#WOW THIS A LOT OF WORDS

[ewwww-what]

Welcome to the party :)

[surreal-duck]

master artist and his number one fan

guy who is being so normal about the new additions to their profiles. i think abt midoris initial infatuation with his art slowly developing into appreciating yuzuru himself as a person and idol to the point he worries about how he sees him (ex: a bit of home party and in workplace survival rules) sometimes thats a lie i think about it a lot. and yuzuru learning to enjoy art just for the sake of drawing!! seeing the lets try diy story where he doesnt even refute drawing on midoris desk and was only worried that his doodles might cover up the mascot design compared to how discouraged he usually would be in earlier ! stories. everything to me i adore their dynamic if that wasnt obvious by *gestures to basically everything*

and happy pride month 🏳‍🌈

[somerandomdudelmao]

Hello :D! I was wondering, does Raph have anything different about his vision, like how in the movie we see that Casey's mask does everything that Don's goggles can do (scan, search through data, etc.,)

or is it closer to his regular vision - nothing fancy, he just... sees? Does he see with his robotic eyes, or is it like his eyes cameras that give video feed to a screen? In the latest part he said it was like a video game, and you sort of watch yourself play video games, you aren't actually in them (like a VR headset.) I assume Donnie gave him eyelids to sleep, but does he blink because of his mind's memory of blinking?

You're my favorite Tumblr user dude, thank you for this amazing series!

(if I can ask another question... can he feel? like if not temperature or pain, can he feel vibrations like being touched or hit? or is it just numb everywhere)

I think VR is the closest analogy. After he lost one eye, though, his perception of depth and volume almost disappeared, so now it's not a "VR headset", but more of a "phone screen brought very close to his face.

He has no additional visual interface in his vision, because that made him feel uncomfortable. And Donnie made it possible for the robot to blink just to make it psychologically easier and more familiar for Raph. Well..as much as possible.

Raph closes his eyes purely for the sake of expression. He doesn't need it, and it doesn't give him the same sense of rest for his eyes as if he had a biological body.

He can feel pressure, vibrations, and temperatures, but these sensations are severely muted and become increasingly indistinguishable over time.

He cannot feel pain. He cannot feel tired or energetic. He cannot growl, make his "baby voice," or make any sounds that are too unusual. He cannot feel water. If you pour a bucket of water on him, he will probably know it by the sound. He can't be sleepy in the morning or hungry.

He wants to, though. He wants to be able to feel all these things, even though they may be unpleasant. He wants to, because he sometimes begins to forget exactly how they felt and it depresses him.

[rox-of-iu]

ayo guys guess what time it is again :)) 💜💜

spoiler warning for cultivate ch 41-46

hehe finally scrambled brain enough to be able to catch up and cultivate makes me go 🥰🥰😌🤗😊😊

cultivate of course by @neonghostcat beloved

[kaeyachi]

One of the probable reasons as to why Kaeya didn't arrive on time for Crepus and Diluc when they were attacked was because he, and the knights with him, had no vision, and thus, cannot use a teleport waypoint.

Him receiving his cryo vision when he was supposed to get scorched by Diluc was genuinely the biggest slap to the face given to him by Celestia. It arrived just in time to save HIM.

Even now, the vision only heals and shields him alone as a manifestation of his desire to keep living from that fight... but he can't use it to help others.

[allastoredeer]

What funny for me it's when I see some people in radioapple fandom saying why they can't see Alastor as a bottom is because "he would never be a bottom because of his ego!" (and right under a post with b!Alastor content, the nerve)

Meanwhile Lucifer, King of all Hell, Sin of Pride personified, the man who stole Adam's first wife and claimed to do the same with the second, and had two songs about how great he is compared to others: am I a joke to you?

EXACTLY! Preach Anon!

Lucifer's ego is just as big, if not bigger, than Alastor's. I was rewatching the show recently, and during the "Dad Beat Dad" episode, literally the only person he was nervous, bumbling, or awkward around was Charlie (and Vaggie, to a certain degree considering she's Charlie's girlfriend).

In every other interaction he was smug, arrogant, indifferent, unimpressed, or downright dismissive. His whole song with Alastor was just him flexing his power and getting more and more insecure & angry about how "close" Alastor and Charlie were. I think people forget that Lucifer is the Sin of Pride, and you can 100% see it in his behavior towards the other characters. Obviously, he got closer to the Hazbin Crew, especially during the last song in the finale, but that doesn't make his ego magically disappear.

And I love that about him.

I find his huge capacity to love (both Charlie and creation) so endearing, but it's better and so much more interesting, when it's paired with the fact that his ego gets bruised so easily. He's the most powerful being in Hell, while also being insecure as fuck, while also being the personification of Pride itself. Is that not the tastiest, most delectable character to ever character????

Look, yes, Lucifer is depressed. He and Lilith got divorced. He and Charlie were estranged to each other for years. He lost his will to dream after being cast out from Heaven. He spent all his time making little rubber ducks, locked away in his room. But that doesn't, by any means, make the man humble.

If you look at Alastor and say he's got too big of an ego to bottom, and then turn around and make Lucifer the most bottomy bottom ever, then I say go back and rewatch the show, cuz you're missing a few very important factors. Especially if you're basing someone's capacity to bottom on ego alone. (I, personally, love it when prideful, egotistical characters bottom. It's so much fun).

Mostly just...hhhhhh, please stop stripping away all of my short-kings most interesting characteristics. I don't want a small, wide-eyed, easily manipulated little UwU soft boi. I want snarky, powerful as fuck, insecure, egotistical, provocative short-king who gets pissy when his daughter talks to a homicidal deer man with a silly haircut instead of him (while also being very soft, loving, and caring). He's multi-faceted, and that's what makes him interesting.

