#but tv static is a good metaphor for it

[liulith]

Hazbin headcanon: Xenogender Sinners (& Saints)

"A what now?"

Xenogender (xeno - strange, other, foreign) is a type of gender identity that can't be defined in relation to the usual human gender spectrum (masculine feminine, non-binary, agender, demiboy, demigirl...) and instead uses non-human categorizations.

Xenogender identities are said to fill a “lexical gap” or the lack of words in the English language to define one’s particular experience with gender. Xenogenders fill these gaps by comparing their gender identities to certain concepts – pre-existing or imaginary. It should be noted that xenogenders don’t necessarily identify with specific objects, but use these things as metaphors to describe their relationship with gender. - LGBTQ Nation

Examples of real xenogender categorizations:

Identifying with an abstract concept such as freedom, fluidity, more than you would identify with the concepts of "masculinity" or "femininity"

Feeling more comfortable with thinking of yourself as someone "alien" or "robot-like"

Feeling like your gender identity is endless and infinite

Feeling absolutely genderless. Some refer to their gender as a "void" (voidgender)

Identifying your gender as something as fuzzy and indiscernable as TV static (staticgender)

While extremely uncommon in our world, people on the xenogender identity spectrum are definitely more represented in the Hazbin Hotel universe!

After all, most souls are reincarnated in bodies that are no longer human or human-like in appearance and functionality and the gender they were assigned at birth as humans or the one they chose in life might be entirely impossible to guess. It also seems like it's a common practice to reinvent your entire identity in your afterlife, going by a new name and barely mentioning the person you used to be.

Wouldn't it be fitting for non-human Sinners to identify with non-human gender qualifiers? Occasionally, as a way to temporarily cope with their dysmorphia? Or fully embracing them and taking pride in them?

Who says "radio demon" can't be a gender?

machine-like Sinners identifying with the concept of "robotgender"

Sinners with bodies made of fire, water, smoke, wood... finding new ways to express themselves with the limitations but also the new opportunities their bodies provide

Animal-like Sinners who spent more time in their demonic bodies than they spend in their human bodies and forgot what type of human gender presentation they used to like

Vox using it/its pronouns to cope with its feelings/when it needs to give up control/ (I'm a machine today, I don't need to think or feel)

Thoughts?

[anistarrose]

I'd like to propose a dark horse candidate for the most interesting line in The Book of Bill. And it's this near-unreadable, seemingly one-off joke from the "Skin" page:

[ID: tiny text reading: "Help! This is not Bill Cipher. My name is Grebley Hemberdreck of Zimtrex 5. I'm one of thousands of beings Bill has devoured over trillions of years whose souls are now trapped inside him. You have to free me! It's horrible in here. He just keeps playing the song "Good Vibrations" by Marky Mark on an endless loop. Please, please, this is not a joke! The Zimtrexians were once a proud and mighty people, but now our spirits long for release from this..." End ID.]

Okay, so Bill devours souls who then live out a horrible existence inside him. That's just some typical and expected Bill behavior, right? Nothing to be shocked by? Maybe not, but one thing jumps out at me... and of all things, it's the way that Bill keeps playing that Beach Boys parody (correction provided by @fexalted: no, not in fact a Smiley Smile parody, but a real song!) on loop.

Because in The Book of Bill, there's a recurring motif of characters playing music for a very specific reason: to repel an unwanted presence inside their head. This is what Elias Inkwell, and later Ford, did with the "It's A Small World" parody — they tried to keep Bill out of their brains. Or, metaphorically... to drown out his voice.

[ID: a Journal 3 page with a cassette taped inside. It's titled: "The World Is Small Ever After for Always." Ford writes: "If it's war you want, it's war you'll get! If you want to torture me? I'll torture you back!" End ID.]

That doesn't necessarily mean that Bill finds the voices of devoured souls to be troubling, let alone downright haunting, does it? Well... not quite on its own. But there's a "color" code on the page about TV static that says a lot:

[ID: a code consisting of colorful squares, translated to letters that spell out: "he never sleeps he never dreams but somehow still he hears their screams." End ID] (screenshot courtesy of @fexiled)

The context of the page implies these "screams" come to Bill especially when he listens to TV static, and the broader context of the book implies that these are the screams of his destroyed home dimension, Euclydia. Therefore, not necessarily those of the souls he devoured, from Zimtrex 5 and possibly other dimensions.

Except... do those two things really have to be mutually exclusive?

The beings that Bill devoured were accumulated over "trillions" of years, plural, according to Grebley. In Weirdmageddon 1, Bill claims to have resided in the Nightmare Realm for precisely "one trillion" years. So the "devouring" habit probably extends back even further than his time in the Nightmare Realm...

