#The other two will get their ones soon

[botanicadens]

 {OC template}

  [By- @thanathecreator ]

//This is so long but I have no regrets

               •Basic Information•

🔴Name- Wruth Edgar Den

🔴Age- 187 (October 13, 1837)

🔴Sexuality- Gay

🔴Gender- Cis Man

🔴Species- Human (Sorta Undead)

🔴From a Fandom?- DCU (Primarily Vertigo Comics)

🔴Zodiac sign- Libra

  •Physical appearance and traits •

🟠Hair color- Black

🟠Hair type and length- Shoulder Length, Wavy

🟠Eye color- Originally Blue, now a pale blue-gray

🟠Skin tone- Very Pale, Pallid

🟠Face shape- Sharp, Angular

🟠Body type- Thin, Practically a twig, Almost Malnourished Appearing, Almost Skeletal

🟠Scars- Surprisingly No

🟠Predominant features- High Cheekbones, Bluish tint to his lips, lack of color on his skin

🟠Height- 6’1”

🟠Dominant hand- Right Handed

🟠Hair Style- Scraggly, Slightly Unkempt

🟠Jewelry/ Accessories- Red Ascot (Fancy little bastard)

🟠Are they healthy or not? Reason why- Can an undead man be Healthy? No.

🟠Allergies- Not Really an Allergy but hates the smell of Lavender (Same dude)

🟠Glasses?- Yep, Square Framed Ones

🟠What do they wear when they are home alone?- Loose fitting shirt, Wide flared pants. He keeps fancy even in private.

🟠Tattoos- Does the sigil on his hand count? Kinda a scar, Kinda a tattoo.

                  •Mannerisms•

🟡Speech Style- Eloquent, Formal, British

🟡Quirks- Eccentric as hell, Only wears vintage clothing, Bounces his legs while sitting, Drinks tea religiously.

🟡Positive traits- Sly, Smart, Savvy, Articulate, Organized, Focused, Persuasive, Witty

🟡Negative traits- Misanthropic, Snarky, Cynical, Calculating, Fatalistic, Grim, Often Insincere

🟡Drives/Motivation- Wants to protect people from making stupid deals with demons, protect people from demons in general.

🟡Sense of Humor- Deadpan/Dry Humor

🟡Private or Public?- Very Private

🟡Leader or Follower?- Follower

🟡Daredevil or cautious?- Cautious

🟡Optimistic/ Pessimistic/ realistic?- Pessimistic

🟡Speaker or Listener?- Listener but can very well be a speaker.

🟡Accent- British (Point and Laugh at him)

🟡Voice Claims- Prince Lotor from Voltron Legendary Defenders (A.J. LoCascio)

🟡Theme Song(s)- 9 to 5 (Dolly Parton), No Children (The Mountain Goats), Under My Skin (Jukebox the Ghost)

🟡Temperament- Melancholic

🟡Talents- Can read books fairly fast, a great organizer, amazing at remembering

🟡Flaws- Perfectionist, A little too nosy, Cynical and Misanthropic

🟡Loud or quiet?- Quiet

🟡messy or organized?- Organized

🟡solo or team player?- Solo

🟡introvert or extrovert?- Ambivert

🟡relaxed or serious?- Serious with Work, Relaxed around Friends

🟡What will always make them cry?- Cats. He will cry if he sees them hurt even if it's minor.

🟡Do they celebrate their birthday?- He hasn't celebrated one since he turned 22. He finds them awkward nowadays.

🟡What will make them Smile?- Once again Cats. He loves them so much, it's the easiest way to make him smile. Making him Tea or asking about historical texts will also make him happy and get him to smile.

                  •Background•

🟢Hometown- Huddersfield, West Yorkshire, England

🟢Social Class- Middle almost Lower Class

🟢Education- Man was born in the 1800s to an almost lower class family. He has no formal education

🟢First memory- ~3, Seeing his baby brother for the first time.

🟢Worst memory- 22, Sitting in his bed for days on end and barely being able to sit up to see his mother.

🟢Best memory- ~8, Helping his elder brother and mother cook. It reminds him of a simpler time in his life.

🟢Most important childhood event, why?- His older brother taking a young him through the forest and teaching him about different plants. It inspired Wruth’s love of plants and knowledge on different herbs and plants.

🟢Most influenced by- His Mother, Clara. He loved her with all his heart.

🟢Role models- His mother and Elder brother, Felix

🟢Where does the character live? And with who if they live with someone- He lives above his shop Botánica Den’s in London. He only lives with his pet cat Bastet.

🟢Do they want to move and where?- If he had to move, He'd probably go to live in Los Angeles, but he’s happy living in London

🟢Type of childhood- Decent, he definitely has some issues because of it, But it was mostly good.

🟢Upbringing- It was a long time ago so things have definitely changed in regards to parenting in modern day. His father was never really involved in his upbringing, it was entirely his brother and mother. He eventually was also expected to care for his younger brother too. He and his brothers were allowed to do almost anything and get away scot free.

🟢Best Qualification- Organization. He’s a little psycho about being organized,

🟢Most important person in their life and why?- His Mother or his younger brother, Alexander. He loves Felix, but he could handle himself. He’d protect Clara or Alexander with his life.

🟢House environment- His home is perfect for him. Tons of books, Places to lounge, He even has a small indoor garden.

🟢Childhood crush- His childhood friend, Percival. He lived a little ways away, but they'd often run off into the woods for the entire day just to hang out.

                        •Family•

🔵Mother- Clara Den, an absolute saint in his eyes. She loved him and cared for him dearly.

🔵Father- Robert Den, they had a strained relationship. Wruth didn’t see him often as his dad wasn’t very involved in raising him or his siblings.

🔵Siblings- His elder brother Felix and his younger brother Alexander. He cared for both of them and helped raise Alexander. He wished he was there longer for them.

🔵Relationship with family?- He tries to visit their graves at least once a year to bring flowers. He also speaks to the graves to tell them what he’d done since last visiting. He hopes they can hear what he’s saying.