Once again, this isn't me getting after people who enjoy top!Alastor and bottom!Lucifer. Do what you want, I hope you're having fun. Just don't go commenting below other people's posts with shit like "Alastor wouldn't bottom because of his ego," when Lucifer is just as much of an egotistical little shit as he is.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[saetoru]

it has been a minute folks🧍🏽‍♀️

[utilitycaster]

You know what's interesting to me? For all people keep claiming at every juncture that perhaps Bells Hells will come around on the gods and see the harm they do (which, as discussed extensively, is, half the time, simply not intervening) not only have they never done so, but also they never quite cross the line into saying the party should join the Ruby Vanguard or aid them - and indeed, they defend against it - so what does this achieve? It feels like they're asking for a story in which the party stands idly by, which isn't much of a story nor, if I may connect this briefly to the real world, a political stance anyone should be proud of.

That's honestly the frustration with the gods and the "what if the Vanguard has a point" conversations in-game. What do we do then? Do we allow the organization that will murder anyone for pretty much any reason that loosely ties into their goals run rampant? The group that (perhaps unwittingly, but then again, Otohan's blades had that poison) disrupted magic world-wide, and caused people who had the misfortune to live at nexus points to be teleported (most, as commoners, without means of return). While also fomenting worldwide unrest?

Those were the arguments before the trip to Ruidus; with the reveal of the Vanguard's goals to invade Exandria, the situation becomes even more dire. Do you let the Imperium take over the planet?

And do the arguments against the gods even hold up? If Ludinus is so angry at them for the Calamity, what does it say that he destroyed Western Wildemount's first post-Calamity society for entirely selfish means? (What does it say about the validity of vengeance as a motivator?) What does it say that Laudna told Imogen she could always just live in a cottage quietly without issue before the solstice even happened? (Would this still be true if the Imperium controls the world?) What does it say that when faced with a furious, grieving party and the daughter she keeps telling herself was her reason for all of this, Liliana can't provide an answer to the question of what the gods have done other than that their followers will retaliate...for, you know, the Vanguard's endless list of murders. (That is how the Vanguard and Imperium tend to think, huh? "How dare your face get in the way of my boot; how dare you hit me back when I strike you.") She can't even provide a positive answer - why is Predathos better - other than "I feel it", even though Imogen and Fearne know firsthand that Predathos can provide artificial feelings of elation. Given all the harm Ludinus has done in pursuit, why isn't the conclusion "the gods should have crashed Aeor in such a way that the tech was unrecoverable?"

Even as early as the first real discussion on what the party should do, the fandom always stopped short of saying "no, Imogen's right, they should join up with the people who killed half the party," it was always "no, she didn't really mean it, she just was trying to connect with her mother." Well, she's connected with her mother, and at this point the party doesn't even care about the gods particularly (their only divinely-connected party member having died to prevent the Vanguard from killing all of them). So they will stop the Vanguard; as Ashton says, the means are unforgiveable. As Laudna says, it's not safe to bet on Predathos's apathy. As Imogen says, she's done running; the voice that she used to think of as a lifeline belongs to someone she doesn't trust. So I guess my question is: if they're stopping the people who are trying to kill the gods (and defense of the gods isn't remotely their personal motivation)...do you think the next phase of the campaign is Bells Hells personally killing the gods? Reconstructing the Aeor tech and hoping none of their allies notice? How does this end? Does your ideology ever get enacted? Or is this entirely moot and pointless and the story ends with Bells Hells saying "well, I'm really glad we stopped the people who [insert list of Vanguard atrocities from above]; none of us follow the gods or plan to, but honestly, the status quo we return to is preferable to whatever nightmare Ludinus had concocted in his violent quest for power and revenge"?

[zu-is-here]

Everything is Blue

[3/21] Happy anniversary! ★

inspired by this

Swap by popcornpr1nce

Error & Blueberror from askerrorsans by loverofpiggies

[eggcats]

I got distracted thinking about Housewife Vox, and if I had Vox's powers, I'd have blown out the city's power grid. So this is a completely self-indulgent (with some nsfw-ish near the end) fic offshoot of that post.

The other post you can choose to be one-sided, but this RadioStatic is reciprocated here. You were warned.

There's like, quite literally over 3k words here, and none of the (mild) nsfw-ish stuff doesn't even start until we hit 2k. Oops.

--

Alastor isn't completely unaware he's essentially kidnapped someone to live with him, in a way that could be misconstrued as a partner. He's been in hell for about 20 years, and before that, he lived in areas no one would exactly call....normal to typical white picket fence Americana. He's not completely ignorant of how it looks.

However, he's never been really good at noticing when other people have Those Kinds of feelings towards himself. (He doesn't feel those things, and so he doesn't even notice any supposed signals being sent). It's not even always intentional, it just never occurs to him that someone could (or would) be interested in him in such a way.

And so. He doesn't realize how Vox feels towards him. Not until he invites him to Cannibal Town to meet his beloved Rosie, and Vox can barely bring himself to be his typical charming self.

The tea is awkward, and Alastor is a little upset that, apparently, Vox is only okay with his cannibalism when it's not in his face - but isn't willing to accept it when he can't ignore it. Alastor is aware that his tastes are a little alarming to most of hell's population, but he thought Vox accepted it in him. (Perhaps he only made him dinner when it was venison because he could ignore the rest of it? Alastor assumed he usually prepared his sinner meat simply because he was the one bringing it in, but perhaps he was mistaken.)

It's not until the next time he visits his dear friend and he laments the issue when he discovers the truth. (He adores his Rosie, but the laughter she did in his face for his confusion he could have lived without. If he was any less of a gentleman, he would have mocked her snorting, but alas, his mother raised him better than that).

So now Alastor has to consider the fact that Vox himself is also aware of the strange dynamic they are living under and is apparently very interested in keeping it. (Even to the point of trying to scare off potential competition, an idea that is so laughable that he can't help but chuckle a bit.)