Enter @acetyzias, pointing out a very conspicuous word — and one of the only uncensored words — from Bill's description of destroying his home dimension:

[ID: the word "mandibles". End ID.]

Oh, and how does Bill describe the "monster" that destroyed his home to Ford, when Ford asks about revenge?

[ID: Journal excerpt reading: "Sixer, it would eat you alive." End ID.]

For a long time, Bill's destruction of his home has been associated with fire, even when the story's told by Bill himself. But through the way the book characterizes Bill's guilt — and characterizes how the consequences of what he's done remain lurking deep inside him — I think The Book of Bill lays out the hints for another motif: devouring.

And, well, when it comes to how Bill destroys things... it wouldn't be without precedent.

[ID: screenshot of Bill in Weirdmageddon 3, taking a bite out of the Earth. End ID.]

[ozzgin]

hey beaut, can i request a yan ben drowned ticci toby nd ej with a chavvy reader from england ? like first impressions and their dynamic,, thank yuuu xxx

What a quirky request, haha. Very unexpected. I’ll let you know that I’m not too familiar with this stereotype, but I’ve seen a fair amount of social media examples, so hopefully it’s at least a little bit authentic.

Yandere! Creepypasta x Chav! Reader

Featuring Ticci-Toby, Ben Drowned and Eyeless Jack with a British chav reader that wins their hearts.

Ticci-Toby

He wouldn’t call it downright stalking, but Ticci-Toby has been observing you for a while now. Sometimes from afar, sometimes from a closer distance (such as your bedroom window), but his presence has always been concealed nonetheless. After thorough consideration he decides to approach you. You’re standing at the bus stop in your squeaky puffer jacket when you notice the pale stranger in unusual garments. You nervously chew on your gum and clutch your bag before finally speaking up. “What’re you staring at, luv?” His eyes immediately light up. Did you… did you just call him love?

Needles to say he’s over the moon. Only later does it occur to you that he doesn’t seem to grasp common slang, nor metaphorical talks for that matter. He takes things quite literally and you have to consider your wording before opening your mouth. That doesn’t stop you, however, from having a response ready at all times. That’s what Ticci-Toby really likes about you, you’re always there to ground him. It’s your raspy, mildly annoyed voice that snaps him out of his terrible paranoid episodes. He’s come to cherish the awakening “Are you mental, mate?”

He finds hanging out with you very comforting. In fact, both of you have started this little ritual of him draining his chatty moods while you sit in front of a mirror and do your makeup, interjecting every now and then with a little feedback. He gets to empty his brain of all the erratic thoughts and simultaneously admire your appearance. You’re perfect. For him, particularly.

Ben Drowned

Once again you’re woken up by the loud static in the living room. You drag your legs over to the TV with a knackered groan and slap the remote. Your ex partner had forgotten their video game at your place and ever since you’ve been getting outlandish messages and images stuck on the screen. Who would even play this? Did the game somehow mess up with your TV? This time it won’t turn off despite your attempts. The screen is frozen and you can make out a faded, pixelated text plastered in the corner: “It’s lonely here. Would you join me?”

Ben is fascinated by you and has been so ever since he’s been brought to this place. The forgotten video game was not unintentional: Ben had a fair amount of amusement from haunting your partner, and in a moment of despair they hoped relocating this cursed item would put the focus on someone else, like you. Although you’re rather oblivious to his scare tactics. This time is no different, but now he’s no longer interested in terrorizing you. Quite the opposite. How would you respond to his flustered confessions?

Being with Ben is a surreal experience, given that he can switch between the physical and digital realm with ease. He enjoys teasing you and lately he’s been cheeky in different ways, such as engaging in playful banter regarding your style and accent. It’s all in good fun and you do enjoy his humor. Though you wish he’d skip the riddles that only confuse you most of the time, or the sudden disappearances.

Eyeless Jack

Despite your repeated promises to yourself that you won’t go overboard with drinking ever again, here you are blacked out after a particularly lively party. To your defense, you didn’t expect to be woken up by some bizarre creature, and similarly it seems the man didn’t anticipate you’d be shaken out of your intoxicated state. You can see the glistening of a sharp tool in his hand and instantly sober up.