🔵Any children? Do they want any?- Can he even have kids? Idk, but no. He doesn’t want them nor have any.

🔵Pets- His skeletal cat, Bastet

🔵Extended Family- He doesn’t know if any descendants of his family exist. He'd be scared to interact with them if he did find any.

🔵Close to family?- Was close to his brothers and mother, not very close to his father.

   •Favorites and Least Favorites•

🟣Favorite Movie- M (A 1931 Black and White Thriller)

🟣Least Favorite Movie- Literally any Twilight Movie (He watched one on accident and hated it.)

🟣Favorite Book- House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

🟣Least Favorite Book- Not a specific book, but Romance books in general. (They’re just not his cup of tea

🟣Favorite Holiday- Halloween! He can go outside and be perceived as completely normal. People even compliment him on the day for how dead he looks.

🟣Least Favorite Holiday- Christmas. It's not bad in his opinion, just awkward for a man who was born right before it started being commercialized.

🟣Favorite Mythological creature- Vampires. In his experience they’re the least awful to deal with. They’re actually fairly chill (Probably because this man’s blood hasn’t been flowing since the 1860s)

🟣Least Favorite Mythological creature- Demons. Period. He wants to throw himself off the tallest building he can find after dealing with one.

              •Abilities and Bias’•

⚪️Affiliation- None. He works for himself, by himself.

⚪️Powers- Think of Rui from Demon Slayer. He can use string to cut people but he can also use it to control others like puppets. He also can’t die, but can still be injured and feel pain.

⚪️Powers limitations- It takes a lot of energy to control others and it can leave him incredibly exhausted.

⚪️Weaknesses- Physically Weak as hell. Bones would probably shatter if he tried to punch someone. He can feel his bones shifting back into place and healing when he’s injured. He feels all the pain associated with it and it can be brutal.

⚪️Allies- Most Magical People.

⚪️How well known are they?- Only really known with Magical Circles, he’s happy with it though.

⚪️Weapons- He only uses magic. (He’s a wet noodle, give him a break :[)

⚪️ Gadgets/ tech- He hates most modern technology. He only just got a smartphone. He still has his old antique phone too though.

⚪️Physical Weaknesses- Wet Noodle. He is skinny and weak. You could probably break his back by hugging him too hard.

⚪️Fears- Nosophobia (Illness/Disease), Autophobia (Alone/Abandoned)

⚪️Why do they do what they do?- He feels that if he doesn’t work, then him being alive for so long is pointless. He’s trying to outweigh his bad by his good.

⚪️Mental/Emotional weaknesses- His thoughts sometimes drown him. He lives with a lot of regrets so bringing any of them up is an emotional gut punch.

⚪️Rivals- Himself lmao

⚪️Romantic interest? Who if yes- Nope, Not yet!

                 •Miscellaneous•

⚫️If I could put them in a different universe or Fandom, which one?- Supernatural or Marvel.

⚫️What was there first kiss like? Have they have it yet?- It was with his childhood friend and crush. They were both teens and it was super awkward. He was nervous then, but looks back on it fondly.

⚫️Have they ever lost somebody they loved and who was it? How did it impact them?- His entire family and his childhood friend are dead. He isn’t surprised by death anymore but it still stings when it happens.

⚫️What would happen if they were granted 3 wishes?- 1) Reverse time back to when he was 22 2) Wish his family be happy and live long lives 3) Money for his family (He's so innocent about this OMG)

⚫️what quote do they feel portrays them?- “Why this is hell, nor am I out of it. Think'st thou that I, who saw the face of God and tasted the eternal joy of heaven, am not tormented with ten thousand hells in being deprived of everlasting bliss?” - Mephistopheles

⚫️Most prized possession and why is it prized?- A painting of his family that’s hidden away in his storage room. It’s one of the few things he has from his childhood and while he doesn’t enjoy looking at it constantly, it's still important to him.

⚫️Have they ever stolen anything? We’re they caught? Do they feel guilty or prideful?- He’s stolen before (probably when he was still mortal).He doesn't go out much anymore though, and doesn’t really need anything. Besides, he owns his own shop, he definitely has at least some money. He’d been caught a few times and always acted super guilty about it, but internally he was more annoyed at being caught or guilty.

⚫️What textures do they absolutely hate to feel?- Velvet. He physically recoils after touching it. It's a personal Hell for him.

⚫️How long can they go without showering? When do they feel dirty?- There’s always a slight smell of death on him, regardless of how much he showers. He does shower fairly consistently though, just for a sense of normality and routine for him.

⚫️Where do they put there clothes when there dirty?- He’s a bit of a neatfreak so they get folded and placed in a pile for cleaning.

⚫️Do they sleep with the bedroom door open or closed and why?- Closed. Always closed. He does not trust sleeping with his door open. (So real for that)

⚫️If they woke up with animalistic features such as ears and a tail( that were different from the ones they already had if they had any at all)how would they react?- Concern, first and foremost. After the shock wears off, he’d dive into research and try to figure out how it happened and how to reverse it.

⚫️If they could only eat one thing for 20 days, what would they eat?- Does Tea count? He doesn’t really eat, so tea would be his preferable option. Maybe macaroons or cinnamon cake if he had to pick an actual food.

⚫️do they re read books they already have?- Constantly, he’s the type to annotate his books in the margins, even during rereads. 

⚫️if they had the option to know when they would die, exact date, would they want to know or would they want to stay oblivious to it?- I mean, he already knows the answer. December 21, 1859.

⚫️What song would they listen to on repeat?- Piano Sonata No. 8 in C minor, Op 13 ("Pathétique"), 3rd Movement, Rondo: Allegro (He’s a classical music fan)

⚫️Do they believe in a form of a afterlife?- I mean, he’s dealt with demons before, so yeah.

⚫️Do they crack their joints?- He constantly cracks them, knuckles, elbows, neck, all of it.

