#It's tragic enough when an artist stops creating

[rubynautilus]

Reposting a rant about deviantart for posterity

I swear that the site is desperately trying to get rid of me.

Do you want to know the latest change that's ruining my experience the second it has been implemented?

Previously, if you went to a user's gallery you had the option to see all of their public art from newest onwards in the "All" section. But now? Except for some exceptions, their "All" gallery is replaced by a "Recommended for you" one. Making it impossible to see their latest publications unless the user manually uploads them in order.

Do I need to explain how utterly bothersome (and straight up harmful for the artists) it is to not be able to browse their galleries?

A "Recommended for you" feed makes sense on the site's main paige or even in the "Home" tab of a user's profile if it MUST be there. But in the open gallery?

Let's just say that I'm glad that there's alternatives to deviantart (here's a few: alternativeto.net/software/dev...). Because That place is slowly becoming one of those online stores that have replaced their feeds for spam listings. *cough*amazon*cough*

[merxcywritesthings]

Can I make a platonic request of Charlie with a human reader that was sent to hell without dying motivating and encouraging her to keep following her dreams no matter what anyone says or what happens when she is down?

ℌ𝔢𝔩𝔩’𝔰 ℌ𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔫

A/N: You absolutely can!! I love my girl Charlie—she reminds me of Emma from TPN! Anyways, I hope you don’t mind me putting in a dream that the reader has, I wasn’t sure what to do since you hadn’t specified (but it’s trouble, don’t worry!)

Word Count: 1.1k

TW: None really, unless you count being in Hell?

Reader is gender neutral!

The world around you was a kaleidoscope of crimson and shadow, an eerie dance of flame and darkness. You never imagined you’d end up here—Hell—without so much as dying. There was no dramatic accident, no tragic ending to your life. One moment, you were walking home, and the next, the ground beneath you gave way to this bizarre, otherworldly landscape. Confusion quickly gave way to fear, and fear to despair. You felt lost, utterly and completely. Until she showed up.

♡⋅˚₊‧ ୨☀️୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅♡

Charlie Morningstar was unlike anyone you had ever met, in any realm of existence. Her cheerful demeanor stood in stark contrast to the grim surroundings, as if she refused to let Hell itself dim her light. Her golden hair practically glowed, and her warm smile carried a sense of hope that felt out of place—yet so welcome—in this desolate place. She found you huddled near a crumbling wall, knees pulled to your chest, staring into the void. Instead of walking past like so many others, she sat beside you, her presence both comforting and curious.

“Hi there,” she said, her voice as soothing as a lullaby. “Rough day?”

You laughed bitterly, wiping at your tear-streaked face. “You could say that. I’m not even supposed to be here.”

Charlie tilted her head, a flicker of concern crossing her features. “Not supposed to be in Hell? That’s... unusual.”

“Tell me about it,” you muttered. “One second, I’m walking home from work. The next, I’m here. I don’t even know why.”

“Well,” she said, her smile returning, “we’ll figure it out. But for now, how about we get you somewhere safe?”

You hesitated. You didn’t know her, didn’t know if you could trust her. But something about her felt genuine, like she truly cared. Reluctantly, you nodded, and she helped you to your feet. From that moment on, your life—or whatever this existence was—began to change.

Charlie brought you to the Hazbin Hotel, her grand but somewhat shabby project to rehabilitate sinners and give them a chance at redemption. You weren’t a sinner, but you still felt out of place. The hotel was a strange haven in this chaotic realm, filled with all manner of colorful and bizarre characters. At first, you kept to yourself, unsure of your place in this odd community. But Charlie wouldn’t let you retreat into your shell.

She had a way of drawing you out, her enthusiasm infectious. She’d invite you to join her in decorating the lobby, brainstorming ideas for the hotel, or simply talking over cups of tea. She wanted to know everything about you—your dreams, your passions, your fears. It was disarming, how much she cared.

♡⋅˚₊‧ ୨☀️୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅♡

One evening, as the two of you sat on the hotel’s rooftop, looking out over the sprawling chaos of Hell, you finally opened up. “I used to have dreams,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Big ones. I wanted to be an artist, to create something that would inspire people. But... it felt like the world was against me. No one believed in me, and eventually, I stopped believing in myself.”

Charlie’s expression softened, her crimson eyes filled with understanding. “That sounds really hard. But you know what? Dreams don’t die just because others can’t see them. They’re still inside you, waiting for you to pick them back up.”

You looked at her, skeptical. “Easy for you to say. You’re a princess. You’ve probably never had people tell you you’re not good enough.”

She laughed, a soft, self-deprecating sound. “Oh, you’d be surprised. My whole life, people have doubted me. They think my dream of rehabilitating sinners is ridiculous, that it’ll never work. But I keep going because I believe it’s worth it. And I believe you’re worth it too.”

Her words struck a chord deep within you. For so long, you’d let the voices of doubt drown out your own. But here was Charlie, in the literal depths of Hell, refusing to give up on her vision. If she could keep fighting for her dreams, maybe you could too.

From that night on, Charlie became your biggest cheerleader. She encouraged you to pick up a pencil again, to let your creativity flow. At first, it was just doodles, small sketches on scraps of paper. But as the days turned into weeks, you began to find your rhythm again. The hotel’s walls soon became adorned with your art, transforming the space into a gallery of hope and beauty. The other residents took notice, and for the first time in a long time, you felt seen.

Whenever doubt crept back in, Charlie was there to chase it away. “Your art is incredible,” she’d say, her enthusiasm unwavering. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. And don’t stop just because it’s hard. The best things in life usually are.”

Her belief in you became a lifeline, pulling you out of the darkness you’d been drowning in. Slowly but surely, you began to believe in yourself again. And in turn, you found ways to support Charlie in her mission. You designed posters and banners for the hotel, turning it into a place that truly felt welcoming. Together, you created something that stood as a beacon of hope in a realm defined by despair.

♡⋅˚₊‧ ୨☀️୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅♡

One day, as you worked on a mural in the lobby, Charlie approached you, her usual cheerful energy tempered by something more serious. “You know,” she began, “you’re not just helping me with the hotel. You’re inspiring everyone here. Your art, your determination—it’s contagious. You’re making a difference.”

Her words brought tears to your eyes. For so long, you’d felt like your dreams didn’t matter, like you didn’t matter. But here, in the unlikeliest of places, you’d found purpose and belonging. And it was all thanks to Charlie.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice trembling. “For everything. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

She smiled, her eyes shining with warmth. “You’d be right where you are now. Because the strength you needed was always inside you. I just helped you see it.”

In that moment, you realized just how much Charlie had given you. Not just a place to stay, but a reason to keep going. A reminder that even in the darkest of places, there’s still light to be found. And as you looked at her, you made a silent vow to never let that light go out—not in her, and not in yourself.

Hell might have been the last place you expected to find yourself, but it turned out to be the first place where you truly found yourself. And with Charlie by your side, you knew you could face anything. Together, you were unstoppable—two dreamers refusing to let the world, or Hell itself, stand in their way.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢! 🍎

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 @𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑙𝑦-𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑠

[slasher-dasher]

Vincent

︶꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

Starry, starry night

Candles lit up the area around him, flickering like the stars he hadn’t seen in who knows how many days now. The smell of wax invaded his nostrils more than usual as he poured the melted material over his latest piece of art. Bo had delivered her to the workshop himself, stomping down the steps with the proudest smile on his face before leaving her in the care of his twin.

Flaming flowers that brightly blaze

Vincent wasn’t sure if she had passed out or had suffocated from the hardening wax around her face, but he did notice that at some point she had closed her eyes. It was a shame. Vincent had liked the way her hazel eyes danced like the candlelight, flicking between his face and the brush in his hands. She had tried to reach for it at first. Not in an attempt to escape, but in an attempt to get his attention. Vincent tilted his head, taking in every detail he could as she tried to speak. The colors in her iris exploded in a pattern that made him think of sunflowers. His mother always loved that painting.

Swirling clouds in violet haze

He carried the weight of two titles, both passed onto him by his mother. Artist. One that was semi-forced into his blood. He liked watching her swirl the wax in her molds, delicately carving them to seamlessly match the rest of her sculptures. How many times had Vincent wished she would look at her children like those sculptures? He remembered the day she put a brush in his hand after he had pointed at her tools. It hadn’t ended well. Shaking his head, he brought his attention back to the girl on his table. The artist ran his brush over a fresh, purple bruise on her wrist, hiding the imperfection from any ghostly prying eyes.

Reflect in Vincent’s eyes of china blue

Vincent. After Van Gogh himself, his mother’s favorite artist. She had always adored art while growing up, but his paintings always inspired her to create when there was no other option. And here he was, continuing her legacy while starting his own. Bo had worked out the plan years before the boys found their way back to Ambrose, never stopping until he found the two again. Maybe the name was fitting. Two men with loving brothers who, deep down, knew they would do anything for. Two tragic artists with no one to listen to them. Two people with the same name, same signature, same occupation, in separate times. Vincent found it ironic.

Colors changing hue

The artist placed his tools on the rolling shelf nearby, taking a match to light some of the lesser-used candles. Waterfalls of wax dripped onto the floor, pooling at his feet with a few rusty nails he had yet to shove into another makeshift clock. While the wax dried, he gently moved her wrists and ankles into the restraints on the worktable, careful not to break the layers he’d already worked on. This was a rare sight for him. Someone who hadn’t tried to fight from the moment she came to town, just accepting that there just so happened to be a wax museum not far from where her car had broken down. It was obvious his twin hadn’t done much before bringing her down here, at most he had wrapped her wrists a little too tightly in that wretched chair before he glued her lips together. Lips that had become pale and chapped from the chill of the basement, now full of faux life again. All because of his craft. Vincent pulled a small tube of lipstick from the girl’s bag, another rare sight since Bo usually took them for the wallet before getting rid of them. The tube was set aside to be put in a much smaller batch of wax to be melted later. He would honor her color choice, it was common enough to do so.

Morning fields of amber grain

The sculpture’s eyes shot open again as a fresh layer of hot wax poured onto her torso, untouched by the substance until now. They scanned the room in a panic, realization finally setting in as the flowers in her eyes became blurry with tears. The extra light made the green halos around the edge of her iris appear almost yellow, distorting them further as the flames danced. Vincent worked quickly now, muscle memory taking over as he just tried to get this over with. His method worked, he knew this, but it still shocked him how fast pain and adrenaline could cancel each other out in the human mind. She took a few deep, desperate breaths from under the wax face, feeling hot rushes of air that did little to soothe her fear. Her eyes shot to Vincent, pleading and full of life that was snuffed out far too fast for his liking. They closed, hidden from the world for the moment, and he instinctively lowered his head.

Weathered faces lined in pain

Sleep deprivation was starting to get to him just as the heavy doors of the museum crashed open again, followed by familiar loud barking. Dinner time. Lester had likely been sent to get him, which meant Bo was in a bad mood. Then again, Jonesy wouldn’t be with him at this time if he didn’t already have food in tow. Vincent guided his hand over the girl’s eyes, opening them one last time now that they couldn’t be closed again. The artist sighed, taking off his apron to hang on a spare hook before climbing the stairs into the museum. He glanced around at his artwork, some of the newer additions glancing back at him. Vincent guided his hand over each sculpture, wondering if they knew how important they were to this town. A happy bark brought him out of his trance, not realizing he had accidentally cracked the wax of the man as he jumped. Jonesy happily trotted up to him, wagging her tail as he leaned down to pet her before following her to where Lester stood, admiring the House of Wax in all its unsung glory. The trio made their way back to their rundown home, Vincent dragging his fingers across the heavy wax door as he locked it in a silent promise to return.

Are soothed beneath the artist’s loving hand.