Both of you are stuck, contemplating the next move. Should Jack just kill you now? If he’s fast enough, you won’t have time to scream for too long. Then again, he does take pride in his silent surgical extractions. A messy fight would just go against his purpose. Your nostrils expand as they begin to accommodate to his presence. You sniff loudly a few times and gag involuntarily. Something stinks. “It’s you. You smell so shabby!” you exclaim and abruptly get up, reaching for your handbag that had been abandoned next to your bed earlier. You aggressively rustle its contents until you finally pull out a Victoria’s Secret perfume bottle. Satisfied, you begin spraying around the hooded man. He can only stare at you, speechless. “I cannot!” you keep repeating in disbelief.

Jack had snuck into your apartment hoping to leave with a fresh kidney and instead ended up perfumed and insulted by a drunken character. It’s this shameless unpredictability that has gotten him hopelessly interested in you. He loves to see your reactions and finds you greatly entertaining. On your end, you find him a proper, quirky lad, although a bit of a nutter. You’re also getting better at tolerating his intense odor that reminds you of black pudding. On one occasion Jack has offered to share his grisly nightly hunts with you, but you casually refused because you’ve got to stay snatched.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

spencer just comforting reader after a bad mental health day and helping them to take a break and shower/or bathe🌼🫶🏻

Honestly, yeah. So true. I based this off of my experiences of just trying to even get out of bed to get to the shower, so I hope you like it!!!

“I see you’re still in bed.”

“Oh my god. You really are a genius.”

Spencer doesn’t miss much, especially not the sarcasm in your voice. He’s pretty perceptive when it comes to you. He knows what coffee order to get you by the way you kiss him in the morning. He knows what book you’ll want to read when you get home by the way you sign your name. He knows that for you to have stayed in bed all day means that you really just need someone to be there for you.

And that’s what he’ll do.

He quietly toes off his shoes and climbs onto his side of the bed—close enough that you can feel the heat coming from his body, but far away enough because he doesn’t know if you wanted to be touched.

Your head was your worst enemy some days. And it’s not like you didn’t try to fight it, you tried so fucking hard. You had even picked out an outfit and laid it on the chair next to the bathroom. But once you flipped the light switch on in the bathroom and saw yourself in the mirror; your brain flipped a switch too.

Which resulted with all the lights off, and you just in bed, over thinking and falling further and further into the pit of your mind.

Spencer whispered your name, bringing you back from where it was your mind had wandered off to again.

Nowhere good was the conclusion he came to. He gently placed his hand on your arms, waiting to see your reaction.

He watched as your body released some of the tension it was holding, and took that as his sign.

Spencer managed to take your hand and squeeze it slightly. “Want to take a shower?”

“That requires moving.” You stated.

There was no malice, but there was no excitement. Just a fact.

“Maybe you’re the genius.” He teased slightly, squeezing your hand. It caused you to let out a huff of air, which was all he could ask for.

Spencer has been to a dark place before. He knew some variation of what you were felling, how heavy it was, how your brain felt like tv static. He had discovered along the way, that the best way to be there for you, was to shower.

Something something about the metaphor of washing it down the drain. is what you would say when he’d ask you about it a couple of months ago, poking fun at yourself.

“Can’t we do a bath instead.”

Your voice cut through the memory. It was so unlike your normal voice; small, exhausted. It caused him to run his thumb across your hand, nodding.

“You’d have to get up for that too.”

“I hate it when you’re right.” You grumbled, rolling over just enough to be able to lift your head and make eye contact with the pretty man sitting next to you.

“I’m always right.”

That caused you to snort, a small laugh escaped your lips. It was one short second, but it meant the world to Spencer.

“Lavender or Vanilla.”

“You can’t make me get up and also make choices.” Your face rolled back into the pillow, but your hand still held onto his.

His hand was so warm, so soft. His heartbeat was pulling your focus from whatever place your mind had been stuck in. You knew what he was doing, distracting you, making you match his breathing, but you didn’t care.

Spencer didn’t move to go set up the bath. He stayed there rubbing you hand with his thumb, enjoying your company because you were enough for him. Just your presence was enough.

“Tell me something.” You mumbled, wanting to hear him, slightly upset that he stopped talking.

“Did you know that Australia is wider than the moon.”

You frowned a bit and looked up at him. That one caught you off guard. “What.”

“The moon is 2,113 miles wide, or 3,400 kilometers, and Australia is 2,485 miles, or 4,000 kilometers, wide.”

“That feels wrong.” You mutter, squeezing his hand.

“Right? Okay, how about Bert and Ernie from Sesame Street are named after the police officer and the taxi driver in Its a Wonderful Life.”

“I knew that already.” You smiled at him slightly. “You’re losing your touch.”

He smiled down at you, leaning over and gently kissing your forehead, making all of the tension float away.

“How about a bath now.”

“Sounds like you’re just trying to get me naked Doctor Reid.”

