#don't ask me what this mess is

[wasyago]

something incredibly self indulgent

[jeysuso]

#cocaine, side-boob, choke her with a sea-view🎶

[lettuceflower]

i love how ff16 is filled with a lot of interesting lore and characters, but my main takeaway from it was the 5 min tragic love story between the dragon prince and his knight

[creation-help]

Do you have an oc that you kinda wanna kill off but can't bring yourself to, for whatever reason?

[deltoidlover]

HALF LIFE 2 STRIPPED COMBINE SOLDIER MODEL REFERENCE these guys are freaky even with their 5 polygons send me a message if there's a specific model you need references of, i'd be happy to snap some pics!

[mattodore]

theo is so tiny compared to matthias....... 😳💕 (i'm not a degenerate i swear!!!!!! i just think they're neat)

perfect for easy-access forehead kisses <3

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

Okay, but. SWK Truth serum au. Imagine him being forced to communicate. Comedy, hurt/comfort, and finally clearing up, well, everything. I’m not sure where I’m going with this, sorry. Have a great day, bye!

“You know who broke the toaster, Monkey?”  The word “yes,” was pulled out feeling forced and unpleasant.  Pigsy looked like he already knew the answer before he asked. Wukong wasn’t sure why he bothered asking at all.  “Who?”  “I did.”  “Of course…” Pigsy pinched the bridge of his snout and sighed before looking at him, brows furrowed with some familiar annoyance that made Wukong’s hands twitch. “Mystic Monkey strength and all that I bet.”  Not a question so Wukong just gave him a forced smile instead of answering. He glanced away to look over at where Mei and Mk were arguing over whether it was sane to put butter on plain bread without toasting it first.  “Nothing to say for yourself?” Pigsy asked after a long moment of silence.  “No,” the words slid out, unraveling, too many.  It made him lightheaded the more he said, not unlike the feeling that came with blood loss. Dizzying and empty. Every word took something with it as it left him. “It never matters what I say.”

Anon you have no idea how desperately I want to write an entire fic about this, I have been thinking about this constantly since you sent this ask bKL;SDMAFAOWEF

[sunnybunnybabs]

FTFO art and meme, ch 34 related

Who knew drawing characters youve never drawn before is hard!!! Fuck you XGaster

Healer protection squad consisting of deities, someone from a different multiverse and the multiverse itself who want you fucking dead!!

It was just something funny I thought of since I just want the Gasters n Alphys dead n gone

Xtra funny lil meme I've been thinking about

[tennis-kittens]

Rafa having Casper sit next to him for emotional support because he knew that whatever would come out of Roger's mouth would wreck him 😭🤧💔

[furious-blueberry0]

Mandalorian Government (All Is Well AU)

Finally managed to make some sense of this old post and change some things, so here is how Mandalore works in my AU!

Enjoy:

First of all, the citizens: 

To be considered a citizen of age, and so have the right to vote, it depends on when and how you became a Mandalorian:

If you are born mandalorian in a mandalorian family, or have been adopted as a child, all you have to do is complete the Verd’goten and continue following the Resol’nare.

If you became a mandalorian as an adult or over the age for the Verd’goten, you have to follow the Resol’nare, and you’ll get the right to vote after being a mandalorian for 5 years.

When you reach the age of 60, you can still vote, but you cannot run for any kind of political office.

There are three main bodies in this government:

The Assembly

The Council

The Governors

The Assembly is formed by 30 elements, and with the two Governors they are 32.

To be elected as a member you have to be a citizen of age, so the standard mandalorian citizen can be elected if they're at least 13 years old (since that’s the age of the Verd’goten), but not if they’re over 60. It’s rare to see mandalorians under the age of 18 actually be elected, but some actually managed it.

Obviously the non-human species that have different life spans will have different rules, with their years equating to the human ones. 

Each of the nine planets of the Mandalorian System runs elections to choose three mandalorians to represent the planet in the Assembly.

Not only the citizens of the planets can run for elections, but also those who live on their moons, which is a bit tricky for the planets of Bonagal and Shukut, who have 34 and 30 moons, but they seem to manage just fine.

Only one member per Clan can run for election, and more often than not, they are elected based more on the power of their names than their actual worth as a candidate. 

But this doesn’t preclude the way to those who come from less known Clans, who are sometimes even preferred by the citizens, because they are considered more part of the people, and not spoiled kids of powerful families.

This way we have 27 members elected. 

