webbelzebub

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Oh so when Ella Ashmore finds out her God(s) are false and gets power from a new more Eldrich one to defeat her enemies it's a good thing and she's seen as a hero. But when I, Grace Chasity-

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Shakes the Starkid Fandom by the sholders. BILL is Paul's best friend. Not Ted. Paul babysat ALICE for BILL. He offers to get BILL a caramel frappe from Beanies. He's comfortable with BILL. BILL is his friend. BILL. BILL WOODWARD. WILLIAM WOODWARD WHO IS PLAYED BY ACTOR COREY DORRIS. HE IS PAUL'S BFF.

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Just learnt Nighthawks are real

Gotta be honest I thought starkid made up a bird

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Hi my name is Stephanie Slaughter Lauter and I have a politician dad (that’s how I got my name) and my hair has purple streaks and reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don’t know who she is get da hell out of here!). I’m not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he’s a major fucking hottie. I’m a vampire but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I’m also being killed cause I go to a high school called Hatchetfield High in Hatchetfield where I’m in the third year (I’m eighteen). I’m grunge (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black corset with matching lace around it and a black leather miniskirt, green fishnets and black combat boots. I was wearing black lipstick, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside Hatchetfield. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

~~~

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I like to think that Max is actually not very good at football, in hatchetfield everyone just kind of sucks at sports so the “star quarterback” there is actually someone who embarrassingly bad everywhere else.

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It's fine.

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I just can't stop laughing at the fact that this is what Hidgens looks like now. My kooky 70 year old mad scientist has not skipped gym since he predicted the end of the world

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hey again (expect another one tomorrow im on a roll with my max art)

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hey

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rip margaret cavendish, you’ve would’ve loved once upon a december

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So excited to be thinking about the implications again!!!!!!

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the lords in black were summoned, but if the lakeside mall was a shorter walk than the high school

i was thinking ab how the lords’ “holding court in their form” seems influenced by being summoned in a high school, and what they might look like if they were summoned in the mall instead.

so instead of jocks and theatre nerds, we get: a mall goth, a food court employee, an unattended sticky child, a mall cop, and an ancient mall walker.

further explanation (semi pete’s pov) of what role they take and the kind of feelings they evoke below the cut:

pokey is a mall goth. but not the kind built on personal freedoms or anti-establishment grit. pokey feels like a mall goth curated by the algorithm, tiktok trends and a thousand-dollar amazon cart. his hair’s professionally dyed, his boots unscuffed. but that’s not really what you notice. it’s the presence he radiates, this quiet, sharpened confidence that only comes from belonging. you’ve never worn black lipstick, never cared for goth music, but still… something about him makes you wish you did. makes you wish you could walk beside him. his blue is familiar (not like richie’s warm teal, staining your fingers in a cramped bathroom) but in a painful way. it’s the blue of dart frogs and stovetop flames. of winter skies so empty and flat they feel like a threat. and when he looks at you, really looks, you’re not just alone. you’re individual. and it hurts.

nibbly is probably the happiest food court worker you’ve ever seen. or maybe he’s just grinning. a grin that stretches too wide, showing every tooth. too wide to be safe. nibbly’s the color of intestines, of pus-pocked acne, of grease shimmering over something bloody. his uniform might’ve started as the same highlighter pink behind every counter, but now it’s muted, aged by years (or eons) of absorbing grease. it almost looks like nibbly himself has been steeped in oil: hair clumped and sticky against his face, his shirt, your food. his visor is dull pink, his eyes cloaked in shadow. he holds a tray out to you. your hands twitch to take it. it feels like you’re supposed to relieve him of it. it’s your order. even if you didn’t place one. even if you don’t know what’s on it. you just… know. and somewhere deep in your stomach, you get the sinking feeling that it’s not the food he wants to eat.

wiggly is a paragon of snotty mall kids. sticky, unsupervised, and terrifyingly confident in the way only children who've never been punished can be. he’s also unmistakably green, crusted around his nose and mouth, fossilized under his fingernails, soaked into his shirt. and he hates you. not in the vague, bratty way. this is something deeper. something personal. every unattended kid in a mall dreams of crushing you like an ant. but when this kid looks at you, you understand that he can. he holds himself with more than reckless confidence. he’s not just sure no one will stop him. he’s sure you can’t.

blinky is a mall cop whose issues with authority transcend the stereotype. he doesn’t resent power, he needs it. he deserves it. He’s compensating for it, breathing down, your neck, keeping constant vigilance. you’ve seen him before. every mall has one. maybe it’s the flickering security cameras blinking orange in the corners. maybe it’s the static whisper of the walkie-talkie on his shoulder. maybe it’s just the way you feel watched before you’ve even walked inside. his sunglasses hide his eyes, but somehow you know. he’s looking at you. you haven’t done anything wrong. not really. but he knows. he knows what you would do. and he’s waiting for it.

tinky is still walking. he’s been walking since the fountain ran. maybe since the mall opened. maybe since before that. his tracksuit used to be tan. now it’s yellow, sickly, rusted, corroded by sweat and time. his skin, his hair, his eyes, everything about him is yellowing, wilting. creased with the dusty, moldy hue of things forgotten in the dark. his walk is slow. wheezing. bones grinding under paper-thin skin. but he doesn’t stop. he never stops. he laps the fountain, again and again. when he looks at you (eyes jaundiced yellow under the cloud of curdled milk cataracts) you feel it. not fear. not pity. recognition. you wonder if this is your future. if this is all that’s left for you. just the suit. the steps. the orbit.

but also their designs might still be the same bc the summoners are still high schoolers, and the lords are just mirroring them lol

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Divining the Future: The Black Tarot [The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals: Reprised! Kickstarter]

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The summoning plays in the distance

(Available at my table at mcm next weekend 💃)

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my favorite headcanon of all time is that the lords have no influence over melissa she’s just like that

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max jagerman avatar of the hunt confirmed

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