#as a human I am frankly delighted

[nervouslittlewreck]

I was today years old when I realised Reckless' Jacob & Will are Cornelia Funke giving us Jakob & Wilhelm Grimm? As in, the brothers Grimm, authors of multiple folk / fairytales?!

[xxplastic-cubexx]

it doesnt need to be said but its genuinely so funny how at-the-hip charles and erik are in krakoa like they really had the green light- the OBLIGATION- to be as obnoxiously close to each other as possible and abused that right to the fullest extent

[keferon]

I'm about to be running on very little sleep as Final's just hit. So I whipped this up really fast, because I am now a sucker for Texaid. Hopefully by the end of Finals I can start working on that texaid animatic i'd say i do. ________

[COME ON IN BABY~] The white text on Vortex's ever red screen showed, before he was opening up, allowing the medic turned pilot to step inside. Felix doesn’t think he’d ever get used to Vortex calling him baby, it was weird and annoying when he did it the first couple of times. But now It has become a comfort for him, it lets him know that Vortex is not really all that serious, and is trying to get a kick out of him.  All of his other pilots couldn’t take a joke, to which he reminds the haunted mecha that he killed or mentally damaged them before he really got to know any of them. [THEY WERE NEVER AS FUN AS YOU.]

“Flattered.”

Felix takes his seat, hooking himself up with the neural link so they can talk in real time.

“So any big plans on how to take care of this one?” The mecha powers up, much like the few others still in the station. Rodimus, and a few others he has really only spoken to once, as they are still too scared of him and his mecha.

‘I’d say let's have some fun with it, we haven’t had one dancing in a while.’ Felix chuckled at the suggestion, but nods. It would be fun to get one of those aliens to get itself tangled up in its tentacles trying to grab at them.

‘I’d known you’d take my suggestion baby.’ xxx

[DO YOU TRULY FEEL SAFE INSIDE ME?]

Felix looks back at the closed visor, the dead of night had hit. Frankly Felix does not want to try and walk through the halls where he might end up running into Pharma, he’s been acting weird lately, more than usual. 

“Yes, I do. Funny isn’t it. You can kill me in the most gruesome way, yet I'd much rather be with you, then finding myself face to face with a fellow human.” Felix smoothed out the sleeping bag on Vortex’s floor, fluffing up the pillow, then made his way inside to fall asleep. [YOU ARE WEIRD.] “I thought you liked that about me?” There was a long pause, before the sound of grinding gears entered his ears. The sound of metal laughing. 

[YES I DO. NOW SLEEP. BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND AND GRIND YOU UP INTO A PAST.] An empty threat. Felix finds himself smiling. He reached out of his sleeping bag to pat at the surprisingly warm metal. “Whatever you say, Vortex.” His eyes were already shut, not being able to see the next line of text.

[SLEEP WELL FELIX BABY.]

xxx

[STOP IT YOU’RE HURTING HIM, STOP IT YOU’RE HURTING HIM, STOP IT YOU’RE HURTING ME, STOP IT YOU’RE HURTING US.] No matter how much he begged for Felix’s life, no matter if Shockwave could see him or not. The mad scientist was not stopping, Felix’s screams were not ceasing. 

While the screams of the perishing were normally something he relished in, delighted in hearing. This was not one he ever wished to hear. The agony in Felix's voice was loud and uncomfortable, he wished he could reach inside of himself and pull Felix out. 

But that would hurt Felix, he knows it will. It would harm him to a point he could no longer be his pilot. So he pleaded, he did something he never thought he’d stoop so low too. Yet he did. He did it because he wanted to stay by Felix’s side for as long as he could. 

Because he wanted to hear Flixes’s voice, he wanted to feel his excitement as they crushed the alien invaders, his curiosity when dissecting them to see how their body’s worked. He wanted their late night talks, just them in the silence of an inactive mecha charging station. 

He wanted this and so much more. 

But he won’t get it if Shockwave completely take’s over Felix’s body. 

He had to do something and fast.

‘Hang on Felix, I'm coming.’ 

My texaid soul IS THRIVING

[pascaloverx]

DEVIL (+18)

Summary: You are a demonic creature, capable of doing whatever you please, whenever you wish. Your goal on Earth is to terrorize as many souls as possible. Until, in a small community, you find the perfect victim for your mischievous games: Father Charlie Mayhew.

Author's Note: Honestly, I’m not sure if this story will have more than one chapter, but it will contain adult content and inappropriate language. Violence may also appear. Frankly, I just needed to write something about this character portrayed by Nicholas Alexander Chavez. The character and others, apart from Y/N, are not my creation. They belong to the Grotesquerie (2024) universe created by Ryan Murphy. To anyone reading this story, I hope you enjoy it.

AO3 LINK TWO

ONE

How tedious human life is. Not to offend anyone, but you were already tired of all the petty, complicated, and disjointed problems humans have. Not doing what they want, fearing consequences, and not always seeking to take advantage of others makes humans seem so weak. Humans need automobiles to move around, they have no special powers, they feel guilty for the slightest act, and when they sin, they believe a priest can purify their wrongdoings.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. At least that's what the movies say I should say when I enter a confessional. Unless you'd prefer something more modern, like, 'Father, I really messed up. I committed an affront to good morals. Blah blah blah…'" You enter Father Charlie Mayhew's confessional, waiting for his response. You can hear the muffled chuckle he lets out at your casual way of speaking.

"It doesn't seem to me that you are truly repentant. Taking advantage of the informality with which you are speaking to me, may I ask what brings you here?" For a human, he has a voice that, in its more serious and deep tone, can be charming; it's easy to understand why he became a priest. With a voice like that, he could easily persuade you to be a devoted daughter of God, even if you were, in truth, a demon.

“Let’s say it was a call of nature. In truth, I’ve felt impure ever since I witnessed something terrible.” You say, trying to sound as human as possible, feeling as if your skin were burning from being inside the church. Just kidding; in reality, demons can be anywhere, even in religious places.

"What is it, my dear faithful of the Lord, that you witnessed?" Father Mayhew speaks with a certain nonchalance, as if he's almost sure he knows your answer. You try to catch a glimpse of him through the confessional booth’s small openings. He seems like the very embodiment of sin, perfectly crafted for thirsty thoughts.