The other 3 are chosen by the Assembly, and are the representatives of the Three Houses: House Vizsla, House Kast and House Kryze.

This was a rule made  to avoid internal conflicts, so that the Houses could not complain about losing power or not being represented in the government. They have the same power as the other members of the Assembly, no more, no less.

For each member their tenure lasts 20 years, with the exception, for example, that if a member is elected when they’re 50 then their tenure will only last 10 years, if elected at 45 it will only last 15 years and so on.

They can decide to withdraw from their position, but only after 5 years of service. 

Their position can be taken away with a Vote-of-No-Confidence, who can be called by any individual that brings enough evidence to show their reasoning about the vote.

If any of this happens, their planet is given three months to redo a new election for a new member, if this is not done then the Assembly can choose a new member on their own.

The Council doesn’t have actual political power, their position is more honorary than anything else, they are there to give advice and suggestions to the Assembly and the Governors, but their voice has no power in the actual decision making.

It’s made up of 6 elders, elected by the Assembly, with tenure for life, and to be part of it you need to be at least 60 years old.

Most of the time they are former members of the Assembly, who cannot be re-elected there, and so they are given this position. There have been cases in which some of those elected never held political tenure, but they are rare.

They too can lose their position, but this can be decided only by a Vote-of-No-Confidence made and voted by the Assembly.

The citizens have no say on the Council, since they have no power and are only used as advice givers.

The Governors are the heads of state of the Mandalorian System.

They are chosen with an election done across all the planets of the system, and are voted by only the citizens of age.

To run for the election they need to be at least 20 years old, and anyone from any Clan or House can do so.

Their tenure lasts ten years, and the decade of the Mandalorian calendar in which they governed has the name of the two Governors (for example: the decade of Satine and Arla is called “The Years of Fett and Kryze”)

When one becomes a Governor, they have to wear a purple cloak, to signify their status as head of state, and distinguish them from the rest of the Assembly.

They too can have their power taken by a Vote-of-No-Confidence, that can be called by any individual that brings enough evidence to show their reasoning about the vote, but this happens only if at least 25 members of the Assembly vote against the Governor.

No, challenging one of the Governors to a duel to the death will not give you their position of power, but it will give you the chance to get your ass beaten and obliterated by all the 30 members of the Assembly for even suggesting such a stupid idea.

extra random info:

Mandalore is not part of the Republic, but the System decided to at least maintain a good relationship between the two, and every ten years, they invite emissaries of the Republic to the Celebration of the election of the new Governors. 

More often than not the emissaries they send are Jedi, as if the Republic was testing them to see if they cared more about their current peace, or the war of the past. But for now no mandalorian ever attacked verbally or physically any of the Jedi sent there, or at least, none of the Jedi ever said anything about it in their reports, so who knows.

[hermidetta]

[ 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 ] : after being misinformed that the sender has died, receiver is grieving.

* for you i would.

when does a war end? when can i say your name and have it mean only your name and not what you left behind?

they already died once.

bernadetta thought she had lost jules forever. but jules turned out to be alive. jules is yuri—yuri is jules. yuri is alive! and wasn't that the most wonderful discovery? yuri, her childhood friend, being alive?

bernadetta doesn't think she has the right to most everything in this world, let alone the right to ask which name of theirs is real. what matters is them. yuri can use whatever name they want as long as they stay alive.

alive. yuri is supposed to stay alive. she's probably begged it of them more times than she could possibly count—arguably sounding silly nine times out of ten, arguably just enough so she doesn't give away that she cares more than she should (she does, she does, she does care more than she should) because she is a repulsive worthless thing that nobody in their right mind would want caring for them—

and because yuri is no longer jules. yuri is no longer jules, and she cannot just wildly lunge and hug his arm like the girl she used to be. she is lucky enough that yuri might still think of her as a friend now. might. she does not dare assume beyond that. she can live with being a ghost or a blemish or nothing at all as long as yuri stays alive.

but whatever the case, yuri is supposed to stay alive.

yuri almost died because of her, already, and bernadetta can only imagine from the glint of their lavender eyes what hells they have clawed through afterwards. one 'almost' should have been more than enough. if not for her, then for them.

but yuri does not return from their mission. that is at least what she has been told. the debriefer shakes bernadetta off his elbow like the pest she is, and before he walks away, the punch of his words slams her into silence.

her first friend is dead. her first heart is dead. her father crushed them once and now they're dead again. immediately, the loudest thoughts come back:

if yuri had just brought down the knife that night like they were supposed to—

if yuri had just been able to take that gold and run without looking back—

later that night, she slinks haggardly into the greenhouse with rot in her steps and a pouch in her grasp.

bernadetta von varley is allowed a corner—a very humble one, secluded, but her own all the same. there she grows her peculiar motley of flowers, from colorful blooms to carnivorous plants. next to a fanged flytrap, there is a space in the dirt from a recent harvest of herbs. into her palm, she turns over the pouch in her possession, and small seeds tumble out.

she usually sings while she does this, but has no heart for it tonight. the seeds get buried in the soil with the care of a casket; her hands pat down the soft mound, then clasp—she doesn't know if it is a gesture of prayer or a mere pantomime of. she just doesn't know. she just doesn't know.

all things considered: she cannot bring herself to pray to the goddess her father claims to regale. the man's wretched face flickers through her mind. acid and ache rise in her throat.

and there, bernadetta cannot pinpoint exactly when the dam breaks—just that it breaks.

it shatters like the porcelain of a teaset she gets punished for dropping. it bursts like the double doors of her old room when the suitors won't buy her. it claps like a palm against the wood of a table and sends her careening over the edge.

so bernadetta, unable to hold back any longer, finally tells yuri.

crying, gasping, she hangs her head to the planted seeds and tells them everything, through the uncontrollable hiccups and sobs, the words streaming from her lips like the tears down her cheeks. she tells them about the wicked count, tells them all the truths she never thought would see the light of day. she explains to yuri that she is just property. she tells them that before the academy, she had forgotten how much it meant to be offered a hand instead of taking the back of it.

she tells them about why she cut her hair, about the fist in it that made her kick and scream so hard that even her mother could no longer stand by—how the woman had bernadetta bagged like garbage and shipped to the monastery without any say. she sobs and apologizes, over and over, for everything that makes sense, and for everything that doesn't.

"and sorry, i'm sorry, i shouldn't be dumping all of this on you—"  because even in death bernadetta gives yuri more humanity than she will ever give herself. more humanity, more grace, and infinitely more kindness.  "but i always really, really wanted to tell you the truth, you know? always. that i wished i could've ran—"

her voice cracks. "—ran away, with you, wherever you went, even if that was selfish of me. or that i wished you could've killed me if it meant one of us could live happy. a-and i know, i'm just bernie, i don't mean much! i know already! bernie's worthless and doesn't have to mean anything to anybody! and i promise that's okay, but for me you're someone who... who...!"

bernadetta swears that her heart has been ripped out from her ribs, flung to the dirt and stomped into paste. she can't take it. she can't take it. not when it's yuri. not when she has spent her life shut in that birdcage, bars just wide enough to have a loved few she can count on a hand—and to lose the one she already mourned most? what kind of sick punishment was it? why was it hers? she loves, and loves, and loses. bernadetta always loses. she weeps into her hands, nails curling crescents into her face.

she doesn't know how long the moon hangs over her head, sneering down at her foolish lament. at some point she balls into herself, head tucked over her knees with clenched fists on the ground. bernadetta cries and mourns until she's out of air, out of strength, out of everything—and somewhere along the way she toes across the line into slumber, limping onto her side with finality in her bones. the last thing she thinks she sees is the watery blur of lavender petals.

[arsenicflame]

hey does anyone wanna bounce bellhands/they all went to pirate school together ideas with me? im trying to figure out the missing pieces of my personal set up and it might be easier with someone else!

[unfortunate17]

If you're still taking requests, would you write your version of the season 3 party scene? I can't wait until Wilmon can do more than just stare at each other. Love your writing btw! Please write more!

Me 🤝 Wille, being ramble-y drunks. They still do their fair share of staring, sorry anon, it's a Wilmon classic. Also thank you so much for the kind words! I hope you like this, I wrote it all in one sitting while a little wine drunk haha.

The music at the palace is so loud that the floor vibrates with every hit of the base.

Simon's sitting beside two girls that are making out tenderly, caught between their bodies and the arm of the couch. He’s restless and alone, wants to stop mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, put his phone away, and plaster himself to Wilhelm's side where he would feel at most ease. 

Wilhelm had been the one to insist that Simon accompany him tonight. He’d led him here with clasped hands, animated and bright under the dark sky as he chattered on and on, drunk and joyous. Simon had been happy to stumble along, grinning up at him in that besotted way that never failed to make Wilhelm smug. 

Now, though, he's a little regretful. 

The lemonade in his cup is lukewarm and flat. He's sore from the rowing machines in PE, cold from the biting chill in the room that no-one else seems to mind in their alcohol induced haze. He's half debating on making a break for it, but the wondrous sight of Wilhelm doubled over in laughter keeps him in place. 

Wilhelm is in the middle of a semi-intense game of beer pong with some of the Forest Ridge boys, rowdy cheers going up every time one of them ended up having to chug a glass of whatever concoction they’d created. Wille is stumbling over his feet, face pink with alcohol, starry-eyed and oh-so lovely. 

Simon is still mulling this particular discovery over in his mind. That alcohol makes Wilhelm sleepy and affectionate, makes him bounce around to electronic music with friends while he begs a bashful Simon to join him in all his left-footed glory. 

The girls at his side laugh, whispering some secret between them as they make their way out of the palace. Simon watches them leave, a tad envious. There’s a loneliness to Hillerska that he will likely never shake, not even with Wille at his side. 

He stretches out across the now vacant couch and downs his lemonade in an effort to be free of holding the damn thing. With faint amusement, Simon watches as Wille mirrors his motion, chugging the last standing cup on his side of the table while the boy beside him groaned in defeat. 

He likes this side of Wille. The teenage boy of it all. Messy and uncoordinated and free. 

When Wilhelm catches his gaze, Simon drops it, flushed and oddly embarrassed. But even inebriated, Wille clocks his staring, and it makes him grin instantly, face splitting wide in smug joy. 

At once, Simon scrambles to sit up, but Wille is at his side in a heartbeat. “Hi,” he beams, casually tossing his empty cup to land behind the couch. Briefly Simon wonders who actually cleans this place. “How’s it going over here?”

Simon snorts, “Good. How’re you?”

Wille slides to his knees on the cold, concrete floor, easing Simon back into the couch with a hand pressed to the center of his chest. “I lost at pong,” he tells him seriously. “The cups were really small. It’s hard to get the ball in.”

Simon can’t quite hold back a burst of laughter. “Yeah?”

Wilhelm frowns. “Did you see me lose?”

Simon turns on his side to face him, carding a hand through Wilhelm’s sweaty hair. “I did, sorry.”

“It’s okay, everyone loses sometimes,” Wille leans into his touch, humming happily. “What’d you wanna do now? My knees hurt.” 

Simon stifles a laugh. He sits up, patting the space beside him on the couch. “Wille, come sit.”

He winces at the way Wille’s knees crack when he stands, makes a mental note to berate him about stretching more after his runs. Wilhelm only sighs in relief, folding himself into the small space between Simon and the arm of the couch. His hands find Simon’s waist, face ending up buried into the crook of his neck. 

Simon resumes petting his hair. “You’re not going to be sick are you?”

He feels Wille shake his head. “No,” comes the muffled response, “I’m okay.” Wille leans back slightly, kisses his neck, his jaw, his cheek. “Thank you for asking. Love you.”

Something warm pools in Simon’s stomach. Wilhelm is so gentle. It is a balm to his restless soul. “You need any water?”

Wille leans back against the armrest, tucks his feet up under him. His head lolls softly when he smiles at Simon, “No, baby, I’m good.”

Simon swallows. His voice is almost non-existent when he speaks, “Okay, let me know.”

“I will.”

Wille rolls out his shoulders. He looks content, even if Simon is hyper-ware of the way everyone around them is imperceptibly trying to listen in on their mundane interaction. The Forest Ridge boys alone have sent them a half-dozen poorly concealed looks in just the last few minutes. 

“Hey.”

Simon forces himself to re-focus on Wilhelm. “Yeah?”

A large hand settles on his jaw, Wille’s fingers curling around his ear and cheek. He steeps forward, pressing a fumbling kiss to Simon’s mouth. “You look nice.”

Simon jerks back instinctively, but Wille’s grip on his face is firm. He tries to shrug it off, laughing, “Stop it, Wille.”

Wille smiles, kisses him again, and Simon allows it, albeit with a roll of his eyes. He has never kissed anyone that smiles so much during and it makes something swoop in his belly. The proof that he brings Wilhelm joy. 

“Wille,” Simon tries to lean away, but the way he’s fighting back laughter makes his nay-saying extremely ineffective, “I mean it.”

Wilhelm cackles, drawing more attention than Simon knows what to do with, and kisses his nose instead. 

Simon bats him away half-heartedly, can feel his face and neck prickling with embarrassment even if all he really wants is to drown in Wille’s heady presence. “Everyone’s watching.”

Wille presses his nose into Simon’s cheek. “I don’t give a fuck about what everyone else is doing.” His hand grazes the button of Simon’s jeans and Simon squeaks, pushing up to his feet. 

He looks down at Wille, trying and failing to maintain an air of sternness. 

Wille must see straight through him, though, because he only tips his head back into the couch, eyes filled with mirth as he regards Simon before him. 

“Watch the hands.”

Wille raises the hands in question up in surrender. “They’re being watched. They’re also really sorry.”

Simon rolls his eyes. 

“Okay maybe not really sorry,” Wille grins, reeling Simon in by the hem of his shirt with said offending hands. “Do you want me tonight?”

Simon regards his absolute fool of a boy. “You’re being ridiculous tonight you know that?”

“You were the one laid out on the couch like it’s my bed or something.”

“Well you were the one – ”

Wille gets to his feet, kisses him again, this time decidedly deeper. When Simon pulls away, he catches a glimpse of Felice and Maddie giggling at their expense. “C’mon,” he mutters, “let’s get out of here.”

“Are we going to my room, Simon?” Wille follows him out, “Not that I have a preference, of course. I just think my bed’s more comfortable than that couch, you know. And like, it’s big enough for two people. But we don’t have to. I don’t really care. But, like, hypothetically – only hypothetically, if we went back there, we could – ”

Simon has to fight to keep the grin off his face. “If you can stay quiet all the way back to your room,” he murmurs to Wilhelm, “I’ll suck you off against the door.”

Wille’s eyebrows climb towards his hairline as they stumble out into the cold, spring night. “That sounds like a good time.”

“Yeah?” Simon asks, amused, “But – ”

“You always have the best ideas, Simon. You know that? Like, in Biology today – ”

“I said quiet, Wille. Remember?”

“Oh,” Wille smiles, huge and healing in a way that Simon will never be able to thank him enough for. “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

Helpless, he turns to mash a kiss against the chilled skin of Wille’s cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” 

"Wille."

"What?"

[architect-lumicent]

Behold!! my greatest idea yet!!

Some information about them:

-They reside in the crater. Dormant for now until something bothers the warpers massively or the kharaa gets cured

-It is a gentle giant.

-It is classified as a weapon. Self assigned Quarantine Enforcement Unit.

-After the kharaa got cured it began to guard major facilities in order to not have anyone mess with them

-its body and coat can change colors accordng to the surrounding. Ex: if they are in the active lavazone, their colors change to reds and oranges. If in sector zero (for whatever reason) their colors become white-ish and blue.

[myymi]

ohh if you can i would appreciate some tips!! honestly writers are so admirable we dont give yall enough credit🙏🙏🙏

well, for me to give you the absolute best tips i can to help out, i need to know what exactly you're struggling with when it comes to writing. there are about a million different tips i can give you for about a million different things and some of those tips will be completely useless to you

for now though, i'll give you the things that help me getting into a writing mood + general tips i give to new writers and if you still need further help you can explain what exactly you're struggling with and ill do my best to help out;

1) whatever you learned about formatting essays; forget it.

a common thing i see in new writers is they try to write it like an essay. which isn't a bad idea really, but it is restricting. your paragraphs don't have to be four or more sentences. they can only be one if you want. it's your story, format it however you want. you don't need to follow rules

2) listening to music

this is mostly for when you have that one specific scene in your head but have no idea what to do for the rest of the fic. listening to music and connecting the lyrics to the characters you're using is a great way to get your mind thinking. one song can give you several different ideas depending on how you interpret it

3) make sure you are in a good mood

personally, i cannot write to save my life if im upset or just generally having a bad day. i know some people can use creating as a way to cheer themselves up, but it just doesn't work out for me lol

4) if you don't need background noise, don't use it

it's pretty easy to get distracted when writing, especially when you have something new playing. if you do need background noise of some kind, i would advise playing instrumental music or that one movie/show that you've seen a thousand times and could quote in your sleep. keep your focus on your writing

5) brackets will be your best fucking friend when writing

one of the most important things about writing is keeping your flow going. if you find yourself writing sentence after sentence for a good while and then you suddenly hit a stop because you don't know how to word what happens next; throw it in brackets and write the scene after it. its the same reason why you're told to skip questions you get stuck on when taking a test. let your brain do what it knows it can and come back to the tricky stuff later.

6) you don't have to write anything in order

you don't have to write a story exactly start to finish. you can jump between any scene you'd like and find out how to connect it to a different scene another time. this kinda ties into the last tip in the sense that you gotta let your brain do what it knows. if you only know the beginning and the end then write those first and figure out the rest as you go. if you need to edit either one of the previous things then that's okay. there's no shame in changing things around, it's just how creating things go. sometimes change is needed

7) writing prompts

for new writers, i like to tell them to find a prompt online to write a story for before they start their own. using a prompt someone else made keeps your brain from getting overwhelmed, allowing you to focus more on finding a writing style that works best for you. using writing prompts also lets your brain find ways to contribute to a story without having it make everything while also figuring out how to put it on paper. it's easy to overwhelm the brain, so let it get used to writing before you start creating your own ideas. (this is also something i advise to people who experience burnout or just cant think of anything to write. your brain just needs a break from creating ideas right now, go and find a prompt for it)

8) word count

listen to me because this is so important; ignore the word count. you need to focus on learning, not how much you're writing. it doesn't matter if you only wrote 50 words when other people have fics well over 50k. ignore it. you are learning, you'll get there eventually. if you focus too much on how much you're writing you're going to stress yourself out and ultimately drive yourself away from ever writing again. treat word counts as milestones. start with 50, then 100, then 150, then 200, etc. let yourself work towards it slowly rather than push yourself too hard right out the gate. you can't expect to draw the mona lisa the first time you put a pencil to a paper, so don't expect to write thousands of words the first time you write a story. it'll take time, and that's perfectly okay.

9) analyze the shit out of your characters

this is easier when writing fanfiction, but take a few hours to learn your characters. find the content they're in and hyper-focus on what they're doing. pay attention to their speech patterns, their body language, their relationships with others, etc. if they're not in a scene, try to imagine they are and what'd they do and/or say if they were. it'll help out with keeping them in character when writing

10) if you get to a point where you can't write anymore even when using brackets; stop writing for the day

we have our limits. you will get to a point where you can't get another word down and that's okay. it doesn't matter if you've only written a handful of words, close your program and wait until you feel motivation hit you again. if you keep trying to force yourself to write when you just can't then you're going to burn yourself out. the most probable reason for this is writer's block, which means you need to focus on other things for a while. give your brain time to recollect itself. it's annoying, i know, but it's better for you if you just let your brain do what it needs to. it knows how to take care of itself, so let it.

i also have a tag i use whenever i give tips, so you can check those out as well to see if anything helps! it's just writing tips

[manofthepipis]

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if another Addison somehow went down the spamton route and become a puppet. Like Clicks or something. The pink one witnesses the horrors.

you know i think about that too however i'm cautious about "role swaps" in fandom cuz i'm so used to like the personalities of characters being swapped rather than the roles that were intended

cuz like spamton is the best target for what happened to him. He's beyond desperate, he's the black sheep, he's smaller and isn't successful, whereas the rest of the addisons are the opposite of those things. If the roles were swapped and another addison got picked, I think they wouldn't fall for what they'd think is a "too good to be true" scam, seeing as they're cons themselves. They may doubt it when they see what happened to spamton, but truly they wouldn't be swayed.

OR in the event of one of the addisons ACTUALLY getting to "big shot"dom, top of the mansion, untold riches, etc, they'd fall back when the irons get too hot (like they wouldn't pursue more knowledge, spiraling into religious insanity, but would just focus on sales and their profit/reputation). That, and if their benefactor left, they'd be able to hold their ground (or at least somewhat) while spamton is destined to crash and burn because he just is a really obvious con and his businesses fail regardless.

like, spamton lost the idea of the value of money, instead favoring the things that can make him [[Big]] like the Soul. As soon as he had everything in the world, he wanted more, and I believe this hubris is unique to him because of how much he stands out. He's never satisfied, and will continue to be unsatisfied until everything that was meaningful to him has lost meaning in the pursuit of something grander.

What would be REALLY messed up is that, if that happens and one of the other addisons is chosen, I still believe spamton would end up failing big time, since he was found at the end of his rope presumably (but this time he doesn't have Heaven as a motivator). Thinking of him being the little white addison in the streets nobody associates with, and he's still doing his whole "garbage living" thing except while relatively sane and still his ol addison self. He's bitter and down on his luck, going to shadier means of making a name for himself, and it's not great to see