#Between Angels and Insects

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Papa Roach - Between Angels And Insects

[karontte]

Present yourself, press your clothes, comb your hair and clock in. You just can't win, just can't win. And the things you own, own you now.

Take my money. Take my possession. Take my obsession, I don't need that shit.

Fuck your money. Fuck your possession. Fuck your obsession, I don't need that shit.

[astarkey]

Papa Roach - Between Angels and Insects (2001)

[ey-melody]

the heart. the soul. the life. the passion.

[tunetowntourney]

[daily-broco]

Throwback to Rob singing at a Papa Roach show, a hormonal pinnacle for this blog.

[thesilenceofthelambs]

as a kid i would become enamored with wikipedia pages and print them out in their entirety to put up on the wall

[paparoach]

Need to find the perfect Papa Roach for Colt tbqh.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Greenwashing set Canada on fire

On September 22, I'm (virtually) presenting at the DIG Festival in Modena, Italy. On September 27, I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine.

As a teenager growing up in Ontario, I always envied the kids who spent their summers tree planting; they'd come back from the bush in September, insect-chewed and leathery, with new muscle, incredible stories, thousands of dollars, and a glow imparted by the knowledge that they'd made a new forest with their own blistered hands.

I was too unathletic to follow them into the bush, but I spent my summers doing my bit, ringing doorbells for Greenpeace to get my neighbours fired up about the Canadian pulp-and-paper industry, which wasn't merely clear-cutting our old-growth forests – it was also poisoning the Great Lakes system with PCBs, threatening us all.

At the time, I thought of tree-planting as a small victory – sure, our homegrown, rapacious, extractive industry was able to pollute with impunity, but at least the government had reined them in on forests, forcing them to pay my pals to spend their summers replacing the forests they'd fed into their mills.

I was wrong. Last summer's Canadian wildfires blanketed the whole east coast and midwest in choking smoke as millions of trees burned and millions of tons of CO2 were sent into the atmosphere. Those wildfires weren't just an effect of the climate emergency: they were made far worse by all those trees planted by my pals in the eighties and nineties.

Writing in the New York Times, novelist Claire Cameron describes her own teen years working in the bush, planting row after row of black spruces, precisely spaced at six-foot intervals:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/09/15/opinion/wildfires-treeplanting-timebomb.html

Cameron's summer job was funded by the logging industry, whose self-pegulated, self-assigned "penalty" for clearcutting diverse forests of spruce, pine and aspen was to pay teenagers to create a tree farm, at nine cents per sapling (minus camp costs).

Black spruces are made to burn, filled with flammable sap and equipped with resin-filled cones that rely on fire, only opening and dropping seeds when they're heated. They're so flammable that firefighters call them "gas on a stick."

Cameron and her friends planted under brutal conditions: working long hours in blowlamp heat and dripping wet bulb humidity, amidst clouds of stinging insects, fingers blistered and muscles aching. But when they hit rock bottom and were ready to quit, they'd encourage one another with a rallying cry: "Let's go make a forest!"

Planting neat rows of black spruces was great for the logging industry: the even spacing guaranteed that when the trees matured, they could be easily reaped, with ample space between each near-identical tree for massive shears to operate. But that same monocropped, evenly spaced "forest" was also optimized to burn.

It burned.

The climate emergency's frequent droughts turn black spruces into "something closer to a blowtorch." The "pines in lines" approach to reforesting was an act of sabotage, not remediation. Black spruces are thirsty, and they absorb the water that moss needs to thrive, producing "kindling in the place of fire retardant."

Cameron's column concludes with this heartbreaking line: "Now when I think of that summer, I don’t think that I was planting trees at all. I was planting thousands of blowtorches a day."

The logging industry committed a triple crime. First, they stole our old-growth forests. Next, they (literally) planted a time-bomb across Ontario's north. Finally, they stole the idealism of people who genuinely cared about the environment. They taught a generation that resistance is futile, that anything you do to make a better future is a scam, and you're a sucker for falling for it. They planted nihilism with every tree.

That scam never ended. Today, we're sold carbon offsets, a modern Papal indulgence. We are told that if we pay the finance sector, they can absolve us for our climate sins. Carbon offsets are a scam, a market for lemons. The "offset" you buy might be a generated by a fake charity like the Nature Conservancy, who use well-intentioned donations to buy up wildlife reserves that can't be logged, which are then converted into carbon credits by promising not to log them:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/12/fairy-use-tale/#greenwashing

The credit-card company that promises to plant trees every time you use your card? They combine false promises, deceptive advertising, and legal threats against critics to convince you that you're saving the planet by shopping:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/17/do-well-do-good-do-nothing/#greenwashing

The carbon offset world is full of scams. The carbon offset that made the thing you bought into a "net zero" product? It might be a forest that already burned:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/11/a-market-for-flaming-lemons/#money-for-nothing

The only reason we have carbon offsets is that market cultists have spent forty years convincing us that actual regulation is impossible. In the neoliberal learned helplessness mind-palace, there's no way to simply say, "You may not log old-growth forests." Rather, we have to say, "We will 'align your incentives' by making you replace those forests."

