#bishop's hat meaning

[starker-sorbet]

⚘ Bishop's hat ⚘ - symbolizes fertility and strength

Witches Peter and Tony performing a fertility ritual together in the hopes that they will conceive during their next shared heat.

[syrupsyche]

Les Mis characters as pasta types/shapes

Disclaimer: Not Italian, not a chef, just a girl who's procrastinating way too hard on her assignments right now.

One can also blame @combeferres-mothematics for starting this train of thought...

Myriel: Cappelletti, really only bc they look like little bishop hats to me.

Valjean: Spaghetti. A classic, everyman pasta to suit his average, everyman name/persona.

Fantine: Mafaldine, also known as Riccia. Looks like an unfurled ribbon, named after Princess Mafalda. Reminds me of Fantine's curly golden hair (Riccia, too, means curly!)

Cosette: Orecchiette. The "little ears" pasta, to match her nickname "little thing".

Javert: Penne lisce. Commonly disliked because its been too smoothed out and can't hold onto sauces as such. Would be much better if it still retained its rough edges like the penne rigate. (Penne is one of my favourite pastas so don't kill me Javert lovers)

Marius: Elbow Macaroni. A little goofy, but like Valjean, its very much a classic, everyman pasta. Suits his self/reader-insert persona.

Enjolras: Angel hair. Sorry this was too easy to not grab at it.

Grantaire: Lasagna, solely because he's very Garfield-core to me

Bonus:

All of Les Amis de l'ABC: Alphabet Spaghetti. They're friends of the ABC after all!

Tholomyès: Dick pasta. Quite literally self-explanatory. Idea courtesy of @calico-cows .

Part 2 coming soon.....?

[forsaken-headcanons]

I had a simple idea: what if the survivors and killers swapped roles? And that idea proceeded to snowball into a full-blown yap sesh. I’m so silly when it comes to Forsaken, y’all 😋

(This is a VERY long post, so it’s been split up into two sections. Hope you don’t mind, mod!)

“KILLERS”

Noob - Picture a lone noob, lost in the spectre’s domain. No food. No shelter. Nothing. They finally come across another survivor…or should I say sustenance. That’s right. I took Noob’s whole ‘eating snacks’ thing and turned them into a cannibal. How fun! ☺️ Kind-of takes the role of Jason with a hint of Guest 666? That comment will probably change when 666 comes out, but for now, their kit revolves around tracking down survivors one by one. They can turn mostly invisible for a short period, too.

Chance - Two Face with a touch of Jigsaw. Gambling has completely overtaken his life, with his favourite being betting on lives. Never his, of course. And gods forbid he loses… Doesn’t really take the role of anyone. They specialize in ranged attacks, but he has a melee attack, too. He still has the coin flip, but it’s used to give him a random effect (can be anything from speed I to blindness III) and the only way to get rid of said-abilities is Hat Fix. But use it wisely, as that gets rid of the good abilities, too. The only way to earn bullets is by hitting survivors. He can store a max of 3, just like before. No misfiring (🎉), but the gun attack is probably hella telegraphed.

Guest 1337 - Gotta love a corrupt police officer! Well, soldier. But still- I regretfully can’t say who this guy’s main inspiration was, but I can imagine him working closely with Builderman to enact their shared (and crooked) sense of justice. His gameplay loop revolves around running down + stunning survivors. He doesn’t need to block to do a punch anymore. Instead, his block will actually give brief slowness + a highlighted aura to anyone foolish enough to hit him while it’s active. His punch (still) has a delay, but considering how it stuns survivors, I’d say it’s worth it.

Two Time - So obsessed with death/rebirth, they drove themselves mad and proceeded to go on a killing spree to ‘share this truth amongst the nonbelievers’. Mildly inspired by the Cult of the Lamb bishops, and takes the role of Jason (aka the free killer). Bro just runs around with a dagger lol. Though they have a considerably low health pool for a killer, TT makes up for it by gaining access to their second life form upon dying. They move much faster while in this state, so it’s actually advised to NOT stun them all willy-nilly, lest you unintentionally buff the killer.

Elliot - Hell hath no fury like an overworked minimum wage employee. Elliot had enough, and now EVERYONE’S gonna pay for it. Especially vengeful towards c00lkidd, and would play a special theme upon him being the last survivor. Sort of takes the role of John Doe? I mean- he revolves around dropping poisoned pizzas/other pizza-themed traps to slow down and weaken survivors.

Builderman - Oh, shoot! He has his banhammer! Oh no! He’s using it on everyone! Builderman believes that his ticket out of here involves purging the spectre’s domain of evil…but has since developed the morality of a corrupt judge. How lovely! As previously mentioned, he works closely with Guest 1337 to achieve his goals. A mix between John Doe and c00lkidd. He still builds machines, but they act like motion sensors for the most part.

Shedletsky - A self-proclaimed master swordsman, with an ego to match. Shed let the power of being an admin get to his head. He’s the most important person in the room, and will strike down anyone who says otherwise. Takes the role of 1x1x1x1. He’d use different SFOTH swords to do different attacks (Venomshank for basic swinging, Icedagger for Entanglement, Darkheart for Mass Infection,  Illumina for Unstable Eye, and Ghostwalker for Rejuvenate the Rotten). Oh, and someone snatched his chicken. I wonder who? 🤔 

007n7 - Slightly inspired by Bacon General from The Last Guest, this version of 07 wasn’t quite ready to retire, even when a baby was left on his doorstep. If anything, a child meant that he could pass down his skills to someone else. And thus he continued to reign chaos all around him, all the while pressuring his son to do the same. As a killer, he still uses scripts and exploits to give him an unfair advantage. Takes the role of c00lkidd, and uses the same moves as OG kidd for the most part. Instead of summoning clones, he instead teleports to the closest survivor (which briefly stuns him upon arriving, just to nerf it a little).

— Respawn Anon

I think you absolutely cooked on all of these. Specifically Guest 1337, Shedletsky and Builderman. These are so creative.

[rainbowolfe]

Why Aym and Baal?

They were, according to Shamura, supposed to be Narinder's replacement family/companions. Narinder never really got that memo, but like, what did Shamura expect? Relationships don't work that way. You can't just throw two strangers at someone and have them fill the void of a millennia-long relationship.

But the question of the hour is, why Aym and Baal? I don't think it's because they're cats.

It's implied Narinder had his own family (made up of cats or whatever he is) and chose the Bishops, a goofy assortment of non-mammals over those blood relations. So he's not exactly inclined towards members of his own species. So that doesn't feel like the reason why Shamura chose them. And it doesn't feel like the reason Narinder kept them.

I noticed that this photo from Jalala's journal had to have been of pre-servitude Aym and Baal, cause they're much younger. Baal's hair is shorter, they're both just wearing basic tunics instead of their signature robes, and Forneus isn't wearing her hat. So Aym's always looked a bit scuffed, and it wasn't the result of his time spent with TOWW in the Realm Beyond.

Which means Shamura saw him and went "wow that's literally Kallamar". Scar over one eye? Check. Messed up ears? Check. It would also loosely confirm that the boys were sent after they sealed Narinder, since Kallamar's ears wouldn't be scuffed before then.

It would be really funny if what Aym's looking at is Shamura, and this picture was taken 5 seconds before disaster.

Now, my first instinct was that Baal would be Narinder, and what Shamura hoped to recreate was Narinder's relationship with them and Kallamar. But that doesn't quite make sense. The new "family unit" already has a Narinder, so why would Shamura give him another?

Baal can't be filling Shamura's role for two reasons. One, as the head of the family, Shamura would be more likely to be Forneus (the role they are now placing Narinder in). If not Forneus, then the unseen father presumably taking this picture. Two, Shamura does not believe that Narinder loves them. That's. Kind of why they're doing all of this. So they wouldn't give him a replacement-Shamura either, unless they were feeling really really egotistical.

Which leaves us with two options.

And the correct one is Leshy. Leshy, whose core item is the red camellia. And whose symbol becomes a black heart when he's cleansed.

While we don't get to hear much from Baal, Heket's core traits are that she's a shit-talker and likes to eat. Leshy's core traits are that he's chaotic, but has an appreciation for/focus on the world around him. Smells, sights (when he could see), and sounds.

Baal is actually the politer of the two and, based on his recruitment dialogue ("So much color... so many creatures") he too is the worldly type. Also, Baal thanks Lamb for helping them. Leshy and Narinder are the only Bishops who thank Lamb in the end.

And, you know, if you take the order Shamura lists the family in into account, Leshy and Kallamar are the first and second sons respectively.

...

Of course, this can be taken one step further in another direction :3c I can't just leave Heket out of this.

Although Shamura only gave him Aym and Baal, theoretically what they saw was a four-person family unit that reflected their own... before Narinder entered the picture. I mentioned before that if Shamura isn't a reflection of Forneus, then they're a reflection of the unnamed father. (Who I suspect to be Paean)

Which means they saw Heket in Forneus.

Do you see the vision??

Cause this is a found family, age order doesn't necessarily matter to the familial hierarchy. Even if Shamura wasn't the eldest, they would still be the head (whether matriarch or patriarch) because their role is as the leader of the other three. Heket would be below Shamura, but above Kallamar and Leshy, because she serves as caretaker. She's even the one who takes charge upon Lamb's return, as the matriarch would do if something were to happen to the patriarch.

((Traditionally, while the father is seen as the protector and provider, his purpose is specifically to rule/lead the family. It is the mother whose sole purpose is to protect. Primarily the children, as their (often only) caretaker. But in traditional circles, it's commonly felt that the mother should sacrifice everything for the father as well.))