That made Spencer’s cheeks tinge pink. “No-No. I just…I know that, uh, when people have depressive episodes they tend to ignore their hygiene because the feel like they don’t deserve it and it’s a Monday meaning you were going to shower this morning, and-and I know you didn’t because there’s no towel on the hook on the bathroom door and—“

You squeezed his hand, effectively ending his breathless ramble. “I’m teasing Spence.”

“How did that turn into you comforting me.” He sighed and squeezed your hand back.

Eventually, the two of you made it to the bathroom. It was lavender scented with hints of the coconut, barely any light from the two candles Spencer had lit, opting out of turning the lights on. Shirts and socks were littered across the ground as you both sank into the water. The heat causing the rest of the headache you were feeling yo disappear, or maybe it was the man sitting behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist. Your skin against his.

The steam cleared your senses, filling your nose with the smell of his shampoo as he tried to quietly open the bottle, causing you to giggle slightly as he fumbled with the lid.

You melted under Spencer’s hands as he massaged your head, kissing your shoulders as he went.

That small part of you whispered in your ear that you didn’t deserve this.

But Spencer’s whispers in your other ear easily drowned it out, slowly bringing you back to him, piece by piece, soap bubble by soap bubble, kiss by kiss.

[eddiemunsonsbedroom]

Warnings: ex!Joel, angst, mentions of child death (not graphic), drinking, swearing. Implied reconciliation, humor but mostly angst and sadness, depression, metaphors on similes on metaphors.

A/N: Maybe the best thing I’ve ever written.

-

“Ding dong, dumb ass!” you shout while pushing the doorbell continuously.

When the curtain by the door twitches, an eye and glossy blond hair peeking out, your stomach drops before you snatch your composure back together, waving your fingers at her.

The door abruptly opens- the seal between the door making that shluck noise when the suction releases- and your eyes snap up, trying to make your face look casual in your drunkenness.

He’s looking at you, doing that concerned eye-scrunch thing that he does, with his mouth slightly open, like he’s truly surprised to see you drunk on his doorstep at 6pm. The funny part is that he doesn’t even look annoyed. His hair is slightly curling at his neck how you love, thinking about all of the times you’ve run your fingers through it-both thoughtfully while his head is in your lap, talking- and gripped tightly in pleasure. You almost crack, threatening to sober up and beg him to be with you again.

Until you see that he’s wearing his nice shirt that he only pulls out for special occasions, like a backyard wedding, or when Sarah graduated from high school, and you remember he’s got some blond woman on his couch.

“You dick,” you say, almost not even aware that you actually said it out loud until his eyes soften, appearing guilty for a moment until they sharpen into something else.

There it is. Annoyed.

You shove past him into the house before he even gets the wherewithal to grab your elbow to stop you.

Your eyes settle on the woman on the couch, who seems a little startled, trying to fix her mouth into a smile. It falls flat, looking more confused than anything.

“Hi-“ she starts, until Joel twists away from the door, shutting it a little harder than necessary.

And what did you think that you were going to do once you got here? You had no thoughts aside from just being drunk and wanting to see him and torture yourself some more. Like you aren’t doing that enough on your own- barely sleeping, watching the static on your ancient tv set. Daydreaming, thinking about how your father used to tell you that the tv used to go off the air at midnight- showing the American flag. Done. Like you and Joel.

What the fuck are you doing?

Joel says your name, having the audacity to sigh, like you’re being unreasonable. Which maybe you are. But he can’t act like you’re an inconvenience. He doesn’t have the right. He inconvenienced your whole life, like an employee who calls in sick before a morning shift. He left.

The woman on the couch has the nerve to look pitying, as if she’s thinking, “this woman, poor thing. Can smell the whiskey on her breath from here. Joel is so nice letting this woman into his home. I wonder if she has someone that we can call for her.”

“I had someone,” you’d say, “you’re sitting on his couch right now.”

Would he have answered the phone?

His says your name a little louder in question, bringing you back to his living room. His living room. Where it ended and she must’ve began. He’s in his “first date” shirt. Out with the old and in with the new. Unless it comes to that fucking shirt. The shirt is less replaceable than you are.

“How did you get here?” he grits out. You can’t tell if it’s in annoyance from your presence or the thought of you drunk driving. You took an Uber.

Instead you say, “Unicycle. My ex boyfriend was a clown.”

God, that was a good one. You hope that you remember it tomorrow.

He opens his mouth to respond, but Couch Woman speaks up again, “I’m Angie,”

“Uh huh,” you swivel back to Joel, “so you’re good enough for Andie here-“

“Angie,” she jumps in.