The Climate Ad Project's "Murder Offsets" video deftly punctures this bubble. In it, a detective points his finger at the man who committed the locked-room murder in the isolated mansion. The murderer cheerfully admits that he did it, but produces a "murder offset," which allowed him to pay someone else not to commit a murder, using market-based price-discovery mechanisms to put a dollar-figure on the true worth of a murder, which he duly paid, making his kill absolutely fine:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/14/for-sale-green-indulgences/#killer-analogy

What's the alternative to murder offsets/carbon credits? We could ask our expert regulators to decide which carbon intensive activities are necessary and which ones aren't, and ban the unnecessary ones. We could ask those regulators to devise remediation programs that actually work. After all, there are plenty of forests that have already been clearcut, plenty that have burned. It would be nice to know how we can plant new forests there that aren't "thousands of blowtorches."

If that sounds implausible to you, then you've gotten trapped in the neoliberal mind-palace.

The term "regulatory capture" was popularized by far-right Chicago School economists who were promoting "public choice theory." In their telling, regulatory capture is inevitable, because companies will spend whatever it takes to get the government to pass laws making what they do legal, and making competing with them into a crime:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/13/public-choice/#ajit-pai-still-terrible

This is true, as far as it goes. Capitalists hate capitalism, and if an "entrepreneur" can make it illegal to compete with him, he will. But while this is a reasonable starting-point, the place that Public Choice Theory weirdos get to next is bonkers. They say that since corporations will always seek to capture their regulators, we should abolish regulators.

They say that it's impossible for good regulations to exist, and therefore the only regulation that is even possible is to let businesses do whatever they want and wait for the invisible hand to sweep away the bad companies. Rather than creating hand-washing rules for restaurant kitchens, we should let restaurateurs decide whether it's economically rational to make us shit ourselves to death. The ones that choose poorly will get bad online reviews and people will "vote with their dollars" for the good restaurants.

And if the online review site decides to sell "reputation management" to restaurants that get bad reviews? Well, soon the public will learn that the review site can't be trusted and they'll take their business elsewhere. No regulation needed! Unleash the innovators! Set the job-creators free!

This is the Ur-nihilism from which all the other nihilism springs. It contends that the regulations we have – the ones that keep our buildings from falling down on our heads, that keep our groceries from poisoning us, that keep our cars from exploding on impact – are either illusory, or perhaps the forgotten art of a lost civilization. Making good regulations is like embalming Pharaohs, something the ancients practiced in mist-shrouded, unrecoverable antiquity – and that may not have happened at all.

Regulation is corruptible, but it need not be corrupt. Regulation, like science, is a process of neutrally adjudicated, adversarial peer-review. In a robust regulatory process, multiple parties respond to a fact-intensive question – "what alloys and other properties make a reinforced steel joist structurally sound?" – with a mix of robust evidence and self-serving bullshit and then proceed to sort the two by pantsing each other, pointing out one another's lies.

The regulator, an independent expert with no conflicts of interest, sorts through the claims and counterclaims and makes a rule, showing their workings and leaving the door open to revisiting the rule based on new evidence or challenges to the evidence presented.

But when an industry becomes concentrated, it becomes unregulatable. 100 small and medium-sized companies will squabble. They'll struggle to come up with a common lie. There will always be defectors in their midst. Their conduct will be legible to external experts, who will be able to spot the self-serving BS.

But let that industry dwindle to a handful of giant companies, let them shrink to a number that will fit around a boardroom table, and they will sit down at a table and agree on a cozy arrangement that fucks us all over to their benefit. They will become so inbred that the only people who understand how they work will be their own insiders, and so top regulators will be drawn from their own number and be hopelessly conflicted.

When the corporate sector takes over, regulatory capture is inevitable. But corporate takeover isn't inevitable. We can – and have, and will again – fight corporate power, with antitrust law, with unions, and with consumer rights groups. Knowing things is possible. It simply requires that we keep the entities that profit by our confusion poor and thus weak.

The thing is, corporations don't always lie about regulations. Take the fight over working encryption, which – once again – the UK government is trying to ban:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2023/feb/24/signal-app-warns-it-will-quit-uk-if-law-weakens-end-to-end-encryption

Advocates for criminalising working encryption insist that the claims that this is impossible are the same kind of self-serving nonsense as claims that banning clearcutting of old-growth forests is impossible:

https://twitter.com/JimBethell/status/1699339739042599276

They say that when technologists say, "We can't make an encryption system that keeps bad guys out but lets good guys in," that they are being lazy and unimaginative. "I have faith in you geeks," they said. "Go nerd harder! You'll figure it out."

Google and Apple and Meta say that selectively breakable encryption is impossible. But they also claim that a bunch of eminently possible things are impossible. Apple claims that it's impossible to have a secure device where you get to decide which software you want to use and where publishers aren't deprive of 30 cents on every dollar you spend. Google says it's impossible to search the web without being comprehensively, nonconsensually spied upon from asshole to appetite. Meta insists that it's impossible to have digital social relationship without having your friendships surveilled and commodified.