It would be particularly fitting because a lot of Heket's side of things revolves around sacrifice. How she's burdened by it, and seemingly how much she tried to do to find a better/different outcome. She's characterized as particularly family-inclined.

...

This would suggest that who Narinder valued the most in the family were Leshy and Kallamar. At least, it would suggest that's how Shamura saw it. But I'm liking this line of thought, so let's say their read is accurate.

Shamura saw that Narinder. Could also be Forneus. And Shamura loved Narinder the most, so...

Narinder and Heket's disdain for each other stems from them competing for the same role in their family: The matriarch. Shamura's second in command, and the boys' caretaker.

Not in a "raise them" type of way, at least not in Kallamar's case. But to guide and influence them. To be the one they trust and rely on. Heket has been that. And, intentionally or not, Narinder intrudes on that.

Narinder's the 'other woman' lmao

As a bonus:

Baal is aligned with his father (you get Tears of the Vengeful Father in exchange for him). Aym is aligned with his mother (ditto for Tears of the Merciful Mother).

If Aym = Kallamar; Baal = Leshy; Forneus = Heket; and The Father = Shamura

Then that dynamic is actually reflected in this Tarot Card. It pairs Kallamar with Heket, and Leshy with Shamura. :3

[chinolondoner]

Author looking for readers

I'm not sure of the best way of getting people interested in the work of an unknown writer...

Plopped down in the middle of a tropical, Latin American setting, Lullaby for Bishop is set to be a hard-boiled detective series with four main characters: a veteran private investigator in the twilight of his career; a muscle-bound professional wrestler fulfilling one of his pivotal, childhood ambitions of solving strange and wild mysterious; as well as a pair of rumbunctious, teenage, high school girls constantly causing a scene and tagging along for the thrills.

You can preview the first half of chapter one further down below and catch up on the remainder, along with the totality of chapters two and three, all completely for free if you visit my Patreon. It's going to be a little while before this first book in the series is actually finished and officially published, but I feel the smarter move would be to try and elevate as much of a buzz for the featured world and characters before then as possible. I also plan to put out additional pre-release chapters in the near future (likely three at a time). If I have somehow managed not to bore you and you're still eagerly reading, then I do hope you enjoy the launching meta in this tender work in progress and stick around for future updates. Thank you for your interest!

---

Chapter One

Nervously, Donny Boy had begun rubbing his fingers on the back of his neck, seated patiently a narrow foot away from the front of the desk while waiting for our bastard detective to stumble back into his office, suddenly realizing that the price tag had not yet been plucked away or removed from the fanciful hat he was wearing and was still dangling off the rounded edge of the brim.

Looking around the room for a trash bin he could use, Donny Boy's eyes gradually panned across the office, taking note of a few of the usual mosquitoes left splattered on the frosted, scarlet-lettered glass on the door. Dizzying groves of zigzagged patterns tying in the décor on the wallpaper, he spotted an old, unused desk tucked-away in the far, opposite corner of the room, heavy with dust and weighed down by sprawling stacks of postcards and unrecycled newspapers.

His wandering eyes glancing up the rearing rays of shattered sunlight filling in through the narrow, broken blinds on the window, Donny Boy had noticed the row of fancy kettlebells neatly arranged across a flat and sturdy, iron bench scooted against the wall, a dirty, rolled-up yoga mat, along with this stationary, exercise bike for the purposes of one's daily, cardio workout.

Looking up at the rougher dust build up over the years along the edges of the blades on the ceiling fan, Donny Boy was suddenly lured back from his current distractions after Detective Howl Bishop slid back into his office, tossing a used washrag onto his desk after wiping his face and smelling of minty, nicotine gum and aftershave.

“So, what do I call you, kid?” Howl had asked while taking a seat in his chair behind his desk.

“Don should be perfect. Growing up, my next-door neighbor used to call me Donny Boy.”

“Donny Boy, huh?” Howl fought against his urges to fidget with a stack of papers in his drawer. “Sounds good to me, kid. So… are you some sort of circus performer or something?”

“I'm not sure I know what you mean…”

“Your arms… They're freaking huge!”

“Oh… Yeah… I do struggle at times finding clothes that can fit me properly. Also, I wasn't really sure whether or not I should've worn a suit jacket.”

“Yes…” Howl would peek over the top of his desk and study Donny Boy up and down, a salient tone of fascination in his voice. “You really are quite the physical specimen, aren't you?”

“I suppose I do enjoy a good workout,” Donny Boy replied, a little bit bashful.

“You do have a basic understanding of the type of job you're here applying for today, don't you?” Howl asked.

“I believe so… The ads in the newspaper said Experienced private investigator in search of young and capable partner…”

“That's right. And being a private eye, it's important to have a plethora of tools at your modest disposal. One of those tools being the ability to effortlessly mesh into your surroundings. It's important not to stand out too much when in a public crowd or when casually photographing somebody's license plate from across the road. At the moment, I'm having some doubts on that possibly being a strong suit of yours given your current… how should I say… physique.”

“Oh… Well, to be completely honest with you, Mr. Bishop, I haven't even paused to consider that as a possibility.”

“Yeah, well, thinking a few steps ahead is also an invaluable tool to have.”

With more than a quarter of a century of busy detective work under his belt, his hair having grown white as Winter's ashes and the once buoyant Spring in his footsteps having lost some of its feather throughout the years, Howl Bishop was originally from the lands of sunny, Southern California, born on a weekday in a rushed and overcrowded hospital in the blighted city of Los Angeles.

Brought up in a bohemian household, Howl's anxious mother was a failed, Hollywood actress turned “new-age” healer and father was a meddling screenwriter that had spent more of his time obsessing over the quality of the ink in his typewriter than ever inundating his children with any orderly grants of wisdom.

Standing at six-foot even in height, a strong, conquering jaw and with an even tan across his arms and facial features, Howl was one of the many foreign expats sailing over from the States in purge of more permanent roots in Pan de Leones. Old, brown, leather belt holding up his wide, beige-colored slacks, Howl always wore floral, Hawaiian shirts when in settled eye of the public, mixtures of white and pink and with a couple of loose buttons up toward the collar.

With his sharp, Anglo features and light attire, it was entirely common to mistake Howl Bishop for a possible tourist visiting Latin America for the first time, sightseeing across the country and falling for obvious scams at the nearby market. That is, of course, until one caught an initial glimpse of Howl's encyclopedic knowledge of the city's urban layout and sprawling geography, along with his ease of verbal fluency when communicating in Spanish, often conversating with local barkeeps and store merchants on objects ranging from the wise and esoteric to the lurched, mind-numbing, and trivial.

“I would like to procure a general gauge on how comfortable you might be interacting with the more unsavory avenues of human society,” Howl would lean back into his seat and ask, clamping his hands together and placing his palms over his stomach.

“Could you be more specific?”

“In such line of work, one all too often will find themselves having to calmly intermingle with unrested eyes of broken glass and scoundrels. Do you possess any real-world experience dealing with scum and the morally compromised?”

“Uhm…” Donny Boy appeared curtailed by Howl's question, unsure of how to respond. “I once dated a girl that refused to pay off her parking tickets,” he said.

Without managing to reply, Howl simply stared in confusion from his seat across the desk, reevaluating his initial impressions on the kid. Then, squinting his eyelids a little, he felt inclined to change the current subject and asked, “I don't mean to suddenly swerve off topic, but… have we met before?”

“What?”

“Well, I'm looking at your face, right now, and… I can't help but get the feeling that this isn't the first time that we've been in the same room. Do we know each other?”

“I do not believe we have ever met, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy was quick to point out in response, laughing out loud a little to himself while nervously shuffling around in his seat. “I've always done alright remembering faces and my mother had always told me it was rude to forget someone's name.”

“Hmm… I guess in my advanced age, my average perception of things has grown a bit muddy. I suppose I simply must be confusing you for somebody else.”

Wide, rugged shoulders, preposterous arms, and with a large, outward, and muscular chest, Donny Boy was young and handsome and had shaded, bronze-colored skin. His lightly brushed hair was a wild, sunflower-blonde of which he maintained in perfect tinge and kept the darker shadows of his roots regularly dyed. Along with the fancy, finely tailored fedora resting on his head, the crumpled price tag of which he had just recently stuffed into his pocket, Donny Boy wore a normal pair of rectangular, blue-framed eyeglasses, granting him a bit of a barbarous librarian kind of a look.

Dark eyebrows and with the small patch of facial hair on his chin routinely trimmed, Donny Boy had entered the office wearing a short-sleeved, white, button-up shirt, the generous, overfed muscles of his upper body appearing to want to tear through the clothing and with a clean pair of ruby-red suspenders attached to the waistline of his denim-blue slacks, tugged and strapped-up over his mountainous shoulders. He also had on a dorky, red bowtie for the occasion.

“How old are you, Donny Boy?”

“I'm twenty-eight years old, Mr. Bishop.”

“And what's your sleep schedule like?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your sleep schedule. Have you developed the habit of going to bed around the same time, every night?”

“I believe so. I've never been one to indulge in any late-night festivities. Why do you ask?”

“Well, when living the demented life of a private eye, it's not uncommon to have to commit to some later hours on the unplanned occasion: car stakeouts after midnight; navigating the craze of urban nightlife on foot; purchasing some nefarious lawyer a hundred shots of overpriced vodka at the stripclub just for a few layers of common information. Do you drink coffee?”

“I've never been much of a coffee drinker, no.”

“Well, you definitely should be. Sugar highs and caffeine are going to be your most reliable friends on those late nights when you most need them. Either that or… well… you know…” Bringing his hand up to his face, Howl used his finger to tap the side of his nose.