Song - Vincent by Don McLean

[beginnerblueglass]

The Christian Themes in My Chemical Romance's The Black Parade

Let me start by saying that as a Christian, I believe that God is the Creator of all things, including creativity, art, imagination, and storytelling. He is the God of those things, and His signature is on every part of the universe. The story of who God is - His nature and character - and His plans and purposes for His creation can be summed up in the word "gospel," or "good news." The gospel is not just something that is true or contains truth; it is the underlying Truth over, in, and behind all of reality.

I believe that any artist (regardless of what they believe) who spends enough time genuinely and honestly aiming for truth to put in their art, will eventually, intentionally or unintentionally, hit God.

Do I believe that Gerard Way and friends were trying to tell a story about Jesus? No, probably not. But they were trying to tell a story about life and death, sin and forgiveness, heaven and hell, and many other things that fall within the Bible's purview. The Truth comes out when we let it.

Believe it or not, The Black Parade is full of the gospel. If one were to hear me say this and then just listen to a few songs in isolation, one might think I was crazy, or possibly a heretic. BUT HEAR ME OUT OKAY

The story of the Patient, a man dying of cancer, as he reckons with his life, death, sins, and possibility of redemption.

The End.

We open with a very Shakespearean introduction to the story we are about to hear. It is clearly describing a funeral, and we are told that our narrator "expects we won't cry" at this "tragic affair." The Patient seems indifferent towards his own tragedy until the breakdown, where he screams,

"Save me! Get me the hell out of here! I'm too young to die!"

Dead!

The song opens with a declaration of the Patient's root problem:

"If your heart stops beating" "Then your heart can't take this" "Found a complication in your heart, so long"

His heart is the thing that is sick, the thing that is killing him. His physically failing heart makes a stinging metaphor for the condition of his spiritual heart.

"The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it? 'I the LORD search the heart and test the mind, to give to every man according to his ways, according to the fruit of his deeds'" Jeremiah 17:9.

The Patient is confronted with the question,

"If you get to heaven, I'll be here waiting babe, did you get what you deserved?"

Basically, "If you got to heaven, I'd be wondering if that was the right call."

It's fascinating to hear the Patient vacillate between longing for death and being terrified of death. This song reveals that he's suicidal, and seems to welcome the end.

"Wouldn't it be grand? It ain't exactly what you planned, and wouldn't it be great if we were dead?"

But again, the breakdown reveals his deeper feelings:

"If life ain't just a joke, then why am I dead?"

What is the purpose of a life that ends with death? How can this be the way it's supposed to be? Well, here's the thing. Humans were not originally created to die; death is a consequence of sin. Our eternal soul recoils from the idea of being removed from our body and the earth, and it is indeed unnatural. These are questions that everyone should ask themselves at some point in their life: What is death? Why do we die? How is this a part of the plan?

God is a professional redeemer, and He in fact used death itself to break death's choke-hold on us, forgiving us of our sins (the cause of death) thanks to the sacrificial death of Jesus on the cross. The believer can now say, "O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?" (1 Cor. 15:55). I listened to this album for the first time when I was 15, and while I believed in God, I hadn't given Him my life yet; I didn't really understand Christianity. These questions filled me with dread, and I avoided MCR for years because they freaked me out. In the meantime, I put my faith in Christ, and my questions surrounding death and afterlife began to be resolved. When I revisited the Black Parade, I was so pumped to be confronted with these existential conundrums, and able to answer them with confidence! I am not perfect, but I am God's work in progress. Death and darkness still scare me sometimes, but the deep dread the Patient struggles with and tries to cover up with a rash longing for a quick death, "a pistol by the hand," are not my struggles, praise God. Okay okay okay, I'll get back to the actual story.

This is How I Disappear

The Patient feels himself slipping away, and is at once afraid and relieved to be alone. Relieved, because,

"I'm just a ghost, so I can't hurt you anymore"

He describes himself or his situation as "unforgivable," and alludes to some deep dark secret sins that he is terrified to reveal.

"There's things that I have done you never should ever know"

He also expresses more uncertainty about his chances of heaven, and seems to know that his destination is a bit more south.

"Tell me if it's so that all the good girls go to heaven" "You want to see how far down I can sink?

Welcome to the Black Parade

A recollection of the time his father asked him,

"Son, when you grow up will you be the saviour of the broken, the beaten, and the damned?"

The Patient's father can act as a stand-in for God, who calls us to be imitators of Christ, the Saviour. We are called to feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, clothe the naked, aid the sick, visit the prisoner, lift up the broken, welcome the stranger, be family to the lonely, and share the good news of salvation with the sinner, the damned.

The Patient is swept away by the Black Parade, who are kind of like the ferryman - the parademen I guess. They are leading him to his destination in the afterlife. It seems that on the way they are also showing him a replay of scenes from his life, which will prove to be his trial of sorts, the evidence for why he is going where he is going. He is caught up in the optimism of childhood and honouring his father's legacy, but still declares his perceived inability to live up to what was asked of him,

"I'm just a man, I'm not a hero, I'm just a boy who had to sing this song. I'm just a man, I'm not a hero, and I don't care."

To him, these are the actions of a hero, not a flawed mere mortal.

I think it's interesting that he has mentioned heaven multiple times, but has seemed afraid to do any more than allude to hell, but those seem to be the two options. He received a call, a mission from his father, and commission (a Great Commission?) from his Maker. How did he do?

I Don't Love You

The first vignette the Patient is greeted with is a past scene between him and an ex-girlfriend. There are a lot of references to being "beaten" in this song. How well did the Patient do in fulfilling his calling to be a saviour of the beaten? Not well apparently.

"Sometimes I cry so hard from pleading, so sick and tired of all the needless beatings, but baby when they knock you down and out is where you oughta stay."

I'm not sure about the voicing of this song. Is it all him? All her? Do they go back and forth? I don't know, but it still paints a powerful picture of a painful breakup, an ugly part of the Patient's history.

Also I want to highlight this line, since it comes up later,

"Maybe when you get back I'll be off to find another way."

The Sharpest Lives

The next piece of evidence in the Patient's trial: a life that he squandered away in joyless hedonism that benefitted no one, not even himself.

"I said in my heart, "Come now, I will test you with pleasure; enjoy yourself." But behold, this also was vanity. I said of laughter, "It is mad," and of pleasure, 'What use is it?'" Ecclesiastes 2:1-2

Also the reference to the sun, a common motif in Ecclesiastes, in which all the affairs of man occur "under the sun."

"A light to burn all the empires, so that the sun is ashamed to rise"

House of Wolves

Now this song is not about the Patient's relationship with God (that comes later), but with religion. The sad thing is that we are all liable to fail in being a saviour for those around us. The Patient was burned by religious experiences.

There's a mix of the church's failures and the Patient's misunderstanding of Christian doctrines. He perceived two-facedness in the church's back-to-back statements that he was "an angel," beloved of God, and also "a bad man." This is just the biblical doctrine of sin; we are at once God's immensely precious children for whom He would literally die, and vile sinners who commit atrocities against God and the people around us on the regular, and need the forgiveness Christ offers in order to be acceptable. However, the church's treatment of him proved hypocrisy, misrepresentation of God's heart for the lost, and a lack of Christ's love on their part. When he was a damned sinner in need of a saviour, the church spit on him, kicked him when he was down, told him that he would never find a home with them, and threw him to the dogs.

The Patient ended up doubling down on his sin, purposefully identifying with it, and treating the things of God with sarcasm and contempt. He gleefully acknowledges his sin, spelling it out ten times, and his certainty of going to hell, but without a hint of repentance.

"Well I said hey, hallelujah, I'm gonna, come on sing the praise, and let the Spirit come on through you, we've got innocence for days. Well I think I'm gonna burn in hell"

Mama

Whoo boy, what a song. Scared the bejeebers out of me when I was young. Now it just makes me think of the Screwtape Letters.

So the Patient has been deposited at his destination and is writing a letter to his mother, opening with the chilling statement,

"Mama, we all go to hell"

The "we all" he's speaking of are either his fellow soldiers or his fellow sinners as a whole. See, this is when we find out that, perhaps in an effort to follow his father's wish that he be a hero who fights for the broken, the Patient became a soldier and fought in a war. This also further reveals his penchant for running towards death, possibly seeking a heroic, "glorious" death. This caused a breach in his relationship with his mother, whom he is now either warning about the terrors of hell, or celebrating her eventual journey there herself, or both. It reminds me of the parable of the rich man and Lazarus in Luke 16.

We learn a little more about his deep dark secrets, finding out that they were done with his gun in the war. He still keeps the details to himself though. And of course,

"So raise your glass high for tomorrow we die," "If the dead are not raised, 'Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die.'" 1 Corinthians 15:32.

The song is full of weeping, wailing, and teeth gritting screams, calling to mind Jesus' description of hell,

"(They will) be thrown into the outer darkness. In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth" Matthew 8:12.

Sleep

It was all a dream, a nightmare, a vision. He's not dead, but still laying in his hospital bed, soon to die. Only now he knows what is awaiting him, and has to decide what he will do with this brief second chance.

Let me just leave this here:

"Some say, 'Now suffer all the children,' and walk away a saviour, or a madman and polluted from gutter institutions." "But Jesus called them unto him, and said, 'Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.'" Luke 18:16 KJV "Either this man was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse." - CS Lewis, Mere Christianity

A Bible verse and a CS Lewis reference?? As far as I can tell, this is the only reference to Jesus in any MCR song, and isn't it interesting? I gasped the first time I noticed this lyric.

After being brought to face his utter failures at being the saviour he was called to be, and the severe consequences of his sin, the Patient is now contemplating the nature and character of the Saviour. No one can be a truly effective saviour on their own, not unless they have been saved by the Saving One. The question of whether Jesus really is the Son of God is the most important question anyone can ask.

But the Patient is stubborn, and weak. He repeats again and again that he's "not sorry for what he did," and he doesn't feel bad. He has completed step one: realizing the weight and enormity of his sin, knowing that he deserves hell. Now he's wrestling with step two: repenting from his sins and realizing that Jesus is bigger, and able to save the worst of sinners and forgive the worst sins, and He wants to save and forgive. It's like the Patient knows and is afraid of that, and refuses to repent, feeling like he's "unforgivable" and undeserving.

"Don't you breathe for me, undeserving of your sympathy"

He decides that he will sleep for the rest of his short life, avoiding the heartrending business of redemption. However, he can't stop the visions of the awful things that he's seen.

Cancer

The Patient's decision to avoid repentance affects the few remaining relationships that he has. He is preparing for that funeral from the beginning of the album, soaking in the agony and despair, lamenting that he will never marry, refusing to resolve his relationships.

Disenchanted

Alone now, the Patient quietly thinks over some good memories, and about the wasted potential of his life. Childhood, and the beginning of his life, was good. He was not without hope at one point, but can only be disappointed with how his life turned out. He is, in fact, sorry and feels bad about what he did and didn't do, but what now?

"I hate the ending myself, but it started with an alright scene,"

Everything he tried to find meaning in turned out to be worthless in the end.

"Vanity of vanities! All is vanity. What does a man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?" Ecclesiastes 1:3. "You're just a sad song with nothing to say about a lifelong wait for a hospital stay"

But at the end there's a glaring question and challenge, one that demands an answer (and calls back to I Don't Love You):

"So go, go away, just go, run away. But where did you run to? And where did you hide to find another way?" "Jesus said to the twelve, 'Do you want to go away as well?' Simon Peter answered Him, 'Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.'" John 6:67-68.

Famous Last Words

"Where's your heart?"

Here's the answer, the end. He reaches out and grasps the forgiveness offered to him and chooses life, for however long he has, even if he'll be alone.

"Honey if you stay you'll be forgiven, nothing you can stay can stop me going home."