⚫️Spicy, Savory, Sweet, Bitter, or Sour?- Bitter and Sweet. He likes bitter teas, but loves sweet foods to go along with it.

⚫️Do they adopt stray animals?- He doesn’t adopt any but if he finds an injured stray, he’ll take care of them before letting them go.

⚫️Do they procrastinate or do they get it done asap?- Depends on the thing. He procrastinates with social things but if it's solo he gets it done as soon as possible.

⚫️What is the temperature when they shower? Hot. Any normal person would probably be burnt because of it, but Wruth likes it (It’s a rare time when his body isn’t ice cold)

⚫️Do they daydream?- He isn’t the type to daydream, he prefers thinking about the present (or maybe the past)

⚫️ do they work best in messy or clean environment?- Clean Environment

⚫️ do they keep personal photos? Why?- Nope. He’s a tad insecure about his body and doesn’t enjoy being reminded of it. (He thinks worse of himself than he actually is.)

⚫️Do they indulge in anything?- Tea, once again. He’s an addict.

⚫️ would they do the exact opposite that someone says to them just to spite them?- Yes. cough cough His Benefactor cough cough

⚫️ if they’re alone and they hear a noise would they go check it out or would they hide? Why?- He can’t really die so he'd investigate it. (He also knows enough people who’d probably break through his window if they really needed help)

⚫️ if they’re lost what is the first thing they do?- Panic. Panic first, then think.

⚫️ what is a dream they had that was terrifying and made no sense too them? Any dream about his Benefactor scares him. (He won’t admit it, but it absolutely does)

⚫️ what is the stupidest thing they have ever done because someone said not to do it?- He once threw a book into his fireplace to spite a certain someone. (Once again, his benefactor.)

⚫️ are they stoic or melodramatic about being injured?- The only real problem about being injured for him is the pain. He’s melodramatic about the pain (he likes screwing with people about it) but relatively stoic about the injury itself.

————————————————————

Short run down of their storyline-

When Wruth was 21, he contracted an illness and became deathly ill. Slowly, he barely became able to get out of bed or even walk. During the time, he spent every waking moment he had researching a way to heal himself with little luck. He eventually found books involving the supernatural during his studying.

So uhhh, the dumbass decided to summon a demon. (He was desperate, sound judgment isn’t made when desperate). The demon told him it would “cure” him in return for his loyalty. In his naïvete, he accepted. The problem was that the demon sort of lied about the deal. The demon’s idea of a cure was keeping Wruth trapped in time making it so he could never die and permanently remain loyal to him. If Wruth were to break his deal, he would proceed to become untrapped in time and shortly after die due to his illness (His illness was never cured, just paused)

He started his shop to help out others who deal with the supernatural (and possibly prevent others from making the same mistake he did) He sees it as a redemption from the things he’s done under his benefactor’s (as he calls him) orders. He’s still under contract and occasionally is forced to provide his end to the deal as ordered. Wruth hates that part of his life and tries to keep it as underwraps as possible. (He’ll deny its existence if ever brought up. You’d have to fight him to admit it.)

[bacchuschucklefuck]

we let the ocean drown out our voices/enjoying the bitterness/in the chaotic light, I close my eyes and see

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 3 ]

{☆} characters neuvillette, wriothesley, furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.9k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ]

Wriothesley was not a man of superstition. He did not kneel at the altars until his knees bled, he did not pray until his voice gave out– he did not, contrary to popular belief, suffer divine punishment for his apparent lack of respect.

After all, what Divine would look so deep beneath the waves just for a glimpse of the sinners that inhabit it?

Not them, evidently.

He hadn't slept in the past four days, though. There was a heavy air of something where ever he walked– it followed him like a thick fog, lingering and choking him until it dragged him to his knees like a chain. His thoughts inevitably linger on the striking, extravagant letter so conveniently adorning his desk at the fortress– the broken wax seal, the letter tucked into his pocket.

He'd recognize the seal of the Iudex any day. Wasn't often he spoke to him– but the shaky, distorted words hastily etched into the paper made him pause. Neuvillette always had a steady hand– elegant, flowing script that him of flowing water.

It had kept him up for days.

The implications were..haunting. He'd poured over the letter for hours, illuminated only by faint light of his desk lamp. Yet no matter how many times he tries to see what must be hidden beneath the ink, the paper itself even, he finds nothing but the shaky script of a request that sends a bolt of pure frost through his veins.

He noticed, of course, the odd goings on of Fontaine. He'd heard vague whispers of the Divine's hunt for the imposter– he'd heard, too, of the ceaseless rain pelting Fontaine until even he wondered if the nation would finally sink beneath the waves.

It didn't, though. And that only made it all the more odd. Days of constant rain, just for it to stop suddenly..he tugged his coat tighter around him, throwing up the hood of the cloak clasped even tighter over it with a grunt as he leaned around the corner of the alleyway.

He didn't believe in superstition, but this was too hard to ignore as a simple weather anomaly.

Maybe that was why he ignored his gut– he knew that this was probably a trap, at the very least it was suspicious. But damn it, he couldn't ignore the instinct to follow the only lead he had.

His boots clicked against the rain stricken streets as he stalked through the shadows, mindful of the clinking of machine patrols just a few streets away. Yet every step felt heavier then the last as he took a long, good look at the Palais Mermonia. He almost considered bringing out his gauntlets, but he thought better of it– if it came down to it, he needed information. And he would need whoever was waiting for him alive for that– the dead don't speak and all that.

The letter's directions led him in a..rather roundabout entrance to a secluded room, evidently, as he lifted his hand and quietly knocked against the door. Two rapid knocks, pause, another knock, pause, four knocks. It doesn't take long until he hears the latch of the door unlock.

The leather of his gloves creaks as he clenches his fists, adjusting his stance. He's ready for a fight, if he must, but as the door quietly slides open he feel the weight on his shoulders relax slightly– the familiar, sharp features of Neuvillette meets him. He almost reflexively smiles at the way his pupils turn into thin slits, a momentary surprise that he quickly hides well behind a cough and the creak of the door as he pulls it open fully.