"Father, I witnessed a delightful scene. It was a priest known for his youthful appearance and modern style, masturbating while thinking about the beautiful nun he had recently met. In fact, there was another moment that I witnessed. The moment when this same priest let the nun touch him in a sinful way. Oh, this priest's mind could only hope that these private moments would continue." You provoke him, subtly revealing that you know of his most intimate sins. The priest immediately steps out of his booth and opens the door to yours. His expression is furious, while you wear your most mischievous smile. Your attire catches him off guard, certainly. You’re dressed in a nun's habit, but entirely unlike the usual. Yours is red—the color of blood—with black lace details. It is the perfect blend of religion and sin, a nun’s habit styled like lingerie.

"What are you?" the priest asks, not in fear, but with a steady gaze fixed on you. You rise and slowly walk toward him, your steps deliberate, as he retreats. You can see his eyes searching for answers, trying to comprehend what you are.

"I am merely a concerned devotee, worried about who is managing this church, of course. Father, it shouldn’t be me reminding you that sin is wrong. But I think you already know it’s wrong—you just can’t stop. If the wounds on your back tell me anything, it’s that you enjoy punishing yourself for being a naughty boy. Let’s just say I’m your newest form of penance." You speak as you circle around Father Mayhew, who watches you with a gaze of fascination. In truth, you had peeked into the mortal priest’s sinful mind, discovering exactly how to become an irresistible vision for him.

"Why are you tormenting me?" Father Mayhew keeps his eyes fixed on you as you walk through the church, surveying what is supposed to be sacred ground. It’s remarkable, entering the so-called house of God, where sins lurk behind the angelic façade, just as Father Mayhew hides his dark thoughts beneath his cassock. You smile as your fingers glide over the candles, feeling the warmth of their flames between your fingertips.

"Me? Tormenting you? I’m simply fascinated by that devilishly handsome face of yours and the way you blend love for religion with the lust locked away inside you. Sister Megan must have had quite the time running her little fingers over you. Honestly, you, Father, are trouble, and I want to help you." You speak, captivated by the lust in his eyes, even as he remains partly afraid that you might be a punishment from the devil himself. You move closer, touching his cassock, tracing your finger over the places where he is wounded, where he hurt himself.

"More…" he whispers, closing his eyes as he feels your touch. He begins to moan softly from the pain you’re inflicting. Your fingers tighten their grip on the bruises on his back as he groans heavily. You bring your lips closer to the back of his neck, placing a few kisses there.

"Father, Father, Father. You're visibly excited in the middle of the church. What would the Bishop say about this? Or your faithful and devoted followers, who trust that their priest will be the purest of men?" You speak softly against the back of his neck, feeling him shiver. He turns to look at you, eyes thirsty for the pleasure of the flesh.

"It doesn’t matter, not really. 1 John 1:9, 'If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.' God, in His glory, will understand that in the face of temptation, I could not resist my sinful nature, and for that, I have failed in His eyes." Father Mayhew speaks, his eyes lingering on every detail of your face, but especially your lips. In his depraved mind, he’s already imagining. Imagining how his cock would fit perfectly between your lips, or how your moans must be as delicious as the tone of your voice. He lets his imagination of touching you, tasting you take over and lightly places his fingers under your lips, massaging them.

"Father, you are a perfect creature, but you are trapped beneath this mask of a devout religious man. I promise I will return here to unlock your true potential. Until then, remain under the flame of lust. Oh, and keep recording those workout videos; you have no idea how many souls your face and body corrupt. Now, to seal our first encounter together, repeat after me: I, Father Charlie Mayhew, accept your demonic presence to torment me for as long as necessary, committing myself to serve you." You say, gazing deeply into his eyes, as he seems lost in you. It takes him a moment to repeat your words, his eyes lingering on your attire, contemplating the implications of becoming entangled with you.

"Was that all?" He asks after repeating your words, his tone low as if he’s embarrassed. "When will I see you again?" There’s a note of desperation in Father Mayhew's question, as he watches you, trying to memorize every detail. You smile, thinking that he probably wants to remember you so he can indulge in pleasure later.

"You'll see me when the time is right. In the meantime, keep being a naughty boy," you say, caressing his face. Then, with a single finger, you touch his lips, slicing them open. He lets out a soft moan as blood begins to seep from his mouth. "Now it's time for my triumphant exit. Goodbye, Father," you say, leaning in to kiss him, as if to draw his very soul through his lips. The taste of his blood lingers in your mouth, sealing the recent pact between you. You lick his lips and then disappear. Like an illusion, you are no longer there.

[creative-clawmarks]

So heres a question for you!! Since I'm new to seeing all of this silly vampire au stuff, how do Alex's teeth work?

I am delighted that you asked.

So I draw Alex's fangs very long. Way too long to fit in his mouth, much less hide from humans. Poor bastard wouldn't be able to speak without constantly biting his tongue.

What exactly is the solution to this?

Easy: they're retractable.

I based a lot of Alex's vampirism off of snakes cuz, quite frankly, bats have monopolized vampires for too long! So that includes a venomous bite, forked tongue, and yes, retractable fangs.

(Even tho snake fangs don't really retract they fold back but shhhh.)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

KO-FI

[cobragardens]

My Favorite Good Omens Moment:

An Essay on Why It Is Cool and Rad (Part 1)

There's this moment in Good Omens that makes me cackle every time I see it and leaves me full of warmth, so here's an essay on its context and meaning, because explication and analysis are how I show love. I will try to keep my thoughts as tight as possible, but they do have a tendency to spiral outwards, and I am very stoned. Come, sistren, and get nerdy with me.

My favorite moment in the series so far occurs in 1601. To approach it we will first need an assload of context. There's a TL;DR in bold at the end of the Context if you don't fancy reading the whole assload. Key arguments are in italics and bold throughout.

David Tennant gives Crowley a very consistent facial expression every time Aziraphale says something so outlandish Crowley can't quite believe he's hearing it. It's this one:

Chronologically, we see the Eyebrows of Disbelief twice before my fave moment in 1601: once (above left) in that scene on the Garden Wall that familiarizes the audience with Crowley's face before adding the dark glasses, when Aziraphale admits he's given away his sword; once when Aziraphale tells Bildad the Shuhite that he, Aziraphale, has Fallen because he lied to the angels to save Job's children.

