot of quick, nervous little glances, like you’re some unspeakable horror that, should he take his eyes off you for ten seconds, would promptly unhinge your jaw and swallow him whole.

The next time it happens, you lose your patience. “Craft a picture, why don’t you? It’ll last longer.”

“S-Sorry!! I was just—just wondering, um. Are you… okay?”

(What.) “Peachy keen, big guy. I just lo~ve wasting time on a lot of low-level losers that’ll reset the second we finish the job.”

“…You’re talking about the Sadnesses, right?”

“Teehee!” you giggle, and wink. “Who can say~!”

You can finish ch 12 here: ao3.org/works/53412649/chapters/138927454

[beevean]

Im also starting to like n!Trevor out of spite. He cant be compared to canon Trevor (he'd get kicked into the sunset) in any way but as his own character he is a decent dude with a tragic past. And both his "friends" and the narrative keep treating him like a joke and a punching bag even when he's demonstrating genuine camaraderie by letting them in his childhood home.

And i cant believe how trevorcard turned into the main ship of this sewer of a show. I want the games duo to be all lovely n affectionate w eachother while i want n!Trevor to punch n!Alucard's fangs in

And honestly im glad he got pushed to the side by the show i cant imagine what s3 would have done to him if the writers thought he was pretty enough for the sexual abuse treatment

No joke, I think N!Trevor is my second favorite character in the show, right behind Dracula. Third if I count N!Hector in S2 and S2 only. Definitely one of the few I don't despise.

Like. He's not great. He's a generic anti-hero down on his luck and with hehe funny alcoholism, and largely inferior to Trevor who despite popular conception has a solid character, strengths and weaknesses. But he's perfectly inoffensive? He has a decent character arc, a decent backstory that explains his flaws, good intentions, and the story doesn't need to tell you that he's good deep down despite his rough exterior: it is shown when at first he walks by a Speaker getting harassed, but then he reluctantly intervenes. I like how in the finale of S1 he directs the mob to defend themselves against night creatures, showing that, when push comes to shove, he's a great leader. I like how, while he's not an expert in magic like Sypha or intimately familiar with Dracula like Alucard, he's genuinely knowledgable about monster lore and proud of his heritage: he's so happy when he finds the Morning Star! Also yeah, lines like "I am Trevor Belmont, and dying has never frightened me" are pretty cool.

He's a cool guy! And the story just hates his guts for no reason??? I am appalled by the amounts of abuse this dude gets put through by his friend and girlfriend?? And then the story who just gets tired of him halfway through????

Trephacard as a ship makes zero sense to me. Trepha, I can kind of understand because, while she is an utter prick to Trevor in S1 and 2 (oh no she learned to swear thanks to him! this is the same girl who wanted to make him drink her piss because he was "rude"), at least the two genuinely bond more in S3 and 4, although in the most useless excuse of a subplot conceivable. But adding Alucard into the mix is like poisoning a well. He's unpleasant, I have really no other word for him. He's mean, cruel, dismissive, insulting, petty, disrespectful... to a guy that did nothing to deserve this constant barrage of insults, in fact Alucard should be more than grateful that this dude wants to help him in this emotionally devastating mission... and Sypha defends him because his Depression™ is worse than Trevor's Depression™.

"yeah you're sad but i can make fun of you and you react to me, yay! he's just a poor uwu baby who is too Sad to feel anything other than Sad, feel sorry for him" no, I don't think I will :)

Petition to save N!Trevor and N!Hector and put them in a story that actually treats them as characters and not as chew toys pls

[golden--doodler]

I've definitely been busy making things lately 😂

I made a behemoth of a chapter of my Bob's Burgers AU for @drawthething to go with this lovely Commission she made for me back in March which I've already yelled about several times:

This might be an unpopular opinion, but I love the episode Something Old, Something New, Something Bob Caters For You, so writing this was an absolute joy:

Bob’s day had been fantastic—by far the most wonderful, significant one he’d experienced in years. So it didn’t matter that everything went wrong in every conceivable way. So fantastic, in fact, that he gnawed on his knuckle from all the distress the day brought him. No, he didn’t want to be thinking about the best day of Cole (?) and Farrah’s lives this way. Not when they shared their special day because of what he’d created. Their excitement was contagious as they shared the news with him, and he held onto the memory of their wide smiles and waving hands. At first, he almost didn’t accept the reality of his food making connections.

However, the disaster playing out in front of them continued to be impossible to ignore. The already harsh, temperamental wind reared its vengeful head. The priest, standing as still as a statue in front of his official podium, and dressed in a respectable cream robe, was about to officiate the couple’s union. But the wind blew hats and hair without reprieve.

The priest opened his mouth, and almost everyone leaned forwards in their chairs, eager to pay attention to this moment, the moment everyone came for. He spoke, and the wind began blowing again. He spoke the first two words, and everyone caught them, but the rest got lost in the weather. Bob tilted his head, praying somehow this was someone’s poor idea of a joke. He refused to believe the reality in front of him—What’s-His-Name and Farrah had been through enough already. Now their most momentous moment had become disrupted? This wouldn’t occur without Bob helping.

He placed his hands on his knees, preparing to stand, when he noticed a familiar weight on his shoulder. Turning, he was about to tell off whoever delayed him when he realized who it was.

Linda provided him with a modest, gentle smile, making his chest ignite with the same explosive warmth that always appeared when Linda was merry. She let out a subdued, almost imperceptible laugh, which she covered with her mouth. If this had been anyone else, he would have demanded what the person had found so amusing. But with Linda, he couldn’t stop a small grin of his own forming. 

He took a moment to remember how to say what he wanted, then signed, “What’s so funny?”

She beamed again, then lifted her free hand into a casual pose. “Hey, at least I’m not the only one who can’t hear this, right? Ironic, isn’t it?”

There was something about the way her eyes crinkled at the sides and the way she had asked those rhetorical questions which broke Bob. It was clear she wasn’t making fun of the ceremony or the couple. She was just making an observation, one he needed but didn’t realize. A laugh erupted from him—obnoxious and impossible to ignore. As people began turning towards him with their judgemental stares, his face bloomed with fresh warmth.

He faced his wife again and couldn’t help but appreciate the way her catering outfit contoured to her beautiful curves as she giggled. 

“Stop making me laugh when I’m so stressed, Lin.” He took a moment to sign “Yes,” in response to her rhetorical questions, his hand bobbing up and down in harmony with his voice. He shook his head, fighting to keep his composure at bay. “I’m not—this is supposed to be serious. Farrah and the… uh… groom, they’re having an awful time, Lin. This is their wedding day, and nothing’s been going well. It’s been one disaster after another.”

Linda planted her palm on his shoulder, her eyebrows shooting up at his transparent statement. “That’s true. But I don’t think it’s a wedding they’ll forget.”

She gestured around them, pausing when she found Tina, Gene, and Louise eyeing something else rather than paying attention to the ceremony. It amazed him to discover that this wedding was entertaining everyone, despite it being a catastrophe. A geriatric couple was watching with hands over their chests and handkerchiefs dabbing at their eyes. Two women with a young child were leaning forward, anticipating the inevitable “I Do”. Their child was anticipating it too, being well-behaved for someone of that age. There was also a man who’d come by himself with someone on a video call on his phone. He was relaying the disastrous events of the wedding in a hushed, almost excited tone. Even their children were finding something to look forward to, it being the burgers Bob had prepared earlier. Then, an idea to save this wedding hit him like a thunderclap. Bob sprung from his chair, almost knocking it over in his haste. He slid his hand under a tray filled with steaming, juicy burgers that he had prepared earlier and carried them towards the seated guests.

The priest didn’t cease with trying to recite everything to officiate the couple into a marriage. But he could see Cameron and Farrah gawking at the display. 

Cameron’s jaw seemed tight and clenched, and Farrah’s head tilted in curiosity. Bob began passing out some burgers, praying the food would distract everyone from the tragedy unfolding in front of them. He was about to pass out another when Linda seized his shoulder with a ferocity he didn’t know she was capable of.

“Bob, what are you doing?”

“This can still… I can still save this, Lin. I… well… it looked as if people were enjoying some of this ceremony. I’m sure it was for the wrong reasons, though. This wedding can become one Casey and Farrah won’t forget for the right reasons.”

Linda’s eyes narrowed, and she yanked him towards her. “Look, I know how important this wedding was to you, but you got the wrong idea from what I was trying to tell you. You don’t need to fix anything, Bob. Everything will happen as it should. Everyone is having fun, despite all of this insanity happening. Besides, it doesn’t matter, anyway. I already said I doubt these two will last much longer than the Honeymoon Phase.”

She then became distracted and sighed, her cheeks becoming tinged with pink. “Aw, do you remember ours? It was…”

She shook her head, forcing herself to focus again. “No, wait, what I’m trying to say is, enjoy the moment like everyone else. You need to let this go.”

Bob didn’t realize he was shaking until Linda’s mouth opened and closed a bit, like a pufferfish. He shook his own head, his black curls flying in several directions. “I can’t let this go. You don’t get it.”

Linda’s nose became wrinkled, and air blew out of it. It was astonishing he could hear it over the wind. “What? What don’t I get, Bob?”

“This is all I have!” His voice raised an octave higher than he intended, his hands slapping together in a furious motion as he finished signing to his wife. It caught the attention of everyone, who glanced his way for a moment. Perspiration began gathering in his palms and his neck became more heated than he’d remembered it being. He held out his hands in a silent apology, and the ceremony proceeded.

He lowered his voice, blinking his eyes so no tears would fall out. The last thing he needed was to cry in a public setting. And God knows how many times he’d cried in front of Linda. “This is all I have. If Christopher and Farrah can’t be a successful couple after meeting in my restaurant, then doesn’t that mean I was right? That my restaurant is nothing more than some… some joke? Some pipe dream I thought would be worth pursuing? I’m sorry, Lin, but you… you agreed to spend the rest of your life with a failure.”

Linda pursed her lips and tilted her head farther down the field. It was one of their non-verbal methods of communication. That action to them meant they should go talk in seclusion. He held his palms out to ask her why. She snatched his arm and scrambled down the field until they were away from the ceremony and out of earshot. Not that they needed to be, because of the wind, but it was still better to be safe.

Linda locked her eyes onto his, and the urgent, heavy desire to look away seized him. But he forced himself to continue gazing into Linda’s eyes. She took a long, steady breath, and waited until he began doing so as well.

Oh. She’s trying to settle me down.