“Oh, no way, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy immediately replied. “I wouldn't even think of touching that stuff. I've always had a firm stance against any illegal drug use.”

“That's good,” Howl said. “I've noted my fair share of innocent souls throughout my time wasting away from drug addiction. A found sense of longed-for excitement is what initially lures them in. And then, after enough restless days turn to night, enough sleepless nights turn to chaos, suddenly they look up and… the neon lights on the street don't seem as vibrant as they once used to…”

Donny Boy would look at Howl with a sort of strange sense of wonderment, our detective's eyes having slowly migrated across the room toward the window, perceiving what, to him, had appeared to be an expression of profound fatigue captured on his face.

The sound of the vehicle screeching to a halt could suddenly be heard outside on the street, trashcans tumbling over and followed by the angry voice of a young woman shouting profanities.

“Oh no…” Donny Boy muttered underneath his breath, his eyes suddenly wandering over toward the window.

“What about your relationships?” Howl asked. “Do you have a wife or girlfriend? One of the more unfortunate aspects of being a private investigator is the difficulty you might experience maintaining a healthy inner circle. This is often a critical detail that turns the most people away.”

Donny Boy was completely distracted and had failed to pick up a single word, a growing look of nervousness on his face.

“Donny Boy, are you listening?”

The frantic sound of sudden footsteps quickly marching up a flight of stairs could be heard just outside the door to the office, followed by the reactions from Howl's trusted secretary demanding an unknown grouping's identification and honest proof of appointment.

“Move aside, lady! You don't want to have to get injured!” a young woman's voice hollered in response.

“How have they managed to find me?” Donny Boy wondered out loud to himself.

“We have you outnumbered and we're very upset!”

“What the hell is going on out there?” Howl began to react.

Suddenly, managing not to completely fly off its hinges, the door to the office was viciously kicked open, creating a sudden gust of wind that would travel across the room, knocking over a slanted stack of printed papers off the corner edge of the desk.

Standing in the open doorway, visible tension throughout her arms as her hands were forged into concrete fists, a young, teenage girl had a rancid look of anger on her face. A dark, navy-blue blazer over a knitted, bright, yellow skirt, the young woman was dressed in a traditional, school-girl's uniform and had her hair cut down short, visible scrapes and bruises on her knees giving out impressions that the girl was perhaps a bit of a rowdy tomboy.

“Nayaiko! I found him! He's in here!” the young girl shouted back over her shoulder.

She would then come into the office, and shortly afterward, her thin silhouette appearing in the doorway, an additional and secondary, young woman showed her face and seemed equally upset at the current moment. Dressed in an identical uniform as the first, this second girl had her hair much greater in length and stood with long and beautifully braided pigtails poking out the sides of her head.

The second girl entered the office and shut the door.

Standing over Donny Boy who seemed to be trembling in his seat a little, the first girl snarled out of her nostrils and said, “This is the second time this week you tried to ditch us…”

“This honestly isn't the best time, girls,” Donny Boy said, his voice a bit shaky.

“You know, we were standing outside the changing booth for thirty-five minutes before we realized you weren't there,” the second girl would report. “You told us you were trying on some hats!”

“I did! Look!” Donny Boy then lifted the hat up off his head to showcase. “I ended up purchasing this really awesome fedora for myself. It's really cool, isn't it?”

Neither girl seemed to want to take the time to respond. They simply crossed their arms in defiance and stood with a pair of inconsolable scowls on their faces.

Continue...

[yelenaslyubov]

A New Frontier: Part 3

𓃗𐚁🏜𖤓⋆｡° ✮ // a new frontier // part 1 // part 2 // part 3

main masterlist || yelena belova || requests

a/n: this is for the one anon that wanted more of a new frontier, this one is for you🙈

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ pairing: yelena belova x reader

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ warnings: language, combat, blood

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ description: after your mishap with your horse, several members of the team accompany you on a trip into town to find some appropriate clothes to wear for the entirety of the mission. though the day passed normally, the night brings the beginnings of your biggest fight yet.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ word count: 2.9k

Somehow you got conned into going shopping with Yelena, Kate, Kamala, and Peter. Peter was an afterthought and he practically invited himself, but you couldn’t care less. It made the entire situation less awkward.

“So, exactly how far is this place we’re going?” Peter asked.

“Well, if you break it down, it’s a couple cities over. So…it takes as long as we need,” Kate replied.

“What does that even mean, Kate Bishop?” Yelena asked.

“I don’t know, I’m just watching the GPS!”

“I’m hungry,” Kamala complained.

“You guys didn’t need to come,” you told them.

“Are you kidding me? Of course we needed to come. Besides, you can’t go the entire trip stealing my wardrobe,” Kate said

You looked down at the jeans and purple flannel that Kate had given to you and you winced. Definitely not your color. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” you said sarcastically.

“Why didn’t you bring your own clothes, anyway?” Peter asked.

You tried to avoid the unprofessional answer. Yelena looked over at you, obviously wondering what kind of answer you would create. “Uhm, I just wasn’t sure what to bring, honestly.”

“It seemed pretty simple to me?”

You sighed. “I don’t know, I guess just because I’ve never really been around horses.”

“It’s not like Mr. Stark exactly gave us a list or anything,” Yelena tutted.

“Jeez, who pissed in your cereal this morning?” Kate asked.

“No one.” Yelena sulked as she looked out the window and waited for the minutes to pass.

You did not love the energy that was happening in the car, mainly because of the unnecessary tension that you felt. You weren’t sure what caused Yelena’s small outburst over your lack of wardrobe, but perhaps she was trying to cover for you.

It felt like a century later as you saw the sightings of a faint town in the distance. You rolled in kicking up dirt trails behind the tires of the truck. The faces of passerby’s were plastered with frowns and suspicion. You shook off the cold glances and turned your attention to the street, or what you thought was a street.

There was no pavement that could be seen, only the endless fog of dirt that was floating from the other cars going through town. The small town you could see only consisted of a few store fronts on each side of the road, a gas station, and several houses that were spread out behind each of the buildings.

“Anybody else ready to leave already?” Kamala asked nervously.

“Me,” everyone replied.

“Let’s make this fast; in and out preferably,” Kate said.

The truck pulled to the closest spot near a store that simply said “GEAR” in faded letters. Each of you got out of the truck and observed your surroundings before charging in. It was clear that everyone was staring in your direction.

“Why are they staring at us like that?” Peter asked.

It was clear that you all stood out like a sore thumb. Each person you saw couldn’t be a day below 70, which was answer enough.

“Maybe we just need to act like we fit in?” Kamala changed her posture and began to walk with a sway in her hips. She tipped her hat to an older man walking by, earning a disgusted look.

“Your theory is foolproof,” you said.

“I don’t like this, we should hurry,” Yelena added. Even though the negative energy clouded the air, you didn’t seem to mind until the unshakable Yelena mentioned that she was nervous.

You all followed her lead and walked inside the store. You were met with a stale smoke that hung heavy, causing everyone turn their noses up.

“What is that?” Kamala said while holding her nose.

“Old,” said Kate, “very old.”

“What can I do you for?” a man from behind the counter said. By the look of him, along with the store, the smell started to make sense.

“Uhm, clothes?” Peter said unconfidently.

“Well, you bunch came to the right place!” He ended his sentence with a toothless grin.

“Ah!” Kamala accidentally blurted and you elbowed her in the side.

“Men on the left, women on the right.” He waved his finger around to each side of the room to signal the different sections. Once he was done holding your attention, he looked down at his newspaper and continued reading.

You were picky about how your clothes fit, so you interchanged between the men’s and women’s sections. To start off, you searched through the hats of all shapes and kinds.

“What about this hat?” Kate asked while placing it on your head.

The hat was tan, with a long brim in the front and the back. It was far from your style.

“I’m going to respectfully pass on this one,” you told Kate.

“Fine, be that way,” she mocked.

You laughed and continued looking through the other merchandise. There were little to no options for jeans, but you managed to find a couple pairs to last you the trip.

In addition, you found a selection of shirts, flannels, and utility jackets. You wanted to be prepared for anything that you may have to face, especially now that you knew what to expect.

You felt another hat being placed on your head and you turned around to face Yelena. “What about this one?”

The way her eyes looked up at you suddenly had you at a loss for words. You played it off the best you could by hiding your face, turning to the closest mirror to look at the hat.

“I have to say, you have good taste Belova.” The hat she picked out was a coffee color with a shorter and flat brim all around. It was the perfect amount of country and casual.

“It suits you,” she commented.

This time, you took your chance and smiled back at her in the mirror. The moment didn’t last long once the store bell rang and a few men walked in.

Yelena was immediately on alert, even if the guests weren’t necessarily threats. Everyone had to be evaluated and assumed as such.

The men were serious looking and did not look like they belonged around here. They walked around as if everything was unfamiliar to them, making them an even stronger suspect.

Yelena left your side and got everyone else’s attention. Now that everyone was aware of the strangers, Yelena went outside to wait on them. Though she liked to mess around, Yelena knew when to snap into Avengers mode in order to fulfill her duties.

You walked over to Peter, Kate, and Kamala. “What was that all about?”

“Yelena said she was going to stake out outside until they’re gone. She wanted to scope out their vehicle and if there was anyone else with them,” Kate said.

“How does she even know they’re bad guys?” Kamala asked.

“She doesn’t, but she has a feeling. I trust her,” you told her. For the short time that you had known Yelena, there were few instances where her gut was wrong.

For the rest of your time spent inside the store, you and the other three killed time while the strange men finished up their business. After several minutes, they left with tactical gear, which did not help their case in being any less suspicious.