The Eyebows of Disbelief always signal surprise and amusement with something Aziraphale has said or done. This amusement is sometimes at Aziraphale's expense and sometimes not.

In the gifs above, Crowley is laughing because what Aziraphale has just admitted to doing is fantastic and unexpected and frankly pretty gd punk rock. He's not laughing at Aziraphale, he's laughing because he is delighted with him. The only record we have thus far of Crowley laughing at Aziraphale is this one:

Crowley laughs when Aziraphale informs him--him, a demon who has personally been through the process of Falling--that Aziraphale is Fallen and must be a demon now. As though of the two of them Aziraphale is the expert on how and under what circumstances this occurs.

And yet when Crowley sees Aziraphale's distress--not his fear of being taken to Hell, but his heartbreak and lostness over the fact that his conscience has diverged from God's stated will--Crowley stops laughing, and instead he acts very kindly towards Aziraphale. He validates the gravity of what Aziraphale has done and assures him he won't turn him in. He sits with him so Aziraphale isn't totally alone (like Crowley probably was) as he goes through the loneliest moments of his existence to that point and picks himself up newly weighted with the secret he must now bear.

And after this scene (in canon as it stands thus far), we don't see Crowley laugh at anything Aziraphale says or does again.

And he really has to work for it sometimes. We talk a lot about the things Michael Sheen is able to convey with his face in Good Omens, and absolutely rightly so; David Tennant earns a chunk of his paycheck in this regard as well. If you haven't given yourself the treat yet, rewatch the scene in Will Goldstone's magic shop in 1941 and focus on Crowley's reactions:

Tennant takes great care to show, with precision, that Crowley is expending effort not to react to Aziraphale's nervous chaos Muppetry and lack of self-awareness. Crowley is self- and socially and contextually aware enough that he knows (better than Aziraphale, at least, which is not a high bar to clear) what's cringe, what's funny, what's ridiculous, how to behave. But whenever Aziraphale crosses a boundary of normalcy, or even sanity, and there is opportunity to laugh at him, Crowley very carefully doesn't react. He doesn't interrupt him, he doesn't try to correct him, he doesn't make fun of him, he doesn't even smirk; he just watches him, as stone-faced as he can manage, no matter how bizarre Aziraphale becomes.

We should be reading this lack of reaction to Aziraphale's social and rational transgressions as powerful positive action. Go watch the Doctor Who episode "Human Nature," or literally any episode of The Inbetweeners, or read or watch Regeneration, and reflect on what it shows you about English masculinity; then consider again the depth of significance in how English- and male-coded character Crowley treats English- and male-coded character Aziraphale in an England created by an English and male-codedpresenting author based off a book written by himself and another male-presenting author. Within its context of English masculinity, Crowley's lack of reaction is not a neutral stance; it is a very fucking loud show of support.

This is not even an inference; it's stated outright in the show. Crowley himself puts it into words 422 years after my favorite moment:

You know how Crowley calls Aziraphale "angel" because the factuality of the descriptor offers him plausible deniability to any Heavenly or Infernal agents who might be listening? Remember how Crowley is a great equivocator? Crowley is equivocating here, too: he's using the cover of what Maggie and Nina will take as a disparaging joke at Aziraphale's expense in order to make a perfectly sincere statement. This is his genuine perception of one of the relationship dynamics he has with Aziraphale and how he feels about that dynamic. Crowley thinks he himself is quite witty (an accurate assessment), Crowley thinks Aziraphale isn't sufficiently self- or contextually aware to hide how strange he is and therefore frequently says and does mad things (also an accurate assessment), and Crowley is Into. That. Shit.

Okay. Now let's look at 1601.

Chronologically it's been almost 1,000 years since we last saw Aziraphale and Crowley. In 537, Aziraphale isn't willing even to consider a labor-saving working arrangement with Crowley of fucking off home out of the damp of Arthurian Wessex; but by 1601, he's worked (and met, and Arranged) with Crowley "dozens of times now," Crowley says, and Azirapahle does not correct him.

In that millienium, Aziraphale has grown to care deeply about Crowley:

In fact he may be somewhat smitten with him:

Seriously, go back and watch Aziraphale here as Crowley approaches and starts speaking to him: he doesn't start smiling until he recognizes that the person speaking to him is Crowley (but he only smiles at Crowley while Crowley's not looking at him).

And Crowley is definitely become smitten with Aziraphale:

Our man(-shaped entity) is so allergic to work he sets up a meeting to weasel, cajole, or (as it happens) cheat a coin toss to get Aziraphale to do an easy temptation for him in Edinburgh, and then in the same conversation agrees to miracle a play into success because Aziraphale gives him a single hopeful look. Crowley's got it bad.

TL;DR: The Eyebrows of Disbelief happen when Crowley is surprised and amused by something Aziraphale has said or done. Sometimes that amusement is delight with Aziraphale; sometimes it is at Aziraphale's expense. Crowley is aware of this distinction, and when his amusement is at Aziraphale's expense, he suppresses it, even when it takes some effort on his own part, and remains stocially composed. This is equivocation on his part: to Celestial/Infernal operatives lacking knowledge of the intricacies of human behavior, this non-reaction would seem like neutrality; to Aziraphale, who shares with Crowley and the audience the contextual knowledge of English masculinity's utter viciousness, this non-reaction is a profound show of support; and in the safety of support from Crowley, Aziraphale lets his weirdness blossom.

As another meta points out [link if I find it again], we also see in Aziraphale's wordless request about Hamlet and Crowley's immediate understanding of it that by 1601 Aziraphale and Crowley have developed an unspoken, coded method of communication with each other.

Now that we have all of that in mind, here's my favorite moment in Good Omens:

Ixi of Fuck Yeah Good Omens has even kindly archived a closeup of the aftermath, for Crowley, of "Buck up!" In gif 4, above, you can see that the tiny smile is an involuntary reaction that happens as Crowley's eyes widen: for a fraction of a second, he's caught off-guard. In the closeup it's easier to see that he suppresses the smile and gives a tiny shake of his head, Eyebrows of Disbelief heading for his hairline.