“yeah, Annie-“ you hiccup, “but not me?”

He looks like he wants to slip between the floor and melt into the soil deep under the house. Maybe grow a new Joel. One with a spine.

He doesn’t say anything. Angie’s eyebrows furrow into confusion, eyes flicking between me and Joel.

“Now, either you don’t care about being ‘good enough’ for Annie, or you’re a fucking liar.”

He’s still staring. Stone-faced. Even you can’t read his expression, and you were with him for a year.

“Isn’t that what you told me a month ago? When you broke up with me? That you weren’t good enough for me?”

He still doesn’t say a fucking thing.

You shouldn’t have come here. You should’ve stayed at home, watching the static, too numb to get up and bang on the side of the tv, bringing it back to life, but somehow able to come to Joel. Maybe subconsciously- naively- thinking that he would do the same thing. Breathe that oxygen into you from the New Joel. The one under the house. The one with a spine.

But he didn’t exist until you came and confronted him.

Just like you didn’t exist before him.

“Are you guys…” the woman on the couch- the intruder that is too fucking nice, that you want to hate but can’t- trails off.

“Exes, yeah. I got the unicycle in the break up. He got the really long scarves. Judging from the look he’s giving me, I think they’re up his a-“

“Okay, well maybe I should go,” she says, polite as ever. The nerve of this woman. Can’t even call you a bitch or anything, even though you probably deserve it.

“No,” you say, “I’ll go,” crossing over the floor, wanting to trample any possible growth from the Joel Tree, wanting to wallow- wanting to be away from the Joel with a spine. Maybe he would reject you with the truth. Maybe you never really wanted the truth. The static is calling-

“Angie,” Joel speaks so suddenly when you start to pass, his deep voice breaking the silence again scaring you, “I think you should go. I’m-“

“It’s okay,” she says, not even annoyed. Just with the pity. She squeezes by you awkwardly, a tight smile that you turn your eyes down from in shame.

As they say their muffled goodbyes at the door, you take your flask from your pocket. You’re still drunk but you need to be numb again- downing the rest of the contents in several long pulls before you change your mind.

The door makes that airy suction noise and he’s behind you. You can feel his eyes on your neck.

“She seems nice,” you say, quietly. It sounds absurd as soon as it hits the air. What else can you say? Sorry? You’re not. Not really.

He takes the flask from your hand gently, and you feel so much lighter, like it was an anchor, only you think that it was weighing you down more than holding you in place. Holding you together.

You float over to the couch. The one you sat on nearly every night until last month. The spot warm, a reminder of who was here. You lay your head back, peeking at Joel, glassy eyes glinting in the low lamp light, thinking, I was the original woman on the couch. That was me.

He doesn’t tell you that he meant what he said. He isn’t good enough for you. How could he be? You’re everything. You deserve everything in return.

Sarah died after her graduation. Car accident. And such a waste. She was everything, too. She deserved everything- but instead she had it all taken away. He had it all taken away. So he pushed you away. He was too broken. And you were everything.

He can’t even tell you that she wasn’t even a date. She was a realtor.

He puts a blanket over your legs- going to sit in the armchair that’s facing you.

“Why couldn’t you love me, Joel?” you slur, head thrown back on the couch, eyes closed.

He pauses for a long time, wondering when he became so broken. Or was he always this way?

Even now, he can’t say the words. He wants to say the words. He wants to be everything.

He watches you sleep, hours later, thinking maybe he will say it when the sun rises.

And when it does, you say that you think Jackson is nice this time of year.

-

A/N (again): sorry the formatting is goofy, I wrote it in my notes app lol. Reblogs/likes/feedback appreciated. Xo

[tag-that-oc]

One of my ocs is quite the problem for everyone that encounters her

I’ve been calling her Miss Static or The Patron Saint of TV but she is an absolute menace

her head is a bunch of TVs and cameras with a static halo type thing, and she wears a bland grey suit jacket with tie and white collared shirt Plus a black thong, fishnets, and massive red heels

She only needs her upper half to look professional

She has a little group of people that she keeps around her and because of her they’ve become media superstars basically but her methods of getting that done range from highly questionable to outright illegal

She has no true morals and will spout things on both sides of a topic, generally picking whichever response will get the most reaction and engagement from whoever she’s around

She sucks so bad and I love her, she’s got lipstick all over her ass due to people metaphorically kissing her ass in an attempt to get fame

—🪲⚙️

i love her... fucked up tv head ocs very good!