Once a slight sense of serenity began seeping into him, she began signing. She signed in the way she always did, slow and deliberate, so he could keep up with her hand movements. Linda was so experienced with sign, it seemed to be an art form for her. Her hands flew in the air as if were some kind of dance, moving in tandem with each other as if they were dedicated partners in said dance. She spoke in the same slow and deliberate fashion as well, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander to her rosy red lips.

“You know I almost gave up on romance before I met you?”

He blinked, the statement and its implications taking a moment to sink in. He was well aware of Linda’s past relationships, and how none of them had worked out. Hugo was the most prevalent one. However, he didn’t know she’d almost abandoned the idea of true love. This was Linda, the most hopeful romantic he’d met, the one who’d convinced him that love was possible. She convinced him in every way every day they were together. The times she stroked his hair while he was half-asleep. Whenever she offered him a glass of wine late at night when the kids had gone to bed. The times she put on a song, the sound blaring throughout the house, reverberating through the walls, and invited him to dance with her to the beat. Even if he resisted, he would always end up dancing with her, anyway. It was as if she had some power over him, some inconceivable, intangible ability to make him do things he wouldn’t if he was by himself. Believe in things he wouldn’t if he was by himself.

“It’s true. I felt as if no one understood me. Without my hearing, I thought there wouldn’t be anyone patient enough to get to know me. There were people who tried, maybe a bit too hard. But there was still something missing in our relationships. I kept searching, and when I could never find it, I wanted to stop trying. I got exhausted having to go through the same routine every time. After I’d revealed my disability, they’d have a few moments of surprise. Then they’d all ask question after question until they decided being a deaf woman’s husband wasn’t worth the trouble. They decided knowing me wasn’t worth the trouble.” Her voice got caught in her throat, and the sound made Bob feel as if a knife was slicing his heart into ribbons.

“I was preparing myself for what a future of being like Gayle would entail for me. An apartment with a bunch of cats. I tried convincing myself the idea didn’t sound too bad.” She took a sharp, heavy breath and allowed a slight smile to grace her face. “But then we had our first date.”

She exhaled a giggle, allowing herself to get caught up in the memories. Bob had to admit he was getting caught up in them, too. They were wrapping around him as if they were an embrace. “I didn’t want to tell you about my deafness, because I liked you from the moment I saw you. You had that incredible mustache, it was so handsome. You also had a look in your eyes… a look saying you had so many stories and secrets to tell and wanted to let just me in on them. I’m sure you remember how hard I tried keeping it hidden for so long. Then you found out, but your reaction differed from everyone else’s. You asked me how to say “Hello” and “Goodbye” and other things in sign language. You didn’t see me as a burden, you saw me as a person. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from someone, and you gave it to me.”

She took his hands and weaved her fingers through his. He adored the cool, delicate feeling of her skin, and wanted to savor it. “The reason I’m telling you all of this is because I want you to get this into your thick skull, Bobby: You. Are. Not. A. Failure. I don’t care how many times I need to say it. I will tell you this until you believe it. You have supported me through so much, so supporting you with the restaurant is the least I can do. I will continue to support you, even if this wedding continues to be a disaster. Even if the Ratpocalypse happens.”

“Wait, Ratpocalypse?” A smirk danced across his lips, and it was refreshing to feel some amusement again.

“It’s possible. The point is, your dream is not a joke. I’m not stuck with you. Tina, Gene, and Louise are not having awful childhoods. Remember when you fired them because you wanted them to run around and play outside? After a while, all they wanted to do was come back and work at the restaurant again. Even if they won’t admit it—well, maybe Tina would—they love working there. I love working there, too. You need to realize what you’ve accomplished rather than what you haven’t accomplished or might not. Weddings are supposed to be fun, and you’ve been giving yourself gray hairs trying to prove something you don’t have to.”

Bob’s shoulders slumped as he realized how fatigued he was. Everything Linda said was accurate. He’d been tearing himself apart trying to prove he wasn’t a failure. To prove to his father that he hadn’t made a mistake leaving the family business. To prove his children would be content with the hand he had dealt them. He was searching for external validation, something telling him everything would be all right.

However, the one person he needed, the one telling him everything would be all right, was right in front of him all along. A switch seemed to flip in his brain as he realized how powerful Linda’s validation felt. It was thrilling, and he didn’t want anyone else’s if hers felt this stupefying. It was a drug he couldn’t overdose on, and he hadn’t appreciated it until now. He leaned forward and angled his head against her shoulder, tears threatening to spill once again.

“Have I told you how much I love you?”

“You have, but I don’t mind.” Linda hummed, resting her head against Bob’s. He thought he’d find the sensation of her hearing aid against his head to be unpleasant, but he found it heartening. “I love you too. Don’t forget that, mister.”

He chortled, the noise rumbling deep in his throat. “I won’t. Thank you for this, Lin. I needed this more than I thought.”

“You don’t need to thank me. I think part of you knew all of this already. Part of you knew you’d want to keep working at the restaurant no matter what happened. I just had to remind you.” 

Bob opened his mouth to respond when he felt something heavy collapse into him. He turned, his eyes meeting his eldest daughter’s. Tina brushed her navy skirt down, and Gene and Louise soon joined her.

“Dad, everyone loves your burgers. They all tried some after Connor and Farrah said, “I Do” and kissed. They want more.” Tina bounced on her heels, her arms waving from side to side in a show of elation special to her. 

His breathing became more rapid than what he assumed was healthy. “They like it?”

Tina nodded, and Gene did a full pirouette, which Bob had to concede was remarkable, before becoming dizzy and falling on his rear.

“We tasted them too, and they’re fabulous! I don’t know how you pulled it off, you beautiful bastard.”

He groaned, but beamed at the same time. “Please don’t call me that, Gene.” 

“Congratulations on making something people like for once.” Louise said. She folded her arms across her chest, the sarcasm evident in her tone, but she was beaming too.

Linda’s hands flew in the familiar routine of her signing, “Thank you for telling us, kids. I think we should all go back now. I’m sure Connor and Farrah were too occupied to realize we left, though.”

“There’s the tiny issue of the cake still being destroyed, though.” Tina said, reminding them of Bob’s most tremendous mistake of the day. “What’re we going to tell them?”

Bob let an “Oh my God” slip.

They congregated back to the prime area where the ceremony had taken place. Chase and Farrah were conversing with some people Bob assumed were family. Once they wrapped up their discussion, they turned their scrutiny to the Belchers.

“Bob, Linda, are you two all right? You just left in the middle of us getting married.” Chase’s nose became scrunched at the memory.

“Oh, we’re all right. I… well…” Bob rubbed his hands together, and he speculated if they would become red from the force.

Linda then took a step forward. “Uh, I think it’s just about cake time, don’t you?”

Some awkward laughs slipped out of her as Bob’s hand reached towards his head. He almost yanked at his locks, a habit he couldn’t shake, when Farrah spoke up before he could do anything.

“Oh, cake sounds marvelous right now. Thank you for keeping it safe for us.” Farrah said.

He whimpered, and once Linda presented it to the public, everything developed as he foresaw. Farrah’s mascara ran as tears flew down her face.

“Everything did go wrong today. I kept telling myself it was all okay, just one thing here or there, but it’s everything, it isn’t okay. The wind blew everything everywhere. I lost my baby blanket that I was gonna give to my children!” Farrah’s distraught hands flew towards her mascara-streaked cheeks.

“Poor little baby, The Belcher Children,” Louise said.

Bob fixed his youngest daughter with a hardened stare, not having the tolerance for her comments at the moment. “Louise.”

“And now Grandma’s cake is ruined. Is this just one big omen?”

Clyde sputtered before saying, “Of course not. We’re-We’re-We’re gonna be okay.”

He stepped forward, wanting to placate his new wife, but she drifted away from him. “But what if we aren’t?”

Bob opened his mouth, preparing to intervene, but Linda beat him to it. She tapped on a microphone, and he recognized with a jolt that this was Linda’s first time speaking in public. She cleared her throat, wavering for a second before stepping onto a table. “Farrah, I’m so glad you brought that up. Look, when you first told me you were getting married after three months, I thought you were bananas in the tailpipe. I thought it was too short. You haven’t smelled each other’s farts. You haven’t been through enough bad stuff together, I thought.”

She paused, wincing, and smacked the side of her head. “Ow, sorry, hearing aid feedback. Anyway, I think my experiences made me biased and made me think you had to wait a massive amount of time to commit to someone. So many people have judged me for who I am before they got to know me and decided I wasn’t worth the time of day. I even began considering if love was just a fairytale. I wondered if I would grow old by myself, with no one who cared enough to get close. Then I met Bob, and even though we waited a lot longer to get married, I understand how it feels when you meet someone you know gets you.”

She paced along the table, gesticulating as her speech became more ardent. “But looking at you now, can I tell you something? I guarantee you two are gonna make it.”

Farrah sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “We are?”

“Yeah, you are. The way you handled everything today shows all you really care about is each other. You know what else? The cake doesn’t look great, but I bet it still tastes great. There’s no dirt in it or anything. Just pretend like you already chewed it!”

It was the most astonishing speech Bob had ever had the pleasure of witnessing. Linda ended up taking a tentative bite of the wrecked cake, and regretting it, but everything she had said replayed in his mind as if it was a record stuck on repeat.

Later, they snuck away from the reception to see the stars together, and once they were alone again, Bob brushed his lips against hers in a kiss. It was gentle at first, but had a hasty graduation in intensity and desire. During this time, no one else existed in their strange, delightful world except for them. During this time, Linda was the one thing that made sense to him, the one thing he knew he would never doubt in his life. His hands ran through her ebony strands, and her slight shivers in response rewarded him. His lips parted a bit as some shivers flew through him as well. Emotions of every kind were swirling within him as if he was stirring a bowl of curry. Some emotions he couldn’t quite place, but all of them, he wasn’t aware he could feel.

Once they separated at last, he said, breathless, “You’re incredible, Lin.”

“You are too, Bobby.”

She gave him a swift peck on the cheek, and he could feel his face warm like a furnace. He was relieved to not be putting so much stake in this wedding anymore. His wife had allowed him to enjoy the celebration and had even learned a few things herself. But when it came to learning, Bob knew he would never stop learning things from Linda.

[thornquillthefiendish]

did you draw crowhawk hypokits yet? o3o

When you sent this I hadn’t but since I should’ve by this point-

I made one!