"Wriothesley. I see my letter has found you well. Please, come in." Polite as ever, Neuvillette steps aside to let him in, but he can see the exhaustion lining his features– the bags under his eyes aren't as well hidden as he thinks, at least to him. "Bit odd to be inviting me all the way out here in the middle of the night, don't you think?"

His tone is smooth as he steps into the room, brushing down his hood and glancing at Neuvillette over his shoulder, watching as he shuts and locks the door behind him.

"I apologize for the..less then ideal circumstances, but I'm certain you will understand when you see for yourself." He wants to retort, but the Iudex beats him to it, vaguely motioning to the room behind him. An invitation– but he wonders if it's worth taking.

His gut says no, but he's feeling a little risky today, he supposes.

He turns back slowly, barely able to make out the two figures he'd missed on the first glance on the other side of the room– though it's hard to mistake the flourish of the Hydro Archon, even in the dark. It's the other figure that makes the breath hitch in his throat, though.

Or maybe, more accurately, it freezes. So does his blood, his whole body even, locked in stasis for a long, tense moment– he can't see them clearly, but his instincts are going haywire. He can feel his vision almost rattle where it rests against his left shoulder, cold leaking through the layers of clothes and into his skin until he has to fight to suppress a shiver.

He'd always fancied himself the hunter– he was the one who dealt with unsavory folks, in the end. But he felt like a rabbit pinned beneath the crosshairs of a gun this time. He could almost feel the teeth of the bear trap snapping shut around him, crushing bone and flesh beneath cold metal.

For a long moment he thinks he feels fear.

And with a sharp click and a burst of light, it's gone and he takes a raspy, choked breath as he blinks away the blurriness in his vision, taking in the room illuminated by the lamp.

He's not sure what he sees is better, though.

Because his body knows that their Divinity is as real as the blood running through his veins.

So why do they remind him so much of himself? Why does he see the look of the boy who died in a pool of blood not his own in them?

It is a sick, cruel kind of familiar.

Wriothesley didn't believe in superstition– but that was born of the unknown. He knew, now. He could reach out and touch the truth with his own two hands.

The throne of the world was a lie.

The thing sitting on it bled red. And if it bled, it could die.

He clenched his fists tighter– and released, letting his shoulders slump with a huff and a half hearted chuckle. "I wasn't expecting you to be in possession of a wanted criminal when you sent me that letter." He could see the gears whirring in their heads, the subtle dampness in the air reminding him just how delicate a situation it truly was.

He wasn't particularly inclined to getting blasted by a jet of water today.

"Relax, I'm not going to spill to anyone else. Seriously– don't get my jacket wet. It's expensive and a nightmare to dry." His lips quirk into a half smile, but it twists into something almost genuine at the laugh covered up by a cough he hears from the Divine. Bingo.

"It's fine, Neuvillette. Let him go." Their voice is like honey dripping from their lips, and he has to close his jaw with his hand before they can see the way it dropped in his surprise. "Of course, most Divine. My apologies." He relaxes at the sharp click of his heels as he joins them on the bed, his posture far more relaxed then he's ever seen. The Hydro Archon, much to his confusion and amusement, is far too invested in playing with their hair to pay much attention to him now that things have calmed, evidently.

Huh.

They seemed pretty cozy about it, he noted. He guesses they three of them had some time to get acquainted.

"So..who's going to explain what the hell is going on?" He probed, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the three carefully– they all looked tired, but even through the exhaustion neither seemed inclined to stray too far from the Divine. "And what exactly your plan is? You can't keep hiding them here forever. Someone will sniff them out sooner or later."

"We are aware," Neuvillette interjects, lips pursed into a thin line and his thin brows furrowed. "But as I'm sure you've noticed, the hunt for the..forgive me, most Divine, but the hunt for the alleged imposter is still at it's peak."

He grumbles in acknowledgment, hanging up his cloak by the door and sliding out of his heavy coat, resting it over the back of a nearby chair. "Hm. Suppose that's why the patrols are so common now a days."

"I'm afraid so. As you can imagine, we cannot simply ask them to..stop the search. It would draw unwanted attention and suspicion. The Divine would be found immediately if we tried to bring them out of the city at the moment." Neuvillette added, looking proper and elegant, despite the circumstances– even in the face of the Divine and the Archon turning on him and tugging his hair into intricate braids. "So I hope you understand that it was a great risk to send you that letter."

He rubs his chin, huffing in amusement– a solid plan, maybe, but his power didn't extend too far out of the Fortress. He had his connections, sure, but what use were they when he had to get the, uh, "imposter" out of Fontaine? Smuggling them out wouldn't be easy, and then there's the point of where to take them they'd have to contend with.

"Yeah, yeah– I get it. But it's not like I can just smuggle them out or keep them in the fortress. Even if we got them out of the city, we'd have to find somewhere to bunker down, and if someone spots any of us lingering there.." Archons, what a mess he'd gotten himself into. He was really looking forward to the next time he could kick his feet up with a cup of tea.

"I understand. I have already made plans, in fact." Neuvillette hesitates, and he can feel the temperature drops a few degrees. "I..cannot share them in full at the moment, but it is not for a lack of trust." Neuvillette reasoned, hands folded neatly in his lap– not that it hid the way they shook slightly. He wanted to ask, but he thought better of it.

"Eh, I don't hold it against you. The walls have ears, even up here." He deflected, running a hand through his hair. He really hoped Sigewinne wouldn't ask too much when he gets back. "I trust your judgment." He hesitates for a long moment, pulling out a simple, neatly folded letter of his own.

"Memorize the code words, then burn it. I'll be waiting for your next letter." He murmurs, plucking his coat and cloak and tugging them back on one after another, shuffling back over to the latched door. He hesitates again, his hand lingering on the door.

"I just hope your plan is worth the risk, Neuvillette."