Honestly, can there be a better ending? The Patient chooses life, eternal life, chooses love ("so demanding," but worth it all), he accepts forgiveness, claims it, acknowledges his weakness ("I'm so weak!"), claims his home in God's kingdom. He never thought he'd be here saying these words, but stranger things have happened. Throughout his life he has variously feared death, been suicidal, risked his life on the battlefield, killed, been indifferent towards death, been resigned to death, and been in despair of death. Now though, he is finally awake (no more sleeping) and unafraid. Now he knows that death isn’t the end. His true home awaits. *Insert Gandalf quote*

"End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it (...) White shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise."

Home.

*Edit* I’m thinking about how at the end, the Patient has 1) realized the Christian perspective of death: “For me to live is Christ and to die is gain” (Phil. 1:21), and 2) he is overwhelmed with love more than anything else: “A love that’s so demanding I can’t speak!”

[butterflywannabefree]

Moodboards for @lmkobsessedmoth

Bro, where did my motivation go for me to be posting moodboards during the LAST MONTH OF 2024 ?! I don’t know but I am and still am ashamed. But hey, I’m here now. No time to procrastinate again when creativity means doing things for fun. And I admit, this was pretty fun. As the title suggests, these moodboards are dedicated to @lmkobsessedmoth who, I’m going to be honest, is one of the more nuanced artists in the LMK community. And one of the more underrated, I would say. They are the creator of the Death AU, an AU in which MK dies and is helped by their OC Yu Ling…At first. I don’t think it’s called the Death AU anymore and has a whole new plotline that involves spirits and monsters alike.

Which is understandable. Creators are able to change whatever they want about their AU and the characters within it. Lord knows how much I go back and forth on my own creations- Loyd, you’re my kindred spirit in that sense- But enough about that. I wanted to make moodboards, I made moodboard and you will now see the moodboards ! I’m back for now, baby, so let’s get the train moving !

Side note, I only made two moodboards for @lmkobsessedmoth ‘s main OC’s (Yu Ling and Diedie). I might be interested in making some for the others if we receive more about them. But for now, this is what I got.

First up is the main girl herself, Yu Ling. Or the Daughter of Death, as her title says. From what I know, Yu Ling is a being whose fate was reset by the gods, Erland and Guanyin. I believe her powers have something to do with souls and spirits. And in order to get that power, there was a deal made with the ten Yama Kings and she has been their student ever since, gaining many injuries from the accident which didn’t affect her. Though her origins were very different as in the beginning of the Death AU, she was originally meant to be a guide for MK when he died and helped him on his adventures.

Concept wise, that is a strong one. I’ve studied stories and writing before and I’ve always been one to enjoy anything relating to things like spirits and souls. So I really enjoyed learning about the AU. Even though things have changed, seeing Yu Ling change through it was also fun. Her design is both, dare I say, simplistic yet fancy. Loyd has managed the art of being able to replicate the artstyle of LMK almost seamlessly and Yu Ling looks like she could pass to be one of the characters. Simple but with just enough to make her stand out. Not to mention her character is pretty neat. When I was asking permission from her creator to make this, I asked them what represented her and I was answered souls, jade and stars. I think I leaned more into angsty territory by adding those quotes though. I dunno. I felt like they matched well enough. So I’ll give myself a pass. It goes with the picture I chose of Yu Ling well enough, I feel like.

Next is Diedie or Dandelion Child ! I’m gonna be honest and probably get hated for it but I think she’s more of my favorite than Yu Ling. Don’t get me wrong, both are great but I always did have an affinity for child characters. Especially…Ugh, tragic child characters. Loyd, who gave you the right to create one of the cutest little beans and put her through so much ? Is that even legal ? I doubt it. But it is what it is. From my research, Diedie is a child from 1920’s China. She became the guardian of an ancient artifact called the Lotus Reliquary after stopping a demon from destroying it. Diedie is also nonverbal and is seen as, and I quote, an INFECTION, by the villagers because of this and the way she acts.

Which…Bro, that makes me SO mad. If I had a choice, I’d burn that village down myself. But hey, fire is already a thing in Diedie’s story so I can’t do that. That’s all I can put in here. If you want to know more about her, please go check out @lmkobsessedmoth ‘s profile and check out their stuff. Pls, they are underrated and deserve attention. POSITIVE attention. Loyd, I hope I didn’t disappoint (as I usually do haha-) you with these moodboards. They were pretty fun to make and I’d be happy to do the rest of your characters when I have the chance. For now, I’m Vee and I’ll be back whenever with more moodboards if I can.

[zybynarx]

Although Cas had seen Dean looking hurt in every possible way over the years, his expression would have broken his heart if it wasn’t already in pieces. “Cas, I don’t understand,” he said. “I know you don’t,” Castiel answered. “That is the main problem, isn’t it?”

This is only a small snippet of the beautiful story that @sitruunavohveli created for this year's @dcbtv event! Do yourself a favor and go check out the beautifully heart-wrenching (but with a happy ending) story HERE!

If you happened to click the "keep reading" link, welcome to the artist comments section!

Man... I feel a little bad for Cas because I decided to draw the scene where he's driven away but had to pull over to start crying. There are so many beautiful scenes in this story, yet for some reason this was the scene that jumped out to me the most! I told Tossukka about it, and this is what she had to say about it:

" I tried to capture in my opinion one of the most tragic things about their whole friendship/relationship which is Dean having fear of rejection, and wanting Cas to stay without him having to ask it, and Cas feeling he is not important to anyone unless he's useful so he always leaves, either to do something useful or sacrificing himself to protect others. The crying in the car is because I think Cas hates leaving just as much as Dean hates being left behind. 🥺 "

My heart got sucker punched in the feels after reading this response and I was HELLA determined to do my best to reflect that response as well as the hurt in the song with my drawing!

For the banner... I think some people may be a little confused by it so let me explain! As I was reading the story, the thought occurred to me of how lonely Cas was feeling throughout. And so my brain, being the angst monster it likes to be at times, thought, "Cas is lonely within their home just like he would have been lonely in the Empty." So that's why it looks like the empty is coming for him! It's not really... it's just symbolic. XD

I want to give my author a super huge shout-out and lots of kudos! She did such a fantastic job with this story with how she wrote the characters and how she takes you on this emotional roller coaster with these two! My heart ached and soared at so many different points while reading and I can't stop recommend it enough!

I'd also like to give a big thanks to the mods who run the DeanCas Bang (Taylor's Version) every year! This is one of the bangs I always look forward to participating in! Thanks for all of your hard work, and thank you especially for the small check-in extension when shiz hit the fan IRL for me.

Thanks for reading this far if you have!

[hanafarook]

"Poetry Was Always Evolutionary"

I always held a deep seated angst about poetry being a dying artform and me   honing my skills in the said dying artform.

The more waves of constant technological upgrade and fast paced lives that required less and less attention span came about, the more convinced I was and (wholeheartedly even) that I was on a tragic cruise ship bound to sink much like titanic. 

I could've been an artist who painted or something that engaged people long enough but noooo I had the sheer audacity to run around like a bull in a Spanish festival aka I was too charged with the fervor of old fashion ideas of literature and writing. 

There was no going back, if you're knee deep sinking in a quicksand, flailing your hands around is an even quicker way of upgrading your demise but of course if you couldn't stop Matthew McConaughey from his interstellar trip, you most certainly couldn't stop me. 

I, of course didn't realize the tragic quicksand-titanic trip until much later on and when I did it was too late to back out anyway. So I wanted to make it work like a mad scientist in a science fiction movie.

Poetry was kryptonite, it was both poison and medicine. It opened and sewed wounds, sunk people to its depths and also kept them afloat. The question isn't What was poetry? Where was poetry? The question is, what wasn't left untouched by it?  Everything that ever existed in this world and everything that could exist at any point in this world was all poetry and it was everywhere in every form.

Numbers were poetry, words were poetry, colors were poetry, sounds were poetry and the absence of those were also poetry.  All the ways of living and All the ways of dying were poetry - All tangible and intangible was poetry.  

That poetry changed so much throughout time and still carried with it, its essence that It moved people and created movements that were powerful enough to shake nations and bring the ordinary to the streets making it an extraordinary moment of history

That poetry scared me. 

It was a wave that took everyone and everything along with it, that wave was what engulfed me after which whether I was drowning or floating I wasn't the same again.  

All I ever thought was how poetry was going to die on me like a friend dies on you in a crucial moment in a zombie movie 

Come to think of it, poetry is either tardigrades or like hammerhead worms, somehow it just doesn't die and for the record, thinking that maybe artists were in a far better place than writers turned out to be somewhat wrong.  With, I'd like to call it, “the invasion of Ai” everyone that had any creative dwelling was doomed. 

What google bard would have the emotional capacity of …well, an emotionally wrecked Sylvia Plath ? What chatgpt could paint the madness of Picasso?  No matter how far and the speed with which we're catapulting into the future - I have hopes that poetry and Art  will evolve rapidly and exist like the science fiction tardigrade it is. 

(Ps: tardigrades are real, don't be stupid! And cute if you squint through a microscope.)

- Haná Farook, "Poetry Was Always Evolutionary"

[beesmygod]

JJBA PART 5, VENTO AUREO IS THE UNDERBAKED MESS I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT FIXING...PART 1

imagine you are celebrating your big promotion at the pigeon crushing factory (in this world you make a living crushing pigeons into a cube, this isnt important) and decide to treat yourself to a delicious hibachi feast at the local grill. as you sit down, your chef introduces himself to you; to your surprise, the chef is reknown mangaka hirohiko araki!

"wow, amazing!" you think to yourself, "i can't wait to see what delicious treats he has waiting for me, especially after that scrumptious part 4 i had last time". araki smiles knowingly, seeing the recognition of his talent in the gleam of your wide eyes. with a dramatic flourish, begins his work. a wild and frenzied solo performance begins. ingredients are chopped and flung with dazzling accuracy, speed, and showmanship until you are presented with the fruits of his labor: a new dish, just for you.

there's one problem. he forgot to turn on the grill. or maybe he never meant to. his confidence leaves you unsure of what to do when he starts flinging raw onions into your mouth and encouraging you to chew. like the tragic chef from the clickhole video, he has served you a plate of raw chicken and vegetables and is now looking at you with his arms crossed over his chest waiting for you to dig in.

its not all bad. you can eat some of the veggies as long as they don't touch the chicken, but the majority of it is inedible. you didnt even get to see him do the cool onion thing. you push the plate back unfinished and hoping for an explanation for what the fuck just happened but when you look up, you realize araki has already left. his big chef hat and coat are lying on the floor where he shed them on his new journey to start a raw foods store having discovered his passion for organic veggies. next time you crush so many pigeons you get another promotion, you try the new store and its delicious. can't fault him, i guess!

this is the experience of watching jojo part 5.

