#THERE ARE NO RULES

[kanhapriya]

Krishna to Arjun

[mousy-nona]

I didn't send the initial prompt so I hope this is allowed, but could I request a followup to the story where Lucifer gets addicted to Alastor's blood? One where he finally gets that taste he's been so desperately craving, whether through charm or persistence or a trade of some sort?

Part 1 here.

Lucifer tried everything. He tried meditation. He tried stuffing his face with so much cake his waistband grew three sizes (he later transfigured it away, so no one would ask him Concerned Questions). He even went on vacation to the Lust Ring for a while, but there were only so many sex jokes a person could take before they started seeing penises and boobs everywhere.

The whole time he was there, he kept thinking about the forbidden fruit coursing through Alastor’s veins. And when he was done lusting after Alastor’s blood, he would think about Alastor in general. Alastor would hate this, he thought, bored out of his mind while a cow devil was milked dry in front of him. Alastor would hate that, he thought, as Ozzie and his partner treated him to a very graphic display of affection that left his face redder than a tomato. When Ozzie started rolling out the really premium shows, Lucifer decided it was high time for him to go.

By that time, the obsession had grown to the point where he was nearly deafened by it, the constant refrain of AlastorthisAlastorthatAlastorAlastorAlastor –

Then he stepped out of his golden portal, and a tall figure sitting in an armchair by the fire turned around and the voice went silent.

Alastor barely looked up, too busy petting KeeKee and looking like the world’s best Bond villain to give him the time of day. 

“Ah, you’re back.”

When had that radio static started sounding like home? “Did y’all miss me?” He glanced around, deflating a little at the empty sitting room. “Where is everyone?”

“Busy with any number of far more important matters, I’m sure,” Alastor drawled. 

“It’s good to see you too, asshole,” Lucifer grumbled. The brief moment of homecoming faded, replaced by that permanent feeling of annoyance that he always felt around Alastor. He had started stomping upstairs when the shadows by the top of the stairs shifted, crinkled. Then Alastor was there, blocking his way. 

“I see your Majesty has his tiny knickers in a twist,” he commented, as if that wasn’t a totally inappropriate to say to the biblical source of all evil. 

Lucifer’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “Excuse me?” 

“I wouldn’t bother trying to deny it if I were you,” Alastor mentioned. “That would be quite an insult to my intelligence. You’ve been in a foul mood for weeks. The whole hotel has noticed it. You’ve been dragging that silly cane all over the place, something you only do when you're upset.” A flash of green lit up Alastor’s wide smile. He looked positively ghoulish, but Lucifer was still stuck on his comment about his cane. I drag it when I’m sad? Since when? And why did he notice? “If it’s bothering you so much, why not share the load?”

“You want me to…tell you my problems? What is this, storytime?” Lucifer scoffed. 

“Perhaps I could lend you my assistance,” he purred. “For a price, of course.” 

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Now you’re insulting my intelligence.” With a flick of his hand, another portal appeared on the stairs, blocking Alastor from view. The demon was oddly perceptive. He didn’t want him to see just how close he was to falling to his knees and blubbering yes please just a sip, just one more taste. 

(Lillith had always called him a drama queen. Maybe she’d had a point.)

The portal didn’t block the sound of Alastor’s voice, more’s the pity. “Is this about the little scratch you gave me a few weeks ago?” 

Lucifer stilled. The portal wavered, guttered, and went out, leaving the two of them staring at each other.

“How–?” He stammered. 

Alastor’s grin was triumphant. “How many times must I say it? Never underestimate my intelligence. So am I correct?”

Lucifer didn’t respond, which was answer enough. Alastor sniffed. 

“In that case, I believe I have an answer to your problems.” 

What? Was he offering what Lucifer thought he was offering? “And what could that possibly be?”

“Quid pro quo, my dear. You get some of my blood, and I get some of yours.” 

“Fine,” Lucifer gestured him over impatiently. “Come here and bite me –” 

“Not like that.” 

Alastor raised a small glass vial. His smile would have made a crocodile jealous. “I told you, just a little bit of blood. I never said to drink.” 

Alastor eyes flashed into dials and the darkness was split by a lazer of green, then red – a literal red flag. The biggest STOP HERE, DO NOT PASS GO, DO NOT COLLECT $200 Lucifer had ever seen. 