He leaves before he can respond, the harsh click of the door ringing in his ears even as he steps back into the shadows of the night.

[very-poorly-drawn-tgcf]

Go work off that debt Xie Lian! ....with an extra babysitting job.

Meme template for y'all under the cut + examples I made.

Anyway hopefully next episodes won't take too long. The thing is. The Ghost Groom arc is a lot longer than I remember. I'm still racking my brain over how the hell I'm gonna summarize it because I am not going every single instance

[r0semultiverse]

Where in Beyond Canon is Arquisprite?

Took inspiration from the above post by @pastabaguette and decided to expand upon it due to The Plot Point update as well as some stuff seen even before Vriska’s arc started in The Point.

Let's examine some stuff that may tell us where Arquiusprite is at this time, seeing as we seemingly have only one chapter in The Point left. I think we've got a lead on his whereabouts already.

We've got horses and horse-adjacent creatures.

We've got a robot that looks like it's literally ripped from Equius' hive with a notable missing horn hole and a dent in the head.

There's also this twitter response from James Roach which could be interpreted as suggesting Equius' return in some way at some point in the future.

OP, I'm not saying you're right, but I am saying that if Dirk were to consult anyone on horses, it would probably be a mashup of his AI & Equius. Also Void player behavior apparently! Also Dirk has narrative reality warpy powers & we aren't sure as to the limits of those yet!

Below are some reddit notes about classpects that also lead credence to the idea that Arquisrpite is on Deltritus with Dirk at this time. Outside of the obvious fact that we haven't seen him in The Plot Point or the bonus comics with Jasprosesprite at all as of the Davepetasprite^2 feather chapter release.

Are the robots in case Terezi goes ultimate? Are they backup bodies for Rosebot? A metal body for Arquisprite? Who knows, maybe all three! 🤷‍♀️ Robots are being made by someone though (for some purpose) and they have troll horn slots on their craniums. The exact style robot that Equius used to make back on Alternia; so, make of that what you will!

Also maybe they just need a sprite to kick off whatever makeshift sburb/sgrub copycat they're trying to get running and seeing as Arquiusprite is a splinter of Dirk, it's fitting that he would accompany him. Plus the sprites can kind of just seem to be wherever & whenever the story needs them to be? Seeing as how Jasprose kidnapped Jane in the meat timeline, but in the candy timeline the sprites just kind of seemed to not do much or be absent entirely after a certain point.

There's at least a guaranteed non-zero chance Arquiusprite is on Deltritus.

[triglycercule]

i love that the murder time trio all have dangerous little greetings. horror has his little hand drill thing. killer puts a knife up his sleeve and then does a little switcharoo. dust INSTINCTIVELY shoots whoever he sees with a bone. no greeting whatsoever. so just imagine how things go on a first meeting or whatever. immediately horror and killer have to dodge bones from dust and horror's like hey wtf man. mildly irritated but he just met these guys so he's willing to forgive. he's not gonna lose his cool in front of these two random ass guys even though one just tried to kill him. killer just has that dumbass smile on his face like always (but he was intrigued when dust did that. like who tries to kill someone on first sight?? he's curious now :3)

and then theyre all just standing together and staring for a moment and horror sticks out his hand. killer takes the bait but then he just points a knife to horror's stolen eye once he realizes that he got duped and his other hand is now currently being drilled into. dust didn't shake either of their hands because he could see the drill and tell that killer had something off about him in general. but he does give a tiny smile when he sees the state that the two r in rn with the drill and knife. it's an eensy bit funny in his eyes

least violent mtt interaction

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Stop flirting and start fighting

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[h0estar]

[dr3am-b3an]

A hint of backstory for Hue; they and victim have a bit of history,,

They got along pretty well.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

I just got into the very first xmen dating sim ask (I think). Imagine if what makes Charles' secret route even harder, isn't only that he has his self-hatred massively cockblocking you, not only do you have to work against his polite and subtle redirection (you won't even notice his "why are you here? There are better places than my office, silly"), but you also have to be sneaky and smart cuz one wrong move one of the bad ending is you triggering Erik's jealous rage ajfjsjgj

(Would be worth it for me ajfjskf)

-the anon who'd gladly try (and horrendously fail) to fight Erik for Charles' cute cute butt

Also imagine if one of the "bad" ending is you unknowingly playing cupid for Erik and Charles ajfjsjf imagine if there's multiple ending that's literally just them getting together ajfjdjkf

Sorry if I am incoherent, I really like to browse your blog before I go to sleep ajfkskg

its mandatory theres at least like TWO routes that involve erik's intrusion when it comes to charles' route that's so true and REAL

[serasfanfiction]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5| Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

The magnitude of the deal felt more earth shaking this time around. The beams holding up the tower shrieked in protest, shuddering as their bolts fought to keep from detaching from the side of the hotel. The hotel itself was marginally less effected, only the top two floors rumbling as the shockwave moved through them. By the time the wave of their magic reached the bottom floors and the ground itself, it was hardly noticeable, save the fact one would have to be blind not to have seen the magic itself.

The radio tower's occupants blinked at each other, both simultaneously realizing they probably should have sealed the deal somewhere other than a structure held up by a handful of beams.

Alastor drew his hand away, staring around at the mess they had made of his studio. Anything not bolted down or with a sturdy base had toppled over. The coat rack lay on its side, the blanket that had been thrown over it sprawled out beside it. The lamp and table had both been upended. One of the lamp's eyes was cracked, its light dimmed. The remaining eyes skittered around the room in alarm. Alastor's notes had been scattered across the floor, one of the halves on his staff amongst them. The icing on the cake was two of the windows were severely cracked, with a third having a handful of spider web fractures running through it.

Lucifer took it all in, wincing at the damage. He raised his cane, intent on restoring the room and repairing the integrity of the structure. Only to pause when Alastor placed a hand over his hands to stop him.