---

and LOOK. i'm not lacking in perspective here. its presumptuous to say "i can do better" or "i could fix this" when it comes to anyone's work, let alone the work of someone singular like hirohiko araki. no one's brain operates the way his does, as evidenced by the paltry and weak attempts by the spin-off artists who struggle to recapture that same magic; they all lack whatever je ne se quoi araki has tapped into that's off limits to every other human on planet earth.

straight up, my approach to storytelling is too conventional to be a good replacement for araki's (who seems to be just completely unhinged both on and off the page) so my suggestions to "fix" part 5 are going to be broad strokes and not finely tuned fanfictions. there are just...things i would have like to see happen. and the list is long enough that i think it necessitates that this essay be done in parts. but everything you need to fix it is right there within the existing text. much like the bad meal, the manga (presumably, i only watched the anime. no! stop booing me!) has all the ingredients, the passion, and the skills to create a satisfying end result, its genuinely just missing the ability to bring it all together in a satisfying way. and it is so, so frustrating to watch unfold from the comfort of your couch.

however, for people not in the jojo know-know (who are just reading this bc it started with a pigeon crushing metaphor and you wanted to see where it was going), i do have to explain the historical lens we have to consider with part 5: it wound up being the first evolutionary step of araki's change in art style and story-telling conventions. the fashion aesthetics are wilder, the stakes are bigger, and the stands (WAY) more esoteric. with hindsight, we can look back and understand that it turned out to be weird because he was experimenting in real time (as artists who work serially have to due to the nature of the job) with what he was interested in and what he wanted to explore. so there's nothing WRONG with part 5 in the cosmic sense. and it wasn't without entertainment. and most of the characters were great!

it just that this whole thing causes me enough mental anguish to think about day in and day out to the point of writing what will turn out to be an embarrassing amount of words about my objectively least favorite part of a body of work i've come to adore. its fine. whatever.

come with me...join me whether you know jojo or not, as i try to stay sane tonight and many other nights. watch with concern and glee i rant incoherently about things that will make me seem like an absolute raving lunatic to anyone who is only barely familiar with the franchise and loosely understands it, as i only did, as a series about people who do pokemon but with ghosts who punch people.

first up, i need to do some comic work, and then we can talk about AHHH

OUT! GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT OF HERE! GET THAT BEAST AWAY

AHHH

[thekimspoblog]

FotD 1:

@joshgoodman: Thinking of some ideas currently; I've had this one circling my head. Somehow kim and Jim find themselves camping out like the kettlemans did (without the stolen money) to avoid being found by (insert threat here). Iris and fille are around 8 and 6 respectively

Me: That'd be cute! Fighting with trying to set up the tent, Kim would probably do most of it; Jimmy's threatening to slip a disk. Fille keeps asking what the hell we're actually doing out here. Iris tells her not to ask stupid questions.

"Iris, don't call your sister stupid"

"I'm not! I said her question was! There's a difference!"

Did they bring any food?

Me: In my timeline, one of the main tragic things is how this life weighs on Kim's sanity. She never really got over the trauma of the cartel following her back in '04, that's when the sheepdog dreams started; that's when she started believing in God, simply because she felt like someone or something was watching her and plotting against her at all times. Especially after Jimmy dies, paranoia really starts to consume her. She becomes a powerful mob boss nearing the end of her life, but no amount of security measures bring her peace of mind. Once Jimmy's out of the picture, things start to get a little Howard Hughes.

But yeah, even while he's around, he is sometimes worried she's getting neurotic, but it's not like he can't empathize; he never stopped looking over his shoulder either. Out here in the woods, every rustle in the grass could be a mountain lion or worse.

Him: They brought enough food for a week, but then they'd have to catch and cook their own. Which Jimmy might have an issue with. I think a mountain lion would be the least of their worries, it can be scared away; a cartel member with a gun/intent to hurt kim/her family isn't as easily scared away.

Me: Why do you think Jimmy would have a problem? Just not very good at hunting/fishing?

Kim considered taking a gun, but they both decided it would create more problems than it would solve. Even if Fille or Iris don't play with it, firing off a wild shot into the bushes could be a really bad idea; they're hiding from the law on fraud/extortion/other non violent charges. If she accidentally shot a cop who was coming to arrest them, now they're both back to looking at life. Not losing custody is always the top priority.

Even killing a "Made" man/woman would just incite retaliation. If the mafia kills them, best to just pray they'll spare the kids. Starting a shoot out would just be loud and dangerous.

I guess if they really believed the kids were in danger, they would have to give them up and leave them with someone, but thankfully it's never come to that.

Him: Based off of Jimmy's character, I'd think he'd have a terrible time hunting and fishing, yea. Also, he might have an issue with killing the animal he's able to retrieve.

I think kim would settle for a bow? Not sure if she has an archery background; iris would LOVE that. Fille could care less. But who would they leave them with, is the question? Mike is dead, so is dawson. The church is questionable

Me: I don't think Jimmy would have a problem killing an animal. He might be squeamish, but he was never a pacifist or vegetarian.

Highly doubt they would have thought to bring archery supplies. If they run out of food, they should just head back into town.

And when all else fails, they always have the option to call a social worker themselves. They REALLY don't want to do that, they've been trying to keep the kids safe off the grid. But nothing is worth endangering their lives. Even Fille would be unhappy in that arrangement.

Pretty sure "My parents only abandoned me because they're traveling con artists. But they promised they were coming back once the mob boss is dead" is foster home for "please beat me up for telling such outrageous lies".

Iris would look out for Fille, but who's looking out for poor Iris?  In the eyes of any conformist parent or teacher, Iris would be labeled a troubled child with behavioral issues. Even if their foster parents accepted their queerness, and that's a big if, nobody's going to listen to their indoctrination about the reasons shoplifting is a public good. Probably end up getting put on Ritalin or some shit.

Still, as long as Iris knew where they came from, why they feel this way all the time,they could at least try to fit in. In the timeline where Iris was born in 2005 and Kim gave them up out of guilt for what happened to Howard, Iris's life was terrible; just grew up confused and angry. Tarzan might not know what a human is, but he would still know he wasn't an ape. Kim saw these futures; even aborting them would be less cruel than leaving them to be raised by someone else. Iris needed their parents; they were the only ones who understood, the only ones who could shape this overgrown hedge of wild energy into a countercultural topiary. No matter what other childhood trauma they absorbed, the worst thing you could ever do is leave them without direction or purpose.

Him: Squeamish, that's the word I was looking for. But if it comes to survival, what wouldn't he do for his family?

Him: I wonder if the social worker would be an option? Kim wouldn't want to put the kids through that, they would find the best option one way or another.

Ah yes, Ritalin. Or as I like to call it, the zombie drug. That shit doesn't work and fuck any doctor who puts kids on it

Me: No matter what happens, at least Iris and Fille have eachother. It's not that Fille can't feel that Wexler-McGill blood in their veins; Fille is different from Iris by choice, not nature. But as the youngest in the family, as the last one always in pool when it comes to mischief, she can see how recklessness never leads to anything good.

Fille is better at pretending to be a "good kid" but she'd still feel deeply alone without her big sibling.

If she was left alone, Fille would probably be a troublemaker too. She's only such a square and a goody-goody because that's the only way she could have rebelled in a family of rebels.

Him: Ah, so fille chooses to be a goody two shoes because that's not what people expect when they see that family.

I don't think they would be apart for long, even separated by the foster care system if it came to that. Those two would always find a way back to each other

Me: Main problem is Jimmy and Kim don't want to admit failure a first time, because CPS is going to be breathing down their neck from then onward. For some reason, as long as the kids are biologically yours, most bizarre parenting choices are accepted as long as the government hasn't already labeled you a bad mother.

When Love Quinn was brought back by Dolores, the thing she wanted most was to see Henry again. But Dante and Lansing are good dads, and showing up in Henry's life now would just upset and confuse him. Admitting that she deserved to lose custody of her son was the hardest thing she's had to do, but it's for the best to just move on, try to be better moving forward.

Him: Do Love and Henry ever reunite? Or are those days behind them?

Me: Probably when Henry is older.

Iris probably would ask for archery lessons after reading the Hunger Games. Iris was always outdoorsy, but this probably is just a phase.

Him: What kind of phase would fille go through, if you had to guess?

Me: Well both siblings do have an interest in music. Iris learned to play the guitar from Jimmy; Fille would probably go ahead and find herself a piano teacher.

Him: I feel like iris would also take an interest in drums, maybe?

Me: Sounds about right.

I mean Jimmy and Kim want to encourage their hobbies. This is what the money is for.

Him: Iris would take an interest in archery, drums, and guitar while fille does piano, and maybe...swimming?

Me: Yes Fille loves the ocean. Probably cus of that goldfish soul.

Him: Ooh! Kayaking!

Me: I think Iris would be more into motor boats

Him: Boats are fun. Maybe they could take a vacation to the great lakes/some type of beach.

FotD 2:

Me: I guess yesterday I was also thinking about them making a big score, and then taking the kids shopping for new clothes. The kids complain, but it's still fun dressing them up like little dolls.

Him: I didn't think iris would go for that? Maybe fille

Me: Well Iris has always loved dress up, but plain clothes shopping is always a little boring for kids.

Me: Kim saying "Try this one on. It's a little bit big but you'll grow into it... hmm no; that's actually too big, you'll be tripping and face planting all over"

Me: But yes, those two love shopping for the family. I mean Jimmy and Kim have been eachothers gay best friend stereotypes since all the way back to law school, but the last time they actually spent a substantial amount of money like this was a few years ago at Babies-R-Us. Since leaving the church, it's mostly been consignment shops. Nothing fancy that wasn't secondhand.

Which is why they want to get each of the four of them a new outfit that will last for next few years

Him: I don't think jim + kim would contribute to chains if they didn't have to. Always choosing places like goodwill over walmart

Me: Nah they'd still go somewhere nice. Kim's love for shiny things outweighs her communist sympathies.

She wants to pretend she's not materialistic, but low-maintenance bitches don't drink thousand dollar tequila or wear real gold.

I mean Goodwill is fine and all, but this is Prada man! She's only human!

Honestly Kim's hypocrisy with how she identifies with class I think is a really interesting facet of her personality.

This is why wealth redistribution campaigns always fail: first of all, in order to adequately navigate the upper class, the revolutionary already typically needs a middle class education or better. And second, even if an army does manage to steal from the rich, the leader finds it hard to actually give those winnings to the poor instead of just pocketing it. Kim hates rich people... except for herself; that person is a lucid and benevolent matriarch who DESERVES to be managing the money!

[amphiptere-art]

A history of dragons, their culture in the locked door.

What the hell is the locked door?

Dragon culture has changed alongside it's history. So there are many versions of dragon culture and how it has changed. There are also many magical and physical abilities that dragons possess. Alongside species and elemental prowess. In order to smooth the reading process, and also to allow young users to understand.

Hey!

I will first talk about the The culture of the time, and the history that took place at that time. If there are any species related or magic related exclamations to understand that current culture. I will leave a recommendation for a book that should lead to that explanation.

The beginning times.

When dragons first appeared on this planet like many other creatures we were no more than animals. Simply fighting for a will to survive. The Artist decided to give us minds, so we would no longer fight our companions and be lost. Soon the draconic people begin to grow. Taking on many shapes and sizes. We were limitless in design and magic. The artist had yet to place strict guidelines.

That is until the great God Tick Tock, known more formerly nowadays as Clockwork, came upon The locked door. At first he was a wild dragon like the rest of us. But the artist gave him purpose. He was a living tool for a human adventure. But like many dragons he outlived the human story. Soon he was left alone without any story to progress with.

He had a different name? Tick Tock sounds so silly.

He saw our wild kin, and decided he wanted us to feel the tragic pains and the great victories of a story. So he called out to the creator that gave him purpose. The artist answered. He sacrificed his physical representation on this land to become her pencil. The one that creates all and strives to give everyone their story.

I've heard this kid's tail a thousand times. But this one makes a sound like we are nothing but characters in a storybook. It's weird.

Although he was underneath the Artist's hand, He was able to give his people the wishful mind and purpose that he wished. Any creature that had been given intelligence by the artist was crafted further by Clockworks pencil. Each and every one of them making cultures, stories, histories, and all matters of other things. The locked door was no longer a world of mindless illustrations. Instead it was a world full of wonder and people.

While Clockwork worked hard to maintain all the creatures' new purpose. He made sure his dragon brethren for his focus. They quickly developed into a complex culture. Dragon's designs were no longer mindless. They became focused and split into species. Magic was no longer a wild feat, but the elemental gods rose up and made them defined. Each dragon gained complete control over three elements. And all were blessed with the heated breath.

Why is a myth inside of a history book?

The first dragon culture.

It is here when many dragons started to finally write their own histories. And no longer must we deal with the cryptic words of myth and legend. Although any would be smart enough to realize it is real.

I'm supposed to believe that convoluted story of creation is real? Ha!

But now we can get onto concrete information More well known to the masses. Although if you are not an historian, I suppose this might be a mysterious time. It might have even developed into myth and been lost.

We'll see.

The first dragon cultures split themselves into elemental tribes. Dragons almost remotely lived on their main continent of draconia. With few venturing out to other lands.