But his mouth was so dry. He could barely think past how large his tongue had grown. Besides, he was the king of hell. The original sin. What harm could it do to let Alastor have a little bit of his blood? 

A lot, the rational part of his brain whispered. This is Alastor we’re talking about. But the rational part of his brain had grown rather quiet around the Crusades, and he’d lost a good chunk of it by World War II. 

Charlie said he was reckless. She didn’t know the half of it. 

“Fine,” Lucifer said. “But you only get to take my blood once. And I can drink from you when I want.”

Alastor thought for a moment, then his lips moved. 

Deal.

The word disappeared in the cra-a-ack of green lightning that struck around them like fireworks. He started to roll up his sleeves, but Lucifer was too quick for him. He flew up the steps and smashed into Alastor with such force he sent them spiraling into the wall. Alastor gasped, but before he could protest, Lucifer had torn the fabric of his shirt and slashed a deep groove into the cool skin of his neck. 

Finally, that sweet blood flowed onto his tongue. He moaned, his lids fluttering as he drank greedily. Big mouthfuls at a time. 

Sin. Death. Apples. Smoke and sugar. The taste was indescribable, and in that moment, Lucifer thought he could have promised Alastor his whole kingdom, and it would have been a fair trade. 

Alastor, for his part, stayed dutifully still, even when Lucifer licked off the blood that had splattered onto Alastor’s collarbone and the tip of his chin, unwilling to let even a drop of it go to waste.

It took a while, but Lucifer finally leaned back with a groan, his lips smeared with blood like it was cherry chapstick. 

“Satisfied?” Alastor muttered. Lucifer made an incoherent sound of joy. 

“Good. I am as well.” Alastor raised a completely full vial of golden blood. When had he taken it? “I believe it was a satisfactory deal for both parties.”

Then he smiled in a way that made Lucifer's skin prickle. 

Heavenly Father, what have I done? 

[shamelesslyimpurrfect]

<3

[thatuselesshuman]

The fact that I'm still getting hate for a top comment I made on the ORV webtoon about joongdok is actually hilarious to me

I made this comment half a year ago y'all need to calm down lmaoo

[jtargaryen18]

Run the Dishwasher Twice

When I was at one of my lowest (mental) points in life, I couldn’t get out of bed some days. I had no energy or motivation and was barely getting by.

I had therapy once per week, and on this particular week, I didn’t have much to ‘bring’ to the session. He asked how my week was and I really had nothing to say.

“What are you struggling with?” he asked.

I gestured around me and said “I dunno man. Life.”

Not satisfied with my answer, he said “No, what exactly are you worried about right now? What feels overwhelming? When you go home after this session, what issue will be staring at you?”

I knew the answer, but it was so ridiculous that I didn’t want to say it. I wanted to have something more substantial. Something more profound. But I didn’t. So I told him,

“Honestly? The dishes. It’s stupid, I know, but the more I look at them the more I CAN’T do them because I’ll have to scrub them before I put them in the dishwasher, because the dishwasher sucks, and I just can’t stand and scrub the dishes.”

I felt like an idiot even saying it. What kind of grown woman is undone by a stack of dishes? There are people out there with actual problems, and I’m whining to my therapist about dishes? But my therapist nodded in understanding and then said:

“RUN THE DISHWASHER TWICE.”

I began to tell him that you’re not supposed to, but he stopped me.

“Why the hell aren’t you supposed to? If you don’t want to scrub the dishes and your dishwasher sucks, run it twice. Run it three times, who cares? Rules do not exist, so stop giving yourself rules.”

It blew my mind in a way that I don’t think I can properly express.

That day, I went home and tossed my smelly dishes haphazardly into the dishwasher and ran it three times. I felt like I had conquered a dragon. The next day, I took a shower lying down. A few days later. I folded my laundry and put them wherever they fit. There were no longer arbitrary rules I had to follow, and it gave me the freedom to make accomplishments again.

Now that I’m in a healthier place, I rinse off my dishes and put them in the dishwasher properly. I shower standing up. I sort my laundry. But at a time when living was a struggle instead of a blessing, I learned an incredibly important lesson:

THERE ARE NO RULES. RUN THE DISHWASHER TWICE!