While they're not lying about encryption, they are lying about these other things, and sorting out the lies from the truth is the job of regulators, but that job is nearly impossible thanks to the fact that everyone who runs a large online service tells the same lies – and the regulators themselves are alumni of the industry's upper eschelons.

Logging companies know a lot about forests. When we ask, "What is the best way to remediate our forests," the companies may well have useful things to say. But those useful things will be mixed with actively harmful lies. The carefully cultivated incompetence of our regulators means that they can't tell the difference.

Conspiratorialism is characterized as a problem of what people believe, but the true roots of conspiracy belief isn't what we believe, it's how we decide what to believe. It's not beliefs, it's epistemology.

Because most of us aren't qualified to sort good reforesting programs from bad ones. And even if we are, we're probably not also well-versed enough in cryptography to sort credible claims about encryption from wishful thinking. And even if we're capable of making that determination, we're not experts in food hygiene or structural engineering.

Daily life in the 21st century means resolving a thousand life-or-death technical questions every day. Our regulators – corrupted by literally out-of-control corporations – are no longer reliable sources of ground truth on these questions. The resulting epistemological chaos is a cancer that gnaws away at our resolve to do anything about it. It is a festering pool where nihilism outbreaks are incubated.

The liberal response to conspiratorialism is mockery. In her new book Doppelganger, Naomi Klein tells of how right-wing surveillance fearmongering about QR-code "vaccine passports" was dismissed with a glib, "Wait until they hear about cellphones!"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

But as Klein points out, it's not good that our cellphones invade our privacy in the way that right-wing conspiracists thought that vaccine passports might. The nihilism of liberalism – which insists that things can't be changed except through market "solutions" – leads us to despair.

By contrast, leftism – a muscular belief in democratic, publicly run planning and action – offers a tonic to nihilism. We don't have to let logging companies decide whether a forest can be cut, or what should be planted when it is. We can have nice things. The art of finding out what's true or prudent didn't die with the Reagan Revolution (or the discount Canadian version, the Mulroney Malaise). The truth is knowable. Doing stuff is possible. Things don't have to be on fire.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/16/murder-offsets/#pulped-and-papered

[justalittleficsideblog]

Can I touch your wings..?

Asking to touch / see their wings with Mammon, Lucifer, and Diavolo! i feel like these would be kinda sensitive but not rlly?

Lucifer

you had both been working in his office, you were simply trying to work through your homework without the brothers interfering (as they usually did). Your most recent subject involved the anatomy and biology of demons.

reading through the various lists of wings and their differences, you realized Lucifer's wings were a bit odd compared to the others in the textbook. most were bat or insect-like. Glancing up, you spoke.

"Hey... Lucifer, could I see your wings a minute?"

eyes immediately lifting to meet yours he grunts

"and why.. pray tell?"

fumbling over yourself you flip your textbook over to show him what you were studying. "Yours don't look anything like these! I just wanted to get a better view of them. Pleaseee, it's for my assignment."

rolling his eyes, he stood from his chair and dropped his jacket onto his desk, back facing you. in a blink, they appeared, black feathers swooshing around you.

they were enormous, gorgeous even, the pure slate colored feather tips gently drifting across the floor. you had assumed he had gorgeous angel wings, and that they looked similar to what was in front of you. which made you wonder...

reaching a hand out, your fingertips brushed the spot the wings met his back. before you knew it, he whirled in front of you, grabbing your wrist that was touching his wings.

you staggered back at his reaction, trying to pull free from his grip.

"Don't" he released you as you fell back into the chair, gaping up at him.

"luci... they're incredible! I- I didn't know they were so sensitive, my bad."

he left you to your studies, but you were completely breathless... wanting to touch them in full again.

meanwhile, as lucifer struck out of his office, his heart was erratic in his chest. the feeling of your hands gently stroking his feathers caused him to bristle, no one had ever dare to touch his wings before you...

Mammon

 Somehow you and Mammon had ended up binge watching nature documentaries as he made an offhand comment about not knowing much about humans and their animals.

So, you had picked one about flying animals and now, the narrator was explaining the different types of wings and how each fits the species and their needs perfectly.

Eyeing the male next to you, you thought about his own wings.

“hey… Mammon?” you murmured, causing his head to turn towards you as he raised an eyebrow in question. “I mean… can you show me your wings? I kinda want to compare them to what I’ve seen in the human realm.”

He shuffles awkwardly between himself, turning his head away, “the hell would’ja wanna do that for? You’ve seen them plenty.” You huffed at his reply and grabbed his shoulders, turning his face towards you. Blinking up at him, you gave your best puppy dog eyes.

He squirmed away from you, “uGH, fine! Just… turn around!”

Happily scooching back, you felt a slight breeze as his wings popped out. Glancing at them, you stared in awe as you came closer, looking over the white, bony structure connected by a thin, black membrane that seemed almost translucent the more you looked at it.

You reached out a hand, fingertips brushing along the sharp edges. You felt Mammon shiver beneath your touch, his face becoming flushed as your gentle touch. Were they sensitive? You thought, bringing your hand to wrap around where it connected into his back.

He jolted, wings disappearing as he spun around to face you, sweat starting to slick his brow as he brought up his wrist to cover his mouth. “Alright! That’s enough, you can’t just poke and prod wherever ya please!”