If that's the case, then he will simply continue on as normal. If he mentions him and Rosie simply being extremely close but neither having any romantic interest in the other before the next time he invites Vox to Cannibal Town, there's nothing more to it. (Vox's expression after doesn't do anything to him, nor is he pleasantly surprised how non-judgemental his picture box is when he isn't attempting to stake a non-contested claim. He also pointedly ignores any looks Rosie might be throwing him behind Vox's back.)

Alastor, therefore, believes himself to have resolved this "issue."

--

Vox, however, doesn't realize how blatant his affections are and is somehow convinced he's keeping them hidden. Vox, while enjoying PRETENDING to be a housewife to an attractive (cannibalistic, violent...oh, those teeth...) man, is terrified of accidentally crossing a line he's not aware of. He knows Alastor is okay with how they're currently operating, because Alastor is the one who created it. But, he hasn't shown any interest in anything MORE, and so Vox feels like he must content himself with just that - fantasies.

(If he sometimes imagines being swept off his feet when Alastor gets home and ravished on "their" marriage bed, well, that's between him and the walls).

Or it would be, if Alastor wasn't Alastor.

--

See. Alastor has a great deal of affection for Vox, but he's aware that they are in hell and that no one is here by accident. He doesn't LIKE the idea that Vox may simply be using his own interest for an advantage over him when he's vulnerable, but Alastor can't deny the very distinct possibility.

Even excepting that issue, Vox himself did not land in hell with the same right-out-the-gate power, and as it stands, any of Alastor's enemies would surely target Vox as a weakness of his. While certainly his picture box isn't completely as helpless as he likes to pretend, the idea of anyone even attempting to stake any kind of claim on him makes Alastor want to bite something.

So whenever he leaves, he uses his shadows to observe what Vox does on his own in Alastor's living space. He doesn't tell Vox this for a magnitude of reasons - wanting to see how he operates when he thinks he's alone, as well as Alastor having the ability to self-reflect enough to know his possessive ownership of things he considers HIS isn't something most others are okay with when that comes to other people.

(Alastor will find out later that Vox is absolutely more than okay with Alastor considering him his and very much LIKES his possessive attitude).

And for the most part, Vox doesn't do anything of note. Alastor has his shadows keep watch on him, but to allow Vox his privacy, he doesn't actually have them report directly or watch through them - unless his shadows believe something is relevant for him to see. So for a few weeks, his shadows presence around Vox when he is away is more of a security measure than anything else.

But eventually, they pick up on something strange. It's not a lot at a time, but it seems like Vox has taken it upon himself to steal small amounts of money from him. Alastor tries to negate this by simply inviting Vox shopping along with him and allowing him to choose whatever he wants to purchase. Alastor has even suggested Vox going shopping with his money on his own (while being protected from the shadows, of course) but even that was rejected.

Alastor can't understand any of it. He would understand if Vox was looking for some kind of escape from living with him, but the one (and only) time Alastor suggested Vox having his own place to live, Vox looked like he had shot his beloved pet in front of him. (Alastor is ignoring how pleased he is by this response. He didn't WANT his Vox to leave, but he refuses to be a similar man to his father and force him to. He enjoys treating Vox as if he belongs to him, but he wants Vox to want the leash - and not force it upon him).

Perhaps he simply enjoys theft. There are worse sins in hell, and it's not like Alastor is HIDING his money from him. The money would have undoubtedly been spent on his picture box regardless, so he doesn't mind as long as it brings him pleasure. To each their own.

Except one day after Alastor leaves, so does Vox. Which isn't completely unheard of, but him taking the stolen cash IS enough of a deviation from normal that his shadows alert him about it.

So Alastor follows him, determined to understand how the mind of his picture box works (so he can take care of him better so he'll never leave). And Vox goes clothes shopping, which wouldn't be anything out of the ordinary, except he (very poorly, his dear Vox is many things, but unnoticeable is not one of them) sneaks into the women's section and selects one, very simple, 1950s style dress.

Alastor wonders if he finally figured out the issue. For some reason, his Vox wants to wear women's clothing but isn't comfortable letting HIM know that. His dislike of both purchasing such items with Alastor (as well as simply shopping when Alastor would be aware he is, and expect to see what was purchased) makes sense to him.

This is easily solved. The idea that Alastor would CARE what clothing his picture box wants to wear is laughable - cannibalism is fine, but a dress is too far? Ridiculous.

He knows Vox has not been in hell for very long, so perhaps he hasn't yet realized that such societal taboos are generally accepted, considering the large magnitude of sins the rest of the population has committed. Not to mention that even while he was alive, he knew a great deal of people who regularly cross-dressed (such people were generally rejected by society enough to not care about anything society rejected about HIM).

Alastor is a little personally upset that his picture box believes HIMSELF to be someone who would be upset by something so minor, but perhaps they simply haven't lived together long enough. Regardless, now Alastor has a solution to this theft issue, and then he can purchase as many clothes, in whichever styles, for his dear. And perhaps he'll come to him the next time he wishes for something of his own.

Issue number two, resolved.

--

Sort of.

Vox has been planning this outing for months. He's been meticulous about only taking small amounts of money at a time to avoid detection. Vox is fairly certain Alastor doesn't suspect a thing - or else why would he continue to let his money be unguarded around him or take him on shopping trips and buying whatever he happens to look at for more than a few seconds.

Surely, if Alastor noticed the small amounts of change going missing every so often, he'd kick Vox out. (The time Alastor suggested he find his own place, he's certain his heart stopped for the second time. Luckily, before he could say anything incriminating about how much he WANTED to live with Alastor, he changed his mind about removing Vox from his life).

He knows it's a big risk, but a part of him NEEDS to fully embrace this fantasy of being a housewife. It's all he can think about.