You took it upon yourself to bring your haul up to the counter to pay. You ended the trip with a couple pairs of boots and jeans, several shirts, jackets, and one hat, specifically the hat that Yelena picked out.

“Here use this.” Peter handed you a card he picked from the depths of his pocket. “It’s from Mr Stark.”

“Sweet!” Kamala squealed.

You took it without question because you knew you couldn’t pay for it yourself. The others laid their picks on the counter as well to pay for it as a whole. You bid the owner a goodbye and thank you as you all took your things and left.

As you exited the building, you found Yelena outside on the porch in an old rocking chair. “What took you so long?” she complained.

“You told us you were watching the guys leave so we stayed inside. Was that wrong?” Kate matched her energy.

“I don’t suppose so,” Yelena said with a groan as she pushed herself out of the chair.

“Well, what did you see?” you asked, since it clearly didn’t seem like she was going to continue the conversation.

“Oh yes, they’re definitely bad,” she chuckled. “They left in a hurry, dust everywhere behind them. They were driving a large black military vehicle of sorts.”

“We should tell Mr Stark,” Peter said, worryingly.

“We don’t know anything for sure, so we will be cautious until the time comes,” Yelena rebuked. “Now, we should go. I’m tired of these people looking at me like I have one too many eyes.”

You looked around at several people slowing their walk to observe the young group of you. “I hate it here,” Kamala said.

“Come on, let’s go,” you said, while placing your hand on her arm and leading her to the truck.

Each of you piled in once again, but you took the liberty of stealing the passenger's seat. To your surprise, Yelena climbed into the driver’s seat. You didn’t expect to be in this position once again, but you weren’t complaining.

The drive back to base went much faster than going, especially since there were less nagging voices whining in your ears. Peter and Kamala were just sleeping against one another and Kate was staring out the window, the same as you.

“So, which hat did you go with? The right one I hope,” Yelena said.

“You would be correct. I went with yours.”

“See, nobody listens to me. I have good style!”

You smiled shyly. “You definitely do, there’s no doubt about that.”

You couldn’t help but take a glance at her chosen outfit today. She had a simple button up that was disguised by a beige work coat and another black trench type coat on top. In addition, she had a red bandana wrapped around her neck that matched the red feather poking out on her hat.

It was clear that you weren’t being very discreet about your admiration because Yelena was staring right back at you. This didn’t last long before she swerved back onto the road since she found herself drifting off of it.

You hid your laugh by looking outside your window. You caught a glance of Kate in the side mirror of her smirking face. It was the equivalent of getting caught by your parents in the act. Your face blushed hot in embarrassment and you hoped Kate would forget the act all together. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

When you arrive back to base, you and the rest of the group grab your things and haul them inside. Steve and Bucky looked as if they were just rolling back in on their horses, but no one else was outside.

“Successful trip?” Steve yelled.

“We got what we came for, let’s say that,” Kate responded, quickly running over to you. “What happened back there with you and Yelena?”

You shushed her and looked around for Yelena, but somehow she had already run inside. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t bring that up,” you groaned.

“Wouldn’t bring what up?” Kamala asked, now joining the group. You sighed again.

“Y/n and Yelena had a weird moment on the drive home and it made Yelena swerve off the road,” Kate explained. It was like torture listening to the story once again as if you didn’t already live it.

“Nothing happened! She just couldn’t see or something and accidentally drove off the road.” You tried to justify the coincidence of you and Yelena exchanging glances the same time Yelena decided to use the dirt as a road.

“Right,” Kate smiled, “nothing happened.”

Once the three of you walked inside, all conversation on the topic ceased thankfully. You were greeted by soft music playing from the turntable and the smell of food. Clint and Wanda were in the kitchen cooking up something delicious, while Nat and Sam were concentrating on playing a card game in the living room.

“Wow, what did you guys do-”

“Shhh!” Nat quieted Kamala. “We’ve been going at this for hours and I am not losing to him.”

“Him has a name you know,” Same said, offended.

“It’s probably best if we leave,” you whispered.

You guys walked down the hallway to your room and made yourself at home. You took it upon yourself to fold your new clothes into your trunk to have them neatly packed away.

The rest of the night consisted of a comforting meal and many conversations. You weren’t sure what the next day held, but everyone conveniently called it a night very early which didn’t displease you, as you fell asleep faster than you anticipated.

.

.

.

You weren’t sure what time it was, but you awoke quite suddenly to crashing coming from outside of your room. When you sat up, Kate was half way out the door and Kamala was starting to sit up to rub the sleep out of her eyes.

When Kate opened the door a man flew through it a few seconds later, slamming into the wall behind Kate and causing the three of you to scream.

“What the hell is going on!” Kate yelled.

“You’re a little late to the party!” Nat said, while choke-slamming someone into the ground.

You and Kamala pulled yourself together and ran into the hallways. From a distance, you saw Wanda levitating another man in the hair with her red, then throwing him out the front door.

The main room was chaos. Steve and his shield were having their way with someone, along with Sam in another corner. The house was too crowded so you, Kate, and Kamala ran outside to find another way to contribute.

Outside, Bucky and Yelena were using hand to hand combat to their advantage. Everything felt like a dream and you couldn’t quite take everyone seriously due to the fact that everyone was fighting in their pajamas. Yelena was beside the house with knives in hand, swinging them closer with each swipe at the man’s neck.

You felt an arrow zoom by and looked up to see Clint up on the roof for a better view. As you accounted for the fight inside and out, you tried to conjure up a plan to end this.

“Kamala, follow me,” you whispered.

She followed you while you ran to the barn. It didn’t take you long to find a gallon or two of gasoline that was residing right inside the doors. For an extra measure, you took a couple handfuls of hay.

Once you were back outside, you instructed her to help spread the gasoline all over the front lawn. On top, you sprinkled the hay to disguise the liquid, as well enhance what was coming to them soon.

You looked at Yelena once again and found her at the wrong time. She had been flipped onto the ground with a man standing over her with her own knife.

Kamala noticed and took quick action. With the power in her bangle, she conjured up her light and sent it flying Yelena’s way. It was measured perfectly, the small shard going directly through his neck. He fell to the ground rapidly, leaving a splatter of blood across Yelena’s face.

Yelena stood up out of breath. “Thanks,” she said to Kamala.

“Alright, we need to keep watch to see who all makes it out and then hopefully all goes according to plan,” you told Kamala and Yelena.

The three of you hit behind the side of the barn where you were still able to have a good view of the front of the house. Within a few minutes, the remaining men ran out of the house.

“There they are!” Kamala yelled.

That was your queue. You closed your eyes and quieted your breathing. Warmth spread from your wrists down into your hands and suddenly a ball of fire was formed before your very eyes. You cast the ball into a long stream of fire that shot directly into the puddles of liquid on the ground.

The gas caught fire immediately, as well as conveniently when the men ran into it. The three men left found themselves engulfed in flames, dancing around trying everything they could to put it out. The rest of the team inside came running out at the sound of screams.

After a few moments, the screams died just as fast as the men that snuck into the house. Everyone contributed to patting the fire with their feet to put out the weak flames.

“Quick thinking, y/n,” said Steve. “Is everyone okay? Belova?”

“Not my blood,” Yelena said, referring to her painted face.

“How did this happen, Steve? I thought Tony worked out all the logistics of this whole shield thing,” Nat said.

“I thought so too. I’ll get in contact with him tomorrow to figure something out to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

You walked over to the charred ground littered with the fallen men. The closest to you was facing the ground, but you flipped him over with your foot so that he was facing the sky.

You heard footsteps behind you. “It’s them,” Yelena said. “The men from town.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“Positive, even with his face half melted. I know it’s him.”

You looked down at his body and a chill ran through you. A surface of untouched skin faced towards you with a large and undeniable brand of the Hydra logo you were far from fond of.

“And so it begins.”

.

.

.

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[creature-wizard]

Any ideas about how to respond to people who are “anti-cult” but in a shitty/sexist way?

Context: I’m a (queer) leftist Christian whose denomination is progressive, but have a couple friends who are queerstakes (queer Mormons in community w each other bc the mainstream church is homo/transphobic) & 1 queer lefty Catholic. We’ve all encountered, but them more so, people who want to “save us” from religion in some way.

For me it’s mostly the type of Nü Atheist/antitheist extremist who I can laugh off easily because they’re arguing against a version of ‘my church’ that I’m not in, but especially my Mormon friends will have a harder time because (as with Catholicism) their congregations really are kind of safe-haven offshoots of far-more-conservative traditions, whereas I actually have a synod/denominations/bishops to back me up. But a thing that comes up repeatedly especially for the Mormons is “You’re in a cult”, and with both the language of “You THINK you like it and you THINK you’re happy, but you’re so brainwashed that you don’t know your own mind, you have no agency, and if you just abandoned your (hard-fought for, safe-haven) religious community you’d become Normal, you’ll see!!”

Now. This really rubs all of us the wrong way as a group of queer people who are mostly women. “You can’t trust yourself, you’re incapable of logic, you don’t know how to think for yourself, you have no agency or desires of your own” comes off sexist as all Hell, and appeals to “Try being like everyone else, it’ll make you normal” call to mind religious conservatives who call you back to the fold or push conversion therapy on you. It feels like this is itself trying to deny them agency to make their own choices.

But people (online, or in person in college mainly) never believe the beliefs are genuine or that they’ll ever be safe even among other queer people and progressives.

So I guess the question is… how do you convince someone you don’t need deprogramming when you come from a tradition which is, overarchingly, a lot more high-control to the point that I get why when people say “Mormonism is a cult” etc. When you’re religiously-observant but treated as apostate by a lot of people. Etc.