This is Falconflight, first born son of Hawkfrost and Crowfeather (I might make more). More info on his story under the cut

So in this relatively feel-good au, Hawkfrost decides instead of just a quick grift to just. Commit to moving to WindClan during the conflict, while originally it’s for the plan he and mudclaw have brewing, eventually things settle down before anyone can die and mudclaw remains deputy while Onestar eases into leadership a bit better. Hawk and Crow have known eachother before this and have had a thing for each other so not long after hawkfrost has Falconkit, he’s a single kit since they’re still like young adults and he was definitely conceived out of excitement that they could have kits without severe judgement (at least not as severe as a “full fledged” halfclan kit). Falconkit is raised well by his fathers, oddly enough, between two obnoxious idiots he becomes weirdly well adjusted and…very sweet? Despite his tall, dark intimidating looks, Falconflight is a big softy, which no one expected out of hawkfrost and crowfeathers union, and he’s always been notably soft spoken compared to his parents. Falconkit becomes a paw around Breezekits birth, which still happens, but he’s not Crowfeather’s son since him and Nightcloud don’t have a reason to get together, instead Nightcloud has kits with an unknown source (insert your ship here). Hawkfrost and Nightcloud are actually decently good friends so when the litter is unfortunately born mostly stillborn, hawkfrost lends his support and breezekit and Nightcloud become honorary family to them, with breezekit and falconpaw growing up close. Breezepelts later rebellion is still fueled by “daddy” issues, but the issue is he doesn’t know who that is even.

In his more interpersonal plot, Falconflight had experienced strange dreams as a kit, often of a shadowy woodland where a dark tabby would step out from the undergrowth and speak to him. Hawkfrost would often stay awake to guard his son while he slept, waking him from the nightmares when he felt him stir. The dreams would fade before apprenticeship, and Falconflight carries little to no memories of them ever occurring. His mentor was mudclaw, and yet again somehow none of that rubbed off on him. He’s known in his adulthood as a heartthrob, even openly spoken of outside of WindClan, but he remains ambiguous about his love life. He’s just oddly very good and kind and there is no catch, I mean it legit he’s just. A soft man. That being said, he’s extremely intimidating having inherited a very distinct set of traits from his dads, mainly being Crowfeather’s distinct facial shapes (very oriental cat breed esc) and Tigerstars genes which made him a bit more muscular than most WindClanners, something that must’ve skipped over hawkfrost somehow. He’s inherited some personality traits from his fathers even though he is simply too kind to be from either of them, for example, he makes terrible jokes and puns, but unlike hawkfrost he actually thinks it’s very funny. They enjoy torturing Crowfeather. We still don’t know what he got from Crowfeather, and maybe he lucked out there.

Bonus; if he were to have a voice it’d be Jeremy Irons, just to add to the whiplash that is his personality.

[lorkai]

Can you do barbatos’s reaction to a female s/o after belphagor killed mc

A/N: Gosh, writing angst for Barbatos is so therapeutic, I can't put the feeling into words??? Maybe because he's always so polite and calm and seeing him express some emotion is interesting to me. Anyway it was fun writing this, thanks for requesting sweetie. I took the liberty of leaving the ending open since everyone knows what happened in Chapter 17, I hope you like it.

Entire ages passed without Barbatos having a single companion. His immortality was by far the thing that tormented him the most day after day, unlike other people he didn't find it a blessing. Purposeless immortality was boring and routine was something that bored him to death, solitary, wandering the world in search of what would interweave him enough. Barbatos, not knowing where he came from and not remembering how he was conceived, was there to see empires grow and die, he was there to see honest people and vile people living together in the same place, going on with their meaningless lives, governed by meaningless laws. 

          But with immortality, he also saw greater suffering, he saw war, he felt hunger and cold, he saw broken families crying over tombstones. And then everything gradually faded away, faces were forgotten and names jumped across his tongue without a person to direct them. He was doomed to oblivion and loneliness, until Diavolo came along, and years later, with visions of a better, warmer future, you came to him. You were someone he was sure would hold his heart in your hands and love him every day, you were his sweatheart, his to love, his to care for.

“Barbatos, it’s time to get up.” You said, rubbing his face fondly. Your messy hair was certainly one of his favorite sights, it was funny and he liked to tease you even though he would later help you take care of your hair, but your smile was what had his attention, it was divine and beautiful. It made him gasp just looking at it. He pretended to be sleeping a little longer, trying to imagine the expression you would be making. But his heart stopped when you started filling his face with long, louder kisses, until finally he gave in and hugged your waist. "Good morning darling. Sleep well?"

“Better than that impossible. Having you by my side is the best gift the universe could have given me.” He smiled before placing a simple kiss on your lips and looking up at you, bringing you to lie on his chest once more as the two of you allowed yourselves to stay in bed for another five minutes (or twenty). His heart was pounding madly due to the fact that you were so close to each other, almost as if he'd never been able to get used to the idea that after millennia he finally had someone who understood his jokes and his subtle sarcasm, who understood his mood even when he was as polite as possible and was there to help when things went wrong. “I love you Mc.”

"I love you too, Barb." You whispered, not knowing how your words almost made him cry then and there. Maybe you knew, you were smart after all, and if you knew that, you also knew that the hug you shared after that was just so you wouldn't see his blush and bewildered expression. "I love you forever, my dear demon."

        And there he was again. Alone. If your love had a time limit, if you were going to love him forever like you said then why were you there on the floor, at his feet, dead?

[acacia-may]

Can I ask questions 4, 18, 21, and 46?

Hi there, Anon-friend! Thank you so much for the ask and for playing the fic writer's ask game!

I've answered your questions below the cut. 😊 Cheers!! 💕

4. Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

Gosh I wish I knew lol. Sometimes they are just completely random, but I would say most of the time they stem from conversations I have whether online or irl and wanting to bring some of those great discussion points to life. Most of my Black Clover fanfictions for instance, were heavily inspired by the deep discussions a friend of mine irl and I would have as we were binging the series together. The wip I have currently been working on was heavily inspired by some silly headcanons about OMORI characters watching Friends (which was a huge cultural phenomenon in the 90s and early 2000s when the game takes place). 😅

Another big inspiration for me is music. I write stories inspired by songs all the time.

18. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

It really depends on the story and the type of title. For my most recent fanfiction "A Ceiling Made of Stars" I picked the title long before I even started writing the story and ended up incorporating the phrase into the prose. Other titles I choose based on a line from the story that sticks out to me while I'm drafting it (i.e. "Beside Every Closed Door Is An Open Window," "For What It's Worth," & "We Make Our Own Destiny").

Some titles are from song titles or lines from songs that inspired the story, and these are either chosen before writing (i.e. "Maybe My Soulmate Died") or afterwards (i.e. "Am I Ready For Love? Or Maybe Just A Best Friend"). Then there are some that are titled from a line in the work that was also inspired by music (i.e. "I Can Hear Music," "A World Without You," & "Tackle The Monsters") and those tend to be chosen as soon as that particular line is written.

I'll admit I was kind of curious of the breakout so I went to my AO3 and here's my top 3 types of fic titles ranked first, second, and third based on frequency:

1st: Related to the story and/or a line in the story (Serious)

2nd: From the title of a song or the line of a song

3rd: Related to the story and/or a line in the story (Cheeky/Joking Titles)

21. Would you ever collaborate with another writer for a story?

Absolutely! I have had the pleasure to collaborate with other writers before, and I always try to give credit for inspiration where it is due. Most of these collaborations were/are just swapping ideas, headcanons, or proofreading works, but I have tried co-authoring before which has also been fun. Most of these co-authoring projects were written with my irl friends (years ago when I wasn't putting my writing online), and the few co-authoring projects I've written with my online friends/other online fic writers which could conceivably have been posted have never really come to fruition enough to be posted, unfortunately. That said, the lovely @randomsprinkles and I have collaborated on a couple projects that have actually made it to AO3, but we don't co-author in the traditional sense: she does the art (and/or helps with worldbuilding and editing, occasionally dialogue) and I do the writing! 😊

It's actually kind of funny you asked this question, Anon-friend, because I was just laughing with someone irl about my first ever co-authored fic. Back when I was in high school, one of my best friends and I thought it would be fun to make up an OC and write a fic for a certain comicbook fandom I haven't thought about in years. The problem was that my friend wanted her to end up with one canon character and I wanted her to end up with a different canon character (and our individual chapters absolutely reflected that lol). Needless to say it was an absolute hot mess and never finished (and thankfully never published anywhere. I don't even think I have a copy of it anymore). So my big piece of writing advice for all collaborations is pick your ships early and make sure you agree on them! 😉

46. How would you describe your style? (Character/emotion/action-driven, etc)

Character driven 100%--though sometimes emotion driven in so far as the emotions relate to the characters. I am and always have been a character-driven reader/watcher/media consumer, so that's something I always really try to focus on in my own writing. I struggle a lot when I'm responsible to moving a whole plot along (probably one of the main reasons I don't usually like writing multi-chapter fics).

[raplinesmoon]

Also I’m the same anon who just read on the ropes!

The way you wrote Seokjin as a character 😩😘it made complete utter sense. he wasn’t just the funny guy he had depth and was conceived as a guy who had emotion as well so I LOVED IT😁

Hi On the Ropes anon (that is a mouthful, would you like me to call you something else?) 🥰

You don’t understand, OTR!Seokjin has my entire heart. I actually dreamt up the plot of the fic over a couple of weeks (lucid dreaming hehe 👀), and I just kept coming back to his character as the cornerstone of everything. I wanted to do exactly what you said, create a layered, complex Seokjin who was capable of emotions beyond cracking dad jokes. Not that funny Seokjin isn’t great, but I kind of think back to this one time the boys were asked who was the most romantic and I think Taehyung said Jin? I really saw his character as someone who struggled a lot in life, but also, no joke, falling in love with OC was life changing for them. Not just because of their situation, but also because the two of them, regardless of whether they ended up together or not, would forever inspire this cosmic shift in the other that rendered them unable to live life as they had previously.

It’s funny because I was actually thinking of them the other day and if you’ve read the epilogue, you know how things work out for them. But I wrote down this little scene of them, some time at 3:41am.

pairing: ex-boxer!Seokjin x lawyer!reader (from On The Ropes)

genre(s): fluff, slight angst

au(s): established relationship

word count: 425

warnings: wondering about what ifs

rating: pg (the OTR universe is 18+ in general)

a/n: I lowkey imagined this scene between them where they’re together after the 3 years apart, and just lying in bed (after some marathon sex ofc), and this is just what happens:

*spoilers below the cut if you haven’t read*

You feel Seokjin shift next to you, his warm palms coming to wrap around you waist, pulling you closer to him until you’re both a tangle of limbs, unable to tell where he ends and you begin. His faint breath fans across your neck, and right here, in his arms, you feel the safest you ever have. If home was a person, it’d be Kim Seokjin.