(He might have convinced himself that if he can have one (1) singular self-indulgent fantasy to his heart's content on a day he knows Alastor will be gone, maybe he can put this behind him and stop wishing for more than he can have. It's one thing to pretend to be his housewife, but he knows it will never happen - if he can just get it out of his system, maybe he can Stop This Nonsense).

The entire walk to the clothing store Vox feels like he's being watched. Which he KNOWS is ridiculous - the only time anyone ever pays him any attention is when he's next to Alastor - but the feeling persists. It makes him even more anxious about this purchase than he already is (but he's committed at this point so he can't quit now).

Vox selects a fairly modest dress in a style that he had seen any number of women wearing when he was alive. (He tries to ignore how he has to make sure it buttons up due to his head. He's only insecure about it when he thinks about it, so if he ignores it, he can pretend he looks like anyone else).

He makes it back home to Alastor's place with plenty of time before he's due to be back, and so he wastes no time in changing.

--

When Vox returns home, Alastor fully intended on leaving his shadow and no longer observing him. The only thing he wanted to make sure was that he returned before Vox had the chance to change out of his dress, so Alastor could show what a good mate how little he cared about such frivolous things and perhaps be permitted to help him select such clothing on his next outing.

However, Vox's sudden utterance of his name was certainly unexpected. Alastor almost left his shadows, certain (somehow) he had been caught and spotted, and planned on how to explain his observation in a way that Didn't alarm his partner. 

Except. Nothing about whatever else Vox is doing seems to indicate that he knows Alastor is watching. Vox seems to be having an internal conversation with some imaginary version of himself, as he seems to be responding to words that no one (and certainly not Alastor) is saying. This is a unique development that Alastor did not anticipate, and he is not entirely certain how to continue from here. Certainly, Vox is under the assumption that he is alone now, but everything else he is doing indicates that on some level he is pretending Alastor is also with him. 

Surely the correct thing to do would be to watch to make sure he has not missed anything with Vox’s recent behavior towards himself. 

Nothing catches Alastor quite off guard more than when Vox suddenly tosses himself onto his own bed, with a breathy “Oh, Alastor!” accompanying it. This is certainly something the real Alastor has never done, and he is currently uncertain why the sudden imitation is being performed. 

Until Vox begins to touch himself (while continuing to say his name) and suddenly Alastor realizes what is going on. 

Oh. That’s. Unexpected. 

Is this the reason for the dress purchase? Or are they unrelated? Certainly Vox has never done quite so intimate things while saying his name before, as there is no way his shadows would NOT inform him of such activity. Does the dress arouse him in this way, or-?

Oh. Vox seems to have purchased the appropriate panties for such an outfit as well. Alastor has quite a good view now, and can see just how excited his picture box is with this apparent fantasy. He hasn’t removed any clothes yet, but considering his breathy whines and moans this is not a deterrent in the least (perhaps it enhances the sensation)?

This is quite the new development and Alastor isn’t quite certain what would be the most appropriate course of action. Certainly, despite his words saying otherwise, Vox is very unaware of just what show he is putting on for Alastor. Typically the correct course of action would be to leave him his own privacy.

But for whatever reason Alastor cannot turn his eyes away. 

Alastor knows himself, and his wants and desires and has never felt the desire or need to do such carnal actions, such as those being performed in his name. However, it never occurred to him how pleasing it could be to hear his name being spoken in such needy tones. He knows he quite enjoys it when those he is tearing apart are begging for mercy, but it never occurred to him that he might enjoy the same things in a dramatically different context. 

Alastor watches as Vox raises his dress, and begins to touch himself through his panties. Despite being clothed, he can see everything quite clearly and watches as Vox becomes more and more aroused. It’s not until a breathy “Alastor, please!” is uttered that Vox finally shoves down his panties and takes himself properly in his hand. It’s….quite a captivating sight. 

He watches as Vox becomes more and more excited, his mouth open as he pants, little digital hearts visible in his eyes, and a constant array of gasps and moans of his name being sung into the air above him. It’s more entrancing than anything he has ever seen before, and Alastor can understand wanting someone to desire you if this is how it looks to be worshiped. 

Alastor will purchase him the entire clothing store if this is his response to such clothing. So help him, Vox will never wear pants again if he can help it. 

It doesn’t take long for Vox to bring himself to completion, with a crescendo of Alastor’s name that he will save in his microphone for all of eternity, lest he dare forget the beauty of it. Alastor has not seen anything more divine than Vox with his back arched, crying his name, as he finishes all over himself with just the imagination of Alastor being there. 

Vox will never be allowed to utter another name from his mouth in such a way or Alastor will rip their spine out of their mouth for even daring to attempt it. Vox belongs to him, and he will never make those noises or put on a show for anyone other than Alastor (even if he has to chain his soul to himself to prevent it).

Alastor watches as Vox recovers, panting and coming down from his euphoria, and considers his next move. He is…unsure…how to broach such a topic to him, as this is nowhere near his specialty and such actions typically do not arouse much interest in him. 

He had plans for providing Vox the dresses and other clothing he desired, but bringing up these specific desires has never before been something he has ever wanted. (But oh, how he now wants). It’s a unique experience to want to watch as Vox takes himself apart for him (wanting to take him apart himself) but not simply just wanting it as seemingly others do. 

However, he is broken from his reverie by the noise of crying, and not the delicious version that he was just privy to. No, these are tears born of heartbreak and Alastor is both confused and alarmed by their appearance. Surely this type of self-pleasure is supposed to be pleasurable to the one doing it, or else why would anyone ever do such a thing? 

Why is his beautiful noisy picture box upset and who does he have to gut to prevent it from ever happening again?

He watches as Vox hugs himself on his bed and mumbles something that sounds alarmingly like “Stupid, like he’d ever want something that looks like you….” and Alastor is leaving his shadows before he even realizes he’s doing it. Before Vox notices he’s no longer alone, Alastor has wrapped his arms around him and holds him tight.