"None of that, your Majesty." He released the fallen angel in favor of retrieving the half of the microphone that had fallen to the floor and setting it with its other half. "I'm more than capable of taking care of my things if you would be so kind as to carry out my first favor."

Lucifer suspected Alastor simply didn't want anyone messing with his things any more than they'd already been messed with. He gave him a side eye in response to the possessiveness, shoo'ing the redhead back as he stepped up to the desk.

Alastor took a step back up, but only a single one. He wasn't hovering, per se, but it was apparent he was anxious to see his microphone repaired and returned to him.

Lucifer put him out of his mind, concentrating on the task in front of him. He reached out, fingers coming to lightly rest upon both halves of the staff. This would have been easier had it been an inanimate object, although it was likely Alastor wouldn't have needed to waste a favor if it had been. All angels had an innate ability to heal, some undoubtedly better than others. Lucifer's talents lay more with creation and rebuilding. Healing was similar, sure, but it involved forcing organic cells to divide and multiply far faster than they would have on their own until the wound had knit itself back together.

Then again, if it had been a wholly alive being, like Alastor himself, he would have just given it some of his blood and called it a day. With the new knowledge he'd gained, he was suspicious the deer demon had benefited in more ways than he'd known from those two previous feedings. The staff must have taken the brunt of the damage, if Alastor was still alive, let alone up and moving about. A direct hit would have killed him, for sure.

Lucifer closed his eyes, opening his senses to the very elements that made up the staff. The issue with damage caused by angelic weapons lay with the fact that they were blessed. God himself had created the steal that made up their spears, imbuing it with special powers so that his soldiers could carry out his will with little opposition. Weapons made from angelic grace weren't quite as powerful, as the angels made the weapons, rather than God, but they still weren't anything to sniff at. Weapon's made of angelic grace weren't a certain death threat to other angels, divine beings that they were, but it was certainly a very effective tool against sinners. To take divine will of any kind to something already damned was to ask for things to get very catastrophic very quickly.

Alastor really had no clue how lucky he was to be alive.

What gave them any chance of this working was that the staff knew how it was supposed to fit together. The two broken ends called to each other. Lucifer just had to bridge the gap so they could comb back together and they would be in business. Falling into autopilot as he allowed the process to guide him, he picked up each half. The break hadn't been easy or clean. The two edges no longer fit perfectly together. He had to pull from the blueprint within the staff's genetic makeup to coach the pole into being a smooth column again. From there, he had the equally hard job of convincing the two edges that they could reform again, but once they were certain it was possible, the two edges became magnetized, snapping and mending together until they were a single, solid structure again.

Lucifer snapped his eyes open. Sitting in his hands was the microphone of the infamous Radio Demon, whole and restored to its full glory with not a hint that it had ever been damaged.

Between one blink to the next, the staff vanished. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucifer saw it reappear in Alastor's hand. The sinner gave it a twirl, before tapping it to the ground to test its durability. Assured that it was indeed fully restored and could withstand some rough handling, Alastor brought the end to the ground with a hard, sharp crack.

Voodoo symbols lit the air around them with their sinister green glow. Shadows spilled out across the floor like ink, spreading up the walls until the entire room (and likely the entire structure) was engulfed in them. The only light remaining came from the soft glow of Alastor's eyes and teeth.

Lucifer, who needed no light to see, tracked the way Alastor's magic not just coaxed the various misplaced items back into their proper positions, but it also restored them back into their pre-damaged state. By the time the shadows dispersed like smoke and the symbols vanished out with a wink, everything was back to how it had been when they entered with not a single item or sheet of paper out of place. It was as if time itself had reversed itself before his eyes.

Grinning from ear to ear, Alastor tapped the microphone end of his staff. The sound echoed around them as it connected with the equipment, signifying that it was indeed functional again. Outside, the ON AIR sign flicked on for the first time since the extermination. Meeting Lucifer's gaze, expression predatory, Alastor greeted any listener with a radio nearby with: "Greetings and salutations, sinners. Did you miss me?"

He walked the scant distance between where he stood and his work station, deliberately walking around and behind Lucifer. As he passed, he ran a single finger along the fallen angel's back from shoulder to shoulder, merely because he could. "Of course you have," Alastor continued jovially. "Well, never fear, my wicked listeners, as your regularly scheduled broadcasts will begin again soon." Leaning over the controls, he pressed down on a more prominently visible button. What was visible of the ON AIR sign's light winked out as his short broadcast ended as fast as it began.

Seeing him in his element, Lucifer was certain this was the first time he'd ever seen Alastor sincerely happy to any degree. The very air around him seemed to have changed, becoming charged with possibility. It was a stark testament to how diminished he'd been up until that point. Alastor gave the staff a toss from hand to hand, as if refamiliarizing himself with its weight. Satisfied at last, he set it down in front of him, resting his hands upon it. Everything about his body language sang of his satisfaction. "Yes," he purred. "This will do quite nicely."

Lucifer opened his mouth, likely to come up with a witty retort, but never got the chance. It died on his lips as he was cut off by a sharp banging on the window to his left. As one, both turned to see what had made the noise.

Hovering outside, livid with her spear out was Vaggie. And she looked more than ready to break Alastor's windows all over again. She wouldn't have been able to, being on the other side of Lucifer's barrier, but she looked more than happy to try. They could just barely hear her as she shouted, "What the fuck did you do, Alastor?!"

Out of his peripheral view, Lucifer saw Alastor waggle his fingers at her in a wave, completely unconcerned as usual. If he didn't hope that the asshole really would get stabbed one day, Lucifer would have had a little chat about Alastor egging on people who could and would do just that.

Wincing, Lucifer imagined that if Vaggie was here, it was likely Charlie wasn't far behind. It was just as likely the only reason she wasn't outside the window herself was because she couldn't fly. With a wave of his hand, he dropped the barrier around Alastor's domain.

The moment it was dropped, Alastor darted forward. Lulled into a false sense of security by the redhead's previous helplessness, Lucifer didn't react in time to stop Alastor from wrapping a hand around his waist and pulling him in.