There are a number of things Crowley's reaction could mean and what messages it could communicate (we'll get to that in a sec), but regardless, his reaction is, unquestionably, one of surprise and suppressed amusement. This is an aspect of Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship and characters that I like very much, viz., that one of the reasons Crowley likes Aziraphale (though Aziraphale is judgy and occasionally, unintentionally, horrifyingly cruel) is that in addition to being one of the kindest and most courageous beings in existence, Aziraphale is mad as a bag of frogs. Crowley does not know what is going to come out of Aziraphale's lovely mouth next, but Crowley does know there's a good chance he will struggle to believe he's hearing it, and Crowley likes that.

That's what makes this my favorite moment. What makes this moment so cool and rad, though, is its ineffability. We know from the Eyebrows of Disbelief that Crowley is surprised and amused, but any of several things could be read in that almost imperceptible headshake. Like:

What are you doing? or

Why are you like this? or

How can you be aware that you say these things out loud and yet still say them out loud? or

How has my existence come to this? this moment of listening to such insanity?

each of which is a fair and just feeling to have/message to communicate to a man(-shaped entity) who is yelling "Buck up!" at Hamlet.

But that's only if we read Crowley's amusement as being at Aziraphale's expense. And I don't think we should. Because watch Aziraphale here:

He's doing it on purpose. He is shouting a hilariously inappropriate, 100% authentic Aziraphale-brand thing over arguably the gloomiest passage of Shakespeare's famously gloomy play--right after Crowley complains about its gloominess--and he is watching Crowley as he does it. Look at his smile! He knows he's being Deeply Uncool, and he is doing it literally right into Crowley's face.

Remember that we just talked about how by this point in the chronology Crowley and Aziraphale have learned to communicate with each other nonverbally through facial expression? So what does it mean when Aziraphale responds to Crowley's grumbling about Hamlet's gloominess by smiling his minxious Mona Lisa Aziraphale smile, looking right into Crowley's face, and yelling at Hamlet to buck up? Aziraphale, in a carefully coded, carefully Aziraphale way, is joking with Crowley. His silliness in this moment is for Crowley.

So with aaaaaaallllll of this essay in mind, what does it mean that Crowley's reaction to "Come on, Hamlet! Buck up!" is widening eyes, an involuntary twitch of his mouth toward a smile, and then, his eyebrows still showing surprise and amusement, a tiny shake of his head?

Once more, with inferences:

I do propose, y'all, on the basis of this web of evidence I submit for consideration, that what we are seeing here in my favorite moment of Good Omens is the ineffable equivalent of Aziraphale and Crowley sharing a laugh.

Crowley's amusement here isn't at Aziraphale, because Aziraphale is eliciting that amusement consciously and deliberately. Aziraphale, in good spirits and happy to see Crowley, uses his Aziraphaleness to offers Crowley not only an opportunity for amusement, but the opportunity to be in agreement with him about what in this situation is funny. They're on the same side of this joke.

And his humor lands just as he wants it to: Crowley, just for a moment, is caught off-guard, and tickled--

But remember, Crowley is worried in this scene about being surveilled ("I thought you said we'd be inconspicuous here"), and he worries about audio surveillance a lot ("Walls have ears"; "Don't say that. If my lot hear [etc.]," etc.), so he's very limited in what reactions he can show or voice. Aziraphale knows Crowley must be perceived by anyone watching or listening to disapprove of his, Aziraphale's, behavior (just as he must be perceived to disapprove vociferously of Crowley's). Both of them know this.

--so Crowley suppresses the smile almost successfully, and shakes his head at Aziraphale, minutely, to say Stop. What you're doing is working, you're close to making me laugh, and if I show how much you have just delighted me, it will blow our cover of "just an Arrangement."

I offer three final data points in advancing my argument that what we see in my favorite Good Omens moment is Aziraphale successfully attempting to joke with Crowley and Crowley recognizing that overture from Aziraphale and being momentarily surprised into a reaction of genuine delight before pulling his face back under control and indicating to Aziraphale that he must stop:

Datum 1. Nothing going on with Crowley's face in this moment is accidental. We know for sure we're not seeing David Tennant react to Michael Sheen here not only because of literally every other point of Tennant's and Sheen's performances in the show, but because Tennant is wearing opaque contacts and sunglasses under film lighting and therefore cannot be reacting to anything more compelling than a level-10-lift blur because Tennant cannot see shit. Crowley's reaction is a deliberate and careful performance choice on Tennant's part, and it's underscored by director Douglas Mackinnon's choice to film Tennant in 1/2 profile to keep Crowley's eyes visible and face readable to the audience. This reaction is supposed to be there and supposed to be meaningful.

Datum 2. The husbands in 1601 is not the only moment in Good Omens when we may be seeing an angel and a demon communicate the message Stop doing that, it makes us look too familiar between themselves with a little headshake:

Datum 3: There is another moment in Good Omens when Aziraphale offers Crowley the opportunity to enjoy a joke with him. There, too, his humor lands just as he intends, so we can use this other moment as a comparison to our 1601 moment. I don't have gifs for it, but go back and watch it, S1E6 49:27-42. Snips below.

Aziraphale says something that surprises and amuses Crowley (he asked Hell for a rubber duck while he was sloshing around in the holy water)--

--but what Aziraphale says makes Crowley smile long before it makes him laugh.

In fact, his laugh, though a genuine cackle, is quite delayed, and he laughs only after Aziraphale starts laughing too.

In other words, Crowley's reaction to Aziraphale offering him amusement they're both on the same side of is exactly the same as his reaction to "Come on, Hamlet! Buck up!" right up until he laughs instead of shaking his head. Here, after Armageddidn't, Crowley doesn't have to suppress his reaction, so he can let the smile bloom; he doesn't have to control his response, so, although it takes him a few extra seconds, he lets the smile turn into a laugh.

But in 1601, it's not safe to laugh at Aziraphale's humor. It's not safe even to smile at him. A single piece of evidence or eye/earwitness testimony that he and Crowley have anything more friendly than the most passing and acrimonious of professional relationships could mean death to either or both of them, and depending on what Falling is like, maybe something worse than death for Aziraphale.

But Aziraphale is so funny, so effervescent for Crowley, at Crowley, that it catches Crowley just for a moment. Crowley's eyes widen and the corner of his mouth twitches toward a smile.