You laughed, short and soft as he became more and more uncomfortable beneath your gaze. Settling back down to the couch, you continued on with the show.

Unbeknownst to you, Mammon was on fire, the spot where his wings met his back was on fire from your touch. He hadn’t realized how sensitive to your touch he was… but he couldn’t say he was complaining.

Diavolo

You had been playing some games with the lord of devildom, entertaining him with games, books, and more about different folklore and fantasy that humans were interested in. He was particularly interested in one of the mini board characters, a dragon to be specific.

“Indeed, it does look rather defiant, does it not?” he asked you. Nodding in reply, you grabbed the mini figurine from him and turned it around to study it. you took particular notice of it’s wings, the hook looking incredibly similar to the ones on someone’s wings…

“Hey, Diavolo? Could I see your wings for a minute?”

Eyes widening, he tilted his head at your request, looking at how you were contemplating the tiny statue in front of you. Did you mean to compare his wings to this…. Tiny clay thing? He smiled and the next thing you knew, Diavolo was in his demon form.

He turned around and rolled his shoulders back, stretching his wingspan to it’s full length. Your mouth dropped open. Fanned out in front of you, were the largest wings you had ever seen. The muscles and membrane that stretched between the structures of all four wings were nothing but impressive. You looked at the changing colors between the membrane, noticing tiny glistening cells that made up the brunt of it.

“Holy shit…” you murmured. To be honest, his wings very well could have been the inspiration of dragons. They looked incredibly strong… you reached out a hand instinctively to touch the …horn? On the top of his wing.

Diavolo laughed at your expression of awe and desire to touch his wings. No one had ever been bold enough to try and touch them, even Barbatos knew better than to brush past them. But you… were so delicate and curious about them. He assumed you thought they were the stuff of legends.

“Are they to your liking?” he flapped his wings, causing a gust of wind to overtake you. Blinking up at him you responded, “They are… something out of a fairytale, Dia. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so…” you were at a loss for words, extending your hand towards the middle of his back, your fingertips brushing along his wingspan.

In a blink, he was towering over you, his wings cocooning you closer to him as you braced your hands against his chest.

“Oh! I- uh… I’m sorry,” you squirmed, backing into his wings. He laughed, transforming back to his casual clothes from before in a blink. He enjoyed teasing you, but you couldn’t ignore the glint in his eyes the way he turned towards you after you touched his skin.

“Well… shall we continue where we left off?” Diavolo gestured to the games laid out in front of him. You nodded, a bit spaced out by the whole ordeal.

“Dia, I have to admit, your wings are magnificent.” Glancing down back towards your book, you laughed as you plunged back onto the couch.

Unaware of his gaze, Diavolo felt an immense pride at the idea of you admiring him. He didn’t consider himself insecure by any means, but he felt his chest flutter at your words… and your touch, he felt his blood scream when you had touched them.

“Well you know… you can see my wings anytime you like.”

[alastor-simp]

Sensitive Soul😔 - Alastor x Reader

Requested by @ju1yyyzzz

The Hazbin gang were all lounging around the lobby, minding their own business. Charlie was reading a story book, definitely romance. Vaggie had her spear in her hand, practicing her moves. Sir Pentious was observing her. Apparently Vaggie wanted to teach him some physical combat, since he relied too much on his gadgets and egg minions. He was sloppy, but he had a lot of confidence, which Vaggie respected. Angel dust was chatting away at the bar with Husk. Their relationship had improved a lot, leaving you feeling very happy to the point you cried. Zooming sounds were happening all across the room. It was Niffty, chasing after the insects with a knitting needle. The look in her eye was crazy and glad she was aiming it towards the bugs, and not you. Alastor was relaxing against a chair, legs crossed while sipping from a coffee mug. The hotel radio was playing a broadcast from the human world. The fact that it could pick up stations from the living world was insane. Must have been Alastor's doing since he always looking for more entertainment.

The phone in your hand was your source of entertainment for the time being, as you kept flipping through Sinstagram. Static emanated from the radio, beginning to play a broadcast in regards to some sort of pandemic happening on earth. The grin radiating on Alastor's face was nerve wracking, as he continued to listen in on it. "HAHA! How utterly entertaning! Makes me remember the good old days during the Great Depression! So many orphans!" It felt like you had been punched in the stomach. 'How could he find that entertaining'. Your thoughts were becoming depressing, and tears began to appear in your eyes. Charlie took a break from her book, and looked up, noticing your sad expression. "Y/N, Why are you crying?" Realization hit you as you touched your cheek and felt wetness. The room got quiet, everyone gazing at you with concerned looks including Alastor. "I-I'm I-. I need to be excused." Jumping from where you were sitting, you rushed out of the room, leaving everyone confused. Angel was the first to speak up: "What the f✪✪✪ was that about?"