(Vox might have yelped in surprise and accidentally shocked Alastor in his charming way where he can’t control his electrical impulses. Alastor responds with his own pleasing radio waves to relax his current until it returns to normal). 

It seems to take a second for Vox to realize that Alastor being present means that he must have in some way witnessed his previous actions (and can certainly see not only him in a dress, but one that is very clearly wrecked in one very specific way). It is always so fascinating to watch how emotions play out on the face of his picture box, and this is no exception. However, before Vox can once again send himself down into the pit of self-loathing, Alastor hums a tune and rubs his own cheek against Vox’s.

--

“I must know. Was this a response to the dress or myself?”

“Wh-what?!”

“Regardless, I will purchase whatever dresses you desire if this is the result. My only requirement is that you allow me to be present next time.”

“H-how…?! What? Uh….I mean….you’re not…mad?”

“Why on earth would I be upset? Unless of course you meant to do this in a way where you would refuse my participation or observations, in which case I will lock you away until you change your mind.” 

“You-you WANT to be involved? But you’ve never-?”

“Oh certainly! While I’ve never desired such things for myself, watching you desire them is certainly an experience I would like to have! You are such a fascinating creature, darling, and I must keep such things all to myself.” 

“Can….can I kiss you?”

--

While doing such actions has never been something Alastor has had much interest in, doing them with Vox and watching his responses to them is quite another story. Left to his own devices, he would never desire such things nor wish to do any of them - but looking into the shy and hopeful eyes of his delightful picture box changes his perspective quite a bit. He has the most entertaining and pleasing responses to quite literally anything Alastor does to him, and it is quite enthralling the effect he has on the other.

He will be holding onto him for as long as he can, digging his claws into Vox so deeply that he will not ever be able to even imagine an afterlife without Alastor present.

[cringefailcabitha]

I don't know you but I'll try to do Anything that gets me closer to you ,

[just-null]

i've always wanted to try out this trend! i didnt think i drew him that different. i was wrong. very wrong.

hes so baby girl in my style what the fuck. oh i know, i was just drawing what gege meant to draw. dw, i got his telepathic brainwaves 👍

[time lapse + my headcanons for Noritoshi's appearance under the cut]

some headcanons i have while drawing him are semi obvious while others are bc i like it ahehahhaheha

cupid's bow lips! this was semi inspired by Mizuki Umetsu, the actor for Noritoshi in the jjk stage play! hes so. pretty. perfect guy for the role imo! i was captivated therefore my views changed.

longer hair! the thought that his bangs(? are the same length, or longer, as the rest of his hair is nice.. it also makes his inevitable haircut much more refreshing! i also just like long hair and its a fucking waste not to do whatever the i want.

thicker brows and visible eyelashes! i naturally draw thicker eyebrows because it looks pretty, but the eyelashes is so fucking canon bro. dont even fight me on this, you'll lose. i read a fic about Noritoshi where it said he took good care of himself and his appearance inspired jealousy. that fucked me up man, so now i draw him as beautiful as i can.

monolids! I've looked through the manga and i think its highly implied that Noritoshi has monolids? yk those lines in between the eye and eyebrow, he doesnt have them in the manga. i thought it was because of the expressions he had, but no. the others have them, except geto! so geto also having monolids is so fr in my head. i like that feature abt him.

loose hairs! the hairs that i draw on his face. they make him look so cute and a bit more relaxed. he's not trying to be perfect nor have a single strand out of place. he's just a bit more at ease... though if there's something important he has to go through, he sharpens up. becomes.. stiffer?

I UNINTENTIONALLY MADE HIS CHEST LOOK A BIT BIGGER IN MY STYLE AND I WANT TO APOLOGIZE, BUT I'D BE A LIAR. DOES THIS COUNT AS A HEADCANON??? I JUST THINK... SINCE. YK. HES AN ARCHER. AND DOES TRAINING. AND COMBAT. AND DOES ALL THOSE HIGH JUMPS... HIS CHEST. ITD BE A BIT BIGGER FOR HIS STATURE.. omfg. that'd imply that his legs are fucking insane. and his arms too, since he has to pull back all those arrows so quickly.. oh my fuck. this. this is a revelation. what are you hiding under those robes noritoshi...???? one day.. one day we'll see...

oh my fucking god i forgot that i wrote shit while drawing. please ignore my fucking stupid writings AND THE STUPID ASS THING IN THE MIDDLE I FORGOT ABT WHILE DRAWING..

[aropride]

u can literally talk abt ur own experiences with transphobia and people being violent or bigoted or cruel towards you because you're a trans man and people will compare you to deranged conspiracy theorists for daring to say you might experience discrimination. it's fucking crazy like what level of internet brainrot do you have to have to think it's helpful on any level to deny someone's experiences and call them conspiracy theorists because they're a trans man and "men aren't oppressed" or whatever

[are-you-fucking-with-me-rn]

okay so I always wanted to work on a show soundtrack so here's some songs I would put in s2 because since its probably maybe not gonna happen these can be canon in my head

Stupid Cupid by Connie Francis - okay so imagine if you will. The episode starts out jarring, maybe some payneland smooching out of nowhere, makes you go back to the last episode thinking you missed a scene. But then Edwin opens his eyes, he's lying on the ground or something, and is immediately thrust into the middle of a fight scene(this is where the song starts playing). He had just been temporarily knocked out and had some dream sequence or something idk. The fight scene is in a fancy restaurant or smth and it's close to Valentine's day and it's all decorated with hearts and stuff. This song is diegetic, playing in the restaurant.