Prize acquired, Alastor pulled them both into his shadow.

Lucifer had not paid too much attention to Alastor's shadows, beyond acknowledging they existed and they could be lethal. He had noted how the redhead's personal shadow seemed to have a life of it's own, both working in tangent and separately of Alastor. Lucifer had only seen it twice, but he'd found it to be cheeky and only tolerable because it didn't speak. Unlike the demon who cast it.

Whatever Alastor had plunged them into - whether it be another realm or something else - felt wrong. It felt like being plunged into an ice cold bath, but on a metaphysical level. Darkness to a degree that the simple absence of light couldn't explain surrounded them on all sides. Out of the void came the feeling that they were being watched as they passed through.

Hands he couldn't feel, but still knew were there, curled into Alastor's coat until the fabric threatened to tear. The place screamed unholy. Every instinct in his body reared it's head, telling him that he - a child of God, disowned or not - shouldn't be there. He wanted to light a flame to chase away the darkness, if only he could figure out if he needed to use divine or demonic magic. Above all, he needed to get out. It was only because he wasn't entirely certain he couldn't escape on his own that he didn't actually just portal himself away.

Later, when he was able to think about that place without his mind shying away from it, he'd realize that something about the feeling of it was familiar.

But that would be then, and for now, the whole experience ranked as sheer nightmare fuel. How could Alastor stand it? Was it because he was human and/or a sinner? This place could drive a being insane.

When they reappeared in Alastor's hotel room, it felt like an eternity had passed as opposed to a mere minute or two. Lucifer took a shallow breathe, his whole body shaking like a bird trying to resettle it's feathers.

Oh, that was deeply unpleasant. He never wanted to do that again, ever.

Nonchalant, Alastor took hold of the hand clutching his jacket in a death grip. His smile oozed of false politeness. "Are you alright, your Majesty? You look a little pale."

As if he didn't know that place was messed up. Lucifer was distracted from wiping that smug grin off of the redhead's face by a loud bang against the other side of Alastor's door, the wood around the lock shattering as it finally gave up the ghost of keeping anyone out. The door slammed open, hitting the wall with such force that it ricocheted off of it.

Cherri stood with her foot still poised in the air, giving herself away as the person who had literally kicked the door open. Charlie hovered just behind her, hands in the air as if she had been trying to stop her. Angel stood to her other side, his main arms crossed, while his secondary hands were resting on his hips. "See," he was in the process of saying to Charlie, triumph both audible in his voice and visible on his face. "I told ya we could get the door open without the bombs."

"Yes, well, it would have been better if we didn't damage the door!" Charlie admonished, voice high pitched with stress. She turned her attention to the room itself, tensing as took in the scene in front of them. Lucifer watched her tense, fear twisting her features in a way he hadn't seen since her teenage years. "Dad! Are you alright?" She burst into the room making a beeline for her father.

Lucifer stepped away from Alastor to meet her, putting on an only marginally strained smile. "Of course, sweetie. Everything is fine."

Despite his reassurances, she checked him over for herself. When she was assured he was okay, she turned on Alastor. Her fingers twitched like she wanted to give him a similar inspection, but was holding back. "What did you do?" Her expression was a mixture of concern, anger, and guilt.

Alastor ran his hand down his coat, smoothing the creases out until it was as impeccable as ever. "How suspicious! What makes you think this is my doing?"

"Because it usually is." This was from Vaggie, who had appeared in the doorway while no one was looking. She pushed past Cherri and Angel, who were lingering for the promise of drama and maybe a little bit of curiosity over why the hotel was nearly knocked down for a second time in as many months. She marched straight up to Alastor, and then jabbed a finger into his chest when she was near enough to do so. "First Charlie and now Lucifer?! I knew we should have never let you stay here!"

Lucifer had been content to stand back and let Alastor take the heat. Maybe soil his own image a bit in Charlie's eyes. After all, Lucifer had been willing pay for his help. To make promises he was more than willing to keep, if it was within his power to keep. Alastor was the one who turned it into a binding deal, however predictable the move had been.

Then the implications of what Vaggie said sank in.

He could feel his control over his form slipping as he felt the anger rising. He reached out, almost not wanting to believe that it was true.

But there it was. The green chain of one of Alastor's deals hung from Charlie's wrist, damning evidence of the truth.

Lucifer saw red. His voice was cold despite the fire he could feel burning his tongue. "You made a deal with my daughter?!" The chain creaked as his fist tightened around it. He was going to shatter this little deal, take the remaining shards and shove them down Alastor throat. Then he was going to wrap his hand around his neck and--

"Dad, wait!"

The sight of Charlie suddenly filling his vision felt like being doused in cold water, enough to allow sanity to creep back in and take root again. "Charlie, I told you! You can't take shit from sinners like him." He glanced behind her, still able to see Alastor, posture tense and ears pinned back. His shadow was curled uneasily at his feet, ready to spirit him away at a moment's notice. Lucifer hissed. "They're nothing but parasites feeding off the rest of humanity."

For a brief moment, and only because Charlie had her back to him, Alastor bared his teeth, neither ashamed nor cowed.

Charlie raised her hands to calm him. She paused when one hand didn't raise as far as the other, catching on the chain around her wrist. Wincing at the fact that he was now physically restraining her, Lucifer released it. The chain vanished back into the ether. Freed of the restriction, Charlie lightly placed her hands on his arms, saying, "Dad, it's okay." She smiled to show she really believed it to be so. "He gave us information on how to protect the hotel. I'm happy to do something to help him in return."

Her smile, her trust, had the opposite effect, angering him further. "Charlie..." Lucifer wasn't certain who he was more angry with in that moment: himself for believing that Alastor might actually care about Charlie, in his own way, or Alastor for being none other than Alastor. All the signs were there: the redhead might like to play his games with Lucifer, but his interactions with the Charlie held a hint of genuine attachment to them.