Credit ~ Kate Scott

[midmorninggrey]

Cal Notes (Act 2 & 3)

A Brief Word on Cal's Magic and Health Cal is an unusually gifted force mage. This talent can be beautiful; he can feel all the threads of energy keeping a bird on a branch, and all the threads waiting to pull the bird into flight. However, if he magnifies energy beyond its natural limits, his magic becomes a weapon of war. This power does not come without a cost. Manipulating energy threads often comes with the risk of rebounding force on Cal's body. The most common damage caused by this reflected energy are small fractures in his extremities, particularly his fingers and toes. Even with treatment, these force fractures never completely mend, and without regular healing spells, they will begin to slowly break again. The continued trauma eventually led to the amputation of three of his fingers and two of his toes. After years of fighting Darkspawn, Cal also began to experience occasional episodes of dizziness and loss of coordination. During his last months serving as a Grey Warden in Ferelden and his first year in Kirkwall, Cal spent an enormous amount of magical energy keeping his body able to fight. This was unsustainable, and Cal's ability to heal himself eventually became significantly less effective and his symptoms returned. Regular visits to Anders help with his mobility and pain, although his symptoms can have unpredictable flare-ups or remissions.

[thegoodmorningman]

You have got to get down on Friday.

[theninjazebra]

complaining about shit on socials is the most annoying form of complaining, but -

kids, children, youths - there are no rules in art. none. don't stress about what fuckin school of colour theory is the shit this week, or what fucked trend is selling, or whatever. just fuck around, see what you like.

there are no rules in writing, no rules in music, no rules in visual art, or any other medium, form, format, or dimension. there's just what you like or don't, what matches what you're trying to express in that moment, or not. and the most fucked, random shit can find the other 2 freaks on earth that Get It.

Like, understanding what other people are mostly likely to understand from your work is useful, but only to a point. same way it's useful to know the physical properties and techniques of a medium, if just to fuck with it better.

but you can't Win at art, and you definitely can't lose or do it wrong. there are no grades, no prizes, no hierarchies. the human culture around art? yes. but the work itself? no. too ephemeral, too fleeting, too subjective. that's kinda the point.

[klarion-the-witch-boy]

Me: sees writing advice

Writing advice: DO this. DON'T DO that.

Me:

Me: Imma do the opposite? How about that? Fucking Fight me.

[shitpostingkats]

It's MY fanfic and I get to decide what nuerodivergencies to give my blorbos

[84reedsy]

Fmk Seth rollins, jey uso, damian priest

oooh a modern era one, this one....wow, this one is tough F*ck: Jey Uso (YEET) Marry: Seth Rollins (ngl, this surprised me, but he seems like a good spouse) Kill: Damian (HEAR ME OUT, he's the bisexual undertaker, so he's undead, he'll just come back to life and it's fine. Then I can put him on my 'hit that' list instead')

[cottoncandysprite]

And what if I slipped my trans Laszlo hc into my fic. What then

[grungekitty-77]

Helpful tip: If you're stuck on a "one more episode" binge and you need to go to sleep, here's a foolproof way to get out of it.

Stop watching in the middle of the episode.

The ending is designed to make you desperate to know what happens next. The ending will make you want to click the next episode. The middle? Not so much. The stakes are mid. You're not going to be up all night thinking about whatever they ended it on. It's easy to break away, while still leaving you excited to pick it back up tomorrow.

Pick a quiet moment when a satisfying scene ends, and put it down. Most streaming platforms save your place, so there's nothing making you watch until the end.

[shamelesslyimpurrfect]

[franstastic-ideas]

You ever come across writing advice, and the advice they give is not only the most pretentious nonsense you've seen all week, but the thing they're complaining about is something you're sure you've seen in professionally published works before (even if you can't recall an example immediately-).

"NEVER do this if you want to be a REAL writer! If I see this in a fanfic, I will hit the back button SO FAST-"

First of all, that sounds like a skill issue on your part. Secondly, maybe I don't want to be a "real" writer anymore.

Maybe I just want to write fanfiction forever and write it in a way that feels most comfortable for me.

I don't want to be a "real" writer. Not if it means killing my creativity to become one.