Any thoughts on ways to respond or explain? Or should they just disregard it because of the bad attitude involved?

I'm not really sure. I think many ex-Christians are channeling their own traumas with Christianity into these conversations, which means they aren't really in a good headspace to be reasoned with.

Maybe it could be useful to start a conversation about how their behavior is Christian missionary behavior in a new hat, and ask them why they think they're going to get a positive response to a type of behavior that they themselves would find incredibly obnoxious. But, I can't guarantee it would work.

[avengerscompound]

Busy Fingers

Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton Word Count: 816 Rating/Warnings: Teen

Clint's fingers didn’t like to sit still.  It was hard to say what the exact cause of this was.  Maybe it was just that he used his hands so much anyway, in his work, when he spoke, when he was displaying affection. Perhaps it was that he just had undiagnosed ADHD, certainly, he would swing from nervous energy to none at all on the drop of a hat.

Whatever it was, his fingers kept moving to the point that he’d picked up some impressive little tricks of the hand.  He could roll a coin over his fingers smoothly and quickly so it looked like it was made of rubbed.  He was pretty decent at contact juggling.  And his sleight of hand was impressive to say the least.  There was one thing that he’d gotten really good at through a mixture of working in the circus and having a disproportionate amount of close female friends: Clint could braid hair like an expert. Not just a classic French braid either.  He could do fish tail, crown, milkmaid, halo, and rope braids, and while he’d had less experience and practice doing it, there had been a couple of his friends who had even taught him how to do things like cornrows and box braids.  It had turned out his busy fingers were a thing to take advantage of when his girlfriends wanted to sit and chat or watch a movie with him.

Where Clint had busy fingers, Bucky had a busy mind.  He was a quiet man, but his brain was always working.  And when everything went quiet, Bucky’s mind got mean.  It particularly liked making him revisit his time as the soldier.  He wasn’t sure which visions were the worst, the ones when he was being tortured, or when he was doing the torturing.

He’d discovered there was one foolproof way for him to switch his mind off, and that was when Clint was playing with his hair.  It had happened by accident one day.  Bucky was sitting on the floor playing Elden Ring, and Clint had moved behind him.  He had only half been listening when Clint had started talking about his day and plans to go out with Natasha on the weekend, when Clint’s fingers started to thread into his hair.  He hadn’t even been aware when his mind switched off.  Just that when Clint patted him on the shoulder, his character was standing in the middle of a field staring out at one of the giant trees, and his hair was in a Dutch braid.

After that, it became a little routine.  They’d get some pizza, put on a movie, and while Clint talked about whatever was on his mind, he’d braid Bucky’s hair.

Did Bucky feel ridiculous when the movie was done and he had a halo braid?  Maybe a little.  Mostly he just felt relaxed and so very in love.

Besides, it wasn’t like anyone else ever saw him like that.  Just him and Clint, and he could be vulnerable in front of Clint.

In front of Clint.

Not in front of Kate Bishop, who had just entered the apartment without knocking.

The young archer had entered the room, already talking like she was mid-conversation with Clint.  Bucky was so deep in his meditative state that he couldn’t even absorb the words that she was saying.  It was something about Lucky and a shark?

When it clicked that he was sitting on the floor between Clint’s legs, the archer’s hands in his hair, braiding it in front of this twenty-year-old protegee of Clint’s, he froze like a deer in headlights.

At the exact same moment, Kate froze too, mouth open, and she pointed at Bucky.  “What the…?”

Clint’s fingers continued to move in Bucky’s hair like he hadn’t been caught doing something mortifying.  “You know I can take Lucky anytime, but I’m not so sure about Jeff.  You sure he’ll be okay without Gwen around?”

“Uhh…” Kate said, still staring directly into Bucky’s eyes.

“Katie Kate,” Clint said, clicking his fingers. “Focus.” 

“Oh, right,” she said.  “Yeah… Jeff’s fine.  Well, he can be a little chaotic, but he’s got a good heart.”

“Fine.  Yeah.  Friday?” he asked.

“Uh huh,” she said, her hand going to her pocket really slowly.

“See you then, Katie,” Clint said, and nodded to the door.

She didn’t move to leave, her hand just kept moving to her pocket.

“Bye, Katie,” Clint said.

Kate whipped her phone out of her pocket and quickly took a photo. “Yeah, bye!” she said and ran out of the door, slamming it behind her.

Bucky groaned, his hands going to his face.  “That’s going on the internet, isn’t it?”

Clint laughed.  “Sure, but don’t worry - this is some of my best work.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh, too. His reputation might be ruined, but having a reputation of Clint loving him wasn’t terrible.

[sponsored-deactivated20210106]

Just the facts:

Facts:

JV is a very recent convert to (allegedly, see next) Roman Catholicism.

JV is a sedevacantist, a radical brand of Roman Catholic who believes that the Pope isn't actually the Pope (!) is schismatic, and seeks to overthrow the Vatican. (* sede vacante "the vacant chair" meaning "no Pope on the Throne")

As Veep, JV has direct access and control of the CIA. (The CIA doesn't swear an oath to defend the people of America or the US Constitution-they swear fealty to the Executive Branch.)

The CIA, as do all spy agencies, have many bioweapons and chemical agents they are known to use for incapacitation and assassination purposes. Some of those agents cause the lungs to fill with fluid, causing death from "pneumonia"-especially if medical staff are unaware.

The Pope is dead. (Yeah the Vatican probably isn't faking it? This is the weakest "Fact")

The Timeline:

1. In January, newly minted Veep JV criticized his church's role in immigration advocacy very brazenly on CBS' Face the Nation. JV suggested the Catholic Church was in it for the money: "Are they worried about humanitarian concerns or are they actually worried about their bottom line?" (This begins his public hat red of the Pope.)

2. In this past February of the Jubilee Year 2025, Pope Francis publicly and rightfully criticized the Trump administration's increasingly worsening immigration policies: particularly the inhumane mass deportation plan, calling it a "major crisis". For the first time, the Pope appeared to specifically address the alleged Catholic, JV.

3. JV publicly clapped back and claimed the evil deportation policies were actually endorsed by Roman Catholic doctrine, specifically Ordo Amoris doctrine the concept of "rightly-ordered love" or "true charity"-a theological doctrine which is based in Jesus's parable of The Good Samaritan about helping everyone.

4. The Pope, who is the Pontiff of the Roman Catholic Church and who can indeed pontificate on the moral teachings with divine authority, then gave public homily and statements (without mentioning JV specifically) TL;DR-it is heretical and schismatic to claim it is Ordo Amoris when the mass deportation and Trumpism's policies and actions are in fact obviously evil and the exact opposite of the doctrine about charity, compassion, hope and love for all.

5. Every other theologian on the planet calls JV a retarded twat. They all side with the Pope on Twitterx.com and...

6. JV refers to himself as a "baby Catholic" and tweeted that there are "things about the faith that I don't know" but he publicly and obstinately asserts that he's right and the Pope is wrong. This is the definition of Heresy, believe it or not.

7. Vance acknowledged that the Pope was critical of him, but stated he would "continue to defend his views"-whatever that means...

8. Oh, look! The Pope's suddenly been taken ill!

9. Oh, look! In intensive care in the best hospital in Italy, Rome's Gemelli Hospital-sure this is just normal, common-or-garden-variety "pneumonia"

10. February 28, JV addresses a National gathering of Catholics, unrepentantly announcing firmly that he's not going to "litigate with [the Pope] or any other clergy member about who's right and who's wrong"-

11. JV: "I don't think it's good for us as Christians to constantly fight with one another over every single controversy in the church"

12. The Freudian slip: "That is how I will always remember the Holy Father, as a great pastor, as a man who can speak truth to faith in a very profound way at a moment of great crisis," JV appeared to prematurely eulogize the still very much alive Pope, with wording that would mirror the actual eulogical tweet less than 12 hours after the April Easter meeting.

13. Still February 28, JV seemed surprised to learn from the Bishops thar Pope Francis might actually pull through, and awkwardly attempted to take intercessory credit: "Every day since I heard of Pope Francis's illness I say a prayer for the Holy Father because while yes, I was certainly surprised when he criticized our immigration policy in the way that he has, I also know that the pope, I believe that the pope, is fundamentally a person who cares about the flock of Christians under his leadership, and he's a man who cares about the spiritual direction of the faith..." as long as that direction is Trumpism, and the Pope doesn't get in the way, and God protects him from assassination attempts...

14. April; Easter Sunday; 🇻🇦The Vatican: JV forces a meeting with Pope Francis seemingly for the sole purpose of shaking his hand.

15. The Pope has a sudden ischemic stroke, enters a coma and shortly dies.

16. This stroke could have been caused by any of the transdermal hemostatic chemical agents routinely used for such purposes, or something else, but the handshake points to Prince JV and his retenue.

The Evidence:

Corpus Delicti quantity (1), dead Pope.

Modus Operandi and outcome consistent with CIA, and JV going to "finish the job-because if you want something done right, sometimes you have to do it yourself"

In Terrorem—JV has repeatedly, appeared to warn the Pope to back off, has eulogized the living Pope, and had a very public imbroglio ce altercatio

Pleno lure Excommunicato Recapiendo JV is a self-avowed schismatic heresy twofer: Obstinency and Sede Vacante

The Verdict:

👩‍⚖️ A Sussus Amogus

[my-insanity-is-an-artform]

Woe, Crack Baby Shitten au be upon thee.

(@bamsara 's little doodle of Nari being dubbed Cult Babysitter and holding a little lamb irrevocably changed my brain chemistry. So of course, I'm now making it everyone else's problem with the headcanon that Narinder is good with children of all ages.)