Yet it would always be about power with him, wouldn't it? Could he even help himself anymore, when presented with an opportunity he seemingly couldn't pass up?

Lucifer's expression saddened as he focused on his daughter. His hands rose up to gently take hold of the wrist the chain was wrapped around, even if it were no longer visible. As a parent, he wanted to protect her from situations like these: where she was bound to get hurt. He knew he needed to give her space to learn from her mistakes, but how could he just leave his baby girl in the hands of a known sadist? "If he really had your best interests at heart, he wouldn't have needed to make a deal with you."

Charlie's eyes searched his, brows furrowed. "Dad, I can take of myself, remember?"

Because he never knew when to stop when he was ahead, Alastor interrupted them with, "There's no need for fighting, my dear. Your father is right." A red clawed hand appeared on her shoulder. Both of the Morningstars looked to see Alastor standing at Charlie's side. Alastor was giving her the same look he'd given her during his and Lucifer's swing dance show down over who was the better father figure for her. It made Lucifer's teeth itch with how false it was.

Charlie, on the other hand, merely watched him with confusion. "Alastor? What do you mean?"

As if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, Alastor said, "Only that bonds built on mistrust make for unstable foundations." With a flick of his free hand, a glowing document appeared out of thin air, unfurrowing to reveal Charlie's signature plain as day at the bottom.

It was Charlie's contract.

"I think we can both agree," he carried on, knowing he had everyone in the room hanging on his every word, "That you and I have built such a bond of trust that this silly little thing isn't necessary."

Before anyone could react to that clearly manipulative statement, Alastor took the document, one claw on each of the top corners and ripped it in half. Without missing a beat, he tossed the two halves to either side of himself, the supernatural paper catching fire and burning away as if fell. A wisp of ash touched the floor before disappearing. "Charlie, I release you from our deal."

Lucifer stared, his emotions a storm of confusion and doubt. He couldn't believe what he had just seen. There was no way. Alastor would never have just released anyone from their deal with him unless he was getting something out of it. Alastor didn't do things for the good of other people. This had to be a game somehow. But what did he gain from it? Unease began to creep in as Lucifer tried to make sense of what he'd just witnessed.

The answer came when Charlie inhaled sharply, all but literal stars in her eyes. "Alastor! I'm so proud of you!" She threw herself at the redhead, wrapping her arms around him in a bone crushing hug. "Of course you can trust me!"

Lucifer realized with dawning horror that this, this was what Alastor gained from that little display of pretending to show faith and trust. Charlie had bought it hook, line, and sinker. His whole body locked up, the instinct to protect his child at war with the fear of excommunicating her by killing Alastor for the sheer audacity.

Worse, Lucifer had been right there and he had still failed to protect her from this sinner.

Alastor's expression softened with fondness as he tolerantly patted her head, enduring the forced contact with grace. After letting her have her hug, he gently pried her hands off of him, to which Charlie winced, saying, "Sorry! Sorry, I know. Boundaries."

The redhead gave her a light bop on the nose, to show he forgave her her trespasses. "It's perfectly alright. No harm done." He sent his microphone away to clear his hands, freeing them to clap together, as if he didn't already have everyone's attention. "Now, if everyone would kindly vacate my room, I have a very long To Do List to accomplish and there are only so many hours in the day to do it."

Angel and Cherri didn't need to be told twice, ready to make themselves scarce now that the drama had passed. Charlie moved over to grip Vaggie's arm as they walked together out the door, the taller woman saying with excitement, "Vaggie, did you see! I told you!"

It was a relief to see that Vaggie still looked doubtful, for all that it did nothing to slow down how quickly Alastor was entrapping Charlie little by little.

When it was just the two of them, Alastor turned to Lucifer, his smile maliciously pleasant. "Come now, your Majesty, out you go. One of those tasks is one you appointed me yourself."

It took every ounce of Lucifer's no small amount of self control not to lose his shit all over again now that they were alone. "You may have Charlie fooled, but don't think for a second I don't see through you."

Alastor leaned forward, his hand wrapping itself around their mutual deal. The physical reminder of how entangled they already were casting a golden, green glow upon his face. Bold to his core and with the fearlessness born of someone who knew he held Lucifer's number one weakness in his claws, he said, sweetly, "And yet, I've already got exactly what I wanted."

Lucifer slapped the hand away, as if allowing the chain to disappear would somehow make what he said any less true. "Thin ice, Alastor. Don't forget it."

He pivoted on his heel, refusing to see what the response would have been. If he wanted any hope of being able to work with Alastor, Lucifer needed to leave now before any remaining good will was burned away.

He ignored the way that Alastor's gaze burned into his back, the sensation lingering long after he'd left.

tbc

Part 11

[turtleblogatlast]

[ cw: technical child endangerment / ]

Y’know every time I see the turtle tots playing with their original weapons I’m always flabbergasted that Splinter let Leo have a literal sword as a small child.

And then left him unsupervised with it.

Like, at least the others had blunt weapons (though still dangerous in their own right, especially Raph’s blunt tipped sais) but Leo’s katana are so easily lethal that it’s a miracle he seemed to be a natural with them. Because, if he wasn’t a natural then…oof.

It’s at least a good thing he only got one sword at first and not his usual two. Splinter would’ve needed to count his lucky days because OOF.

[oysters-aint-for-me]

prince gizmo is learning to love

[reading-writing-dying]

Finished editing next chapter of the Hotguy/Cuteguy Love-square fic, now the question is do I post now or wait until my original planned date of Friday/Saturday?

[headfullof-ideas]

Ant and Maddie are absolute chaos gremlins when left alone in a room together, which means i love the idea of their friendship. Have some incorrect quotes about it

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

"Cuhut it out- you guys!" "Nu-uh, not until you're all perked up first! You don't want those gym challengers meetin' with an ol' mopey leader, do ya?" "Whitney's right, dear friend. No need to hide that beautiful smile of yours, alright?~"

What it takes to cheer up Johto's beloved ghost boy 👻💕