And that's dangerous. If Aziraphale keeps acting so charmingly mad, Crowley is going to laugh, and they can't afford that risk, so he shakes his head at Aziraphale. Stop, or I won't be able to keep a straight face around you.

And Aziraphale apparently receives that message, because he immediately eases off. Less than 60 seconds later we learn that he's deeply concerned for Crowley's safety--and that it's not so much that Aziraphale has Crowley wrapped around his little finger as it is that Crowley has wrapped himself around Aziraphale's little finger like a snake arranging itself on the tree branch it calls home.

UPDATE 14/10/23: HOLY SHIT Y'ALL IT GETS EVEN BETTER! THERE IS A SEQUEL!

[manchasama]

Thinking Danny Phantom thoughts again. We love to see Bad!Parents Jack and Maddie, because it's a dark twist and opens up new opportunities to give Danny a different support group, and because quite frankly some of what they say in canon IS disturbing.

We also love to see Good!Parents Jack and Maddie, because it was also shown over and over in canon that they do love their kids, and will accept Danny despite the ghostiness. Now admittedly it was always done in a very shallow way, so I can see why it doesn't jive with some people, but the foundation is there to dig into!

Personally I do love me the bad parents, but I have been getting a little tired of how samey they act in fic. I'm normally not reading it for them anyway, but it's an idle "huh maybe I'm in the mood for good parent fic". The only issue is that with good parent fic, it's much harder to strip Danny of his support and toss him into another place (yes I am still reading the many DPxDC batman xover fusions. They still delight me).

So I pondered away in my little head what might one do for both? And I'm honestly surprised I haven't seen this before. So let's say that Jack and Maddie, upon discovering their son is half ghost, are as supportive and loving as he could have wished.

But let's also suppose that the GIW are becoming more dangerous and competent. What would good parents do when they know their kid is in danger? Why, loudly protest the mistreatment and misdirection the government is doing. And what does an American government do when faced with protestors?

Arrest them.

What if the reason Danny is forced to flee with no support is because his parents are now being held by the government, with no REAL hope of a fair trial since the GIW are flaunting every rule they can. If Danny stays, he will be forced into some government approved care, or worse just be disappeared himself because who is going to fight against the GIW (especially if we are going the Amity Blackout route)?

IDK, not wording it as well as I could, but I find the idea interesting. Some scenarios too could be done in the heat of the moment. I remember there was one fic where Jack and Maddie find out about Danny as he is escaping a GIW facility. Initially they were there to recapture/support the GIW, but upon their realization, without time to come to terms with it, they still go all in and fight against the GIW. But to my memory there were no repercussions for that.

The key thing I think is that for as nasty as the GIW are, they won't hurt humans like they would ghosts. If Danny knew his parents were being experimented on, he would stop at nothing to save them. But if they are just being held, it's less immediate danger, and he wouldn't necessarily go in all guns blazing when he might be captured himself.

[vintagerpg]

Once Little Soldier and Phoenix went belly up in 1981, Lou Zocchi’s Gamescience bought the “Book of” series. I believe either dead stock or reprints of Monsters and Demons came out with Gamescience branding. Later, all six were collected in this, The Fantasy Gamer’s Compendium (1983).

I have seen the digest versions of three of these in the wild (for frankly bonkers prices): Book of Shamans, Book of Treasure and Book of Sorcery. Shamans is a whole new class, complete with a custom spell list, that is framed around accessing the spirit world in a way that reflects I guess broad assumptions about tribal magical systems. Its OK! Treasure is what you’d expect, a collection of magic items pulled from myth and legend in the first part and from genre fiction in the second. It is pretty good! Sorcery is an interesting, if slightly unwieldy reconfiguration of the magic user class, explicitly arranged around demonology and pulp notions of Western occult traditions. Basically, it’s intended to provide mechanics that allow a class to summon all the folks listed out in Book of Demons. It also has a collection of occult-themed magic items, like the Hand of Glory, that I find delightful. That’s probably the most useful thing for me, personally, in the whole “Book of” series.

The last Book collected here is the Book of Mystery, which I am not sure ever saw print as a standalone Little Soldier product. It presents a new class (Lord of Mystery), the new skill system those characters use, and an organization they belong to, which safeguards high science for a time when humanity is ready for it (the Lords of Mystery are descended from the original humans, who crashed here [wherever that is] in a colony ship millennia ago). Many of the classes skills are trained and require quests. They seem to get access to a lot of abilities. It seems like a pain in the butt, but an interesting one, almost like a more monastic version of Dave Hargrave’s Techno class from Arduin.

[vaperarmand]

it's iwtv fanfic friday and everyone's getting involved

some recs from all corners of the vampolycule <3

someone buy me roses by indigostohelit lestat/louis, e, 3.2k words

Lestat's frown deepens. “My God, Louis!” he says. “I am not some petty voyeur. My motives are noble. My heart is unselfish. Frankly this is an act of chivalry. Please take off your pants.”

(one thing about me is i go crazy for a religious metaphor. also louis is sooooo catholic in this. it's awesome)

it's been a long, hard twenty year summer vacation by moonieangel aka @loumandivorce louis/armand, e, 7k words

"Let me," Armand said. Louis looked down at him, uncertain, but his pupils were already dilated until the rings of green fire were almost invisible in his eyes. "I haven't been able to drink anything properly, recently," he said, as Armand knew he would say. "And?" Louis' jaw clicked shut. He looked affronted, almost embarrassed, and Armand was strangely delighted at the sight. "You're going to get off on sucking a soft cock?" he asked in disbelief. (Armand and Louis travel.)

(*aggressive tiktok influencer voice* if you haven't read this yet literally what are you even doing with your life. this is such a defining loumand fic for me it's crazy. it's like their true essence on paper. what loumand is like at home. it's so good. sooooo good)

He's Piano; You're Not Forte by Galadriel armand/daniel + armand/lestat, m, 4.2k words

The Vampire Lestat's album has just dropped, and it's causing discord in the Armand-Molloy household.

(armand is SOOOOOOO good in this. i love you obsessive armand. it's been too long since i've reread this one. going to do that now actually)

two-headed mother by tisiphones armand/lestat, e, 8.7k words

"Poor darling," Armand says, and the condescension in his voice is so awful and so offensive and Lestat wants to curl up in it and never, ever leave. "It's okay to let yourself be taken care of for just one night. You can't help what you need." --- It's Lestat's last night in Paris. Armand makes it a memorable one.