Charlie felt the need to comfort you, but she concluded that your probably needed a minute to calm down. She looked around the room, observing everyone. "Did any of you say anything to them?" Everyone shrugged their shoulders, stumped. Niffty zoomed next to Charlie, wanting to tell her something. "She started to cry when Alastor was laughing about something on the radio." Eyes all turned to Al. Alastor still had a smile on his face, but mentally he was riddled with confusion. "I was only reminiscing about the past! My words did not bare any insults towards them!" A spear was drawn at his face, causing him to arch an eyebrow. Ohh how scary he thought. Vaggie was fuming, nearly about to strike Alastor. "Whatever you said apparently made them upset! Now go and check on them, bastardo!" The air grew ominous, as Alastor powers began to expand, clouding the room with black mist. The smile on his face began to grow monstrous, as his eyes turned into radio dials. "Now Vaggie! There is no need for threats! But I advise that you lower your w̶͈̒͜è̶̫̤͖̃̀̔̋́a̴̝̮̾̽̋̌̈́̎̍p̵̳̟̩͈̬̹͓̔̀͌ó̸̟̃ṇ̵̹̻̽̉ ̶̩̞͓̃̓͌̈́ȍ̷̬ṛ̸̨̡͈̹́͜ ̵̡͈̰͎́̚ḛ̴̞̯̭̥͊̅̇̃̎̆l̵̖̔͑͆̿s̸̙̐̌̐̆̓͠è̵̛̻͑̓̊͠!" Charlie jumped between the both of them, wanting to appease the situation. "Vaggie Stop!" Charlie words reached her girlfriend, causing the spear to be lowered, as she crossed her arms. Charlie then looked at Alastor, who had managed to calm down slightly, yet the air was still tense. "Alastor. Could you please check on Y/N?" A shook of his head, brought him back to normal, as he stood up from the couch. "All right!" The staff in his hand at appeared, giving it a twirl before he stood up from the couch, walking away with his hands behind his back.

"Now where could the little darling have gone?" Alastor announced to himself, as he ventured down the hallways. His first place to look would be your room. Giving a rhythmic tap on the door, he waited for you to open the door. His ears twitched, trying to pinpoint any sounds from the other side, but heard none. "Hmm. Not here." Alastor continued to look for you. The last place to look was the hotel garden. It needed a lot of weeding and pruning when he first arrived at the Hotel. Niffty and you were able to fix it right up, planting certain hellflowers and fruits and vegetables. Sounds of sniffling reached Alastor's ears, "Ah so you were here!" he thought. He found on curled on the ground, laying on the concrete ground, admiring the flowers. His eyes noticed the tear streaks that were still prominent on your cheeks. Turning your head around, you saw Alastor standing next to you, before looking away. "Why the long face my dear?" Alastor chortled to himself, while you remained silent. Your lack of silence bothered Al. He still couldn't piece together why you were crying in the lobby? He snapped his fingers, causing a cushion to appear on the ground. He didn't want to dirty his pants. Plopping down, he continued to look at you. His smile stayed the same, but his eyes were looking at you with slight concern.

"My dear, what has you so upset? Was it something I did in the lobby that bothered you?" He patiently waited for your answer. Wiping your tears with your sleeve, you turned your head towards him. "You didn't do anything Al. It was the topic you brought up that got to me!" Cocking his head, he pondered what you said. A lightbulb flashed in his head. "Ahh yes! The great depression!" His smile became giddy. His entertainment for misery was appearing again. "Yes. I know to you it was highly entertaining, but to others it wasn't. It just made be think about all the hard-times during that time, and the orphans and what-not. I know its stupid to cry over something like that, but certain things or topics I'm very sensitive too. Often times it results in my breaking down in tears like you just saw." Alastor continued to stare at you, while you talked. He was relieved he didn't cause something directly to upset you, but it did stun him a a bit at your reasoning. His years being a radio host/serial killer harden him, to the point certain depressing topics became utter joy for him. It gave him a bit of realization that subjects like this were very bothersome to others, including you. "I apologized if I worried you and the others. Just didn't want to cry in front of all of you over something stupid. Wish I wasn't such a cry-baby." Casting your eyes down, you gazed at ground.

A fluffy material touched your cheek, causing you to jump. Looking at Al, he was cleaning your face with a handkerchief. His signature smile, had dropped. It wasn't a frown, but he was a full on smile either. More of a slight grin. "Y/N, there is nothing wrong with crying over stuff like this. My time in Hell has made me immune to depressing topics. This doesn't make you a cry-baby, it just means that you have a pure soul. You care about the well being of others greatly, to the point of tears. It is quite alright my dear, and I would like to give a proper apology to you." His words were insanely sweet. More tears began to pour out your eyes, shocking Alastor even more.

"My dear?! What did I say? Why are the tears still coming from your eyes?" His actions were frantic, as he continued to wipe the tears from your eyes. The tears still flowed, but a smile was on your face. "Hehe, I'm sorry. Your words were very sweet and just made me very happy that I wanted to cry." Alastor gave a chuckle as well, shaking his head. "My my what a strange demon you were. Still, you were very adorable." He thought to himself. Soon the handkerchief had removed all of the tears that were flowing down. The signature grin he wore returned, as he got up from his position, snapping the cushion away. His hand extended out to you, allowing you to grab it. Being pulled up, you got up off the ground, and stood in front of Alastor. His other hand was placed on your cheek, giving it a stroke before returning back to him. "Shall we head back my dear? The others must be getting worried!" He smiled down at you, to which you responded back with a nod, as the both of you walked together out of the garden to rejoin the others.