Flaws by Bastille - I'd probably put it during end credits/end of the episode. It feels very transitional to me. It's a song on the Charles playlist so of course it's gonna play after a scene with Charles heavy lore or something. Maybe Charles's dad dies, and the song starts at the beginning of the funeral scenes. Then, long after everyone's already left, Charles goes and stands in front of the gravestone and his mom is just there kneeling in the grass in front of him and doesn't know he's there and yeah. It's like, the start of Charles's Actually-finding-peace-and-confronting-trauma arc or smth.

Girls on Film by Duran Duran - good for a montage of like Crystal adjusting to having rich, showy parents. She thinks maybe if she helps them out with their big projects, which she assumes the old her didn't do, maybe they'll start seeing her and caring about her like parents should. Going to grand openings and being photographed/interviewed, being in the public sphere all the sudden. Crystal's overcompensating for being a major jerk in her past life and is now bending over backwards to be nice to everyone (which, from experience, isn't exactly healthy either)(aka she's gone the "obsess-over-being-good-enough" route that Charles's gone down)(yikes).

The Killing Moon by Echo and the Bunnymen - I honestly have no vivid images for this one. I just like the song, I think it matches the mood of the show. Maybe something about Crystal and David? A final confrontation? Cus I saw someone (I'm sorry I forgot who) say they thought it would be interesting if Crystal's powers get "contaminated" by David cus he's still buried by the tree. So like a final standoff.

Swan Upon Leda by Hozier OR Eurydice by Eugénie - I think s2 would be more about Charles' journey the way s1 was more about Edwin BUT i'm also curious about Edwin's life. Something happens where Edwin maybe ends up at his old house, or relives his memories and it's all in slow motions and more calm than Charles's in ep4. They're not all bad, but Edwin was different and outcasted and the likes. George Rexstrew said himself that he thought Swan Upon Leda described Edwin really well, but also Eurydice gives off a sort of melancholy floatiness that fits with a boy 100+ years dead reliving an upbringing that now seems to foreign to him, and yet is ingrained in every part of himself.

Since listening to music is my #1 hobby, I will probably find more songs down the line and add on, but this is what I got for now.

[dianadeadwing]

Bobtober Day 23 - Celestial

Text is a quote from Teddy from season 13 episode 4 of Bob’s Burgers and reads „Maybe I dunk myself in the ocean and purify me, right?“

Teddy’s feelings and perspectives in this episode are relatable I think although to a much less drastic scale. I think it’s pretty common as pattern seeking humans we see one bad thing after another happen in our lives and think there has to be a reason. It can be easier to blame it on something external like bad luck or a curse. The alternative, either looking at your own actions or just accepting the oftentimes cruel randomness of the universe can be hard.

I picked this quote because I felt something similar once when I was maybe 14 or so looking at a lake all lit up in twilight. Like that’s where all the magic in the world was and if I could just get to it I would find what was missing in me that everyone else seemed to have.

I didn’t end up jumping into any lakes and I think I was just feeling so separate from everyone else because of the undiagnosed autism.

[madbard]

Sanctity

A Killer Sans story.

Every child dreamed of the Angel.

When Sans was young, he had imagined it as a skeleton, beaming with all the radiance of the stolen sun. Each evening, he kneeled beside his father and whispered the poetic words of prophecy, voice faltering at first, then growing steady as the tale of the Angel settled firmly into his skull. Later, he would kneel with his brother while his father vanished into the lab. Each night, he dreamed of the moment when the Angel would tear down the barrier, at last letting the bright and deadly sunshine in.

Everything could be attributed to the Angel. If a monster was successful, it was because they had a place in the prophecy, an important role which would contribute to their eventual freedom. If a monster fell down, it was because they had failed, somehow. They were not the Angel’s chosen and would never be free.

(Did Sans have a place in that prophecy? If he was chosen, then why was he so fragile? Why would it be so difficult for him to make it to that future? Sans had asked his father that one night, after their prayer. Nothing would ever break that silence.)

When Gaster’s final experiment went up in flames, Sans imagined it made a light brighter than the sun. He imagined its light was like the palm of the Angel, taking his father with it – or casting him, finally, into the infinite darkness of the earth. He spread his father’s ashes on the remnants of the lab and then, as an afterthought, on his younger brother’s scarf. He laughed at the funeral, quietly. He shook the chill hands of fear and doubt from his soul. He had faith.

(Some monsters whispered that the prophecy had been interpreted incorrectly. They whispered that the Angel would indeed free them – that their dust would one day mix with the river and thus find its way to the ocean. Sans ignored them as best he could.)

When Sans was young, he had imagined the Angel as a skeleton. But lounging at his post one day in early adulthood, he was surprised to see it take the guise of a child. He was even more surprised when no one else seemed to see it for what it truly was. It turned to him, looked him in the eyes. Then raised a single finger to its lips.

Sans followed the Angel. He watched it navigate through each encounter with kindness and grace. He watched it befriend his brother, the captain of the guard, the royal scientist, and even the king. He watched it destroy the barrier and finally baptize his people in the all-destroying light of the sun. He felt its eyes upon him, and in that moment knew the gaze of something truly unlike himself. Come and see, those eyes said. He saw the prophecy come true.

He stood with his brother in the light of the Angel, the light of the long-awaited sun. For a moment, he thought himself in heaven.

Then he woke in hell.

That first time, he didn’t even see the Angel arrive in Snowdin. His eyelights flickered slowly as he wandered the icy streets in a daze. The air was still, and thick with a scent he refused to recognize. They had escaped, hadn’t they? After years of prayer and service, monsterkind was finally free. His mouth curved around a quiet, desperate prayer. This had to be a dream…

Just outside of Snowdin, he found his brother’s scarf.

Funny, how these things worked. Sans’ first impulse was to find the Angel. Something had gone wrong, certainly – something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. But he had seen the Angel treat his brother with kindness. It would have protected him… right?

Perhaps he already knew…

“Sans.”