(yeah. this one's just. yeah. fellas is it gay to do a roleplay where your boyfriend pretends to be your mommy. probably not gay but it's definitely something)

every few centuries, somebody reinvents the coven by katplanet armand/daniel/louis/lestat, e, 20.5k words

Daniel asks Louis if he's sure when he first suggests it. He asks him again a few days later, to see if he's changed his mind. He makes a psychic collect call to Lestat, of all people, and asks if he's sure. Asks Armand if he's sure when he accepts the invitation, when they're packing, when they're on the way to the airport. When they're walking up to arrivals, Armand’s grip crushing Daniel's fingers, Louis smiling at the back of the crowd with his hands in his pockets, casual as anything, like they do this every day. They're all sure and sure and sure, so Daniel lets Louis pull him in with one arm, Armand with the other, and hug them both while a planeful of tired New Yorkers filters out around them into the muggy bayou dark.

(look okay i know this fic is mostly smut and all but it literally made me cry multiple times. it changed my worldview. it made me see colors previously not experienced by the human perception. it's everything to me. if you haven't read it just like. please please do.)

[the-crooked-library]

Okay I wanted to tell you that I'm literally drinking your posts about Nosferatu, thank you so much for sharing all your thoughts! You're helping me better shaping my own opinions.

And I have another thing that can't leave my mind so I thought to share: Ellen is in perfect control of Orlok, and it's never the other way round.

She is the one that summons him first, and after their first encounters (I got the feeling that they met more than once before her father discovered her and the encounters got unpleasant, but I might be wrong), when she rejects him out of fear and disgust, *he leaves her be*. Okay, he visits her in her dreams, but dreams are manageable, right? In fact Ellen moves on, she tries to build a reasonable life, she falls in love, and Orlok just leaves her be. It's only when she marries that he acts: because the vows of marriage can break the oath they took years ago.

And even if moved by jealousy and rage, even if he is so powerful that he can control animals, weather and human minds, even if he can bring the plague to a whole city, even if he kills and tortures everyone, he can't touch her unless she gives her permission, her consent. He barely even look at her without her permission.

And in the end he knows the dawn is approaching, he knows he's gonna die, he is more than satisfied, more than fulfilled, but she says "more" and so he stays. And he dies. Because she wanted for him to die.

I don't think Ellen is fully aware of her power and control over him since the beginning, because to admit to herself this much is too much for her. A part of her still wants and impossible normal life. But surely she knows. She places her hair in the lock...

And in the end she fully embraces this power, to the extent of her own death too.

I think this is what hit me the most in this movie. How big a role the girl plays in the action of the vampire.

hi - and thank you so so much! I am delighted to hear that you've been enjoying my posts about this film, because, quite frankly, I haven't been able to shut up about it at any point since I saw it.

Regarding Ellen's control of Orlok: this might be just my opinion, but I think it is strongly reminiscent of the dynamic between Sarah and Jareth in Labyrinth (1986)! Sarah's situation is, naturally, less traumatic than Ellen's - but she is the heroine of a coming-of-age fantasy film, rather than a gothic horror, so that comes with the territory. The point is, their stories share the same essential plot beats and deal with a similar subject matter, and Sarah's story is punctuated by her interactions with the Goblin King. Like Orlok, he is ancient and in some ways immortal; he is obsessive, dangerous, and magical in a way that does not fit in with the Normal World - which provides a point of endless fascination for Sarah, who also feels like an outsider in it. As such, the Goblin King both excites and terrifies her, he adores her and menaces her at the same time - and, crucially, he has no power over her. Here's how the story develops:

the loneliness, the frustration with her life

the summons, however accidental

friends/family in danger

at the same time - thrill, excitement, seduction, obsession

fairy tale time limit - 13 hours or 3 nights

confrontation/declaration of love, offer of eternity

the evil is defeated because he isn't actually in control.

The Goblin King begs Sarah to just fear him, love him, and vows to be her slave if she does; Orlok does much the same, insisting time and time again that Ellen isn't meant for the human world - that he would give her the companionship she wanted for all eternity; and the same pattern repeats in a plethora of other media as well, vampire, fairytale, and various derivations thereof.

Just to throw a few examples into the mix - Ellen Hutter, Christine Daaé, Sarah Williams, Will Graham, and Louis de Pointe du Lac all follow that specific dance. Each one of their respective monsters seduces, threatens, adores, coerces, rages - and eventually submits. Orlok is reverent as he stays with Ellen past the sunrise; Erik releases Christine in the finale; the Goblin Kingdom crumbles, Hannibal kneels in the snow and falls from the cliff, and Lestat allows Louis to slit his throat. For the pursued, this is, first and foremost, a story of self-actualization; and a fantasy of being loved so deeply that it supersedes all other possible concerns. None of these characters have ever felt loved by another human being - and so it's not surprising that the thing that wants them so much isn't human. It's really more of a reasonable assumption than a leap.

I absolutely agree that Ellen's actions are often very subtly questionable, in a way that almost feels like reaching; and I think that this is likely the intention - though that could be debated until the cows come home, given a contrary enough group of people. Still, in the film itself, she is indeed torn between Morality and Desire. Lines are inevitably blurred. The locket miniature for Thomas, the perfumed lock of hair for Orlok; a sacrifice for the city, a night of passion for her.

One proper, sane; the other invariably personal, close to the skin - clinging, like the scent of lilacs; and it could be said that this dilemma is best encapsulated by her description of a dream she had in the very beginning of the movie. In it, she is wedded to Death. None of the witnesses survive it. She is horrified, she has never been happier in her life, and it's rooted in the very core of her anguish. Because what sort of thing is she, if the only person that loves her wholly is a monster?..

[animeomegas]

Hello! Recently I'm having Haku brainrot.

Can I request Haku spending his heat with his Alpha. It didn't need to be NSFW(maybe they are cuddling in his nest🥺🤧) honestly, I just want to spoil him and kiss him lmaoo

(Understandable, anon, I too am often plagued by brainrot XD)

Post-Heat Relaxation with Haku

Sometimes, your mate reminded you of a cat.