As there are many elements I will leave a recommendation to read the elements and magic guide. As there were many more tribes than I am going to mention specifically.

Although let it be noted that all the tribes had tough relationships with each other. The only thing that stopped the tribes from ripping each other apart, was the tribe leaders and the monthly meetings.

Do I really have to read more books?

The tribe leaders were honestly over their heads. There are many dragons to each species and to each elemental class. Meaning that while they represented their people, They often only represented the people in their direct cities. Each tribe leader was blessed with the ability to never age. Not unless they gave up their throne or died in battle. They were immune to almost any disease, and of course they could not die to age. It was often a tribe leader would finally step down when their children outnumbered them to the point that they could not find mates.

While the dragons were not split by species. There was often a specific precedence between different elements. Many elements were expected to be paired up with a certain dragon species.

If you wish to learn about the different dragon species. Go read the book: dragon species and abilities.

Elements separated the dragons highly. While dragons themselves were allowed access to three elemental powers. These elemental powers were somewhat restricted in access. The first element is what usually defines the dragon's physical appearance and hot breath. With the other two magical feats being something that could be learned easier with time.

Due to the heavy separation between elements. There was a heavy prejudice between species. Fire dragons were wrongly called easy to anger. Water dragons were considered softer than they were. Rock dragons are always considered stubborn. But the biggest of these prejudices, The one that sparked a line of change. Was the prejudice that light dragons were good, and shadow dragons were bad.

Sounds sucky.

The Shadow wars.

Tensions were always high, but when an old light dragon King stepped down and was replaced with his son. Many things went wrong. The son had a heavy hatred of Shadow Dragons. Considering them evil and vile. It is not recorded why he hated them so much. Although some people believe it was simply a prejudice that went too far. The light dragon king convinced the other tribes that shadow dragons should not be allowed on their lands.

Despite protests from the Shadow Dragons. Not mentioning the fact that they had done nothing wrong. All the dragon leaders banded together to outcast their species. Driving them across the ocean and into the desolate Isle of the shadowlands. It was a cold place. There was barely any resources or sustenance to support them. Shadow dragons became desperate. And due to desperate actions, They soon became what the other dragons believed they feared.

Dude I have a shadow dragon friend and he is the nicest person ever. What were these guys thinking?

This terrible decision became a spiraling effect. While it might have casted dragon culture into a golden age, It was a nasty time. The old Shadow dragon King eventually died. There are many rumors that the Shadow dragon King's son killed them for the throne. As the new Shadow Dragons King. Going by the name Shadon, took his place upon the throne.

Shadon!? That evil sucker is real!?

Shadon was angered by their mistreatment. And while his anger was fair, He took it too far. Shadon wished to claim their territory back on the continent draconia. Leading his people on a war crusade. It just said the first night they invaded the sky was black. There was no sun for 3 days. The only thing that could be heard was the terrified screams of the dragons as the Shadow Dragons took back their place on the continent.

That really happened? I thought it was a myth.

Shadon was unfortunately not done with that. The dragon still resented The other tribes, Even more so after their aggressive overtaking. Given that they were still fighting tooth and nail to kick the shadow dragons out. Eventually Shadon commanded a borderline be made. It caused a resource supply shortage. As much like The Shadow Dragons before, The dragons of draconia could not go out and receive resources from other islands. He had made a continent-wide lockdown.

Shadon’s tyranny did not stop. Eventually his lust for revenge turned into a lust of power. He started to send out troops to other continents, other isles. Soon the whole world new shadow dragons as evil beings that would take over your home. Dragons became desperate to stop Shadon’s onslaught. So they performed a ceremony to summon the artist onto the land. Unfortunately, a creator cannot meddle with the universe they control. Although they did spark courage in another.

Why not? It sure sounds like they meddle with our lives all the time.

Shadon’s son shadow. While I have not spoken of them much. Shadon had two sons. One named Shadow, and the other named Viserin. Viserin was his eldest son, but was born with albinism. Something he hated and despised. In order to try and impress his father. He became the best assassination shadon had in his troops. His son Shadow on the other hand. Had no such special traits. He was scrawny, small, and had no battle training. Yet Shadon promised him the crown over his elder brother.

Ass.

The artist came to shadow when he was hidden away in despair. His father's violence was something unliked by the child. The artist spoke to him, and while the exact words are not known. They encouraged him to go against his father. That even despite his weak body, the artist would promise victory.

You beat him up buddy.

And so Shadow went against his father. While many proclaim the victory under his claws. Shadow was indeed not strong enough to defeat his father. Instead it was his brother Viserin that killed the tyrant. Ending the suffering of many. And while the tribes accepted the shadows back on draconia, It was more so out of fear.

Shadow led a peaceful life. Light dragons still hated Shadow Dragons with a passion. But the other tribes eventually let go of their grudges. Realizing that Shadow and many other Shadow Dragons had no true evil hearts. Shadow element is in fact not an element casted only with hatred. But it is a sign of lower motions such as grief and sadness. Something one needs in order to recover from events.

Correct. And these old dragons were dumb for believing otherwise.

Shadow unfortunately did not continue his bloodline, as he believed it tainted. Instead when he had gotten the kingdoms to a relatively peaceful state, He asked all the shadow dragons of that brooding season to give their eggs up to the castle and one would be picked at random. The egg that was picked was indeed two twins. Marking another era and unfortunately another war.

So Shadon's line doesn't exist anymore? Just gone?

Dragon culture after the first Shadow war.

The culture still remained relatively the same. They were still cut up as tribes, and elements still held precedent. Although due to shadons crusade, It was quickly taught that you should never judge an element. Although in some tribes this was looked down upon. As tribes such as the light dragon's still heavily practiced prejudice. Something that still heavily impacted the shadow dragons.

The light Dragon and Shadow Dragon war.

The two twin leaders both still felt the tension of the light dragon's kinds rage. The light dragon King still protested against their presence. And while the sister of the twins simply wished to encourage shadows peace. The brother wanted to put the light dragons in their place.

It is unknown exactly how the discussion went. But the sister and the brother split. The sister went into hiding among the tribes, while the brother stayed and led his kingdom to war against the light dragons. While it was only against the light dragons, the light dragon's alliance with other tribes nullified this idea. The brother still refused to hurt or fight the other tribes. But his people would defend themselves nonetheless, and it was believed he'd become another tyrant.

Ohhh. Sibling fights.

While the brother led his war. The sister found a prince of the same age from the light dragon King brood. Soon they grew a relationship. Although both knew they would have to hide it from the light dragon King. They formed their own mini alliance. Shadow dragons and light dragons that disagreed with the hatred between the two tribes joined them. Along with some other elemental dragons that were tired of prejudice impacting The Shadow and light Dragons lives.

This joined alliance fought against not only the light dragon king's warriors, but also the Brothers warriors. Causing not only for the sister's and the prince's affairs to be revealed, but also proving that light and Shadow Dragons could work together. The fighting unfortunately did not stop for some time. Compiling in a battle where the sister herself fought against her brother. The sister using the ancient fire wing technique to take him out.

Well that sounds sad.

If you wish to read about the fire wing technique. Please read dragon species and abilities book.

When the dust had settled the sister cried over her brother's death. As while it is unknown what specifically the brother said to the sister while she drove him to his death. She swears upon her life and it was an apology for all he had done. While the light dragon king celebrated victory. The sisters alliance and the Shadow Dragons mocked him for causing so much pain across species. This mockery spread around the tribes. Although there was still nothing to be done about the segregation between shadows and light dragons.

This dang gon light dragon King sucks.

Dragon culture after the light and shadow dragon war.

Again not much changed after the shadow and light dragon war. Although due to the sisters' alliance, some Shadow dragon and light dragon cities allowed the tribes to walk among each other. Some of these cities the treading was equal. In others, It was not, unusually there would be some segregation over what uses and areas the other species would be allowed.

Will this story of them just fighting ever end? I've gone through half of this book and I feel like I've just heard the same thing like three times.

The New Age.

While the world still lived in misery, The sister and the prince's affair soon became a partnership between the two. The two mates had a son. The first tribe hybrid in years. They named this son Trygan. And with the help of this tribe hybrid, a new age would finally come upon dragons. The age that many would recognize.

I know Trygan! Finally somebody that doesn't sound like a thing from a myth!

Trygan lived among the world where he was not quite one or the other. He lived with both the distrust and the acceptance of multiple tribes and cities. It was confusing for the young dragon at first, but eventually he came upon the same realizations as many shadow dragons had come on to him before. This has to end. But Trygan knew the consequences of war. While it had gotten some results, It was terrible and caused a bunch of bloodshed. So he instead sought to follow his mother's footsteps. Making an alliance that was even stronger than the light dragon king could ever anticipate.

Unfortunately Trygan was not a man of words or politics. His father and mother could only teach him so much. Although luckily he had help from the most unseen places. The God clockwork and finally decided he was done with all this ruckus himself. Whether it was his own need for peace between his own kind, oh perhaps simply wanting to illustrate a new world, is unknown. All that is known, Is that clockwork came down upon Trygan, and offered his services in not only creating the new world, but ensuring that he had the backing of all the tribes.

Oh so now he's meddling.

It is then that Trygan started a different type of crusade. A crusade of letters. Millions of letters he wrote with Clockworks pencil. Sending them not only to the tribe leaders, but also to the mayors and influencers of different cities. It is around this time when Trygan met a female undead dragon. One that was of a species that was not expected of her element. A wyvern. With her help, and many other dragons that searched for him after their letters were given, scoured across the land speaking of peace for not only the shadow and light Dragons, but for all the tribes.

Yeah!

The light dragon King was of course upset by this. As many of his own people had joined to Trygan and his alliance. Only the cities he visited often seem to stay by his side. Although he was foolish and believed that the tribe leaders would still follow his word. Trygan was not a tribe leader yet. So he thought that letters would be unheard by the tribe leaders.

That was until the Shadow dragon king, Trygan mother. Stepped down so that he could have a personal word with the Lord's. It was considered the youngest Lord that had ever stepped down. Sending not only the Lord's ideas of their immortality being utilized. But also to face the fact that Trygan's letters were now official.

So the current King just gave up their immortality just so Trygan could make their point? Ha!

Many of the leaders had already indeed heard of Trygan’s letters. Some who are not stuck up with pride had also read those letters. Trygan had already a heavy group supporting his side. So when he came into the tribe meeting, there was no question who was going to win the argument. Trygan stated the facts clearly. It was the light dragons fault that all of this had started. It was all of their thoughts supporting this prejudice. They all wanted out of this torment, and he had a way. Proudfully explaining that he had the God clockwork on his side already with the solution.

He's got the power of a god and the tribes on his side!

While many agreed. The light dragon King and a few others protested the idea. Calling him a fool for believing he could talk with a God. Mocking the god clockwork as something old and foolish. Proudfully announcing that if this was something they all believed in. They would go to war for it. A while to Trygan did not wish to go to war against the light dragons for another time. The roar of his supporters and the words of clockwork made him accept the challenge. Stating this would be the last war Shadow Dragons would ever do as a tribe.

And so the war commenced. It is recorded as the longest and most strenuous of the wars. Elemental tribe against elemental tribe. While Trygan's alliance held more people, It did not have the rage that the light dragon King and his alliances had. As Trygan still did not wish to bring death upon the land. His alliance left many injured but alive. This continued until Trygan and the light dragon king met in combat. The two battled until Trygan won.

Get screwed sucker!

When the battle was finally over. The God clockwork finally revealed themselves. Commanding that a new order be made. No longer would they separate themselves by elemental tribes. Instead, They will separate themselves into their cities. Their clans. The most respected and loved of the dragons would become king, not some lineage or pure bloodline. These kings shall be marked by a crown of horns. Showing the new order by making try again the first dragon King. Gaining of crown of beautifully twisted horns. Marking the new era.