[onehundredandeleventropicalfish]

Which version of Death, Dream, Desire and Despair do you prefer, the comic version or the TV show versions?

honestly? i think their casting for the endless (and just in general) is so good and so true to the comic, that the differences between the two are so slight, i don't even really think of them as two separate entities?

like, i've talked about lucienne and how much i prefer her in the show, and that goes for quite a few of the not endless characters (rose is another one, because she gets so much more agency, she feels like a protagonist, whereas comic rose is more being shuffled from place to place, though i do miss her using the doll's house as a metaphor for her life bc that's why the arc is called that)

but the actors for the endless, it's so clear that they've all put in so much work to truly understand where their characters are coming from - they've read the comic, they've talked to neil gaiman, they're not just going off the info in the script but they're also bringing with them all of that comic backstory, they're putting it all into every line they say, and you can really see it

so instead of saying i prefer one or the other, i just see it as two angles to look at the same character. the comic gives us more information because it had narration and inner thoughts that the tv can't give us, and the tv gives us all the tiny movements and expressions, the things that all add up into how we see a person, that the comic with its static images can't do. fittingly, it's like how the endless themselves are more than three dimensional - it's impossible to see any endless in their entirety just by looking at them, you can only see one aspect at a time. but if you look at all the aspects, and what each tells you about that person, you start to get a sense for what they might be, in their entirety, the way they see each other

and i'm both a little nervous and extremely excited to see the other three on screen, bc i know whoever they cast will change my perception of those characters, but if they keep this up the way they've done for the first four, it'll be a change for the better

(if i really have to pick though, comic dream, solely for the galaxy eyes and the coat that's on fire, which they couldn't quite get to work in live action)

(...also the red scarf)

[omniblades-and-stars]

Things I'd Like to Know About My Fellow Writers

I was tagged by @korblez, thx bb.

Last book I read: The last book I finished was City of Light, City of Poison by Holly Tucker, which is a fascinating look at an era of French history I know almost nothing about (granted ... that's also most of French history). That being said, I came to a very different opinion on the subject, Nicolas de la Reynie, than the author. I am currently reading the Night Lords Omnibus by Aaron Dembski-Bowden, I know almost nothing about Warhammer, but I am enjoying it a great deal.

Greatest literary inspiration: Shoo, I dunno guys. One day I want to ride that high of making people feel the way I felt about the spiders in Children of Time by Adrian Tchaikovsky. I have never EVER ever been so moved and invested in a story as I was about a story that is partly about the evolution of spiders into sentient, sapient beings with culture and science. I have far away dreams of doing nonfiction work like Mary Roach. I love her writing and the topics she chooses so much. Stiff and Spook are some of my most favorite nonfiction works.

Things in my current fandom(s) I want to read but I don't want to write: Crawling on my hands and knees for stories about Blackwall that don't involve a love triangle with C*llen. But are also still good characterizations of my boy. I am positive there's more but my poor brain, she is soop.

Things in my current fandom(s) I want to write but I think nobody would be interested in them but me: The exploration of one of my Shepard's backstories via an extended afterlife sequence. More stories with original characters and only original characters in them (I'm an original character machine, you guys should just have me make up characters for you.)

You can recognize my writing by: Repeating phrases, flashback sequences, conversational prose and (so I'm told) strong character voice. Maybe someone gets stabbed a little, and it's kind of sexy. Dance clubs apparently.

My most controversial take (current fandom[s]): Jack and Miranda make no sense as a couple. It's probably not controversial, but I really hate the Arrival DLC and I will continue to take every opportunity I can to yell about how much I hate it. It was narratively important for Mordin and Thane to die. Same vein, I felt like Shepard dying at the end of 3 gave me a sense of closure and finality. Shepard's story is ultimately a tragedy if you really think about it. (This has not stoppd me at all from writing Shepard lives stories.)

Top three favourite tropes: Enemies to lovers, religious metaphors in sex, are flashbacks are trope? Well, I am making them one now.

What’s your current writing mood? (10 – super motivated and churning out words like crazy, 0 – in a complete rut) I dunno ... like a 2. I'm mad strugglin' right now. The ideas are there, but then when I look at the documence, they all run away.

Share a random frustration: I'm just really frustrated with my own brain right now. It's really aggressive TV static right now.