Not all the time, of course. He loved swimming, smelling his herb garden, and he quite frankly thrived in freezing temperatures, likely due to a side effect of his bloodline limit. In those regards, he was very human.

And yet now, as you watched him lounge on the window seat, naked and stretched out, languishing in the sun, you couldn't help but draw a comparison.

Haku had a kind of aura that drew others in, lulled them into a sense of security and safety, like a siren at sea, and as his mate, you were not the exception to that power.

You were supposed to be cleaning up. Only one of the two large bags of nesting supplies were clean, and none of the back up supplies were out yet, but Haku's power was too strong. When you heard the little contended purrs that he was letting out, you simply couldn't resist approaching him.

"The nest is almost ready for rebuilding," you said gently, crouching down by the window seat and resting your cheek on the smooth, warm skin of his bare waist. You pressed a kiss there and Haku hummed in delight.

"There's no rush, I'm quite happy here." Haku stretched languidly, grumbling pleasantly at the stretch. "The sun is so lovely today."

Yes, you thought, amused, definitely a cat.

"Not as lovely as you."

Haku smiled, his stomach jumping in amusement under your cheek. You pressed a couple more kisses to the heated skin before sitting upright. His hair was still damp from his earlier bath and you couldn't resist running your fingers through it, careful to avoid tugging on any tangles.

"How are you feeling?"

"Amazing," he breathed, closing his eyes again.

"Are you sure?" you asked, still stroking his hair. "Your heat was more intense than usual this year, and if I'm tired, you must be."

He laughed lightly, "I'm sure I'm fine, stop worrying so much, silly." He turned his gaze back towards the window, seemingly happy to gaze at his much loved garden.

You remembered the first ever nest Haku had built when he moved to Konoha. Well, you hadn't been allowed inside it at the time, but you remembered him speaking about building it inside his wardrobe. Wardrobe's weren't an uncommon place for omegas to utilise for nest building, but for Haku it had been a sign of his anxiety in a new place.

Now, here, he seemed so much more at home, where nature bled through to where he was nesting, where he could bask in a cool summer's breeze and warm patches of sunlight. The idea of him being contained in a small, dark wardrobe didn't feel right at all.

You had provided this den, this home, for him, and he felt safe here. Your omega felt so safe, he could lay naked, in front of an open window, at one of his most vulnerable moments. Your stomach clenched, as every instinctual part of you purred in delight.

"Just call me back over when it's time for me to rebuild the nest," he said, yawning. "I might take a nap here."

You ran your hand from his hair, down his body, appreciating the subtle curves and grooves as you went, "Okay, darling, have a good nap."

"I will." His beautiful eyes fluttered closed. He was the picture of contentment.

You nuzzled into his neck, placing one final kiss on his newly refreshed mating mark, before stepping away to continue washing the soiled fabrics of his nest.

[a-dragons-journal]

bit of a rant re: that one post about terminology: my biggest pet peeve about it is that it is had made it absolutely impossible to find the kind of stuff I used to come to tumblr for back in 2012. I'm dragonkin and nearly 40. I've known I was 'kin since before the year 2000. i used to be able to follow a couple of kin tags and find art, poetry, and essays on the things we all have in common. once in awhile there would be music. Now all I seem to see is people arguing about who's allowed to use what term, who is 'valid,' and people splitting hairs to the finest down on microlabels. I am, in my head and in an experience sort of way, a big reptile who flies and hunts and, frankly, isn't very bright. I have not really kept up with terms in the past decade because it seems like every time I look, the words mean different things, and I cannot be bothered to follow all that. none of it changes the way I feel my scales or how there is a part of my brain devoted to tracking good hides and good takeoff locations. none of it changes the fact that I have to make rent with a brain that wants to be tracking air currents and chasing small game. And none of it changes how delighted I am every time I eat a good piece of fruit or a slab of chocolate with an omnivore's ability to digest plant matter. obligate carnivores can't enjoy sugar the way my human body does. it's great.

a moose and a tuna are very different creatures, but they would both complain about orcas and sharks in their feeding grounds. someone who is a pterosaur and someone who is an angel can both talk about missing the feel of air beneath their wings. a mantis shrimp and an alien and a bat can all talk about how light looks through human eyes. someone who is a little bit of a werewolf sometimes and someone who is 100% a housecat all the time will probably both be able to talk about managing prey drive. I miss having places on the internet where we could talk about shared experience in this way. I couldn't care less what words people use to argue about how different they are. we are all using human hardware to run incongruous beings. Two bog-standard human siblings who grew up in the same home will argue that the same scene in a movie shows different things. everyone's different. there's always gonna be some way to split yourself off from the group.

I just miss being able to find solidarity with fellow Internet Weirdoes (affectionate). if you only share your stuff with your micro-group you're going to miss out on all the others who you could be talking to who may understand, at least in part, what you're going through.

and most of all, I miss the art.

Yeah, I feel that. I feel that.

[emperor-restaurant]

this is my offering to the powers that be. i ask little in exchange. i read on the archive that there's a discord server for those who imagine twin emperors caracalla and geta in love. an invite link to said server in my inbox or messages receptacle would be delightful. assuming, of course, said powers are comfortable with myself joining the server, and i fully understand if not.

under the cut is 444 words of geta's thoughts as he (literally) sleeps with his lovely caracalla. i saw gladiator ii less than 24 hours ago, so please forgive me if it's unpolished. i warn you, dear reader, it contains mentions of unsavory things. particularly: canon-typical incest, mention of necrophilia, and implied chronic illness (specifically advanced syphilis)

enjoy, dear reader. and do not hesitate to send criticism- i am unashamed of human error. it's what separates us from animals. ave res republica.

Geta didn’t mind Caracalla’s novel interest in sharing a bed. It was nice to have a warm body with him. (Of course, he’d let concubines into his bed, but it wasn’t the same. They were only warm in touch, not in sentiment.) He would go so far, in the safety of his own mind, to say he liked sleeping with Caracalla. However, he did not like sleeping with the monkey. 

Dondas was curled up in the crook of Caracalla’s neck and Geta was locked in a staring match with the creature. He wondered what Dondas was thinking of. Geta was thinking of how easy it would be to accidentally roll over and crush her tiny body. He grimaced- he could think of little less appealing than primate innards in his quarters. Well, he appended to the thought, I would readily accept Acacius’ disemboweled corpse dumped in my bed, if only to deflower his traitorous body. 