This is a weird representation of how the war ended. Most books describe Trygan stating these rules. Not Clockwork.

Dragon culture as we know.

It is finally after years of war and struggle. That we get to how dragons are now known to function and operate. There are not as many wars to note after the beginning of a new era. As it was firmly established that elements would no longer act as prejudice, and it is heavily frowned upon to treat a species in a similar matter. Plus for the first couple years the God clockwork used Trygan as a physical vessel to spread the word.

Wait. So was it Trygan walking around or was it Clockwork?

Onwards to the discussion. The history and the myth of Clockworks words is pretty straight on. The dragon tribes split and dismantled. Dragons were told to mingle among whoever they wished. While at first elements still banded together, It allowed other dragons to greet other elemental dragons. And soon many others followed in that path. Rulership was no longer continent wide. Instead they usually ruled areas of land where a certain city or home was established.

This I know.

Within each of these little communities, there would be one dragon that would grow an excellent twisted pair of horns. These horns could either be twisted or be intertwined with others. This dragon would still be given immunity to age and sickness. Although it did not last forever. After a good 20 years that immunity was on the line. If that king decided to be unruly, they're horns would fall off much like a deer's antlers. Not only marking them as a foul tempered dragon, but making them lose their status as king. It is then within the ranks of the clan, another dragon would grow a twisted pair of horns. Marking them as the new leader.

I have to remember that the word King refers to any dragon that is in a rulership position. Some of these kings might have been females.

Unlike in the old times where a king could step down. Dragons of the New era were unable to do such a thing. Although many found ways around it. Different clans would form different rules. Ones of which the king was unwilling to rule, would often form communal groups that would basically rule alongside them. Often naming Sir Kings.

Yeah and it's the best job to have.

Due to the fact that dragons usually rule in clans. Rules will differentiate. Although there is always a couple that are steadfast.

Oh dear goodness here is the boring list.

The first rule is that the dragon with horns is always the king. If conflicts or meetings should arise between clans, It is their duty to deal with such arrangements. Whether that be by themselves or by working as an advisor with their people.

The second rule is that if a messenger or a letter is given to a clan from another clan, They must read and receive it. While they do not have to accept anything within the letter, They must read or listen to the other clans demands or pleads.

A third rule is that bloodshed stays between the fighting clans. While clans that have good alliances with each other are allowed to support with resources or pleading words to the enemy clan. They are not allowed to shed the other clans' blood. Although sometimes this is circumvented by alliance clans declaring their own war against the one that is fighting their friend clan.

A fourth rule is that dragons must be allowed to leave their clans if they wish. There will be no restrictions trapping a certain dragon with a clan. The only time this is allowed is when holding another clan's dragon as prisoner. Of which either that prisoner has to be released or killed at the end of the conflict.

A fifth rule states that no dragon should be judged for their element or species. There are some clans that still do not follow this rule, but this often leads to war with other clans. These clans often also do not have king dragons with as brilliant twisted horns. Some of these clans not even being ruled by a dragon that has twisted horns.

These rules usually keep the clans in peace. Although there were of course conflicts that arise. Usually determined by differentiating rules between clans. Sometimes also created out of territorial disputes. Dragons for the most part live in peace between each other. There is only one dragon species that does not quite live by these clan rules.

That is the dragon species Amphiptere. While they still follow the same rules, It is uncommon they will mix with other species other than a simple clan alliance. Amphipteres as the gods clockwork chosen dragon, usually have heightened numbers and a unique species like system.

If you wish to read about this specific system. You can read Dragon species and abilities book.

But know that Amphipteres have an extra rule that prevents them from fighting other species or clans unless it is in self-defense. I suppose it is Clockworks way to circumvent the fact that they are not communal with other species in a clan-like fashion.

Why do they get a freebie from the clan rules? Just cuz they're special?

Now. The next book in this series goes over the different dragon species and their abilities. And as you can see from my many footnotes, It is heavily suggested that you read that book after this one.

I don't want to read any more books!

[macysparadeblog]

Broadway Performances for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on November 23, 2023

From Playbill's website: "Created by the Emmy®-winning writer from “Schitt’s Creek,” this hilarious new musical flips the script on the greatest love story ever told. & Juliet asks: what would happen next if Juliet didn’t end it all over Romeo? Get whisked away on a fabulous journey as she ditches her famous ending for a fresh beginning and a second chance at life and love—her way.

Juliet’s new story bursts to life through a playlist of pop anthems as iconic as her name, including Since U Been Gone‚ Roar, Baby One More Time, Larger Than Life‚ That’s The Way It Is, and Can't Stop the Feeling—all from the genius songwriter/producer behind more #1 hits than any other artist this century. Break free of the balcony scene and get into this romantic comedy that proves there’s life after Romeo. The only thing tragic would be missing it."

From Playbill: "What do you get when you pair a semi-neurotic, New York comedy writer with two music superstars from Nashville? A hilarious and audacious farm-to-fable musical about the one thing Americans everywhere can’t get enough of: corn. Shucked is the new musical comedy that proves sometimes tearing down a few walls, rather than growing them, is the only way to preserve our way of life. Shucked is about to turn Broadway on its ear and offer a kernel of hope for our divided nation."

From Playbill: "Marty McFly is a rock ‘n’ roll teenager who is accidentally transported back to 1955 in a time-travelling DeLorean invented by his friend, Dr. Emmett Brown. But before he can return to 1985, Marty must make sure his high school-aged parents fall in love in order to save his own existence."

From Playbill: "Based on the award-winning HBO documentary, How to Dance in Ohio is a heart-filled new musical exploring the need to connect and the courage it takes to step out into the world. At a group counseling center in Columbus, Ohio, seven autistic young adults prepare for a spring formal dance–a rite of passage that breaks open their routines and sets off hilarious and heartbreaking encounters with love, stress, excitement, and independence. How to Dance in Ohio is a story about people standing on the cusp of the next phase of their lives, facing their hopes and fears, ready to make a very big first move…and dance."

From Playbill: "Lovingly ripped from the film classic, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Spamalot has everything that makes a great knight at the theatre, from flying cows to killer rabbits, British royalty to French taunters, dancing girls, rubbery shrubbery, and of course, the lady of the lake."

[zeenmrala]

━  A SLICE OF THE NIGHT ♡

pairing: oc x oc / mimi mirage x indika promia  rating: mature, 18+ only  word count: 2.6k song: cologne, beabadoobee summary: popstar mimi mirage and bounty hunter indika promia take their friendship to the next level when they share their first kiss a/n: space lesbians have been all i can think about this pride month. i’ve been collaborating with my dear friend @pumpkinmischief who created indika and the art for this. we’ve crafted a tragically beautiful queer love story between our two star wars original characters. you can view the artwork that accompanies this little fic here, it’s a stunning piece inspired by the classic lesbian make up meme lol. ily piper, you are an incredible artist and i’m so grateful to know you.

“i’m not done yet, please kiss my neck”

Everybody in the core worlds knows that Coruscant never sleeps. However, there are a few short hours deep into the night when the metropolis-planet is lulled, and it seems to briefly doze in a disturbed half-slumber. It is during these hours when the sounds of traffic lapse for long enough that it can justifiably be described as quiet, when the bustling crowds disperse into such sparsity that the streets can be considered deserted. The world itself slows down, and for two young women this slice of the night is theirs, and theirs alone. They sit at the window of an apartment in the high mid-levels, looking up and across a vast dreaming city as they drink, smoke and reflect. Their girlish laughter echoes between the towering buildings. 

It’s an infinitely better view at the window, because Mimi Mirage’s new apartment is a total mess. There are boxes everywhere, half of the walls glow a soft glitter pink, and the rest remain a bland grey, the painting and decorating left unfinished. Empty bottles litter all available surfaces of the kitchen-lounge, and there are clothes and beauty products strewn about the floor. There are trunks overflowing with pink garments, headpieces, heels and jewellery. Half built furniture is dotted around the rooms, the effort to construct them left abandoned.

Mimi hasn’t had a chance to unpack or finish decorating, because she is hardly ever here, and because she is exhausted. Her rise in popularity correlates with a rise in bookings, appearances and performances, and she has danced, sung and charmed her way through five sets in two days. She has finally come home to her apartment, bringing her best friend Indika Promia with her. The two of them are lounging in the small window, smoking tabac cigarettes, drinking and winding down from a few very intense nights on the Coruscant scene. The pair always look forward to debriefing in these dreamscape hours of the night alone together, and it isn’t the first time Indika has stayed the night. But something feels different tonight, as though the spark between them is flaring, burning brighter than ever before.

“I seriously don’t know how I stopped myself from killing that handsy Iktotchi guy,” Indika scoffs as she shakes her head. She pours herself a small glass of Spotchka from a bottle at her side, then takes a drag from her cigarette, the amber glow of it illuminating her pale, tattooed face. 

“Oh my Stars,” Mimi giggles as she recalls the man in question, swatting Indika playfully. “You didn’t need to! There is no way he is ever coming to one of my shows again. You scared him to death.”

“Good,” Indika says. “He was a total asshole.”

“He really was.” She tries to take a toke of her cigarette but notices that it’s gone out, so relights it. “His friends were all super weird too.” 

“How does someone as pretty as you attract such sleemos like him?”

“Awh, I dunno.” Mimi shrugs. “It’s not so bad though. You’re here after all.”

Indika smirks, the cig hanging lazily at the corner of her lips. “Good one, dumbass.”

Mimi cackles and sips at her drink that definitely isn’t Spotchka, but her own personal take on a Coruscant Cooler - the classic cocktail made a little sweeter, and a lot pinker. 

“Indi you glared at him like a feral Rancor and I totally thought he was gonna kark his ugly-ass pants. I just know he saw his life flash before his eyes when you grabbed him.” She finishes and stubs out her cig, shakes out her lekku behind her and giggles.

“If I ever see him again it’s on sight,” Indika grumbles before draining her glass and flicking the stub of her cig out of the window. “These bastards need to learn to keep their hands to themselves. I don’t care how many bones I have to break to get the message across.”

Mimi snickers and drops to her feet, offering her hand to help the shorter woman down from the window. Indika accepts as Mimi says, “So true. Are we in the double digits yet?”

“Easily. My last bone-break count was 32. Mainly fingers though.” 

They both laugh playfully, but then there is a slight pause as they notice that their hands are still clasped. 

“Thank you for protecting me.” Mimi smiles softly. “Like, seriously. I love having you around, Indi.”

“You got it sweetheart.” Indika has a curt smirk on her face again. She nods, and then squeezes Mimi’s fingers. “I love being around you too.”

Indika then releases her to grab her bottle of Spotchka and pours what remains of the glowing blue liquid into her glass. She looks up at Mimi, who is sneering at the drink in Indika’s pale hands.

“I can’t believe you brought that foul shit into my apartment.” She stretches her arms above her head dramatically as she groans. “It’s so gross.”

“Alright booze police,” Indika says dryly, then drains her glass in one go, and slams it upside down on a box to her left. “There, it’s all gone.”

“Smartass.” Mimi folds her arms. “You’re such a stereotype, my little bounty hunter.”

Indika wipes her mouth with her wrist and winks. “Shut up. You love it."

She flashes Mimi a grin and then slips past her to the refresher and Mimi follows her. She leans in the doorway and as she watches Indika wash her face, she rants about how early she has to get up in the morning to attend a meeting with a potential sponsor. Then as Indika begins to dry herself with a towel, Mimi pauses.

“Wait, how have I never seen you without make-up before?” she asks, her heart skipping at the realisation, taking in the raw beauty of Indika’s bare skin as she appears from beneath the towel. She hides her awe by scrunching up her face and jokingly says, “Oh Gods, I hate it.”

“You little bitch,” Indika chuckles and throws the towel at her. 

Mimi dodges it and screeches. “Eek! I’m kidding, I promise!”

Indika rolls her eyes. “You’ve been spending too much time with that mean Pantoran friend of yours."