Tagging: @commander-krios, @ferniliciousness, @lag-train, @mushroommanchanterelle

[laurelnose]

I saw your Disco Elysium work skin on AO3 and I felt like I could add to it a bit. I thought it'd be cool if the formatting could break down if anything ever happened near the Pale. I'm pretty solid at programming so I'm definitely not asking you to do it, but if you had any suggestions I'll take them. Part of the problem is the fact that everything you've written applies to the entire workskin div, and my smooth brain was never that good at frontend in the first place.

hi! that sounds awesome; let me know if you do end up figuring something out and I’d be happy to link to your mods!

lol yeah I love div minimalism but it has its drawbacks. and tbh even I go a bit cross-eyed trying to read my own gradient code. 😅 It would probably be easier to mess with if you used the FELD Playback version, which applies the background to a div nested within the workskin. You can leave out the feld-overlay-start and feld-overlay-end divs if you don’t wanna deal with them. Also I cannot recommend this codepen enough for work skin testing, it really simplifies the whole business.

It then depends on what you would want “breaking down near the pale” to look like. My first instinct is to lean into the tape metaphor. Nesting the parts of the fic that take place near the pale in a div with a TV-static background and some negative margin fuckery to make it cover its containing div could work, maybe with some gradient work to make the static fade in and out. Or possibly have the tape background itself fade out. You could do this by making a new feld-body class with an added linear gradient with the background gray at the bottom fading to transparent over maybe, idk, 5-10em?, another where the linear gradient goes from top to bottom inside, and a third solid gray div with zero top/bottom margin that you could sandwich between them. Or use white instead of solid gray.

More subtle effects might be text-only: a series of classes for p tags with increasing transparency, for instance. Have you looked at THE FURY OF A SHATTERED MIRROR by ASpooky, especially chapters 11-15? They’ve done some really fantastic work with formatting there. The insertion of “Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves. Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves” in ch. 11 particularly seems pale-adjacent, since it can add signal from other sources.

[wouldwillwood]

WHITE NOISE

One of the few songs you can listen to in Will Wood's 2022 "In Case I Make It Album" is White Noise. I've never really understood this before because it all seemed so confusing to me the first time I listened to it, but I've recently re-listened to it a few weeks back and I really wanted to write some sort of paragraph and analysis of the song from my perspective, considering there wasn't much annotations on the Genius Lyrics website. So I'm taking that chance to do a take on this entire song for the (possibly?) first time.

I'd like to put a trigger warning for suicidal thoughts, as the song contains messages and metaphors that I perceive may suggest suicide.

Everything that I say here is merely how I understand the song and how I view the meaning of the metaphors used in this song.

1. The Symbolism of White Noise

The white noise that is mentioned throughout the entire song is suicidal thoughts or the voices in your head that are disturbingly intrusive. When you hear white noise or static on the TV, it gets really annoying and irritating the more you listen to it. In my perspective, it's the exact same thing with suicidal and intrusive thoughts.

2. The Lyrics

The lyrics have so many metaphors and words that have could give out the message of suicidal thoughts or the feeling of depression (or any similar position of vulnerability, in that matter.)

All the lyrics in my understanding

✧ ˚ 　· 　★　 . *ੈ✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . ⋆ ★

They paint the walls with colors that You’re not meant to notice Beiges and browns, off-whites and grayscales Fluorescent lights to shine on The eggshell ground This is the introduction of the song, I feel like this part gives us a little vision of the setting or surrounding he's in. Imagine an empty white room. I think this could resemble someone's mindscape, or could specifically be Will Wood's mindscape. I think the "empty room" isn't exactly "empty." Because there are things you notice in it like the different shades of white (reference to the 3rd line of this verse.) It's sort of like our brain. When you're "thinking about nothing" there's also everything. It's like a void with everything and nothing at the same time. Which is very confusing, but it's the best I can explain. Another easier version of my explanation about this verse is basically just finding the little things in space of emptiness. Distracting yourself with things in the space you're in. Trying to find meaning in it.

They fill the halls with tunes you can't get into your head 4/4 and Dorian, wrote 'em for ignoring 'em Yeah, it sorta sounds like a retro top-40 but wrong You're not meant to sing along. It's not that kind of song, it's white noise. I find this part of the song still a bit confusing to me. But I think I have a good take on this. 4/4 is a common time signature in music, you kind of hear it on a lot of songs. Dorian or "Dorian mode" is a type of melodic behaviour that consists a lot of minor notes in it's structure. And because of the minor notes and keys in the Doric mode, it makes music sound melancholy or dramatic. Some synonyms for melancholy are related to sadness, depression, sorrow, etc. I think when the song says "wrote them for ignoring 'em" I like to think it means that the music they wrote could be thoughts they made up, but ignore them for some reason. The part that says "It kind of sounds like a retro top-40 but wrong, you're not meant to sing along. It's not that kind of song, it's white noise." can be connected to my last lyric analysis. The song mentioned in this verse can probably symbolize very strong and suicidal thoughts, but you're not meant to listen to them. Because they're simply just noise.