~END~

*Tagging*

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen , @aceofcards0-0 , @jyoongim , @saturnhas82moons , @unholycheesesnack, @luujjvi, @forbidden-sunlight , @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping , @danveration , @demoarah , @cookiekyo , @iiotic , @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie

[desultory-novice]

Do you think Galacta Knight's horns are real or part of his mask?

...Oh wow. This ask floored me, anon, because personally I've always believed they were a part of his mask and not real horns and yet, I have almost never found anyone who agreed, let alone would even entertain the possibility they were just decorative...!

It just always made the most sense to me...?

Like, that kind of thing is VERY standard for medieval helmets - animal, insect, and demonic motifs to be an intimidating figure on the battlefield, that is. Both realistic and exaggerated depictions.

(Also, the game IS developed in Japan by a Japanese studio and it would not be at all weird for them to draw inspiration from samurai helmets for his mask design.)

We KNOW Meta Knight, at least, is shy to show his true face, so why would another puff not do the same thing and try to look fiercer than his face suggests? Especially if his only inborn distinctive trait is having angel wings, a symbol of peace and benevolence?

(I also believe, aesthetically, that having the only physical difference between Galacta Knight and Meta Knight outside of their opposing colors being MK's devil wings and GK's angel wings - as opposed to devil wings v angel wings AND horns - makes them MUCH better parallels to each other? Adding real horns in just muddies it.)

Also, imo, in every render and model of him, the "horns" are too closely modeled into the helmet to have room to feasibly grow out from his head! Just saying, but that would be a ridiculously uncomfortable design to wear in RL, constantly rubbing and chaffing against his horns, preventing it from moving and "breathing" with his face while not providing any form of protection for them either!!

They're also made of the same golden color AND texture as the ornamentation of his shield. I know I'm going against fandom popular opinion here, but that also tells me they are ORNAMENTAL.

While ornamental horns just seem the most logical to me for species, character, historical, and design reasons, it's pretty obvious that aesthetically and interest-wise, non-ornamental horns have a complete stranglehold have won out in the fandom.

I have seen innumerable asks questioning + folks speculating via art and other mediums, "What horns do you think Kirby will develop when he grows up?" Most people go to great efforts to research, dream up, or uncover the appropriate "head attachments" for their puffs when designing Kirby OCs to "fit" their interpretation of Galacta + what a mature member of Kirby's species simply MUST look like.

Quite simply, Galacta having horns clearly stirs folks imaginations(1) more than a dark pink puff with angel wings who wants to represent themselves as a fierce demon on the battlefield.

...Even though Galacta Knight making a conscious choice to contrast their angelic visage with demon horns whenever they are in battle says a lot of fascinating things and makes them a more interesting and nuanced character to investigate, in my opinion.

--

(1) While I think it's more fascinating if he doesn't have them, I would be remiss to ignore the issue that, in a lineup, it provides Galacta Knight some much needed visual diversity from the others. It makes his gijinka and unmasked form instantly more recognizable than they would be otherwise.

Real horns have more appeal for the same reason many folks (and I am guilty of this) give Dark Meta Knight a scar on his eye under his mask, even though realistically, him taking that kind of injury is practically impossible. (That's what the mask is there FOR lol!)

[daily-broco]

The highlight of this blog was almost prevented by an Australian security guard.

[heartfullofleeches]

You know I can’t stop thinking about an angsty Bugman scenario where, in the Childhood best friend!Darling setting, Darling learns that one day the god living inside Bugman is going to awaken properly and essentially kill Bugman, prompting Darling to just breakdown sobbing for their first and only friend and pleading for Bugman to not die even if their fate is sealed and neither of them can do anything to stop it

Why would you do this to me, Chief. Like- good soup, without a doubt, but my heart hurts for these angels. Imagine making a really close friend as a child, but instead of you drifting apart or one of you moving away someday their body will be taken from them by one of the things you're scared <- Childhood Best Friend Reader in this storyline had a fear of bugs as a kid.

-

You still remember the day like it was yesterday. A promise made between friends upon which wove your separate futures along a conjoining path, avowedly destined to outlast the trial of time and the seasons of change as you both grew.

"Are you ready, Bug?"

Small, beady little eyes snap upwards from the large stone you finally manage to get a good grip on after several, harrowing attempts. A damp slab of smooth stone wasn't the easiest thing for your tiny hands to grasp, but the additional moisture apparently attracted more prey. Clutching the mason jar tighter to their chest, Bugman nods their head not once, but as many times it takes to give them a minor head rush - spurred on by the joy of having someone in their home, using the correct name it had picked out for itself years ago.

"On the count of three. 1....2....3!"

Driving your heals into the dirt, you pull upwards - lifting the stone inches off the earth floor as Bugman sets their jar amongst the grass to prepare for the scurry. Your skin crawls as you hear the pitter patter of tiny legs. It'd take a lot more than your friend's obsession with them to make you tolerate bugs, but the least you could do was making chasing them slightly easier for Bug whenever you visited.