Mimi nods and scoffs. "You're probably right. She's busting my ass."

"...Is she a problem?" asks Indika rather seriously. 

"Champagne?" Mimi shakes her head, checking herself out in the mirror. "Nah, she just works too hard and worries too much."

Indika rolls her eyes as if to say yeah right, and Mimi playfully pushes her shoulder. "Don't be so protective. She's fine. You don't have to worry your pretty little horns over Montana." 

Indika's lips curve into a smile, and Mimi pecks her cheek with an exaggerated Mwah! then grabs her toothbrush. Indika picks up her own, then raises her finger at Mimi, indicating for her to wait, and as the Twi’lek raises a brow in confusion, Indika pulls out and taps on her datapad, blasting one of Mimi’s party tracks. The two snort and laugh, and begin to dance around each other, impish and drunk as they brush their teeth, giggling and bumping into one another to the music. At one point, Indika trips over and lands clumsily on her ass, and Mimi almost wets herself from laughing when she helps her back to her feet. After they have brushed their teeth, Mimi watches as Indika undoes and then replaits her braids, telling Mimi about where her next job is likely going to be.

In a moment of silence, Mimi compliments her. “You are so stunning, Indi.” 

Indika looks at her curiously, and then softly smirks at Mimi’s sincerity. 

“You do know that I think you are the most beautiful person in the galaxy, right?” the Twi’lek continues with a sultry air, leaning closer into her. She runs her pink hand down Indika’s braid, then trails it up to her jawline, and ghosts her index finger across the length of her facial tattoo. She then tucks a piece of hair that hangs across her eyes behind her long, elegant ear. Mimi tilts her head slightly, observing her hands on Indika’s face. “I like how my skin looks on yours.”

Indika’s mouth falls slightly open in disbelief, and she looks up at Mimi with a mix of adoration and anticipation. “You really think pink’s my colour?”

“Yeah, actually. I really like pink on you,” she rests her hand on Indika’s shoulder, then drags her fingers across the exposed skin of her chest, debating whether or not to give into her desires and dip into the softness of her cleavage. “Well, my pink anyway.” 

Indika’s hands have come to rest on Mimi’s waist during this interaction, and her purple nails tease at her soft skin. She notices Mimi’s soft gasp at the contact, and begins to lower her fingers. 

She wants to feel those hips: the hips she has watched Mimi sway night after night beneath bright pink lights. She wants to caress the dips at the top of her legs that flash from beneath her skirts when she dances. The warmth of those thighs…

Indika’s thoughts are interrupted when she notices Mimi’s face lighting up, and she knows at once that the pop-star has had one of her ideas.

“What are you thinking, Mimi?” 

She looks like she is about to burst with excitement. "I want to do your make-up."

“My make-up?”

“Yes!” She claps her hands. “Let me do a pink look on you."

“But I just took mine off.”

“So?”

She smiles. Though she wasn't expecting this tonight, Indika is rather intrigued at seeing one of Mimi’s iconic looks on herself. It could be fun. But what really sells her is being up close and personal with Mimi, her fingers on her skin, her breath on her face.

“Of course, Mi. Do my make-up.”

“Let’s get more comfortable,” Mimi exclaims in victory, as she takes Indika’s hand and pulls her into her bedroom, the contents of which is a just mattress on the ground surrounded by more beauty products, clothes and jewellery. She encourages Indika to lie down on her back, as Mimi scurries around the room grabbing the tools to work her magic.

Mimi climbs on top of Indika, her legs either side of the smaller hybrid’s hips. The skin of their legs touch, the two wearing a mix of their undergarments, clothes and sleepwear. Indika feels Mimi squeeze her between her thighs, and a rush of heat caresses her spine.

“Close your eyes,” Mimi instructs with a whisper, and Indika does, her heart beginning to race as she senses Mimi close to her face. She is attentive to the gentle movements of Mimi’s fingers and the make up brush she uses, appreciating how soothing it feels as she begins to softly work the pink makeup across the pale skin of her eyelid. 

Mimi then notices the tender caress of Indika’s palm on her leg, and gasps as subtly as she can, the softness of Indika’s fingers triggering a swarm of warmth beneath her pierced belly button. Mimi tries to ignore her sudden and vibrant desires, and begins applying the make-up to Indika’s other eye. But the heat remains, and she is distracted enough that she accidentally flicks some neon pink make-up on Indika’s forehead. 

“Oops,” Mimi says with a giggle, wiping away the excess eyeshadow she spilled across Indika’s eyebrow with her thumb. She moves a piece of Indika’s hair aside, slightly brushing against the base of her right horn. Indika takes a sharp breath in, the softness of Mimi’s fingers there causing her to thrum with equal parts heat and weightlessness.

Indika’s eyes flutter open, her violet eyes irises now gazing up at the Twi’lek mounting her. Mimi looks back down at her in awe, her lekku resting in front of her shoulders. She is relishing in the touch of the hybrid’s hands on her skin, the warmth of her palm, the dexterity of her fingers. She wants to tell her to keep going, lower, lower, lower…

“You’re so pretty, Mimi,” Indika whispers, the sweet words are heartfelt, sincere. Her hand begins to slowly trace upwards, lingering at Mimi’s hip, tracing the waistband of her shorts. Mimi holds her breath and blinks softly, the tension between them charged and thick, brimming with intimacy. Her heart beats wildly in her chest, her insides fluttering with lightness. She smirks through her nervous anticipation, a sultry smile painting her pink lips as her desire for the woman beneath her soars. She tosses aside the make-up brush and leans further forward, her arms resting either side of Indika's face.

“Do you really think so?” she asks coyly, hopefully.

“Yes,” Indika says. Her lavender gaze washes across the Twi’leks face as her fingers trail back down to squeeze the softness of Mimi’s upper thigh. A charged pause, and then:

“Kiss me, Mimi.”

Mimi whimpers softly as her suspicions are confirmed, and is enthralled to be able to finally kiss her best friend. She shuts her vibrant eyes and leans closer, ghosting her lips on Indika’s. She kisses her softly at first, and Indika inhales, her hands gripping Mimi tighter, sliding up from her legs to her hips and waist. She shifts upwards, taking control of the kiss and deepening it, slipping her tongue into Mimi’s mouth. They both moan, the kiss a sweet relief from the beautifully taught tension that has been brewing for too long between them.

Indika suddenly breaks the kiss, and Mimi whimpers at the loss. Then she swiftly flips the two of them around, so that Indika is on top of her. Mimi gasps as she slides her leg between her thighs, and Indi groans as she feels the warmth of her lover through her shorts. Mimi sighs at the flare of lust unfurling in her lower back, and her legs open further of their own accord, inviting Indika into her, desperate for her touch.

“Indika…” she mutters between kisses and moans, her hybrid lover grinding her upper leg into Mimi’s heat. “You want me?”

“I want you,” Indika confirms, pulling back to look at her. She’s so glorious beneath her, with her light blue eyes sparkling in lust, the remnants of silver make-up glittering on her skin, her lips plump and glistening from Indika’s kisses. Indi glides her palms down Mimi’s lekku, which make her shiver and writhe in heated despair beneath her. “Let me show you just how much I want you, pretty girl.” She teases a finger at Mimi’s mouth, lightly pulling at her bottom lip. 

“Please,” Mimi begs. Indika indulges her, pouncing on her and planting hot, wet kisses on her neck, trailing her hungry lips down her lean body. When she reaches her chest, she helps Mimi sit up so she can peel off her shirt, freeing her perk, pink breasts. She circles her small nipples with her tongue, flicking her piercing against the sensitive flesh. Mimi groans, arching her back and pushing her breast further into her lover's mouth. Indika begins to suck on her nipple, which leads into licking and lapping at both of her breasts. She trails her tongue and teeth up to Mimi's neck, nipping and marking her skin with the depth of her desire.

Indika is enlightened at the taste of her skin, sweetened by the remnant scent of her floral perfume. She nudges her thin nose against the base of Mimi's sensitive lekku, and purrs when she feels Mimi become undone beneath her.

"More," Mimi whimpers, needy, desperate. "I need so much more of you, Indi."

"I'll give you whatever you want," Indika promises. "I'm going to make those pretty lips sing for me, Mimi."

Mimi hums in satisfaction, and the two of them indulge in one another, exploring the blossoming sweetness of their bodies for the first time, truly making the night their own with decadent kisses, wild hands and dripping lust.

-

tagging some friends in case u r interested: @stardustbee @kimageddon @sinisterexaggerator​ @frogunderarock​ @grinningnexu​

[warsofasoiaf]

For Alien Crossfire, can you wrap it up by talking about the Manifold Usurpers and Caretakers?

The Progenitors are the biggest and most radical factions in Alien Crossfire, which is certainly saying something if you've read my essays on the other factions. These two aliens are incredibly advanced, to the point of being extremely unbalanced. That's actually a bit of a problem - they're too unbalanced to play in multiplayer and they make the game very easy when playing in single-player due to the limited AI. But if you scratch away the gameplay and focus on the lore, you have two factions wrapped around a single event - the Tau Ceti Flowering.

“The fungus has been Planet’s dominant lifeform since about the time of the Lower Paleozoic on Earth. But when, once every hundred million years or so, the neural net at last achieves the critical mass necessary to become sentient, the final metamorphosis kills off most of the other life on the planet. It is possible that we humans can help to break this tragic cycle.” -Lady Deidre Skye, Planet Dreams

The transcendence victory in Alpha Centauri is one of the longer ones to complete, requiring extensive science to reach near to the end of the tech tree and enough industry to beat out other players in response. However, the payoff is one of the most powerful - uploading humanity into the neural net of Planet, merging humanity with this consciousness to become a new being, which can conceivably be thought of as a god given its intelligence, power, and capabilities. This happened on Tau Ceti, an event that the Progenitors call the Flowering. The Caretakers saw this and were horrified, and sought to stop it from happening again, while the Usurpers saw it as a means to grow into godhood, and so sought to exploit it for their own gain. In the skies above Planet (which the Progenitors call Manifold Six), the two engaged in a fierce battle, and their fleets were destroyed. The aliens land on this world hoping to destroy the other faction and summon reinforcements using subspace beacons to acquire reinforcements, enough to scour the paltry survivors and the scattered humans from the surface of Manifold Six and accomplish their faction's goals (or in the Usurper's case, they can simply initiate the Ascent to Transcendence themselves).

The Progenitor race appears to sense, and possibly even manipulate, local fields an untrained human cannot perceive without mechanical aid, including at the very least electricity and magnetism. This sensitivity creates entirely new worlds of artistic endeavors for the race-or it may be developed into a powerful combat awareness that can foil any attempt at surprise. -Prime Function Aki Zeta-Five, Alien Analysis

However, these Progenitors are not simply technologically advanced humans - the Progenitors are alien in many ways. Not simply in biology, they actually appear to be bipedal with multiple eyes for binocular vision. The Progenitors can manipulate electricity and magnetism to great effect, sensing perturbations to avoid ambushes (giving the Caretakers their 25% defense buff) or creating shadow regiments to supplement their attacks (the Usurpers get a 25% attack buff). Later technologies are even more impressive, using multiversal manipulation for space compression, but this is arguably less radical (as late-game human technology in Alpha Centauri are likewise extend to quantum and temporal fluctuation). Their speech is also strange, they use this resonance to alter sounds around them to transmit messages. This gives a strange speech pattern of a subject : object grammar when speaking with humans, a pattern that is not shared when Progenitors speak to each other. This can actually cause misunderstandings when using the communication function, since if you cannot parse the grammar correctly (and are unfamiliar with the UI), you can accidentally say something you didn't mean to say. This is reflected in game as well, as Cha Dawn references Kri'lan the Betrayer, who taught him the resonance.