A couple of months before Lamb gets captured, they meet another lamb or a very small flock that have to split up very quickly after meeting since there's more chance of the lamb species surviving if they aren't all together. In the meeting, Lamb agrees to try continue the lamb species and gets pregnant via *magic* or afab.

Of course, all of the lambs are captured and killed with Lamb being the last, still a few months away from giving birth.

But then they are chosen and resurrected by The One Who Waits.

Fun fact: a fetus can survive for a few minutes after the death of the carrier. (Also this is a world with magic and gods in it. Logic means nothing to me.)

Lamb starts their cult, crusades across the lands and meets all sorts of allies and enemies. All while quietly mourning their entire species and the child that never would be.

Right up until they go into labour.

The baby is lamb through and through with soft wool, wide eyes, tiny cloven hooves and floppy ears.

But the influence of the crown is blazingly obvious since the baby's wool is jet black and they have three red eyes.

I can't tell which would be funnier. Lamb giving birth in The Lonely Shack or while they are physically in The Gateway just post-beating Leshy. Like they were in active labour right throughout fighting Leshy and had no idea. Either way, it's Shocked Pikachu .jpeg all around. (My fucking KINGDOM for a doodle of this.)

Various dot point shenanigans under the cut

There are two ways to go about this. But either way, Baby is not staying in the Cult. Too dangerous, especially if word gets to the Bishops about there being another lamb. So Lamb can and will speed-run this shit. So it takes them about 4-6 years to fully defeat the Bishops.

Baby stays with Ratau:

Lamb goes and yells at TOWW. They are panicking because they have no idea how to raise a probably-half-god baby.

Narinder has no idea what happened right up until Lamb comes in screaming about him being a Baby Daddy and child support.

Ratau is Grandpa now. This is his fate. He embraces the Grandpa life.

Baby learns how to play knucklebones before they can speak.

Shrumy tries to wager with Lamb/Ratau for the whole Baby. Once and only Once.

Baby's first word is dice. Or die.

Baby worships TOWW, but they are a Baby and don't really comprehend worship so the small shrine gets a lot of flowers, neat rocks and some drawings. Narinder always gives a lot of gold for them. And No, it's not favouritism. Shut up.

Baby knows curses. This is concerning for everyone except Baby.

Baby gets a little TOWW doll. It's their favourite, it goes everywhere with them and washing it is a nightmare for everyone involved.

Baby is jokingly referred to as TOWW's most Devoted Follower because of the doll.

↑ this action will have consequences.

When Baby is not so baby, they make stuff out of their wool for TOWW and for his disciples. Or asks their parent to help them make stuff.

Cue Lamb awkwardly giving the three some very wonky scarves or hats.

Baal loves it.

Aym refuses to take his off. Ever.

Narinder is actually upset cause his doesn't fit. He's too big. He had to wear it like a little ring.

Or Baby stays/is brought to the Gateway ala Aym and Baal situation:

If Lamb gives birth in the Gateway, everyone is getting a free midwifery education and free trauma. The cats want a refund.

Ya know when a baby instinctively clasps their little hand around a finger and it's like a crime to pull away? That but with Narinder's big ass claw that Baby can only barely cling to.

Aym cries the first time he holds Baby.

Baal straight-up refuses to give Baby back for a good hour.

Lamb visits at least once a day.

Lamb also brings baby things since a baby will do what a baby will do.

Depending on how old Aym and Baal were when they were gifted, Narinder is either learning all of this for the first time or is reminded of how challenging baby care can be.

Narinder purrs = a zonked Baby.

Baby's first word is Vessel.

Baby is taught to fight. Lamb doesn't like it but accepts it.

Baby has a little lamb doll. It is only due to the fact the afterlife doesn't have dirt that they avoid the nightmare of trying to wash it.

Baby is jokingly referred to as TOWW's most Devoted Follower since they refuse to be parted with him for long.

↑ this action will have consequences.

Lamb teaches Baby about being a lamb and if Aym and Baal join in, well who are they to deny their child's only friends/guardians this?

Narinder and Lamb figure out how to get Baby to teleport to the Living World and Baby gets to visit Grandpa Ratau.

Post-game shenanigans.

Narinder: Give me back my crown. Lamb: Ok. Sure. Narinder: I will now sacrifice my most devoted follower (the Lamb) for my freedom. Lamb: *Kill Bill sirens*

Lamb somehow doesn't kill Aym and Baal and instead kidnaps them via Indoctrination Circle out of spite/ reluctance to hurt them.

Narinder feels betrayed that the Lamb would refuse like this and kidnap his acolytes. He was going to resurrect them! He can't fully commit to raising a child while being the God of Death.

Lamb feels betrayed that Narinder would want to kill their child. After all they've been through together! After the way they saw him treat Baby with such gentleness and now he wants to kill them?!

This comes out in the very final moments right before Lamb goes to give the final blow.

Narinder: You are a vengeful false idol and a traitor! Lamb: At least I'm not a monster who wanted to kill my own child! Narinder: Wait. What.

This devolves into a massive argument with divorced-couple vibes.

Narinder is insulted and a bit hurt they thought he would kill his own child.

Lamb is hurt that Narinder would just demand their sacrifice without even talking to them about the whole situation.

Either way the lesson learned is Narinder needs to be more blunt and Lamb needs to not jump to conclusions.

So they are left with a newly usurped Narinder and a newly crowned Lamb. Oops.

Baby is with Ratau when all of this is going down.

Baby is happy their family is all together properly. Baby is Not Happy about this whole cult thing demanding attention from Their Baba.

The Cult is baffled by the sight of their leader with both a baby and a Spouse? Bitterly Divorced Ex? Estranged Co-parent?! What ever it is, most of them have elected not to touch the whole situation with a 10ft barge pole.

Baby learns what the word Father is and how that word refers to Narinder.

Baby calls Narinder Father/Papa/Daddy. Instant KO.

Narinder somehow gains a small hoard of children that like to follow him. Baby Does Not Approve.

Baby also Does Not Approve of this newly formed rift between their parents.

Cue Parent Trap level of Shenanigans.

Aym and Baal are recruited.

The Hoard of Children are recruited. Baby now Slightly Approves.

Narinder and Lamb have an Actual Conversation after the 18th time they get locked in the confessional together.

This of course evolves into Narilamb.

Bishops are saved from purgatory.

Despite all attempts otherwise, Baby is introduced to them.

Shocked Pikachu .jpeg x4

Maybe after a few more years, not-so-baby Baby wants a sibling.

This got so much longer than I thought but yes. Shitten Shenanigans: Accidental Child Acquisition flavoured.

[bambiraptorx]

not gonna derail the other post I made recently about Bishop during the civil war but I've been looking at the uniform he wears when he's abducted:

[I.D. Various sepia toned screenshots of 2003 Bishop in a flashback to 1815 when he fought in the Battle of New Orleans. They show his uniform: a black bicorn hat, white pants, black boots, gold epaulets on both shoulders, and a blue jacket with red and gold paneling on the front. End I.D.]

and comparing it to various military uniforms in use during 1815 (these are the closest to his I could find)

[I.D. Two illustrations of a field artillery officer's uniform from 1815. Both of them show a man in a tall black hat with a feather, a red sash, a sword, a blue jacket with a red and gold front panel, gold epaulets, and black boots. One uniform has white pants, the other has grey ones. End I.D.]

There's a few details like the hats and the color of the sash that seem different, but otherwise it appears to be the same uniform: that of an artillery officer, meaning Bishop was likely working with cannons.

The real kicker though? This is a British uniform. Bishop is British.

Also, while the uniforms of the medics that find him are kind of unclear and possibly anachronistic, the uniforms of the men they were checking before they found him appear to be that of American soldiers

[I.D. Two images. The first is a sepia toned screenshot of two men with a red cross armbands, looking over two bodies for signs of life. One of the bodies is nearer to the camera, and has a tall black hat with a white decorative chain, a dark jacket, white pants, epaulets, and a white cross belt going over his right shoulder. The second image is a uniform of an American Army captain circa 1815, which has the same element of the dead soldier described above, plus a red sash and a saber. End I.D.]

This implies that Bishop, a British soldier, was discovered and treated by Americans, possibly spending a stint of time as a prisoner before the war as a whole ended a little over a month later.

[adhdbisexualramblings]

I really like your Bill Regressor headcanons! Have you thought about a scenario where you describe the circumstances under which Ford was able to positively make him regress? I'd be curious to hear more about that!

Aaaaa thank you!! I’m glad people enjoyed them!

I have thought of that scenario, actually! And I will now give it to you in story form! It’s long so I’m putting it under the cut.

(The story takes place during The Book of Bill’s “drunk karaoke session” (spoilers by the way), meaning that there will be alcohol use and also regression while drunk (Bill has problems). As stated before, Bill’s regression is not typical. His regression is very subtle. I’m hoping I wrote it adequately. :) )

(I also got WAY too into the pre-regression part so apologies regarding that-)

(A quick note: I am aware the Bill and Ford are not great relationship-wise. This story isn’t saying that they are, only that they had good moments together. I’m writing this as a what-if scenario based on headcanons - do with that what you will.)

Title: What a Night

Another knight hops across the board to tear into a bishop with its newly acquired sharp teeth.

“Bill-!” The laugh in Ford’s voice couldn’t be clearer as the horse-shaped piece happily chews its opponent. “That’s not valid!”

“That’s a regular move in inter-dimensional chess! I think you’re just a sore loser.”

Bill swirls his glass and takes a sip himself before offering it to Ford, who takes it gratefully to drink a larger portion. The glass never empties.