You hear his breath hitch, catching in his throat before he begins to speak. His voice rumbles, and a pleasant warmth settles into your body despite the chilly night air.

“What would you have done?” He asks. “If we’d never found each other again?”

You go limp in his arms, dread settling in at his question. That was a situation you’d never wanted to fathom happening to either of you. But you think back to those uncertain months before you’d found him again, and how you’d never managed to make your peace with the loss of his presence in your life.

You’d been okay, no doubt, doing better for yourself ,finally out of the rut that had plagued you for years. But your soul still felt fractured, as if there would forever be a tiny chip in the delicate glass walls that held your heart, one that would never be able to be repaired. Even if you could move on and live the happiest life you’d imagined, part of you would always belong to him.

Shaking your head, you let out a heavy sigh, not wanting to worry Seokjin this late at night. The two of you had more than enough creases and lines marring your once youthful faces.

“Jagiya,” you whisper against his ear, and immediately feel him melt, arms tightening around you. “I found you again. That’s what matters, right? And every day, I don’t take that for granted.”

Although you can’t see him smile, you feel it, his lips ghosting against your temple.

“I know,” he responds. “But for what it’s worth , ___, you were it for me. I’m not sure I would have ever been able to love someone else like I love you. Even Sooyoung. Everything I’d ever wanted, everything I’d seen my parents have, I wanted it with you. I still want it with you.”

Turning in his arms, you press a soft kiss to his lips, and the two of you linger for a few moments, lost in the feeling of each other. You’d never be able to get enough.

“Good thing we have nothing to worry about then, right?”

“Right.”

[ask-shu-todoroki]

Who’s the dom or sub or even versatile in all your Cars ships?

All of them, huh? XD Well, there's a lot of ships, but I'll try to cover all of them. All of my WoC ships have some degree of versatility, like someone isn't going to dominate all of the time, but I'll just address who tops most often.

Lightning/Francesco - Francesco tends to be more dominant. Lightning can work his charms and get his turn sometimes, though. XD

Lightning/Jackson - Most definitely Lightning. Jackson likes to think he’s tough and all but he’ll usually end up taking rather than giving. ;)

Lightning/Strip Weathers - Strip. Definition of a DILF to be honest.

Blade/Nick - Blade, but Nick’s a power bottom and has enough charisma to switch roles.

Dusty/Ripslinger - Ripslinger, but through his reformation he’s learned to let go of his pride a little bit. 

Dusty/Bulldog - Bulldog. Seniority and honestly just a commanding presence, though I like to think Bulldog is a gentle giant.

Bravo/Echo - Bravo. It’s funny that this seems to be standard amongst the fandom despite the fact that they’re both identical, save for some paint differences. I blame it on the voice. :P

Finn/Leland - These two are honestly pretty versatile, but Finn would top more often, even if the difference is only by a few more times. All they care about is that they’re in each other. XD

Siddeley/Conan - Siddeley, even though Conan is bigger because he acts like a twink and is just too precious to really be the power type.

Raoul/Max - Max, but the two are pretty versatile. Again, this is a ship like Finn/Leland, where they really don’t care, as long as one of them is...y’know. 

Shu/Miguel - Both are actually pretty dominant, but Miguel tends to top just because Shu is trash for that deep Spanish accent.

Jeff/Lewis - Jeff, since Lewis likes to tease Jeff to death when he has his turn so Jeff never lets him. XD

Harvey/Tim - How I decided Harvey tops in this relationship I don’t know considering they never talk, but here we are. XD

Bobby/Cal - Cal, because Cal deserves to have some rights after being the butt of jokes in Cars 3. 

Cam/Rich - Another Next Gen pairing which I made for no reason, other than they both appear in a video game. XD They’re both truly versatile, and top about equally.

Bob/Darrell - Darrell. His enthusiasm carries over to the bedroom, and Bob is trash for that. 

Grem/Acer - Grem. His no-nonsense attitude to me just stands out as being dominant, I guess? His voice too, since it’s pretty deep.

Ronald/Kurt - This is another versatile ship where I can’t make up my mind about either topping more frequently. This is actually a work in progress fic so y’all will see who I end up deciding on topping. XP

Rod/Nigel - ...We don’t talk about how this ship was conceived. XD (Game of Cards Against Humanity. No, I will not elaborate.) Rod most definitely tops more often, purely from his badass demeanor while Nigel is just a pure British boi from a small town in Warwickshire.

[glitterdragonthegreatprotector]

Lore of demons in fnaftale

Lucifer

Was the Archangel of art

Was a seraphim

First sin of pride was committed when he had one of his paintings complemented by a god of art. Continued to commit the sin of pride by getting into competitions.

Suffered from genocide at the hands of his father for over 18 billion years

Was cast out of heaven at the age of 12

Was 18,243,014,674 years old when jehovah was defeated.

4,543,000,012 years old when the flood happened. There was a 13,700,014,662 year gap between Noah’s ark and 12026.

Is the oldest out of all the angels, being seconds older than archangel Michael.

Was created by a bright star being carved like wood to make a soul, then clay was used to make his body.

Acearo. He is good with relationships as a concept (can give you advice if you need it for either romantic or sexual relationships) but if you flirt with him, he will become a brick wall and take you literally. Not out of spice or because he thinks it’s funny, but because he genuinely doesn’t think of sex or romance when it applies to him. He/him pronouns.

He has some children, but they were conceived with experiments he’s done using blood. These kids were slaughtered by angels, and he has never tried to be a father since. One child did secretly survive, and his name was originally Spestella, but he changed his name to Miles, and continued his father’s bloodline in secret. He only vaguely remembers that Lucifer is his father.

Hyper empath, suffers from depression, anxiety, CPTSD. He experiences hallucinations, triggered by fire and extremely loud noises (seeing people he failed again, hearing cries for help that aren’t actually being cried, and he even can experience his fall at random. He can feel his wings getting ripped out all over again, and he can feel wind blowing past him even when the air is still.)

Original look: Short black hair, peachy skin, purple eyes, white wings, blue robes, brown sandals. He looked like he was in his 20s

New look: A red devil, with round horns, gray and black hooves, red eyes, animal skin kilt, and a long whip-like dragon tail. His face is similar to that of a cat with elf ears.

Full form: a mass of broken wings, eyes, and animal maws similar to a fanged goat. Many eyes are missing, and two large wings of blood stick out from his back. His main body usually takes the form of the witness’s nightmares, with a snake head tail wrapped around the neck. This form distorts the world around him, leaving it in black and white, and it fades in and out of comprehension.

Asmodeus

Original archangel of beauty

Was a cherubim

First sin of lust was committed when he saved Lilith and fell in love with her. The two ended up making the first nephilim together. They then continued to grow their family, till Asmodeus fell from grace. He was a naive father, due to his contradictory knowledge and experience. (Physically and intellectually an adult for the most part, with the experience and ignorance of a child.)

Nicknamed the “Father of hell” due to how many demons are his children.

Cast out at the age of 10, two years younger than lucifer.

Poly, pansexual, and demisexual. Genderfluid, and so is his form, but he’s mainly male presenting

Deliberately oversexualizes himself when he feels uncomfortable or threatened. (example: someone threatens his kids, or his spouses, so he brings attention to himself to keep fights from breaking out. This either gets himself attacked for being “gross” or makes the aggressor uncomfortable enough to leave. Another example is making a lot of sex jokes to avoid questions.) Has an inferiority complex, depression, anxiety, CPTSD, and he hallucinates occasionally and it ranges from destressing to annoying (hearing the voices of children that have been dead for centuries or the voices of his siblings asking him to do something from a distance, having random untriggered flashbacks to random events like deaths of loved ones or just something he ate centuries ago.)

Original look: Golden wavy hair, dark skin, bright blue eyes, white wings, blue robes, brown sandals.

New look: A bipedal mostly hairless cherubim type demon with his faces more melted into one, with some eyes clawed out that are now dark blue, a snake head for a tail, and forced digitigrade legs that were forced in place, leech-like tentacles where his extra wings were as he was turned into a demon with his archangel form as a base. His golden mane was turned dark gray and red in a failed attempt to make him look uglier. He also has round horns.

He is always with his spouses clinging to him, not in a sexual way, though it would look like that at first glance, it is really because they constantly need to support him because of his unnatural legs. After jehovah’s death, he actually gets these legs completely removed, having a double hemipelvectomy. He uses his tentacles to move around, and likes wearing flowing robes as the legless ness gives him a mysterious aesthetic. When he needs to move around a lot, however, he keeps a wheelchair near himself at all times, as using his tentacles for too long will cause him pain, and overworking them makes him extremely clumsy. Doesn’t want prosthetic legs, as having them makes him uncomfortable (last time he had straight legs, he was under his father’s rule, and the legs that he had as a demon constantly hurt, so he didn’t want legs at all.)

Full form: A lion with broken legs bent forwards (though these legs vanish after his hemipelvectomy), and melting heads of a bull, bird, angel, and lion. His tentacles split to look like wing bones, and large blood wings sprout from his wounds. His lion mane turns into blue and yellow flames, with lava draping his shoulders from the base of his mane, like molten dandruff. Instead of having floating eyes beside him, he has floating bleeding eye sockets. His mouth on his chest is full of large leeches.

Satan

Was the Archangel of strength

Was a Throne, and was the strongest out of them

First sin of wrath was him being slightly sore after losing a sparring match with some mortals, and him getting too overprotective of his older siblings.

Was 7 at the time of the fall, and was one of the younger fallen angels, and is the youngest of the 7 main devils. He was the second one to fall, as he tried to fight to keep his older siblings safe.

Satan never thought about sexuality, nor cared for it after all the labels started showing up. He has been in relationships before, and has had many husbands and wives, dating back to when he was an angel. He doesn’t care if he is queer or not, or what people call him (gay, straight, bi, pan, omni, etc.) He just wants to be held, man! Hold this man, for the… well not for the love of god, just for the love of satan. He/him, but he also unironically likes being referred to as “the beast.” One thing he reclaimed as a demon.

Extremely paranoid and anxious, responds with violence for everything (scared? Punches a wall or someone in the face. Happy? Punches himself in the chests like a gorilla. Sad? Lots of wall punches till he collapses on the ground, where he will then continue punching the ground till he is hyperventilating. Disgusted? He will run over anyone that gets in his way of going the opposite direction of what grossed him out, while screaming like a girl. This, or he would punch the gross person in the face or kick them in the nuts. Mad? He will either challenge someone to an honorable battle, or he will go NUTS like a hissy cat.) Suffers from most of the same stuff as his brothers, but for being the most violent of the devils, he is also the most quiet, often isolating himself and his violent reputation comes from him being disturbed from small moments of peace. Leading to a cycle where he is scared of hurting people, but he doesn’t want to be lonely, but he also gets annoyed easily resulting in people getting hurt, which makes him stay by himself. Only thing that keeps him calm is having something in his hands to mess with. From other people’s hands, to rocks, to weapons needing polishing, he needs something in his claws to stay calm. His hallucinations involve the voices of war gods saying his intrusive thoughts and self loathing, along with seeing blood on his claws that aren’t there.