Sans spun around, gripping Papyrus’ scarf. The Angel stood behind him, eyes almost as wide as its smile. A silver knife glinted in its grip. His whispered prayer froze as his eyes went dark. He stood still.

“what happened?”

“Nothing much. And everything.” The Angel stepped forward. “Give that to me.”

“where’s papyrus?”

“Free.” The Angel took another step forward, and Sans felt a chill creep up his spine. “You remember being free, don’t you?”

“i…”

“Don’t you want to be free again?” This time, Sans didn’t have time to respond. Its knife had already slashed through his chest.

The second time, Sans woke in the early hours of the morning. He took a shortcut into the woods, stepping onto the abandoned path which led to the hidden door. Even so, he didn’t quite understand. Even so, he didn’t quite believe. Fear made a nest in his ribcage.

This time, the Angel killed him first, separating his head from his shoulders, and Sans woke up back at home.

If a monster fell down, it was because they had failed, somehow. Sans fell again and again. Each time he died, the Angel would say something different, something new. It spoke of the sun’s rays, the way they warmed at first then burned and bleached and ruined. It spoke of the sins of the surface, the suffering of the Underground. It spoke of an endless loop, from which they would never be free. “Better to end it now,” the Angel whispered, wiping blood from its blade as Sans crumpled to the ground.

The loop continued endlessly. Bit by bit, Sans stopped praying.

The loop continued endlessly. He began to fight back.

The loop continued endlessly. The angel’s words changed.

“Do you know the difference between an angel and a god?” the Angel asked once, after Sans dodged its blade. Sweat dripped down his skull, and the air seemed to frost his ribcage as he gasped for breath.

“sorry. i god no idea.” The knife whistled past his ear, and a hushed “angel’s sake” escaped his mouth before he growled and swallowed the word.

“I’ll give you a hint.” It attacked once more, and this time it didn’t miss. It walked over to his dissolving form and whispered to him. “An angel is a servant. A god serves no one.” It stepped back. He died.

This time, the Angel approached him with an altogether different kind of smile.

“But what is a god without an angel?”

Sans said no in every way he could imagine. Loop after loop, death after death. He joked and danced around the question. He sent another attack. At his lowest, he pretended he hadn’t heard.

“Angels live forever.”

“when everyone else is dead?”

“Angels are never alone.”

“i wouldn’t be alone if it wasn’t for you.”

“Angels are powerful. They are beautiful and loved.”

“heh, that’s kind of a loaded comment, isn’t it?”

“Angels know their purpose.”

“what would a lazybones like me want with a purpose?”

“Gods are tireless. I can keep going forever, and nothing will ever change.”

“…”

“You were made to serve me.”

The funny thing about prayer? Repetition makes it meaningless. There is performance to it, certainly. There is what prayer symbolizes, there is the essential power of routine. But once the words become instinctive, the meaning can’t help but diminish. After enough repetition, prayer becomes little more than muscle memory for the weary. And when the weary recite it, how then can they hope to see God?

Sans kneeled in the hallway, bones aching, magic all but spent. Somewhere before this moment lay the memory of the sun, the way he had rested in its blinding light. Even before that, the echoes of evenings spent in prayer with his father, torn carpet barely cushioning his bones. Those memories were lost now, or buried. So many deaths – had there truly been anything before this? Could there ever be anything after? Sans didn’t know. Eventually, he no longer cared.

“and if i said yes?”

It paused and stared at him. A chuckle started low in its throat, stopped just behind its teeth. Sans wished he could feel a twinge of anger or fear at the sound. He just felt tired.

“Just for one round. Just to try something new.”

“somehow i don’t believe you.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that makes a difference.” The god stepped forward, knife glinting in its hand. Sans closed his eyes, waiting for the final blow. Instead, he felt the warm handle slide into his skeletal grip. “Go forth, my angel. Do as your god commands.”

There was a momentary darkness. He woke at the foot of his bed, hands folded. Eyes dark.

When Sans was young, he had imagined the Angel as a skeletal figure. After maturing, he discarded that image as a figment of childhood’s vivid ego. For a moment in time, doesn’t every child worship a god that looks like them?

Sans was not a god. Through the snow, the water and the flame, he became the angel of death. The flash of his knife answered prayers, scattered dust in the river that it may one day reach the ocean. He remained by his god, always. He watched, as if outside himself, as his knife found the faithful and the faithless alike. He watched his brother die.

“That prayer, in his final moments – you know, before he forgave and spared you. Didn’t you teach him that?”

“…”

“Aw, don’t be like that. It’s hypocritical when you’re the one that killed him.”

“shut up.”

“Ooh.” The god smiled and leaned forward. “But it’s new, isn’t it? Isn’t it better?”

“no. no, it isn’t.”

“Hm.” The god nodded. “Do it again.”

The funny thing about prayer? Its meaning is only found through repetition. Sans scoured through the Underground again and again, knife faltering at first, then growing steady as the path of the Angel settled firmly into his skull. He made a sacrament of death, and his god glutted itself on the dust in his path. He became something truly unlike himself – did that now make him holy?

Holy enough, he decided, waking among flowers with his soul burning bright outside his body, a strange tarry fluid dripping from his eyes. Holy enough for this.

It seemed to know what he was planning. At least, it didn’t look surprised when he brandished his weapon. Nor did it fight back. It only spoke. “You know, you were nothing before me. And you will be nothing after.”

How easy, to kill a god. In the end, how stupidly simple. The Angel laughed as he killed his god with its own gleaming knife, and it laughed too, bright blood staining its teeth.

“i killed you.” The Angel giggled. “does that make me god now?” The god lay still. Its chest had stopped moving a long time ago. The Angel finished his prayer anyway. He had to be certain. “actually, nah, not sure i like that… hey, i’ll figure it out.” The Angel rose to his feet, staggered a bit, then bowed his head. “go to hell.”