The large crests, wide eye placement, mostly superfluous tusks (they don't protrude far enough to be used as weapons) and bright coloration of the Progenitors leads me to think that they are a herbivorous species. The crests appear to be dominance displays, with ornamentation meant to reflect the authority of the individual. While the Progenitors are certainly not eusocial, they do appear to be far more of a hierarchal species given their physical characterization and AI preference for planned economics. This would explain why taking over the other faction's bases do not see a wholesale extermination of the population, most Progenitors are probably drones who follow the leader, though this might just be a function of limited game programming.

The Progenitors are advanced beings, and even the relatively cuddly Caretakers treat humans as barely more intelligent than monkeys. Their AI (particularly the Usurpers) makes frequent demands of tech and credits, often as tribute instead of trades, and attacks aggressively when refused. The Progenitors also don't mind atrocities and commit them on humans with abandon, and the humans reciprocate in turn (unless you the player decide not to). They cannot accept human leadership and so a diplomatic victory cannot be achieved if any Progenitor faction is still alive.

Unlike the other factions (except the pirates), the Progenitors have no restrictions in social choices and so can act with great flexibility. The human factions are based around a particular idea or ethos, from Morgan's hypercapitalism to Santiago's spartan militarism. The Progenitors' guiding philosophy relates to what to do with Planet itself, which makes them far more similar to the Free Drones or Cybernetic Consciousness, who look to the future society rather than the present. With a Progenitor empire already established, the Progenitors don't see being on Manifold Six as a new beginning for the last remnants of humanity but rather as an unfortunate period of extended isolation from the main body of Progenitors due to war and resource limitation. So a Progenitor base is run much like a forward command base, with resources strictly rationed and limited and schedules strictly controlled, even well after the first bases are established.

While the other factions have rich lore, the Progenitors largely are just a small piece of an expansion pack, and I don't have as much to say about them as a result.

Thanks for the question, Ikac.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[eyndr-stories]

YOU!!! I WAS DISTRACTED BY SPACE GAME BUT

1. Your first OC ever?

4. A character you rarely talk about?

13. Do you have any troublemaker OCs?

43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favour some certain traits or looks? It’s time to confess (i bet i can guess something for that one kldgj)

ME!!!!! >:3

1 - I think my first ever OC that i can remember was this little dinosaur fella I would draw all the time in paper margins way back in middle school, I don't actually have any pics on my computer but I doodled him real quick for ya

Binosaur cause his head is just the letter B fdkjgjhgfdkfdg

4 - Lianel!!!!! I don't think I've ever shared them anywhere?? I made them back in highschool (hence the old signature, I went by a different name back then), I actually made a short little comic of them exploring this ruined world that I can't find >:( It's hiding in a sketchbook somewhere i hope and I just haven't scanned it. But anyhoo! Lianel is on the run for space crimes!! Jury's out on whether or not they actually committed said crimes or were framed though. They found their ancient armor from the ruins of a resistance organization that died out a long time ago, but when you're on the run you take what you can get. They've got a funky staff that an even funkier little magic blob lives in, so long as Lianel takes them on adventures, since the little blob can't travel on their own. In return the blob lets Lianel use some of their magic when they get into trouble. I don't think I ever named the blob??????????

13 - Hehohoho!!!!! >:D This is Calcifur!!! They look small and unassuming but they will steal your wallet fhgjhkgfjklhgf

Cal loves being gay and doing crimes, especially graffiti in places they're not supposed to, although after they met Lato they toned it down a lot and now stick to mostly silly pranks. Calcifur is one of the main three fellas I used to draw a whooooole lot before I fell out of doing art for a good while, and i will definitely be using this as an excuse to talk about them gjhfijhgfd but first, more about Calcifur! Cal's skin glows and changes color with their mood, (neutrally they're blue) and they've got a nifty pair of headphones that can transform into a stylish neck kerchief. They can speak, but can only be heard by people they want to hear them. And now the trio!

MY MAIN BLORBOS..... I LOVE THEM

Ok so the other two are Lato and Cube (bet you can't guess who's who lmao) Lato is my fluffy puff ball sweet boy, friendliest fella you'll ever meet. He's naturally very curious and aims to be pals with everyone he meets. He's semi aware of his being an artistic creation, though he's pretty chill about it. Cube on the other hand, is fully aware and somewhat peeved at me about it jhgdkhgdjkjhgfd Cube is a straightforward know it all with a short temper and vast knowledge. Originally I made him to be a companion to Lato, to keep him company in the void (since I was very bad about never drawing any sort of backgrounds lmao) and to answer Lato's many ceaseless questions for me. He often shows up doodled in the margins of whatever I'm working on to make snide jokes about something or other or yell at me to stay focused. Now a days the three live together in a nice house out in the forest and have fun domestic style shenanigans. I could talk about these three for a thousand years so I'll stop here because this whole ask has already gotten slightly out of hand kgfdhlkdjgfhgj

43 - (Looks at my crew of just the silliest lil guys. Jokesters and pranksters abound) Idk can't think of anything

dkhfjhlgdgljgfh I do really like silly characters, and characters with more simple designs that are easier for me to doodle here and there without taking too much time or energy. Cube is VERY popular in my notes and sketchbooks. Funny enough a lot of sillier characters are more recent creations, characters I made in highschool and earlier had more tragic / serious backstories. Oh, I also draw a LOT of little creatures, just strange monster things. Not sure if they count as OCs, most aren't even named or I only drew once or twice, but I do love me a creature

[jessehart]

the hart of the matter.

“I’m just going to run to the bathroom really quick,” Jesse said to the PA currently leading him through the hall towards the set. His smile was charming, perfectly cultivated after all these years, edged with just a touch of apology. 

“Oh, yes, of course! The bathroom is just—”

“Right down the hall to the left,” he cut her off, his smile widening only a touch. This was his school, after all.

She smiled in return and nodded, seeming a little disarmed, and Jesse wondered if that was because of his last name or because they’d all been warned by his father that he might make a scene. 

They had no idea.

He turned his back on her, his smile falling away instantly as he made his way down the hall. The bathroom door closed behind him with a quiet snick, the sound of the lock clicking into place as his hand slipped into his pocket. Unoriginal as it might be, his hand came out clenching a bag of coke as his eyes bore into his own reflection. 

Jesse hadn’t seen his father since he’d found out about. 

Well. 

So, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he saw him, all he knew was that he wanted to be out of his fucking mind enough to allow himself the freedom to do anything. He wanted to taste his revenge like blood in his mouth, wanted to make it hurt someone else just as keenly as it had him. 

Five minutes later, he was trailing behind that very same PA. A few minutes after that, he was being mic’d up and talked through what to expect like he hadn’t seen this whole song and dance a thousand times before. A gofer ran frantically around set collecting coffee orders and Donovan sat on his stupid fucking chair while a team of makeup artists fluttered around him like moths. 

He’d never hated anyone more in his life than he hated that man. And it was so freeing to allow it in, to let it mold him into the ugly, twisted creature his father had created. 

The lights were almost blinding as he made his way toward the chairs set up for their little interview and Donovan stood, smiling as he reached for Jesse to pull him into a hug like the caring father he’d never been. “I expect you to be on your best behavior,” Donovan whispered just before pulling away. Jesse only blinked back at him, a mask of indifference he knew would be impossible to read. Donovan looked on for a blink as if trying to see past his defenses before straightening his jacket and returning to his place. 

The countdown began and he watched Donovan transform into the version of himself he gave the public— the smarmy, fake caricature of himself— and Jesse’s jaw clenched so hard he wasn’t sure how he didn’t crack his own teeth. 

“For those that don’t know, this is my son Jesse. He’s a junior at Ogden College this year. It’s tragic that it’s taken circumstances like this to have him here with us today, but outside of that,” he turned his attention from the camera to Jesse, a hardness in his eyes meant only for his son, “it’s an honor to have you here with us.”

There was a beat of silence and then Jesse roared a laugh. And then he found that he couldn’t stop laughing, the whole situation so incredibly ridiculous that he lost himself in it. He could feel the pregnant pause of the team surrounding them, Donovan’s annoyance a physical presence. “Sorry,” Jesse said after a moment, waving a hand as he used his other to dab at his eyes before his laughter died away entirely and his gaze sharpened and cut in Donovan’s direction. “It’s just that you’re so full of shit.”

Uneasiness fell across the room like a shadow, a breath sucked in like a gasp from somewhere past where he could see. 

Donovan was on his feet in an instant, turning toward the cameras and motioning for them to be cut off, but Jesse was standing, too. His inhibitions had been banished away along with his sanity, clearly, because he felt invincible in that moment. He launched himself at Donovan, tackling him to the ground, getting one decent shot in before he was being ripped away. He caught an elbow to the gut as he fought the hands restraining him and the wind was knocked out of him for a moment. Even still, he wheezed curses at his father as they began to drag him away.

He probably looked like some sort of feral animal, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Donovan Hart would find a way to spin this in his own favor, but he didn’t care. He was incensed, a beat down dog in a cage that was finally biting back. He’d had a taste of blood and he wanted more.

He turned his glare to the room, to the cameras— some of which were still currently pointed in his direction, though whether or not they were still recording, he wasn’t sure. His smile turned vicious. “Do you even know who you’re protecting? Did you know he pays money to fuck college girls?” His question was directed at no one in particular, his voice ragged as he pitched his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’d think with a wife at home, he could get it for free, but nope.” He laughed, a manic edge to the sound. His eyes found his father’s and locked on. “The guy’s fucking insatiable. I guess I am his son after all, huh?”

“Get him out of here!” Donovan shouted as several people flocked around him. He could hear the murmured apologies, the are you okay?s that made Jesse want to scream just before he was dragged out of sight. 

“Fuck you!” he yelled in the hope that his voice would carry it to the man who’d earned it as several hands shoved him further and further away. He ripped himself free of the mic and threw it at someone who managed to dodge it in time. They reached for him again, but he threw his hands up in surrender, artfully dodging them all. “Don’t worry, I’m leaving. But hey, here’s some free advice. If he’s tossing around thousands for college pussy, then maybe you should go into contract negotiations. Clearly he could pay you better and I know he’s not paying you enough for this kind of loyalty.”

They said nothing, though, as they formed a blockade that funneled him towards the exit like he had any desire to be sharing the same space as Donovan Hart for another minute. 

And maybe it was just the drugs, but as he stepped out into the sunlight, he smiled, flipping the building the bird.

It was only a shame that that footage would never see the time of day.

[abetteranglican]

the character of satan

what makes a work timeless is when an artist knows and has watched human nature well enough to say something about people in themselves. as people have not changed in all all the years that make up our canon of history, we can still connect with great works over centuries and even millennia. what is so difficult to accept is the way authors seem to disregard women as human in the same way as men, and are so oblivious to their shared nature, that they come off as exceedingly stupid. the character of satan would have been beyond my grasp two years ago, but now having seen in such excruciating detail and agony a person so corrupted as she was, I hold myself able to hold the wretched spirit.

his experience is indeed excruciating, so it is sp close to all who have lived i think. the easy descent into wrongdoing, and the spider in the bathtub feeling of being unable to get over your own nature. he is trapped by his own self, and he toils with the notion that he was not even created to fall, but does so of his own will every second. he has not the personal strength to overcome his own folly, even though he is self aware. he laments over his knowledge of the other angels who continue to stand, rejecting temptation and the allure of pride. the most tragic part is that Milton maintains that he is truly free, like man he was 'sufficient to have stood, yet free to fall', and as we see in his soliloquy in book three, free even to rise. he knows, wishing and hating to acknowledge, that gods grace is infinite, that he has been allowed out of hell, that he could regain his heavenly aspect if only he were to accept it, but this requires repentance, and to acknowledge his folly before all those who's foolish praise he desires. like her, he could stop, he could, with a barely-even-yoke and without even having to undo his awful actions seek simple forgiveness where he knows it would be given.

satan ultimately, is a fool. his defect is the same as found in children, and yet it wrecks him.