“God, you mix a good drink.” He praises with a content sigh, slumping further into the comfortable velvet seat.

“They don’t call me the “universe’s best bartender” for nothin’, you know!” Bill blinks once and leans across the chessboard, knocking over a few pieces, “Wink!”

Stanford grins. He moves to grab a rook and jerks back when it snaps at his finger. He laughs joyously and retries.

“Well, I was Jersey’s best chess player for nearly a decade straight,” to the kids that would play against him, which weren’t many. Still, Ford boasts, “and I can’t assess your bartender thing - I don’t get out into the inter-dimensional bars too often, but you…your drink was…oh, boy,” he giggles, already feeling tipsy. Bill laughs loudly at that; it echoes through the Mindscape.

After many, many, chess rounds that ended in ties, the two companions are more wasted than ever.

“No, Bill, we’ve played We’ll Meet Again five times already.”

Bill pokes an accusatory finger at Ford, hogging their one microphone.

“Shhhut it, IQ. You - you just have terrible taste. ‘K?”

Ford huffs but lets the karaoke happen. He crosses his arms and waits on their couch while Bill slurs the lyrics, completely unaware of his  own volume level. Still, he seems to be enjoying himself. The music in the Mindscape stops. Bill droops in place as soon as it does, microphone dangling in his loose fingers. Singing his heart out to Vera Lynn each and every time probably wasn’t a great idea.

“…OK, I’m bored. Your turn.”

Ford catches the microphone tossed his way and grins widely. Bill replaces his spot on the couch, wiped out. He sighs deeply and adjusts his hat as Ford decides. All Bill needs is a little more pep, he’s sure of it. Hell, he’ll offer some to Fordsy, too. With a clunky wave of his hand, Bill’s “Myoclonic Jerk” appears in his hand. It wobbles in his lax grip before he grips it with both hands and chugs what would be the whole glass if the drink wasn’t infinite. A fuzzy feeling wraps around Bill instantly, and he’s too distracted to realize it’s more than the buzz of alcohol.

“Hey, Sixer!” He leans forward and holds up the glass double-handed like a trophy. Ford whips around from the handy little song selection screen. His eyes fall on the drink. He stumbles closer to the couch to take it.

“Hey, wo-oah, smaller sips.” Bill advises without much actual danger attached to it, clearly amused. He snaps his fingers, popping the drink out of existence after Ford’s share. Ford blinks at his empty hand in confusion, making Bill laugh again. It’s closer to a giggle this time. Ford gathers himself in time to glance at the selection screen.

“Oh, I picked som-something. C’mere.”

Bill floats up, finds himself unsteady, and conjures his cane to “help” him keep his balance despite the fact that the cane is no help at all. He stumbles some and giggles. Bill twirls the cane poorly, squinting at the screen.

“Disco Girl?”

Ford’s drunkenness doesn’t stop him from being self-conscious, it seems. He chuckles with a hesitant smile.

“It’s admittedly catchy.”

Bill crinkles his eye into a grin, bouncing a little.

“Hey, I’m stellar at keeping secrets, Fordsy!”

The song plays.

Saturday night is a night alright Time to groove till the morning light..

Bill knew of Ford’s guilty pleasure for the pop group, but the way he sang with such carefreeness for the entire three minutes had even the triangle surprised. Ford was similarly surprised and overjoyed when his companion also knew the lyrics.

At some point, Ford gets into the groove of the song and starts dancing along. Bill, also plenty giddy, follows suit.

Ford laughs between lyrics, a grin lighting up his features - the laugh booms around the Mindscape. It’s bright, hearty, and from the belly. Bill takes a moment to address the warm pit that laugh leaves in his body. He grins again and gets closer.

Their dancing stays separate for the most part, until Bill slings a hand around Ford’s shoulder and Ford grazes his hand long enough for Bill to feel it.

Bill freezes at the touch. Ford doesn’t, perfectly content. Slowly, Bill takes his hand away to stare at it with a wide eye. The part where Ford’s warm hand had touched his buzzes softly.

The fuzzy feeling from the alcohol and other factors increases. Bill blinks. An odd feeling wells up the longer he keeps thinking of the touch. He’s thinking so much that he doesn’t notice the song end.

“-Bill?” The voice calls.

The addressed demon blinks again - must’ve spaced out. He keeps his touched hand suspended and looks to Ford. The human stopped dancing a while ago and realized his companion had looked off.

Ford must have gotten concerned, Bill realizes. It makes Bill feel…nice.

He finds he wants something from Stanford. It’s not the portal or eternal servitude; Bill knows that’s not it. It ties to the fuzziness he’s been feeling. He decides to figure it out.

He grins and laughs, not fake in the slightest.

“Hah! Do that again!” Bill thrusts his hand to Stanford, the implication being clear as day in his mind, which is starting to feel even happier.

“…Do what?” Ford asks with an owlish blink. He looks down at Bill’s hand and looks to his own six-fingered one, gears turning. It finally clicks, “Hold your hand?”

Seeing nothing wrong with it and susceptible to suggestions, Ford fulfills the request and bring his hand to clasp it around Bill’s smaller one.

The warmth from Ford travels up Bill’s arm and only adds to the warmth in the rest of his body. Bill blinks silently again. Oh. Wow, that felt…comfortable?

Bill slips.

Without registering what he’s really doing, he leans into Ford and grips one of his fingers with his hand, moving to sit on his shoulder. Ford makes a little noise of confusion, to which Bill only giggles at. In a second, all the alcohol is figuratively flushed out of Bill’s system as his earlier excitement dies. Ford frowns.

“Bill? Are you alright?”

Bill gathers himself with a chuckle, “Pfft. Of course I am, Fordsy.” He lies.

Bill’s getting oddly sleepy. He was used to this tiredness, however; it went hand-in-hand with the fuzzy feeling. He squeezes Ford’s finger tighter, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Y’know what? It’s been a long night,” Bill starts, temping down the slight fog in his mind.

“…Has it?” Ford asks confusedly. Even intoxicated, he notices the behavior switch in his muse.

“O-oh, sure!” Bill finds that he’s unusually tired. It must’ve been the alcohol’s effect. He hopes his stammer isn’t noticeable, “I mean, this stuff’ll give ya a heck of a hangover.” He laughs falsely again, snapping his fingers.

Their couch immediately turns into a simple, cozy-looking, bed. Ford stares at it oddly.

Bill leaves Stanford’s shoulder but doesn’t let go of his hand. It gives him too much comfort.

“C’mon, kid. Let’s get you to bed.”

Without waiting for an answer, Bill physically pulls Ford toward the bed with impatience. Stanford stumbles at the sudden movement but follows anyway out of curiosity. He falls on the sheets, Bill falls after him.

It’s unsurprisingly comfortable. Ford had been low on energy, but hadn’t realized how tired he had truly been until now. Not bothering to take anything off, he sprawls out over the blanket.

Bill, meanwhile, lightly kicks his feet off the edge of the bed, sitting near Ford’s stomach. His feet don’t even reach the bottom. Bill stares at them swinging with attention and an oddly childish look in his eye. He giggles quietly before noticing that Stanford has already lain down.

Bill moves to hold Ford’s hand again and crawls closer to quietly lay next to him. Ford’s coat is made of fabric that Bill just found out is really comfortable. He snuggles closer to his side, making sure that the human’s sleep in the Mindscape won’t take him back to the waking world before Bill wants him to. He’ll let Fordsy wake up when he’s sober again. That sounded much better.

Ford doesn’t let go of Bill’s tiny hand - maybe he’s too tired to notice. Bill sighs quietly and flutters his eye closed.

In one movement, the karaoke in the Mindscape starts playing a slow lullaby on low volume and the blankets suddenly cover both Ford and Bill comfortably.

Bill turns his eye into a mouth and shoves his thumb inside, sucking on it soothingly. He squeezes a sleeping Ford’s finger tighter as he himself dozes off.

[yukiiiiiii13]

Hmmmm.... Au? Maybe?

What if instead of becoming a king, Pure Vanilla is a full-fledge Saint instead?

I mean, he still have his Soul Jam and all but he's given the title of Saint rather than King?

He used all his time learning all healing magic to the point that it became overpowered like he literally can heal a dying cookie or a cookie who is in the brink of death, literally in death's door. He resides in a cathedral, have servants following him around. Actually he also grew up in said cathedral. Maybe in this AU the Vanilla Kingdom is still a kingdom but it's not ruled by a king? What do you even call that?

Have you guys read manhwas? Or manga? Especially the fantasy ones, they have this kingdom which only focuses on Saints and Holy things. The one who rules the place is the church/cathedral. I think they mostly call them 'Holy Empire' or something similar.

I'm basing this AU on that. And the new Vanilla kingdom.

They have a Bishop and the leaders yet the one who has the final say is PV. I'd like to think they all depend on PV, so much that it feels suffocating for him but of course, he's their Saint, so he won't complain. Also he wants to help them too much to complain. He's kind, generous, selfless, empathetic, benevolent, etc and everything nice you could describe with words. He's literally the perfect Saint.

I think that's all for now, I'm still trying come up with some plot and how PV being a Saint will affect the canon storyline.

Also drawing of PV in this AU.

Sorry if it sucks, I don't know crap about drawing or autonomy, I literally just want to draw him.

The orchid staff became a floating sun instead because I don't know how to do a pose for that.😭😭😭

The outfit was inspired from one of the stuff in pinterest. The one with the sun is my first sketch of him. I change a bit in the design and rather than the halo thingy in the first sketch, it became the spiky thing of his cone hat. The robes is lined with waffle pattern too.