"There's so many, Bug..." So many lives under one rock. You'd probably be more enthusiastic if a beetle hadn't made a beeline for your shoe, burrowing its way between your shoelaces as you do everything to avoid kicking the poor creature away. You might not have been the biggest fan, but that didn't mean you wanted to hurt them.

"Bugman, there's one on my-"

"I see her. Don't move, she won't hurt you." Bugman cups their hand, guiding the beetle onto their palm as you do what you're told. It strokes a finger along the insects thorax before carefully lowering it into their jar. Bugman gazes up at you once more, dipping their head in gratitude for your cooperation.

"Thank you, Y/n. On her behalf."

"What are you thanking me for, Bug?"

"You could have easily flung her off or stepped on her. I am aware we do not an interest in insects, but I appreciate your support."

"What are friends for, Bug? Besides, just because I don't like them doesn't I want them to suffer."

"Friends...."

The word sits heavy on their tongue. Soft laughter plays throughout the garden before they can ask the question that's been plaguing them for some time now. With the chirp of bugs and the flow of running water, the sound may have gone unnoticed had it not been joined by another voice. Surveying the area, a hand rises in the air from over by the water fountain - beckoning the two of you over.

"Forgive us for interrupting. Would the two of you mind joining us for a minute? We have something for you."

Exchange a glance with Bugman, all it takes is for you to take a step forward before the both of you race across the grass. Something you picked up on weeks into hanging out with Bug was how they liked to give you the lead. Two young women sit at the bench below the fountain. Both appeared to be in their early twenties. One had pink streaks in her hair while the other wore her sweater hoodie overhead. They smile at you, lowering their heads as Bugman matches up behind you. The one with the pink hair speaks first, patting the empty bench between them.

"Good afternoon. You two have been busy today, haven't you? I think I speak for all of Bug's family when I thank you for stopping by. I've never seen them smile quite like they do when they have you over."

Bugman hides their face in their turtleneck, mumbling into the thick fabric. "That's not true...."

You always found it so cool Bugman had so many siblings. It's like there's a new one every time you come over. Maybe their parents foster. You don't know much about them. The pink haired girl snorts.

"My bad! Anyway, like I said, we have a present for you. It's a gift for you both. Now before we give it to you, we have to ask. You two are friends, aren't you?"

There it is. The question Bugman had been dreading. You've called them by that title before, but there's a worry in the back of their mind that you are simply stringing them along until you find another, better friend. Did you really enjoy spending your days with the kid your other peers wrote off as strange and bizarre.

Assurance came to them in the pride of your voice as you happily announced.

"Of course! Bugman is my best friend!"

Best? The hooded girl spits a wad of chewed gum onto its wrapper, turning her body to face you fully. It's then you see a small box in her lap, filled to the brim with small beads and charms.

"That's all we needed to hear. If you two are really best friends you need what all best friends need?"

"What?" Bugman hides deeper into the neckline of their sweater as your voices overlap. You smile from ear to ear, furthering their embarrassment. The girls roll up their sleeves, presenting matching bands around each of their wrists.

"You need friendship bracelets. We'll help you make them."

"Whoa..." You march forward as the girls place the box within reach on the bench. So many beads and charms. There's even a few bug themed ones. Bugman will really like those.

"This is so cool, Bugman! If we never talk them off that means we'll be friends for life, yeah?"

"For life?.... You really want me around that long?"

"Why wouldn't I?" You stick out your pinky finger, holding it up for them to take. "We'll be best friends forever!"

Bugman stares at your outstretched finger. Picking up their confusion, you quietly whisper. "It's a promise, silly. Wrap your finger around mine and we have to keep it. Best friends forever?"

Bugman locks their finger with yours. "Forever...."

-

"....."

"Say it isn't true, Bug."

You always knew Bugman was special, but - not like this. How could they keep this from you for so long? Were they aware of this from the start? Did everything you say that day.... All plans and wishes you made together - did they mean nothing anymore?

"I apologize for not telling you sooner, Y/n. If it makes you feel better, I have already made sure that no harm will ever come to you. The being inside me is many things, but they will not go back on their word. I understand if this all is too much to bare. I do not blame you if you hate me now."

"Hate you? Hate you?" Angry tears stream down your face as you clutch their shoulders for balance. Sadness and rage quakes you to your very core. "Bugman, all I want is you! I want my best friend to be here with me. I don't want to lose you to some...some... bug god that's already been dead for centuries. This is your body, your life we're talking about here! Don't you want to be here with me too?"

It hurts. White hot, shearing pain rips through Bugman's ribcage as you sob pathetically against their chest. The air they breath is like sharp glass in their throat. What are you doing? This feeling - they've never had it before. Are they dying now? Is this what death feels like?

Bringing their arms around your shaking body is all that relieves this ache. Bugman realizes as you slam your fist against their chest that this is not death. It's heartbreak.

And it's so, so much worse.

"On the bright side, there is no telling when I will die. It could be any day now. It could be at the natural end of my lifetime. All we can do is hope for the best and relish the time we have together now."

"You better.... You better stay with me until we're both old and grey. I won't forgive you if you leave me before then."