Frankly, he worried just as much about injuring his fragile brother with his weight as he did Dondas. Caracalla was delicate, and only more so as he became sicker. Geta was cautious when Caracalla insisted nightly on Geta lying over him like a heavy blanket in bed. Caracalla’s bones had too much give for Geta to feel comfortable putting his weight over him, no matter how much he insisted the warm pressure helped calm his mind and body. 

Geta still couldn’t shake the image of their soirée last market day. Caracalla’s favorite party trick was to hook a finger under his lowest rib and wiggle it like a loose tooth. It was never amusing to anyone but himself, but even less as of late. Whenever he pulled his robes aside, it revealed the necrotic blemishes on his torso, and it was all others could do to smile politely as his stubby fingers disappeared behind his ribcage. 

Geta was brought out of the memory when he heard Caracalla quietly snore. Geta slowly raised himself up from Caracalla, hovering above him on all fours like a hungry predator. Caracalla stirred slightly. Geta held his breath for a moment, but slowly released it in relief as Caracalla curled into himself. Geta carefully eased himself into the bed, lying adjacent to Caracalla.

Now that Geta had moved off Caracalla, Dondas moved to lap at a sore on Caracalla’s newly exposed chest. She suckled the leaking serous fluid, blood, and pus from the granuloma like milk from a teat. Caracalla mumbled something in a dream and brought his hand to cradle Dondas. He would let Dondas suckle his milk if he could, Geta thought idly as he watched his twin and his pet. 

[vaspider]

On the recurring Tumblr topic of 'wait that's you' I have only just realised you're Sir Davos Seawoof's human. Until yesterday I thought he was just one of those wonderful Tumblr-famous pets that cross my dash on the regular. What a wonderful combination.

This is the first time I have ever been identified as Davos' Human, and I am frankly delighted by the fact that this has happened.

Please enjoy this picture of the first morning after we adopted Ser Davos Seawoof; he was snoring into my neck.

[grace-williams-xo]

Why not

Assigning Bridgerton’s to a level on the Vegemite scale

[For the purposes of this exercise; they are for all intents and purposes Australian, and mentions of marmite will get you blocked. I’m KIDDING. Am I though… marmite sucks]. Also, they all use butter you fucking heathens.

Violet: 2; she just wants a little extra flavour, but she isn’t a complete weakling. Won’t eat it in any context except on toast.

Anthony: 6; he just wants to feel something. Complains cheesymite scrolls don’t have enough Vegemite.

Kate: 3; but rarely eats it with without cheese.

Benedict: 3–4; but with cheesybite. Ya know, that fever dream where they briefly called it iSnack 2.0? Frankly, ahead of its time with that name. Benedict is its number one fan.

Sophie: 0; she doesn’t eat Vegemite. [This was a real deliberation bc Yerin Ha is the only actual Australian but also most of the people I know who don’t eat Vegemite are Asian (not Wasain)]. She thinks Vegemite is the absence of culture, but straight up calls Benedict’s cheesybite an affront to humanity—and she’s doing her part to stop him because she’s certain he’s the only one left buying it atp.

Colin: 4–5; but more than that, he’s the guy putting Vegemite on everything. Steak. With avocado. There’s a recipe on the Baker’s Delight website using broken cheesymite scrolls to crumb chicken, he’s making that too. If Vegemite isn’t one of the first few foods his kids try, he considers himself to have failed as a parent. The Cadbury Vegemite block was Colin’s idea.

Penelope: previously 2, now 3–4; Colin has increased her tolerance but if he tries to sneak it into one more dinner meal she’s filing for divorce.

Daphne: 6; life is a competition and she’ll be damned if she can’t beat Anthony.

Simon: 3/6; if he’s making it for himself or the kids it’s about a 3 (though Daphne always tells him he’s doing it wrong and promptly takes over) (“they’re toddlers Daphne, you shouldn’t give them that much salt” “generations are built on the back of this stuff, Anthony and I have this much and we turned out fine” “did you” “did we what” “nothing dear”) but for himself Simon usually gets all of his Vegemite fix from just taking a bite of a corner of Daphne’s level 6

Eloise: 2–3; but with promite. She insists she likes it but no one really knows if she actually likes it, or is doing it to spite her family who all can’t stand it or the smell.

Francesca: 1; but she doesn’t have a lot because she’s always having it on a dark extra grainy bread that she claims doesn’t need much more flavour.

Gregory: 4; he has a Vegemite and cheese toastie every single day. Also, he was the one who submitted the name iSnack 2.0.

Hyacinth: 7; there is no toast, only Vegemite. There is no Hyacinth, only Vegemite. Violet is very concerned for her health. Anthony is too, but Violet says it’s his fault and influence.

[intergalacticgoose]

And look, I know I’ve been complaining a bit about my experiences being on the spectrum, but here’s the thing: I don’t mind being autistic. I *like* it. Love it, even.

I like how good my memory is. I like my hyperfixations. I like how I’m an expert on so many things, but especially a handful of specific things. I like how ravenous I am for my passions. I like my dense, weird little inner world. I like how easy it is for me to see through invented social dynamics that enable the mistreatment of others, so I can call them out.

I like how I cry when I see videos of baby elephants playing in a river. I like how I want a good and beautiful life for everyone. (And they say we don’t have empathy)

Yes, my hypersensitivity to texture makes things hard sometimes, but at the same time when I feel my favorite blanket, or taste my favorite type of chocolate, or listen to my favorite songs, the pleasure I derive from them seems to fill my every cell. Yes, my communication needs don’t seem to match up with others’ very well, but it’s made me a better communicator.

I do like being autistic. And, at the end of the day, I don’t know any other way to be. Perhaps I would still be me, but I don’t know if that Me would live as deeply as someone who chases sensory stimuli for the sheer delight of it, or never wants to stop learning.

I think we’re meant to be here. I think autistic people are natural human variance. It just sucks that the society many of us live in, capitalist and savage, is one that rewards a neurotype that is, quite frankly unattainable for most, but is especially unattainable for us on the spectrum.

I just imagine what sort of world we’d have if autistic people were given the spaces and dignity and freedom we deserve.