Only ones that can never piss him off are children, as he can never be mad at what he’ll never be again.

Original look: spiky black hair, fiery eyes with gold central heterochromia, chipped teeth, white wings, blue robes, brown sandals.

New look: very similar to lucifer, but with a more deer like appearance, and a much spikier dragon body. Like natural armor. But outside of minor differences such as these, they look too similar. Hence why so many people get Satan and Lucifer mixed up. He also has “rings” and “bands” on his arms, near his ankles, and neck that are his halos from when he was a Throne (there are holes in the bands, making him partially blind. His father tore out many eyes from fallen Thrones, to reduce them to brutish demons, fighting blindly as they can’t see well)

Full form: a large dragon-like dear with a giant burning eye socket where his head should be. All his rings are missing eyes, and he only has a pair on his palms. His body is split at some joints, where many rings circle burning eye sockets.

Another one of the few things that don’t make him mad is the mix up, he loves his big brother, and reverts back to his seven year old self whenever he talks about him. (“I love lucifer THIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS much!” *stretches entire body to be as big as possible*)

Uses hearing to get around, as everything is blurry for him (glasses can’t fix his sight, as this is linked to his missing eyes messing with his main eyes.). He also uses his tail to “see” what is behind him, as the underside is extremely sensitive. When jehovah is finally killed, his favorite weapon becomes the bow staff, as he uses it like a white cane when he isn’t fighting. Battles have always been a blur to him, so he often jokes about how his sight hasn’t changed for combat.

Beelzebub

Was the archangel of harvest

Was a seraphim. (insect variant)

Their first sin was taking part in the harvests, instead of not touching the fruits of his labor. He also partied with too many gods, and gained weight fast (not being allowed to eat for the first few years of your existence, then suddenly being told it’s okay to like more than the smell of food would do that to you.) She also enjoyed too much, instead of forcing themself to be satisfied with less than the bare minimum.

Was 11 when she fell from grace.

Pan and aro, intersex (lucifer distracted god in Beelzebub’s creation, and “ruined” the final product), genderfluid. Doesn’t care about what pronouns you use for him, but wishes people would switch it up since they’re known as a “prince” of hell, despite hell not having a monarchy.

Similar problems and mental health issues as their brothers, her hallucinations often involve taste and smell (food or blood are common hallucinations of theirs. He also sees what he’s eating as something else. Fruits as corpses or corpses as normal food, when it happens it’s usually because of guilty eating.), fast metabolism, bulimia (though this is not caused by issues with his body, she gorges for comfort and vomits out of guilt from eating food that could have gone to their people. His vomit is often eaten by other gluttony demons, due to his vomit usually being barely digested.), and addiction (any time he is summoned, they steal alcohol and drugs, and she is cursed to suffer withdrawal symptoms till jehovah’s death.)

Original look: patchy mixed hair that has two different textures, vitiligo, heterochromia with brown and green eyes, white wings, blue robes, brown sandals.

New look: skinny praying mantis, with torn butterfly wings under the wing caps (shells?), a long dragonfly-like abdomen, that ends with a tail that resembles a large caterpillar, orange tinted fly eyes, moth wing “ears” that cover up his eyes. Below his main eyes are mantis eyes with his original heterochromia. His underbelly is exposed and is like a stretched out skinny human, till it gets to the caterpillar tail. His insect bodies have spotted patchy patterns similar to their original vitiligo, but the colors are her dual genders patching the skin in speckled patterns. On his head are round horns just like her brothers.

Full form: mass of many different types of “undesired” insect wings (moths, flies, mosquitoes, ants, etc.) that are broken or torn at different places., at the center of the mass is a humanoid figure made out of insect body parts from the main insects of their normal form, still following their original vitiligo pattern with different males and females. (think oogie boogie under his bag).

Belphegor

Archangel of Dreams

Seraphim

First sin was doing the bare minimum of work instead of overworking himself, and taking naps when he got tired.

Was 11 when he fell, didn’t fight and only cried as it happened. Was twins with Beelzebub and was made minutes after him, as Lucifer was kicked out during his creation.

Demisexual he/him. Never married anyone, has only partners, claims that he’s too lazy to marry them, but in reality it’s because he knows if you show that you love them they will be stolen faster.

Suffers from symptoms of insomnia and Hypersomnia that switch every few months, making him stay awake for months only to fall asleep for another few months. Has horrible nightmares and visions that he can’t tell apart, making him extremely depressed and constantly down all the time, along with being paranoid. His hallucinations involve seeing things that are normally anomalies in dreams, and smelling gasses and mold occasionally, which gaslights himself into thinking that he’s breathing in gas or mold, which causes him to have even worse dreams. Cannot sleep at all without his brothers staying with him, till his months of insomnia start. Constantly comfort eats with his twin, and DOESN’T throw up.

Original look: Dark skin, curly hair, brown eyes, white wings, blue robes, brown sandals.

New look: a large naked barn owl with round horns, skinny human-like arms, relatively chonky, has seven eyes, but six of them are gouged out, but his seventh eye works too well, as it’s mainly used for visions (if he knows the plane, he will walk around with that eye closed for his comfort, preferring to be blind over seeing visions. It’s a coin flip on whether or not he sees an actual vision or hallucinations, so unfortunately his hallucinations are treated just as seriously as his visions, making his brothers prepare for things that won’t even happen. He is often wrong in guessing which is which, so he sometimes doesn’t warn his brothers about catastrophes thinking they are hallucinations, or he warns them and nothing happens because he guesses them wrong.) Has mismatched numbers of fingers (30 on his right, 14 on the left) on his hands that are ridiculously long. Was allowed to keep a couple of his weaker wings, but they were paralyzed by jehovah. His last eye is light blue, with a white “pupil” none of his brothers have. It makes him look blind, but this is his only non-blind eye (the whiteness goes away during a vision, but no one has figured that out.)

Full form: mass of owl wings and eye sockets, with body parts and broken mirrors in random spots in its form. He also moves like an AI animation, but in a way that looks human made in a way, as he tries to figure out how to make his form comprehensible outside of dreams, as over the years it has become difficult for him to tell dreams and reality apart. He looks fake, but in a way that your mind can still comprehend.

Leviathan

archangel of humility

Was a serpent-like dragon, a subspecies to thrones.

First sin was getting more openly jealous when he realized that he wasn’t being treated fairly, and complained more when he was forced to have less than his brothers.

Was 12 at the time of the fall, and was only a few weeks younger than lucifer. As second eldest, he takes care of hell whenever Lucifer is missing or unwell. A job, ironically, no one envies him for, as the “throne” of hell is not one a person would wish to have.

he/they/it, aromantic.

Similar issues as his brothers, but has grown to be more selfish and unempathetic over the years. It makes him look more “evil” than his brothers, but in reality he is the only one that really has the brains. All of them are smart, but Leviathan is the only one that caught on that things aren’t going to change if they keep letting their people be their weak point. He is the more tactical of the brothers, and is very blunt, making them come down from their spirals (usually by saying something blunt or cruel to confuse them. He loves them in his own way.) His hallucinations are usually of happy moments from the past, like laughter of angels or smells from happy moments. These hallucinations annoy him, and make him slightly more snappy than Satan.

Original look: brown long hair, green eyes, white wings, blue robes, brown sandals.

New look: a large red and green serpent-like dragon, with a blindfold of animal skins over his eyes (not blind, his eyes are just sensitive, due to his neck being broken). His head is usually upside down, and his back is mainly red skin with only his head, tail, and the tops of his claws having scales. There are broken stubs where his original dragon horns were.

Full form: A large dragon with two floating heads circled by throne rings. Horns stick out from the blindfold on the main head, and horns are in the eye sockets of the floating heads. Horns have fire on them, looking like lit candles. There are floating eyes on balls of energy that look like venus. These eyes remain closed for the most part. The horns on the main head are broken, and replaced with round horns, on the floating heads they also have broken horns, but do not have the round horns. His legs vanish and are replaced by blood or water (if water is available in the air.)

Mammon

Archangel of Charity

Serpent dragon

First sin was taking more value in gifts given to him over his father (it wasn’t money, they were just trinkets and thingamabobs. Think Ariel's room. The mermaid, not the angel-)

Fell at the age of 11, was a little younger than leviathan.

Acearo he/they. Unlike lucifer, he’s actually acearo for everyone’s safety, as he can’t value anyone (sexually, romantically, platonically, etc.) otherwise anyone he cares about will turn to salt, as this is a curse from jehovah. Before his fall, he was pan, but seeing anyone that he loved turn into piles of salt he couldn’t touch discouraged him from ever loving ever again.

He has abandonment issues, and is terrified of loving anyone or caring about them. His care is usually shown through obligation, like he is obligated to protect his people as a “prince,” not because he cares about them. Gaslighting himself into not caring about others allows him to be near people. His act is so deeply ingrained into him, the sweet angel he once was is nearly dead. The only ones that he shows genuine love and care to are the fallen angels, as they are immune to his curse. Everyone else gets a cold, empathetic demon. He can’t even allow himself to die inside, cause that still counts as caring, so he’s been conditioned to act selfishly. His hallucinations involve seeing his trinkets that were destroyed sitting in the distance just out of his reach, and the feeling or smell of salt (these cause him to have full on meltdowns, cause he thinks he accidentally loved someone.) His emotions are almost completely shut down by the time jehovah is killed, and ends up being a role model for the angels, as they had no feelings whatsoever, and he needed to learn how to care again. He still has trouble loving others, but his affection is shown through materialistic things, like handmade trinkets and money.

Original look: dark skin, curly black hair, brown eyes with gold central heterochromia, white wings, blue robes, brown sandals.

New look: He is more like a naga than a dragon, compared to his brother leviathan. He has gems embedded in some of his eyes, along with pieces of metal. His teeth are made of gold. He has four arms and four legs, but he never uses his legs, so he keeps them crossed all the time. He has two large eyes for seeing, and precious stones and metals in his six other eyes on his face. He has red skin in the same places as leviathan, but he has gold scales instead, and a more humanoid face.