What is an angel without a god? From then on, the Angel drifted from world to world. He recited prayer as he always did, utterly divorced from meaning. His knife brought whatever his victims chose, and he learned to see the afterlife in their dimming eyes – the reflection of paradise or punishment, a final acknowledgment of the waiting dark. He laughed in the moment before a creature crumpled to dust – something about it made his soul sting, sharply. It made him feel alive.

Sometimes the Angel would glance over his shoulder, searching for his god’s approval. When he caught himself doing this, his posture would stiffen suddenly, and he would cease his prayer. In those rare moments, a victim might escape. In that way, news spread through the multiverse of his arrival – though ‘Angel’ was not the word they used.

Even to the multiverse’s darkest corners, the Angel slowly became known, and this filled certain people with a cool excitement. Gods watched on and wondered where his allegiance might fall. But this Angel had little patience for deities.

“Aren’t you just fantastic!” The Angel paused, then straightened, turning through the snow of decimated universe to face a small, skeletal figure, dressed in a stained scarf and splattered with ink. “A Sans who no longer believes in anything, but still sees himself as the Angel! A Sans for whom death has become prayer, because prayer never led to anything but death. Odd, definitely – I’d guess your creator was feeling pretty ambitious when they made you…” The skeleton tilted their head. “I’m not sure they succeeded.”

“who are you?”

“Ink! God of Creation. You see, I helped make this universe, so… whoa there, let’s not be too hasty!’ The Angel had raised his knife and taken a smooth step forward.

“god, you say?”

“Hm. Maybe I shouldn’t have said – wow, you’re quick!” Ink swung a massive brush through the air and the Angel’s knife skittered across the brushstroke’s obsidian surface. “Look, sloppy or not I think you came from a place of real excitement and love! I’d like to –”

Ink never finished his sentence. Blinking, the Angel darted around the obsidian shield and raised his knife to stab this god in the chest. He managed to spill a vial of red paint, so much like blood that he smirked, believing for a moment that he had already won. Retribution was brutal and swift.

The Angel no longer felt fear. His god had cured him of that, through the endless resets. Still, Ink’s rapid-fire attacks quickly had him on the defensive, constantly dodging and side-stepping to avoid strike after inky dark strike from the god’s strange weapon. Each time he brandished his knife, he was ambushed by a new attack from a new direction, all coinciding on his form as he struggled to fight back, struggled to survive.

Was this the true power of a god? Something cold settled in the Angel’s soul, causing it to fizzle. He began to seriously consider retreat.

But to where?

The Angel tried to step into another world, but Ink was on him the moment his portal closed, taking advantage of the snow’s blinding afterimage to dig a painted blade into his back. It was dark here, and cold – far colder than Snowdin ever had been. Another blow, and the Angel’s soul shuddered again. This time, he felt fear.

Was this it? Was this where he died?

Another blow.

Perhaps this was right. Perhaps this was what he deserved…

Another blow and sparks flew from his soul, igniting terror and pain. This time the Angel screamed. This time, his mouth shaped a word he’d sworn to never say again.

“ANGEL!!!”

Ink lunged forward, but before his final blow could land something warm and strong gripped the Angel’s ankle and dragged him into the infinite darkness of the earth.

When the Angel woke, he imagined for a moment that he was dead. His sockets could not focus because there was nothing to focus on – the world seemed to have vanished into a brilliant white expanse. He lay there, soul burning, weeping black, emotionless tears. A minute? A year? If the figure hadn’t spoken, the Angel might have lain there forever.

“Greetings, little angel. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

The Angel leapt to his feet. Across from him stood a strange, dark figure. At first, he might have guessed that it was a skeleton – but a tarry black fluid not unlike the Angel’s tears covered every bit of the monster’s body, leaving only a single teal light to stare into his sockets. The Angel might not have recognized Ink’s power, but he could feel this monster’s strength – could feel it in the way the very air seemed to bristle against his presence. This was no mortal. This was beyond anything the Angel had seen.

“what have you heard?”

“In general? Ah, little one, that would require some time.” A fluid black tentacle slipped from the creature’s spine and wrapped around the Angel’s shoulders, immobilizing him. The Angel was still. “But you were asking what I had heard about you. So I will oblige. I have heard that you are a harbinger of death. Some have gone so far as to call you an angel, but I know better than that. After all, what is an angel without a god?”

“i already killed my god. i don’t need another.”

“I do not desire your worship. Besides, there is a title which suits me far better than god.”

“what do you want?”

“A fighter. Someone with little respect for the likes of Dream and Ink, who would aid me in destroying my enemies.”

“you want me to kill gods for you? i would do that anyway.”

“Well then, little god-killer. I have a place for you, if you’ll take it.”

“…and if i say no?”

“Then I shall leave you in the first universe that opens up beneath our feet. You will be free to cause whatever destruction you wish. But if you choose to follow me – oh, you will see and experience far greater things than you could ever imagine.”

“somehow i don’t believe you.”

“Very well. You may return to your dreary existence. But you are limited when you fight alone. You will be more powerful at my side.” The figure extended a tarry hand. “I am not like the other gods. I have no need for angels. But you aren’t exactly an angel anymore… are you?”

The god killer stared at the dark figure, stared at his extended, toxic hand. The dead grass beneath his knees felt like torn carpet. He remembered a different hand, a hollow palm. Prayer was simpler then. The words didn’t yet matter, not like his father’s cool hand on his skull, not like his brother’s chirping voice. The angel wasn’t present in that space. It was only them.

His soul flickered.

“no.” Killer rose to his feet, meeting those deadly teal eyelights. Viscous black fluid burned into his hand. “i’m not.”

The prophecy was fulfilled. The Angel was dead. And for the first time, a prayer was granted.

End credits music: