#huzzah!

[astaroth1357]

More Culinary Wizard MC Shenanigans:

*against all better judgment, someone invited Solomon to dinner and he managed to sneak his way into the kitchen with MC by distracting Mammon (the guard) with loose change. After the main meal has been plated and the brothers have taken their seats, he comes out carrying a tray of mini-sandwiches with a big ol'smile on his face*

Solomon, the human who ruins any dish he touches: Hold on, everyone! I made appetizers!

The Brothers: 😨

MC, the human who can make anything taste wonderful: I helped!

The Brothers: .....

Mammon: Family Meeting!!

*the brothers get up and huddle together in the corner, whispering*

Belphie: I'm not eating that.

Beel: But MC helped this time...

Lucifer: It could be edible.

Levi: They haven't made a bad meal, yet...

Satan: But is it worth the risk?

Mammon: How do we even tell'em if we don't wanna eat it?

Asmo: What if it makes them mad and they stop cooking for us all together...???

Brothers: .....

*after coming to a consensus to not upset MC by hurting Solomon's feelings, they go back to their seats where Solomon has already put one of his sandwiches on their plates*

Solomon: Go on, don't be shy!

*the brothers all eye each other and pick up the sandwiches in unison. A silent stare down occurs with no one wanting to go first until Mammon finally snaps and takes a bite. The others gasp and the room is silent*

Mammon: *looks straight ahead, frozen*

Levi: M-Mammon...?

Mammon: *does an experimental chew, then a couple more*

Asmo: What’s going on? Is it bad??

Mammon: *swallows... and takes a second bite, earning another collective gasp*

Lucifer: Mammon, say something!!

Mammon: It's... *feels tears welling up in his eyes*

Mammon: ... okay.

*the brothers stare down at their own sandwiches and each take their own bites. It is a perfectly average sandwich, mediocre even. Nothing special about aside from one thing: it's edible*

*cue seven grown demons finishing their plates while barely holding back tears of relief*

MC: See, Solomon? They love it!!

Solomon: *extremely proud of himself, probably marking this day on his calendar later*

Solomon: This must be my best recipe yet! 😁

This "recipe" is PB&J.

[teencopandthesourwolf]

liplock

[inkclover]

intended to do a little sketch but it snowballed into a colored piece aeeueuue— ♦️🪲

uwaaahh and some doodles both old and new

[chonnysinferno]

requests / drawing prompts from my frienf. also for lesbian visibiltyu week too :3

[onejellyfishplease]

Per your meme request >:>

AHAHAHHAHAHAGAHAHA YESSSS I LOVE THESEEEE

[beekeeperspicnic]

Today - The Beekeeper's Picnic kickstarter launched!

...And then proceeded to hit the goal about ten hours later, WOW! I genuinely wasn't expecting it to happen so fast, thank you so much everyone!

Keep an eye out over coming days for stretch goals and lots of extra goodies. Although we've hit the minimum goal, I'm so excited to see how far this campaign can go!

Word of mouth is so important for campaigns like mine, so a huge thanks to everyone who has told their friends/family/social media followers about the game so far!

[eddathegreat]

Pale has so many hype moments that I will never be able to explain to anyone.

Like, how tf do I tell people how awesome Sir Percival Awarnach of 99 Titles actually is?

[vaguelyred]

r/askalienstage I think my bf is deranged, do I put a ring on it?

[gerardway-is-my-babygirl]

Thinking about Renfield stitching up Dracula's old clothes whenever he finds them In a pile somewhere. He grabs moth eaten blazers and button up shirts and ties and fixes them up and puts them somewhere nice where they won't get destroyed again.

He's such a little housewife and I can't stop thinking about him sitting on the floor of the hospital with a thread and needle humming his favourite songs while Dracula sleeps. Sometimes he repairs clothes deep Into the night and Dracula wakes up to the sounds of his familiar pricking his fingers and humming to himself. Most times he startles Renfield with his presence and makes his familiar prick himself on purpose, though on rare occasions he lets Renfield continue for a little longer while he scratches him behind the ear like a dog.

After Dracula dies he ends up teaching himself how to knit and crochet with all of the free time he has. He has a giant basket full of yarn and spends all day and all night just repeating the same motions with a needle over and over again. He's a very fidgety person and loves the simple movements of his wrists whenever he makes something (It's definitely a stim for him)

Rebecca comes over and finds him after he hasn't slept In 3 days and drags him over to his bed and tidies up while he naps. He's pretty bad at crocheting at the start, and the yarn keeps coming loose, but he gradually Improves at following patterns he finds In magazines (grandma coded) until he manages to make a blanket for Rebecca!

[bluelabratory]

ghost boy in the ghost zone

[meteors-lotr]

So was anyone gonna tell me that we’re getting an animated lord of the rings movie about Rohan, or was I just going to find out about that when checking the upcoming movies for my local cinema

[pushing500]

Remember how Buckeye and Magic Man had a baby? Well, she's a toddler now. Very cute, very cute. Hopefully her little sister arrives soon and then the family will be nicely rounded out!

hehehe crosshatched

The Buckeye family is adorable, I'm glad that baby Bluegum arrived healthy. I'm not sure why it says her father is unknown, but it was definitely Magic Man. Buckeye's too asexual to have a baby with anyone else.

Now we only need to wait for Duchess to have her baby, and we can leave to get to the crashed ship! so I can finally get Anomaly and update to 1.5 for my mechanitor run

Well, would you look at that. Thank you for your excellent timing, Duchess.

Millie, Marty, and Mark Mossler. The three "M" siblings. Of course, we can't let the littlest Mossler get by without a suitably badass nickname, so he gets to be "Revenant" now.

Night Stalker doesn't look thrilled about being a middle child, but he gets what he gets. Next time, we'll have a colony tour of Loyalty's Meander and then try to make the last 12-and-a-bit-day journey to the crashed ship! I'm keeping my fingers crossed that it all goes well.

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[invertedidiot]

Tee ef two stuff,,,,

[idliketochill]

Doodle I did in my entomology class, huzzah!

[ohtobealady]

October Prompts

5 October: Silver

She paused her breathing—only for a moment. She paused it, slowed it, to slow her heart. She wouldn’t let Robert see her nerves. She wouldn’t let him see the small panic she felt winding its way up and between her ribs, choking the space there, where her heart beat.

Doctor Clarkson nodded at the brown bottle of iodine he held in his grasp. It glimmered mockingly in the bright spring sunlight that shone through the windows.

“You’ll use this when it’s time to change the bandaging.” She lowered her chin, listening. “It should be applied twice daily for the first few days, though I believe we’ll be able change to only once daily soon enough. We’ll allow the wound to air likely at the beginning of … er, next week.”

Cora nodded. Iodine. Twice daily when bandaging. Until next week, she committed to memory.

He handed it to her, reaching his arm across Robert lying between them, and he picked up the clean bandages. “Now, I’ll start the first change and, if you’re agreeable, I’ll have you complete it, Lady Grantham. To be certain.”

“Alright,” she mumbled, again the panic flirting with her resolve. It made sense, she knew, for him to teach her. She did hear a bit of condescendence there, she thought, but she was too tired to mind. For the truth was, she had never changed a bandage. She had hardly ever changed or cleaned anything. And she wanted him home with her.

Steeling herself, she quickly glanced at Robert lying there beneath her. Her own dear Robert, lips bloodless, dark circles beneath his eyes. Oh, while he looked terribly tired and unwell, he was, in fact, on the mend. His being here, lying between she and Clarkson, proved it.

Robert didn’t meet her gaze as Clarkson inspected his bandages and then began to neatly pull them away from his side. He still didn’t meet her gaze when Clarkson asked Cora to pay close attention to a particular area that was healing slower than the rest.

She did.

Cora did her best not to wince as Doctor Clarkson slowly pulled the bandage from Robert’s skin, a section of it sticking to where blood had dried against it.

She blinked. She, again, glanced to her husband’s face whose eyes were trained on the ceiling above them. She drew in a deep breath.

“Aye,” Clarkson said quietly as he rolled the bloodied fabric against itself. “Everything looks well.”

She made herself look now. If Robert was coming home—and he was—and she was to be the one to care for him—and she was determined to—then she couldn’t afford the fear that stung her chest.

Oh. But it was worse than she thought it would be. The sutures were there. Down the center of his stomach. Then below, a small line of additional sutures marching across.

Larger than she thought it would be.

One. Two. Three. Four. She stopped counting them, each thick stitch, realizing suddenly that there were more than enough to throw her heart into quick spasms.

She swallowed and looked to Clarkson, who nodded again at the bottle she held.

“Alright, my lady. The iodine first. On a cotton ball. Pressing lightly.”

She glanced at Robert, and then, gathering courage, grinned in an effort to pretend confidence. I will do this. Easily, she soaked the cotton with the iodine. And then, praying very quickly that she’d not hurt him, she pressed it gently—very gently—to the healing incision.

She noticed the way his shoulders tensed as she pressed. She had to ignore it. She noticed the way his eyes looked further upwards, and then as they closed. She had to ignore that, too. And then she noticed, with a rush of fresh panic, blood—red and new—beginning to seep from where her fingers had been.

“Have I—“

“—Ah,” Clarkson stopped her, remarking upon it as one may when finding a sixpence on the floor. “Leave it and just continue there. Near the sternum. I’ll return.”

But Cora didn’t want to continue there. She watched the blood form a neat and perfect sphere, and she swallowed away the threat of tears. Stupid, stupid, useless tears—oh, she’d not slept.

“It isn’t as awful as I’d imagined,” her pretended self lied aloud. “And this seems very simple. If I’d have known, we could’ve had you home days ago.” Lies. Lies, again.

Lying there, still, she heard her husband groan.

Oh, what had she done? “You aren’t in any pain, are you?” She studied his worn features for any hint of discomfort. “Does it hurt at all?”

At last, he spoke. “No.”

And again, it made her want to cry.

“Good,” she answered, tightly and curtly, and demanded herself to press the cotton ball to the very top of the long vertical incision. “I dare say this will all heal up very nicely.” Her fingers were trembling, and she pulled in a long—very long—breath. “Especially once we get you home and—“

What? What was happening to her? She’d done so well. She’d not cried. A few moments of weepiness, yes. But she’d not cried because, well, he was alright. He was here and healing and he was able to come home and Doctor Clarkson was so pleased with his recovery and—

—his cold fingers stilled her own.

Cora looked at his face and saw, at last, that he met her eye. Embarrassed, she sniffed back the emotion, the illogical and delayed emotion … the terrifyingly deep love she felt for him.

His thumb passed over her fingers, and Cora closed her eyes. Nodded. And opened them again.

“I feel quite capable of this, you know,” she lied one last time. “But I warn you, once you’re home again, I won’t have you over-exerting yourself and undoing all my hard work.”

He didn’t speak, but Cora could feel it. She felt the way his finger held her own tighter.

“—here we are.”

He dropped her hand. She turned to Doctor Clarkson.

“Silver nitrate,” he said, brandishing another small bottle. “Just a touch to stop the bleeding.”

Cora watched him; she watched the way he administered to the tiny bleeding spot. “Wounds can sometimes bleed, a wee bit, post-trauma.” And she watched in wonder as the bleeding stopped, as if frozen by the tiny silver drop against his skin. “Even the smallest prodding can do it. But, not to worry, it’ll heal.”

[jamiesfootball]

👀

From the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic:

Roy hasn’t been paying attention to this video long enough to know what goes wrong. One second, he’s turned to fetch the heavy cream from the fridge (“Everybody ask Roy nicely—please, Roy!“) when the lid on Roy’s saucepan explodes. When Roy turns, there’s glass and marinara everywhere—across the counters, the cabinets, the floor, the ceiling. A gaping crater lies in the top where the handle of the pan used to be. And Jamie- “Turn that fucking off.” Jamie, still holding his camera rig level, turns off the recording but otherwise doesn't move. The air in the kitchen is pregnant with tension, and Roy teeth grind together so hard stars blossom behind his eyes, and Jamie, there’s Jamie— “Sorry,” Jamie rushes to apologize, and he sounds exactly like he had the first time he’d accidentally shattered one of Roy’s mugs: voice reedy and a little desperate and a lot of fake casualness, as he rushed to clean it up like he thought speed was the determining factor in Roy noticing. His hands flutter to remove the rig—presumably to start cleaning—and Roy can see even from across the room how hard they're shaking. But Roy can’t think about that now, can’t think past the way the world spirals around the image of Jamie, splattered in glass and marinara across his face, chest, and arms, and Roy can’t make out which of it is blood. “Don’t move,” Roy grits out. His pulse drums loud in his ears; he can hardly hear himself speak. “Don't. Fuck. Just stay still.” When he returns with the broom, dustpan, and a pair of slides, Jamie has in fact stayed still. He’s stayed so still, in fact, that he seems to have gone backwards in time, losing ten years in the ten seconds Roy was gone. “Here,” Roy throws the slides down. “Careful where you step. Did any glass get on your feet?” Jamie looks down, seeming to realize as he did that he was barefoot. He stares at his own feet as if he's surprised to learn he still has them. “Jamie?” “What? Sorry.” He stepped forward; Roy braced him by the elbow, tugging him to take a further step away from the glass. “I’ll replace your pan. Here, let me get this.”

He made to grab for the broom. Roy held it out of his reach. “The mess can wait. Let’s get you cleaned up.”