Full form: A large dragon with two floating heads circled by throne rings, the heads have humanoid faces. Horns stick out from the eye sockets on the main head, and horns are in the eye sockets of the floating heads, some of the horns are made of the same material as the gems and metal embedded in his other eyes (he has 24 horns in total). Horns have fire on them, looking like lit candles. There are floating eyes on balls of energy that look like Jupiter. These eyes remain closed for the most part, but they have irises made of stones when they do open. The horns on the main head are broken, and replaced with round horns, on the floating heads they also have broken horns, but do not have the round horns. His legs vanish and are replaced by blood, water or liquid metal.

Lilith

Was a woman made as a prototype/rough draft for humans, but she got sick of jehovah and ran away, as she was made with free will unlike adam and eve. She escaped the first time at a few months old.

Was caught once and brought back to Eden after Adam's creation, and forced to be his mate. Asmodeus, Lucifer, and Leviathan helped her escape again, and snuck her to the red sea, and sought refuge in egypt. There she learned how to make clothes and dress herself. She was about 4 at this time.

She became a prostitute and dancer shortly after, adjusting to human life well. She became well known, and traveled to many lands to see men and women alike.

She taught Asmodeus everything she learned, along with anyone willing to listen to her giddy rambles (she did not value sex the in same way she does in the future, it was like a game that made her happy at this point in her life, and her lust was relatively innocent.)

Lilith and Asmodeus worked together, and ended up being each other’s first real love, and they would end up creating the first nephilim (she ended up pregnant before she was transformed into succubus, and before Asmodeus’s fall.)

Jehovah learned about her whereabouts from Qadesh praising how much Lilith had learned, and also learned how she “corrupted” Asmodeus. He would then curse her, with a slow transformation into a demon. Asmodeus tried to comfort her as much as he could when she was transformed over a few weeks, but his skin burned her (she still has those handprints on her face to this day.) Unfortunately for jehovah, her demonic form was still beautiful, so he had to toss her into gehenna to further punish her, and anyone that cared for her.

Everyone mistakes her for Lucifer's wife, but she is actually Asmodeus’s wife.

Constantly grieving for hell, as she takes her title of “mother of hell” very seriously, and sees all demons outside of the devil’s as her own children.

Original look: reddish skin, dark hair, brown eyes (she actually looks a lot like Mary in this AU, she just looks older, as Mary in this AU is about 15-16.) She has had many outfits, but she was gifted many purple and red dresses by the gods themselves, as some of them even partook in her services.)

New look: she has horns that come to be seen as common amongst lust demons (see tumblr post about demon horns, to see example.) She is the only demon that has reddish brown horns, and by extension she has brown bones too (this is because she was made as a test, and was never completely finalized so her bones are a mix of bone and clay.) She has brown eyes, and wears a dress made of the fabrics from her old dresses over the years. Only demon that has kept their wings for centuries, as Asmodeus was very careful with hiding her each purge.

Her full form is a flaming woman, that can grow depending on how much power she has. If she had enough strength, she could stand taller than jehovah.

[jjorbles]

(Repost) The real reason for Warner/DC’s “no jokes” policy

Note: This article was originally posted September 4th, 2014 on the Agony Booth, which I used to write for. Since that site is sadly no longer with us, I’m reposting my old articles here.

First, I might as well get this out of the way, since I still get confused comments about this: Yes, I like Man of Steel significantly less than I did when I wrote my initial review last year. Honestly, I don’t think I ever truly liked it. I just so very badly wanted to. I clung to the elements that worked and told myself those niggling doubts in the back of my head didn’t matter. I wanted so much to like Man of Steel, had myself so on edge, torn between excitement and dread, and so turned around that in my zeal to be a “professional” critic and judge whether or not the film was “objectively” good, I managed to overlook the most important factor of all while watching it:

I wasn’t having fun.

After all, if you’re not having fun watching a damn superhero movie, what’s the point? Sure, comics can have different goals than pulp entertainment. They can be dramatic, or dark and depressing, or spiritual, or psychedelic, or whatever the imagination can conceive, just like any art form. But this isn’t Watchmen. This isn’t The Invisibles or Maus. This is Superman. Ground zero for the comic book superhero. And if you’re not having fun watching Superman, why are you watching to begin with?

And that was ultimately what killed Man of Steel for me. Not it being a bad movie (though it was very much that, failing to do a good job of being what it wanted to be, much less what I wanted it to be), but rather utterly joyless and morose. Even more so than the Dark Knight trilogy, Man of Steel was completely devoid of levity. And after so much anticipation, and so much promise, this was completely soul-crushing for me. Superman means something to me, and always has. This is a character I draw hope and inspiration from, a character who’s helped get me through my darkest days. And to see him drained of all that optimism and joy… I honestly think it broke something in me.

Ever since, I’ve been a more cynical person when it comes to movies. I find it much harder to get excited for anything movie-related anymore. Every time a new movie is announced that sounds like something I might like, I react with suspicion or apathy. The world of cinema post-Man of Steel just seems like a far bleaker place to me.

That may sound melodramatic, and it probably is. But as if to assure me I’m justified in feeling this way, along comes rumors that Warner Brothers has instituted an already infamous “no jokes policy” for all future DC movies.

Everybody together now…

(EDIT: I cannot find or remember what image was originally posted here as a follow up to that line)

I honestly can barely find the words right now. I feel crushed by the very idea of what lies ahead. I’m still feeling drained from Man of Steel, and the thought that there are more movies coming just like it, each just as depressing as the last… I just want it to stop. I don’t want to live in a world where this is what Superman is now. Where this is what Wonder Woman, what the whole Justice League is. I’d rather never see them onscreen again than have to sit through another movie like Man of Steel.

But I’ll try to compose myself long enough to say something of substance about this. Which is difficult, because as it is, it actually doesn’t seem to tell us all that much. For instance, exactly how literal a mandate is this? Are they actually saying that no kind of humor at all will be permitted in their films? Is any line of dialogue that resembles a joke to be purged from the scripts? Are actors to be forbidden from smiling during their performances? Likely not. After all, even Man of Steel had one or two jokes… I think. Let’s see, there was the bit where he smashes that guy’s truck, I guess. That was sort of a joke. Then there was the bit where that girl said Superman was hot. I think that was meant to be funny… for some reason. And I think Superman smiled once while flying… or maybe that was just a grimace. Ooh, that bit about his “S” we all remember from the trailer! That was a joke, right? Or was that just awkward setup? I really can’t remember; I was busy having my inner child stomped into submission at the time.

But regardless, surely they don’t mean literally no jokes at all. That would be ludicrous. Almost no movie in the history of cinema can claim to be completely devoid of any kind of humor. Hell, even The Act of Killing had humor in it, and that was the most depressing movie of last year (which I’ll remind you is a year that also gave us 12 Years a Slave and Fruitvale Station).

But even if Warners isn’t being completely literal, what do they think actively discouraging humor will accomplish? Who is this meant to appeal to, exactly? Robots? Vulcans? Oscar the Grouch? Is there a single demographic anywhere in the world that does not like humor at all in their movies? Are there actually people who walk into a film saying, “This movie better not make me laugh, not once”?

It’s weird, because from an outsider’s perspective, it feels like Warner Brothers, a company that’s been making films since 1923, has somehow forgotten how movies work. Humor is one of the basic tools of not just movies, but all forms of storytelling. It provides levity, which in turn provides relief from conflict and tension. Without it, the narrative becomes oppressively dull. Drama and tragedy don’t work when there’s no lighter counterpoint to balance them out. Sadness and anger have no meaning when they’re your character’s default state of being. And absolute stone-faced seriousness at all times makes characters cold and impenetrable, which in turn makes it very difficult for audiences to feel engaged.

Why? Why do this? What is to be gained, exactly? Is there some sort of fear that allowing Batman to ever again crack a smile is to risk another Batman & Robin, from which they must forever run in the opposite direction? Why mandate such dour and joyless tones for superhero movies? Why craft a Superman who spreads mass destruction instead of hope? Who sulks and broods instead of comforts and inspires? Who lives in a world of the worst possible tragedies that somehow have no consequences at all? Why does WB want to ban fun?

And then it hit me: Because Superman is Donald Rumsfeld now.

It came to me while reading about some of the plot details of Batman V. Superman: Dawn of Justice, specifically in regards to how Superman’s mass-murdering punch up will be viewed by the general public. What do we know? Apparently, they’ve built a statue of Superman. So it would seem the people of Metropolis aren’t terribly upset that he leveled their city and killed most of them. We even know that a crippled Jimmy Olsen may enter the story as a victim of Superman’s rampage, whose role is apparently to be totally cool with his horrific injuries. We’re told he still loves Superman, despite the fact that he, you know, maimed him for life. Because he saved the world, it’s all good.

And suddenly it all becomes clear. This is Christopher Nolan’s right-wing politics working their way into Superman the way they worked their way into Batman. This is turning Superman into a metaphor for U.S. actions in Iraq, by having him destroy an entire city full of innocents to kill one guy, and trying to make us feel like it was completely justified. It doesn’t matter who gets hurt along the way, as long as we get the bad guy. This is basically the misguided U.S. fantasy of the rest of the world loving us for what we’ve done in the Middle East. The filmmakers even give Superman a whole arc about rejecting and then violently destroying the remnants of his alien heritage, and then they throw in that “I’m as American as it gets” scene just to solidify him as America personified.

Regardless of your personal politics, we should all be able to agree on one thing: Superman should never say “It was for the greater good.” The whole point of Superman is he never has to say “It was for the greater good.” He’s so powerful that he always finds a way to save everyone. That’s the fantasy of Superman: The idea of someone who can fix everything, someone who’s incorruptible and can make everything okay.

Superman is not a character for a “post-9/11 world”, where everything has to be dark and morally ambiguous, with of lots of political undertones. That’s why Man of Steel didn’t work, why Dawn of Justice won’t work, and why this “no jokes” policy is a bad idea. They’re trying to force Superman into a mold that wasn’t made for him. And in order for him to fit into it, he has to be stripped of everything that makes him Superman: Hope, optimism… and fun.