Bugman rolls their fingers over the beads tied around your wrist. As children, you both made your bracelets slightly too big so they would follow you into adulthood. They fit perfectly now.

"I promised once that I wouldn't leave you. That is a promise I intend to keep."

[mannequinreligi0n]

I'm new to making requests so I'm sorry if i do it wrong 😓

Could I request a Vergil x Reader enemies to lovers smut? Kind of like hate sex but halfway through they realize they like eachother? Maybe with some breeding too

I'm in a Vergil phase right now and I love the way you write him 💕

Sidetracked

you and vergil release some tension while on a mission / enemies to lovers trope

pairing: vergil x gn!reader

wc: 870

warnings: nsfw! - typical smut, no extreme warnings

author’s note: YES THANK YOU FOR THE ASK !I LOVED THIS ! kept this somewhat short and more of a vergil pov . there’s a lack of breeding, but i pinky promise i’ll make it up to you when i get around to finishing my vergil mating fic. enjoy !!

links: ao3

Dirty fingernails dig into the flesh of your hips, thumbs hooked into your hip-bones with cosmic strength. Vergil had you lifted in his arms against the cavern wall, demon carcasses still bleeding out and twitching some feet away. This was happening far too frequently: Dante forcing Vergil to take you on missions to gain experience, you pestering him the entire time by simply breathing in his direction, and Vergil stuffing himself into you as a form of punishment. But was it really a punishment, if you both harmonized each other’s names with every orgasm?

“You petulant, ignorant, disgusting insect,” Vergil snarls in your ear, face flushed and dripping sweat. “Your entire life is a waste, and spending any moment of it with you is worse than damnation.”

”Disgusting?” You frown up at him, hands gripping his coat like reigns. “You don’t really mea- MMPPH! HHMMPPPHH!!”

Vergil moves a hand to clamp it over your mouth roughly, your head rattling against the cave wall from the impact. He couldn’t take the incessant whining, moaning, complaining - it was driving him to the brink of insanity. Weeks and weeks of ‘Vergil, I’m tired’, or ‘this sucks, can we go home?’, or his least favorite: ‘I don’t even know why you’re here’. He had half a mind to drag you back to the agency and dump you back onto Dante, washing his hands of you. But there was a major downside to that that outweighed all the pros of ridding himself of you.

He would have to put an end to these satiating quickies.

No more delightful moans, no more watching you waddle back onto the battlefield, no more seeing that angelic smile shine up at him in the final seconds of your release. Despite himself, he often looked forward to it every week - a single moment of joy in his desolate world. And he knew, deep down, you did too, often finding new ways to ‘torture’ him just so he’ll pin you beneath him. Vergil convinced himself that it was purely for logical, beneficial reasons. He always performed better on the field after gushing into you. Something about the adrenaline, the endorphins, made his demon blood go crazy. He often found himself swinging Yamato with more precision, or dodging attacks with impeccable reaction times. How could he give up something that made him a better fighter? A better hunter?

No. He needed to put an end to this. The line between a ‘quick fuck’ and a ‘meaningful connection’ was getting too blurry for his liking. This was the last time, no more after this. He was a seasoned warrior, one that could fight just as well without you. This had to stop. It must-

“Don’t stop. God, pl-please don’t stop.”

Vergil hadn’t noticed his hand over your mouth fall to cradle your head, too lost in his thoughts. The sound of your wanton begging lobotomizes his brain, him gazing down at you dumbly with lust. All he could focus on now was how pretty you looked taking him, head drooping back and eyelashings kissing your cheeks. His eyes fall to his hips moving like an automaton, snapping in and out your impossibly warm walls. The sight alone is heaven - he figures people die to achieve this level of nirvana, and yet, he has it right in his fingers.

Damn it, he can’t put an end to this.

Swallowing his pride, Vergil relents to his desires and speeds up, the primitive sounds of fluids and skin-on-skin bouncing around the cave like an echo-chamber. His hand on your hip tightens, nails forming crescents on the skin as he runts his cock into you, pelvic bones slamming together. Vergil thinks you’ve already come by the way you’re squirming under him - he feels a little bad for not noticing earlier, too consumed in his own world to hear your moans clearly. He doesn’t care enough to ask though, the sirens blaring in his body that he’s about to come himself. With one, two, three more pumps, Vergil growls and bites down on his lip, pulling out just in time to cum over your sex rather than in it. The head of his cock twitches as white spurts out of it, ropes making a Pollock on your skin. WIth a shuddering breath, he slowly lowers your legs back to the ground, allowing you to hold his arms as you steady your shaking legs.

“…Are you alright?”

You answer with a small nod, still trying to regulate your breathing. You squat down and gather your pants, pulling them back on. “Yeah, m’good.”

”Good, good,” Vergil returns your nod and zips up his fly, averting his eyes from you. There was a voice in the back of his mind pleading with him to say more, to show you more of his human side. He wanted to, gods be damned, he really wanted to. But not now, not like this. Instead, he kneels down and scoops your weapon off the cave floor, wiping the blade clean with the end of his coat. He offers it back to you with an imperceivable smile, eyes meeting yours for a heartbeat. “Let us continue on. There are four more caverns to clear.”