[thewisaaaaad]

Hnng. I. I GOT AnOTHER FhUCKING COTL AU

Ok so.

Game goes as normal, but the lamb decides to give themselves up to Nari at the end. Naturally, they get no choice in the matter and are forced to kill him, because the crown demands its proper bearer.

And I mean kill-kill him. Hes dead.

Of course, the lamb is NOT OK WITH THIS. So, they look for a way to bring him back. And good ol' mystic seller gives them an out.

The lamb basically throws all caution to the wind, and decides to take the ritual offered. With the sacrifice of four crowns, along with the end of their own now divine life, they send their soul back in time to prevent this tragedy.

Exept they go WAY farther back than they meant to. They end up born into a sheep family under the name Una, and grow up as a extremely gifted child, the pride of the town, but one who finds solace well away from their adoring family and neighbors. To the lamb, all these people are practically strangers.

But there's no sign of Narinder. In fact, there's no sign of the bishops, either. Until one evening, at the charming age of 14, their daily alone time in the forest is interrupted by a familiar three eyed cat.

Narinder had never had a family. Black cats were already considered bad luck after a black cat hat wronged the rabbit god, never mind the fact that his eyes were blood red and that he had three of them. He spent his early years in an orphanage after he was abandoned, and then on the run after a series of horrible accidents were blamed on him. The only solace he could take was with the mysterious sheep in his dreams, who only praised him, and loved him.

And now that sheep sat right in front of him, and looked as happy to see him as he felt about them.

It was too good to be true. But for a few years, it was exactly that good. Uni seemed to know him well, and brought him food every day. No longer did he have to steal food or dig through trash, they even made sure that he had good sleeping arrangements, bringing him blankets and a simple tent.

But as always in his life, tragedy struck again. Someone was murdered in the village, and of course they blamed the beast in the woods. He didn't know they were searching for him until a strange wolf tried to cut his head off with a axe. He lived, but something far worse happened.

The hand that had grabbed his wrist had began to decay violently. The stranger screamed as he rotted alive, skin falling off of bone before even that turned to dust. A few seconds of horrific screeching later, and all that was left of his assailant was a pile of ash and decay.

He couldn't let them see this. They would call him a monster, just like they all did. And they would be right. They had said he was just their friend, but he was a monster, cursed like all those people before had told him he was.

Luck, as always, was not on his side. Moments later, before he found the strength to move again, Una broke through the bush. They saw the rotting remains of the man, the fallen axe beside it.

And they didn't call him a monster. They sighed, stepped around the body, a stuffed pack slung over a shoulder. They reached for his arm, and he flinched away. He did not want to hurt them. But they grabbed him anyway, unharmed, and pulled him to his feet.

"We need to run. I'll help you pack."

They did not fear him. They could see what happened, and they wanted to protect him. Why?

Couldn't they see he was a monster?

Pulled by the hand, he ran after Una. They seemed to know where they were going, so he trusted them.

But they were intercepted by the lambs father. He held a hatchet in one hand, startled to see his child with the beast.

"My daughter, what-"

And then a dagger was plunged into his throat. Uni kept running, not even looking back.

They had always said that their family never seemed to matter to them. Not like he did. Apparently, they meant that more than he realized.

They were a monster. Just like him.

And they would do anything for him.

He smiled, and ran beside them into the future.

[mysadblacksoul]

Twenty One Pilots - Overcompensate theories (whoo!)

It's a face of someone who put so much lore in the MV that I genuinely don't know where to start

Pt.1 - MV

So the MV takes place right after the end of The Outside MV, pretty easy - logical Now are we relly back in Trench? Seing all the maps, and the way back from The Outside to Jumpsuit? Tracing back the map? Being welcomed? lol. no

Tyler (or Clancy, am I deadnaming him now???) is using the powers, that were mentioned in I Am Clancy video and the one that Ned gave him in The Outside MV As we can see Bishops still wants him to lure people, to make them surrender to live how the Bishops wants them to

So since Tyler is just using someone else to pretend that it's him we can assume that Josh is also a projection

Why is Josh here? Maybe as a representative of Banditos

Now we play heavily in the symbolism of mask. Of course mask symbolizes the difference between a fictitious identity and a real identity. But here we can see something interesting. If Tyler is taking off his mask he is his true self, yet if someone else tries to take it off you can see a different person

So let's see what the hell is Tyler even doing in the MV itself. Well he is doing both jobs. On the surfice, he is doing what the Bishops wants him to. But actually he is showing people some kind of code. (I am sure that all the gestures weren't just a silly choreography). He is showing them his true self (no mask) and giving a presentation on the secrets of Dema. I believe he is sharing the information that normal people were never supposed to know

Like the lyrics of Shy away, he is trying to "Just break the cycle in half". Break people's belief in the religion that the Bishops created and to ultimately take away their power

And after the lesson in the backrooms (lol I don't know how to word it differently) people have tape on their shoulders. But not only the red one. We can se the yellow tape. The legendary Bandito's tape

But what is the meaning of the end? For me people were so used to following the rulers, the rules and doing what they were told that after changing their mindset about the Bishops they still felt the need to follow somebody. That somebody will be Clancy

other small details will be nine red lights for nine Bishops

Tyler having a symbol for the band logo

So is Tyler tring to break the cycle from the very core? Well maybe, for sure what he does now is a complete diversion

Boy is ready to take a revenge, he even brought his best buddy to help

Pt. 2 - Lyrics

We need to start by translating the intro for sure so:

Diese kleine unheimliche Insel hat mich zu einer Waffe gemacht (From German) - This scary little island has turned me into a weapon

Wir glauben beide (From German) - We both believe

Cette petite île étrange a fait de moi une arme (From French) - This scary little island has turned me into a weapon

Nous croyons tous les deux que nous pouvons l'utiliser pour changer l'élan de cette guerre (From French) - We both believe we can use it to change the momentum of this war

So this is pretty much what we know from I Am Clancy video. Tyler and his powers are used by the Bishops to cause harm

And we already saw that first line, which comes from Clancy’s letter from 2022 posted on the dmaorg.info website.

I created this world / To feel some control /Destroy it if I want / So I sing, "sahlo folina" / "Sahlo folina" - This part comes from Bandito. It could be the call for Banditos, to tell them to beware of what is going on. Or it is the way of teaching the people the special code - which sahlo folina is for sure a part of

Earned my stripes - he earned his position in the city, possibly because of his powers

Bless your ear holes while you react, acting / Gobsmacked - maybe people were sent to this place by the Bishops to mess with their brains, but since Tyler is talking about something different to them they are confused

I feel like I was just here, same twitchin' in my eyes - he started just like those people, brainwashed with no sense of reality

Don't sleep on a boy who can fall asleep twice / In the same night - so he can die twice? Or maybe it is the dig that he is working on both sides, just undercovered

and won't hesitate / To maybe overcompensate - simply, Tyler is ready to kick some Bishops' asses and take revenge for everything wrong they ever did to him and other people

I said I fly by the dangerous bend symbol - the symbol that Bishops were making in Nico and the Niners Mv OR The symbol that Tyler uses (what he makes with his hands) is dangerous for Bishops, because it is a sign of rebellion OR (This one makes the most sense) it's U+2621 ☡ CAUTION SIGN, which was created by no other than Nicolas Bourbaki group of mathematicians. Nico is very important, since in Morph we have the lyrics of "He goes by Nico / He told me I'm a copy". So was Nico the first one to discover Clancy's powers?

And then by the time I catch in my peripheral - the peripheral vision is what you can see to each side or up and down without moving your head, or everything that you can see that isn't in your central vision. The peripheral vision might be the same as the rearview from Choker. So this is everything that he saw in Dema on accident, all the secrets that he cought with his eye. Once he saw them he is ready to change everything

Where am I from? I was born right here, just now / Originated right in front of your eyes - Clancy is from Dema, simple as that. He is the citizen and the escapee

If you can't see, I am Clancy, prodigal son - the reference to The Bible. Prodigal Son is "a man or boy who has left his family in order to do something that the family disapprove of and has now returned home feeling sorry for what he has done". Tyler for sure returned, bus is he really sorry? Or the Bishops made him act like he is?

Done running, come up with Josh Dun / Wanted dead or alive - JOSH DUN MENTIONED. But also comming to Trench with Josh could be a sign that Clancy wants people to see that Banditos are not bad people. Not someone who you should fear

So now you pick who you serve, you bow to the masses - make a choice if you gonna change your life or stay in the circle of madnesss

Half empty, half full, save half of your taxes - again, make a choice weather you're gonna think positively or negatively (glass half empty/half full)

Then overtake your former self - become a better person, better version of yourself and live your truth

Days feel like a perfect length / I don't need them any longer, but for goodness sake - just a perfect condition to make a change

Do the years seem way too short for my soul, corazón / Way too short for my soul, corazón - it is the reference to all the years Tyler lost while working and living in Dema

A wild ride, as always...

[theblorboscalledtheturtles]

TOTTMNT detail dump! Eps 5&6

I'm glad to see that this Mikey has the '12 Mikey expressive mask tail

Motion smears my beloved

Eyeballs

Mirage spotted!!

These designs are the coolest. I loved how the mechazoids adapted their environments. The middle left one in particular reminds me of those hat elite ninja from the 03 show, and the pink stuff is kind of Rise-Krangy. But I love them all.

AND I ESPECIALLY LOVE THIS GUY!!! BEST METALHEAD!!!

I'm sorry, but EPF will always mean Elite Penguin Force to me. That's right. Bishop is a club penguin secret agent. I don't make the rules.

Popsicle in the top left corner. And a bacon egg n cheeeeese!