[ebooklords]

The Ineffable Power of Humor

The Ineffable Power of Humor - https://ebooklords.com/the-ineffable-power-of-humor/ - In the filmed opera Annette, conceived and written by the perpetually-failing-and-suddenly-hip band Sparks (brothers Ronald and Russell Mael), the protagonist, Henry McHenry, is a perpetually failing comedian played by Adam Driver. He’s asked over and over again by his audience “Why did you become a comedian?” He eventually answers “Why? I’ll tell you why. To disarm people. Make them laugh. It’s the only way I know how to tell the truth without getting killed.”In this fraught time, when the US harbors far and away the most armed civilians,* where enough of them are willing to fire their guns on people they don’t like…it’s no joke. And since comedian Mike Birbiglia sagely noted that you can’t tell a joke without offending someone, we’ve come to acknowledge the occupational riskiness of comedy. May the bullet of the crazy armed American never meet up with the comedian. Fortunately, and despite doctrinaire decisions that limit opportunities for comics to perform on college campuses, whatever truth standup humor conveys continues to get across. Still, the comedian does risk physical harm. Just ask Chris Rock.Let’s get to the truth of the matter. We live in a world of hierarchies. Given the spawn of those hierarchies—the inequalities of the world, the problems we have the means to solve yet don’t (poverty, hunger, war, -ism’s of hate)—we intuitively sense that this is not the best of all possible worlds, and in some abstract way, we try to imagine a better one. We get comedy’s flash of hope as expressed by the comedian—the court jester, the caged trickster. From the relative safety of the stage, they speak truth, they mock power and sound the call to overcome it, they touch our intuitions and plant the seed of justice wrapped in a joke that makes us laugh; and once we examine that laughter, we may discover a truth that sets us free.Take this example where Richard Pryor gets deep into Trickster magic. In Richard Pryor: Live in Concert,taped in 1979 at the Terrace Theater in Long Beach, California.Pryor narrates the murder of George Floyd forty years before it occurs. He states a raw, painful fact of racism decades before the general American population began its reckoning with it…he states truth to power in the context of a joke and the safe space that surrounds the jester comedian. He psychologically and politically prepares Americans to come to terms with the structures that lead to the kind of brutality unarmed Black men experience.Pryor describes how, in drunken anger and distress over his wife leaving him, he shot his .357 Magnum at his own car. And here’s the no-joke joke:Then the police came. I…went in the house. ‘Cause they got Magnums too. And they don’t kill cars. They kill n**-*ars. Police got a choke hold they use out here, though. Man, they choke n***as to death. That mean you be dead when they through. Did you know that? Wait, n***as goin’ “Yeah, we knew.” White folks, “No, I had no idea.” Yeah, two grab your legs, one grab your head, and snap. : “Oh, shit. He broke. Can you break a n***er? Is it okay? Let’s check the manual. Yep, page 8. ‘You can break a n***er.’ Right there, see?” .Why does this mostly white audience laugh so? Not because the murder of Black men by cops is funny, but because it’s so wrong, absurdly wrong, and that’s what Pryor’s signifying. Pryor’s performing Trickster magic, knowing that the laughing crowd is now with him and that righting this absurd injustice is the act of love, the better world, that he’s preaching.Justice feels right. We intuitively recognize it when we see it or hear its call. Thus, it is the trickster, often in the role of comedian, who sees the disparity between reality and justice, and bridges that difference with humor. Lacking the power to make it right, tricksters have as their tools the insight and the language to craft that bridge in the form of a joke that raises awareness, and fights the fight not with guns, but on the battlefield of our psyches.The reason some jokes don’t work anymore, like sexist quips about wives (Take my wife . . . please!), for example…is because the first ten thousand times they were told they DID work, folks laughed because they intuitively knew it was the wrong way to view their spouse, but there was enough truth there to get a laugh. It was funny until it wasn’t, and it was the joke that helped to move society along and compel comedians to up their game and move to a higher plane of exposing injustice once that one wasn’t funny anymore. And if the injustice wasn’t undone, at least it was laid bare so as to be more effectively addressed.Thus opens the portal. Through jokes, where the audience buys a lie and laughs when the lie is exposed, greater truths are revealed. The trickster’s role is to bring such humor to the fore, humor that matters, that gets people thinking, that gets them talking about the way the world could be. Humor’s power is elusive, slippery, ineffable. But a better society can be built out of the truths that humor reveals. And here, we’re talking about the difference between humor that makes you laugh in order to forget your troubles, and humor that makes you laugh as you solve them.In his new book, Tricking Power into Performing Acts of Love, Dr. Shepherd Siegel, PhD., examines the grownups who have retained the ability to be playful as they were when a child as they view and behave in the world. Such a grownup will consciously or unconsciously engage with the Trickster, and Tricking Power into Performing Acts of Love is about what could happen if society made more of that animating force (and “animating” can be literal, in the case of one of the original American Tricksters: Bugs Bunny!).*  In the US civilian population there are 120.5 guns for every 100 people. The next highest nation is the Falkland Islands, with 62.1, https://worldpopulationreview.com/country-rankings/gun-ownership-by-country Richard Pryor: Live in Concert, directed by Jeff Margolis (United States: Special Event Entertainment, 1979), film.GET THE BOOK BYERIN FALCONER!Erin shows overscheduled, overwhelmed women how to do less so that they can achieve more. Traditional productivity books—written by men—barely touch the tangle of cultural pressures that women feel when facing down a to-do list. How to Get Sh*t Done will teach you how to zero in on the three areas of your life where you want to excel, and then it will show you how to off-load, outsource, or just stop giving a damn about the rest. - 2483 - August 6, 2022

[clairenatural]

i had a dream that sam and dean took cas to an art museum and showed him all these paintings of angels and it was like that scene in vincent and the doctor and cas said these paintings are beautiful because they depict the angels as human when a true angel could never be described as anything but monstrous and i woke up crying

anon i love this SO much. i love it so much i had to write it. this is 1.4k, destiel, human!cas

They’re making their way out of the city, monster killed and day saved, when Castiel sees a poster, pasted up on the side of the plywood wall of a construction site. It’s an angel—he doesn’t recognize the artist, but he’d guess late 19th century. Be Not Afraid: a History of Angels in Art, it proclaims, the logo of the city’s largest art gallery tucked into the corner.

Castiel stares at it. The angel on the poster stares back, wings spread and staff raised. Valiant. Something in his heart twitches, but it’s hard to place. He still has his blade, tucked safely into the trunk with the rest of their frequently used weapons, and he never had wings like that; even the shadows, the ones they showed to humans, were simply the closest representation to the real thing possible in this dimension (his back aches anyway, dimly, his human body reacting to the loss as if they were real severed appendages. He ignores it).

Dean notices, because of course he does. He stops, because of course he does, and flags Sam down before his long legs can carry him too far ahead. “Hey. You good?”

Castiel isn’t sure how long he’s been staring at the poster, but it’s long enough that Dean is obviously concerned. “Hm? Oh. Yes, I’m—I’m fine.”

Dean nods but doesn’t move. He considers the poster. “Art gallery, huh?” he asks, avoiding the obvious elephant. Castiel appreciates it. He nods back.

“I’ve never been to one,” he offers, as explanation. It seems odd—he can remember the painting of the Sistine Chapel, he remembers watching with fascination as humans began collecting the smaller paintings into collections and museums, but he’d never been inside one. It hadn’t seemed necessary. Humans collect art in large boxes to remember their history, but Castiel has seen it all.

Dean seems surprised by this. “Seriously?” Castiel nods, and there’s a pause, and he’s about to turn and keep heading towards the car, and Kansas, and home, when Dean claps him on the shoulder and turns to call over his own.

“Sammy! How do you feel about seeing some art?”

“You want to go to an art gallery?” Sam sounds incredulous, and is closer behind him than Cas expected. He hadn’t noticed him retreat the half-block he’d managed to gain on them.

“Yeah, why not? Come on. What happened to ‘a little culture wouldn’t hurt, Dean?’”

"What happened to ‘I’ve got plenty of culture, eat your damn burger?’”

“It’ll be fun, Sam,” Dean counters. Something in his tone has changed. Cas doesn’t think too hard about it.

There’s a long pause, and Cas knows there’s some sort of communication happening he can’t hear or see. “…Okay,” Sam concedes. “Okay, sure. Yeah. Let’s go.”

So they do.

Dean makes a comment about “haven’t been in one of these since I was a kid,” before they all fall into the hushed silence of the museum floor. It’s nice—nicer than Castiel had expected. Not in aesthetics; the building is sleek, and modern, and the art is obviously beautiful. But it’s nice to be there. It feels almost Holy—humans, funny creatures they are, with their habit of treating their own culture with the respect of something divine. Creating houses of worship out of museums and libraries and living rooms. 

He wanders through the various exhibits but doesn’t really pay attention until he ends up in the exhibit from the poster. He’d managed to lose the Winchesters halfway through the photography exhibit, when both the brothers had gotten distracted. Castiel had continued onward anyway, on a mission, and by the time he finds himself walking into the angel exhibit he’s on his own.

He comes to a stop in front of one of the largest paintings in the room. It’s not the same angel as the poster. It’s several, actually, looking over what appears to be Mary and a baby Jesus. The angels are beautiful—smooth, flawless skin. They have long hair that looks soft, even in paint. They’re wearing white robes, and their wings are white and dove-like. None of these angels have several heads, rotating bands of fire, or thousands of eyes. They’re beautiful, but they aren’t angels. The human who painted this didn’t know that, of course—none of them did. Humanity was faced with the concept of divinity and conceptualized it as a version of itself.

“The real things ain’t as cuddly, huh?”

Dean’s voice startles him, which he hates, both because he hates being startled and because he’s still adjusting to Dean being able to sneak up on him.

“I was just thinking,” he starts, pretending he’d known Dean was there the whole time, “you paint us like we’re human.” Not ‘us’ anymore, he reminds himself, but he brushes that thought off. Not now.

Beside him, Dean snorts. “Yeah, well. If you’d told any of those Renaissance guys that the real angels are dickhead balls of celestial intent, they’d’ve arrested you for heresy.”

Castiel shakes his head. “No.” he pauses. “Well, yes. But that’s—” he turns to face Dean for the first time. He notices Sam over Dean’s shoulder, focusing intently on a painting a few feet away and obviously pretending not to listen.

“My father—God—Chuck,” he cycles through, which will never not be weird, “created us first, but not in his image. We weren’t worthy of that. Only you were. Humans, his perfect creation, modeled after their creator. But then—” he turns back to the painting and gestures to it. “You created us in your image. You thought about divinity and you couldn’t conceive anything more Holy than yourselves.”

Dean shifts. He tries for a laugh, but it comes out short. “Well, damn, Cas. Way to make a guy feel self-centered.”

Castiel turns back to him. He blinks. He frowns. That’s not what he means. “Most of my siblings thought so,” he agrees. “But I always thought it was an honor. Look,” He turns again and reaches out for the painting, only remembering a few inches from its surface to not touch it.  “This one has a lyre. You always paint us playing music. But music, art….these are human things, Dean.” He lets his hand fall, but keeps his eyes forward.  “We’re soldiers. They don’t teach us to play the harp in Heaven, they train us to fight. But these angels are…soft. Kind. Angels you trust to protect. The kind of angels people pray to, build churches to.” He looks back at Dean, who is staring at him with a frown. He holds his gaze, steady, and takes a deep breath before finishing. “I wish I was—that any of us were—worthy of being depicted this way. I wish we were the angels you paint us as.”

There’s a long pause while Dean searches his face, obviously trying to decide on the right reaction. If they were at home, Cas thinks Dean might reach out and hug him. Instead, Dean reaches out to clap a hand on his shoulder—he lets it linger there, and Cas knows what it means, so that’s okay, too. “For what it’s worth,” he starts, and his voice is softer than the last time he spoke. “You’re the closest thing to those angels that I’ve ever seen.”

It’s a nice sentiment, but Cas smiles sadly as he turns back to the painting. “I’m not any kind of angel anymore,” he points out, and tries his hardest to keep his voice neutral.

Dean squeezes his shoulder and tilts his head, trying to recapture Castiel’s gaze. “Hey. Look at me.” Reluctantly, he looks back over. “Your wings weren’t what made you a good angel, alright?” he brings his other hand up to poke into Castiel’s chest. “That was all in here.”

He sounds like he’s quoting the Wizard of Oz, and Cas wants to make a joke about that, but he’s also never wanted to kiss Dean more. He doesn’t, because they’re in a museum, and they’re still working up to that, but he makes a note to do it later. Instead, he reaches up and pulls Dean’s hand away from his chest, links it in his own, and squeezes.

“Thank you,” he says, and it’s earnest, and it’s for everything.

Dean smiles. He understands. He squeezes back.

[honeehazard]

[[SPAMTOBER]], DAY [[31]]

the end. I wanna be kinda sappy but if you’re not into that just don’t read below the cut. actually don’t even look at the last two posts and consider the evangelion poster reference my ACTUAL last piece for spamtober no reason or anything ahahaha

I started this challenge out of spite, maybe. I felt inadequate. That I wasn’t doing nearly enough nor putting enough effort into anything. Hell, I was fresh off opening commissions and just so distraught that nobody was giving me the time of day. All because I told my mom that I’ll be fine when I drop out, prove to her I can use that time wisely. A year and a half went by with only less than 50 followers and practically no sticker sales.

Both happening because I wasn’t posting and was, unfortunately, depressed. I really didn’t wanna admit I was because I thought I had just come out of it after therapy. I didn’t wanna disappoint my mom by getting depression again after knowing she dreads the fact I had it so much.

Gave up basically. My wake up call was realizing it was halfway through 2021 and we’re moving back to the Philippines. Not only did I have nothing to show for that time, but I probably look lazier than ever to my mom.

That sucks. So, I started drawing again. Same old same old, highest number I got was at least 50+. Practically nothing if I wanna make money for me and my mom.

Got into Deltarune, started Spamtober because I thought it would be funny, the rest is history.

Apparently, I do have a knack for making merchandise. And it only took me to learn a new art style for it to truly shine. I unknowingly stepped out of my comfort zone and it worked in my favor. 3,000 may not be a lot in the grand scheme of things, but to me: an anxiety ridden teenager with only about 5 friends at the very least... that’s massive. 

I don’t think I’ve quite processed that yet. I’ve always thought my art looked like shit, my mom thinks that I’m not a true artist because I draw cartoony stuff. but then suddenly 3,000 people think me drawing Spamton in a dress vintage poster style is something worth reblogging and liking. Needless to say... I guess that revitalized the will in me to just keep going. Hone my skills and just draw whatever the fuck I want, because I never know when a few thousand people would like that too.

This isn’t the most focused in it’s point essay I’ve ever written, but basically... Thank you. You have no idea how much joy you’ve given me, and thank you for all the lovely tags i get to read in the reblogs.

I guess one last shoutout to @superbellsubways for conceiving Spamtober even though as a joke,

It gave me a chance, even just a small fraction in time,

To be a big shot.

[anomallysm-writing]

Morioh-Cho with Random Websites Headcanons

This is probably the worst idea ever conceived, but given I’ve posted it, I suppose that goes to show that my fate doesn’t matter to me.

Josuke

has so many damn followers but only follows close friends

millions of likes for every selfie he posts

has actually considered making his account private because of the weird fucking DMs he gets

Gen z humor on his [dashboard] and he finds it fucking hilarious

Okuyasu

gets genuinely sad upon getting cyber bullied in any way

posts pictures of Tonio’s food on Instagram very frequently

the most ridiculous shitposts by pure mistake, doesn’t even realize how funny he is

for example has a lot of like 12 fps 144p Roblox vids with collabing Josuke and they all have spinning letter intros

a surprisingly normal [dashboard] but would absolutely lose his shit at Gen z humor (much like Josuke)

uses 🔥, 💯, 🥶, etc. unironically

Yukako

had a horrendous creepypasta phase

atrocious Mary Sue OCs I can just sense it

viciously attacks anyone who sends hate to Koichi, even if it’s a joke

unironic “deep” quotes

beauty stuff on her [dashboard], the most tolerable thing you can get from her when it comes to social media

Koichi

posts tips for math and stuff

some fun pictures or videos of him and his friends

literally the most normal account :/

has dumb shit on his [dashboard] though

Toshikazu

was on cursed fandom Tumblr (I’m talking Miku binder Jefferson and Down With Cis bus Tumblr)

would have millions of embarrassing cosplay videos and pictures

some actually not half bad art

accompanied by a fan fic blog so cringy it gives you muscle convulsions

posts quotes like, “Enough about my racist past. Let’s discuss my racist future.” and, “Don’t give to the homeless, make the homeless give to you.” just to piss people off

has used Surface to make it look like he’s taken pictures with celebrities/crushes when he in fact has not

Rohan

was on the Down With Cis bus

sends anon hate to random blogs

leaves detailed negative Yelp reviews for places he’s never been to

has a fan fiction blog that he just straight up can’t delete

Tonio

is following only one person across all platforms and that is Okuyasu (because he kept DMing him and he couldn’t he could say no to Okuyasu’s charming face)

not even verified on most sites (underrated as fuck)

idiotic little kids from around the world commenting on his posts with grammar that forces tears from your eyes, seriously that shit is a goldmine

Okuyasu is one of those idiotic little kids

I hope that none of these seemed to limit a character to a certain aspect (e.g. Okuyasu being dumb or Rohan being a dick). Any feedback possible is much appreciated, thank you.

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

What would Shaun (father)’s reaction be to his mother being pregnant (quintuplets) with one of her companions’ children? The partner and the Sole are thinking of getting married too.

(Assuming this is the male companions-)

Danse:

Father-

"You..you don't even understand how bad this is..do you? Not only does this..this thing think it's a part of our greatest threat, but it's a machine! Mother, have you no care? How..how did this even happen..I didn't even think these things could reproduce..*sigh*."

•He greatly disapproves. Danse, no matter what state he is in..even if he is magically reprogrammed- will never be considered "good enough" in Father's eyes. He is a synth. Property. It's a bad look as future director to have messed up and reproduced so abundantly with institute property.

Shaun-

"Mom..are you gonna be alright? Maybe me and Dad can find a way to make your power armour really big- wait, I didn't mean for that come off that way! It's just..five?! In there?! You need to be safe.."

•Danse will have to probably give Shaun a new project to tinker with alongside him just to get him not to blow a gasket.

Deacon:

Father-

"I suggest you cut all ties with him..immediately."

•Father is still pissed, but at least it isn't the product of a synth and you..

•With deacon being a part of the Railroad, there is too big of a risk of The Institue being compromised. He'll make you choose between the two..

Shaun-

"You aren't actually gonna let Da name my brothers..sisters..or both..all those dumb names he said, right?"

•Genuine concern. Deacon had (hopefully) playfully said he was going to name all the expected babies after Shaun..just with creative ways to spell it..that way they could be S6.

Gage:

Father-

"I suggest you remove yourself from that filth and raise the children safely here..there's no telling what that trash you consider to be a partner would do. He may just as well sell them for the right amount of caps.."

•He understandably has no love for Gage...

Shaun-

"I can't wait!"

Hancock:

Father-

"This is..this is not funny, mother. Who is the real father? Surely a beast such as your..companion..couldn't possibly reproduce with a human..right? Youre..Youre not kidding..I..I need to contact a couple advisors.."

•Suspect being the subject of many more experiments...oh well, the name of science means everything..

Shaun-

"No kidding? That's great news! No more adventuring though, hm? Oh well, I'm sure I can get kleo to get me some scrap!"

•still concerned..but trusts in Hancock to make sure Youre alright.

Macready:

Father-

"There isn't any better matches for you, mother? *sigh* Very well..I suppose your wastelander will have to do.."

•Disappointed yet still astonished at how many children you managed to conceive. Those of which who were exposed to high levels of radiation were hard pressed to even have one child of they were lucky..so how you and Macready managed to have so many..wow.

Shaun-

"No way! me and Duncan can be supreme leaders! With that many on the way..we can have our own platoon! This is awesome!"

•Watch them.

Maxson:

Father-

"I..I had such great hopes for you. You've betrayed us all the very second you laid with that monster..you are banished.."

•Father sees this as the ultimate betrayal in his eyes. Maxson was the figurehead of potentially the most dangerous force to unravel all the progress he devoted his life to making..and he isn't wrong.

•For you to not only be considering being married to him, but to also bear his children..you've destroyed everything. There is no place for you in The Institute. You may be his mother, but that never mattered much anyways..and he has people he must protect as well.

Shaun-

"Heh, think I can be Paladin one day and have all my brothers and sisters under my command? That would be so cool!!"

•Shaun seriously thinks such a thing is attainable.

Preston:

Father-

"I..I'm not sure how you wish for me to react. The wasteland is no place for you to be venturing in this state..is..is there anyway your fiancé would be inclined to be stationed here in the safety of our home? Know this isn't something I'd usually consider..but given the circumstances, I hope this 'Preston' will be open to considering.."

•Probably your best bet.

•Still very concerned as to how you ended up with so many children in one go. You'll be regularly visiting the doctors.

Shaun-

"Mama, does this mean that you and papa won't be out helping settlements for a while?"

•He of course, asks this just to joke around..but he can't help but show his excitement at the idea of his parents finally being home for a while.

X6-88:

Father-

"A courser? I..i need to talk to some of the people in robotics..they shouldn't be able to reproduce- much less at such with such high potency.."

•Doesn't even consider your desire to be wed to X6..

•Disapproves of this union greatly.

Shaun-

"You and X?? Ewwww."