And it’s personality’s a lack of identity It makes no statement, but does so quite loudly I think this might be my absolutely worst lyric take yet, but sometimes I find that there are some people who think about depressive thoughts, and start to distance themselves or become quiet. I think this line could be an example of when people do that thing.

It’s an "aesthetic" I mean "an anesthetic" And it’s an experience for your seventh sense, yes This is one of my favorite lyrics next to the "does it cure cancer" one. This may come off as weird but I find a lot of beauty in vulnerability, not in a sense where I would make depression aesthetic. But it's just something that really opens up a lot of perspective and vision about these type of topics. An anesthetic is used to numb or take away your senses from your body, but since I know this song is full of metaphors, we can take this in a non literal sense, and say that a certain subject of this verse numbs your senses. I don't believe in a seventh sense, however it is said that a seventh sense could be some sort of connection to your mental space or something similar to that. I think with these bits of information, I'd like to think that this verse could say that there's some sort of appealing feature about the numbness of your senses. Not being able to feel something is just somehow relaxing and pleasing, it's a confusing feeling to explain, but the most I can say is that sometimes everything feels better if there was nothing at all.

Does it cure cancer? (Yes, it cures cancer!) Wow! It begs the question, just to tell you the answer This part of the song can be interpreted in multiple different ways but there's this one thought me and a friend shared about this line. I think the interaction between Will Wood and the "people" in this very specific part of the song can symbolize a person and the voices in their head. My take on this part of the verse is that this could be the said person either trying to entertain themselves or trying to twist their thoughts (possibly with facts versus reality.) It's an interesting lyric, and hard to understand but that's what I like about it. This lyric kind of seems like lying to yourself. There is obviously no cure to cancer, so the voices are lying to you. Let's say you were depressed and you keep asking yourself if you're okay. There are situations where the mind wants to deny that fact and it goes "Yes, you're okay." Another reason why I think this lyric is about a person and the voices in their head is because of how the last line was structured. "It" begs you the question and tells you the answer. "It" can be referring to both the person and the voices in their brain, or just the person as a whole. You ask yourself a question, and you're the only one who can answer it.

Well, if you walk the walk, can you talk more? (Shh! Quiet.) I think my interpretation of this lyric is the person thinking to themselves if they should commit (suicide) so their thoughts could stop and finally silence and not disturb them anymore.

You fill your head with thoughts you find you can't even feel Try to make room in your skull but it's full of them All of the things that you think and think about thinking I know it's hard, but they’re not who you are They're white noise The final part of the song. I think the first line could mean numbness and emptiness of the suicidal thoughts the person is having. The second and third line following, telling that there's too much of these suicidal thoughts to think about to the point it's the only thing that fills their head. But the last 2 lyrics trying to reassure the person that they're just intrusive and unnecessary thoughts (white noise).

[londonsblackbeauty]

my writing process usually looks a bit like this:

1. very very bad first draft (just writing down feelings in a vague poemy format, including references i wanna make and some very badly executed metaphors)

2. question how i ever wrote good poetry in the past for roughly 30 minutes

3. come back and rearrange everything, create a completely new poem with all the good elements of the first one and change the blunt bits ("everyday it sort of gets worse, im a bit less there") to more poetic sounding shit ("every day i worsen, i float off farther away from the present")

4. research references i wanna make (tried to talk about the static of a tv but i know nothing ab old tvs so, wikipedia time)

5. finish off by reading the poem 5 times out loud to try to grasp the cadence of how it should be spoken

6. go to sleep and forget about it

7. remember day after and transcribe it to my phone, editing it along the way, replacing words, altering where the line breaks are, etc etc

8. usually upload to ao3 where more minor edits are made

[clockwork-reveries]

"We are NOT watching Human Centipede. Literally nobody likes that movie. I don't think you even like it," Static hissed as he secured a blanket over Crescendo, who just shrugged in response.

"I meaaaaan, I've watched it a couple of times. Nothing's ever gonna take the shock away from that first viewin', though. Who even comes up with sewing some-"

"Stop. We will not watch that movie." Amp held down the button on the TV remote, scrolling through titles on the screen. He briefly glanced at Lock from the corner of his vision. "Is Lock permitted to view disturbing content?"

"Doctor Akane would have given me clear directives and restrictions if I were unable to. My memory database does not recall any of instructions from Doctor Akane." "I see. RK, what did your creator say about Lock's.. mentality and other things, again?"

RK looked up from her phone. "Basically.. he shouldn't be sheltered from bad bad things or really strange or complicated stuff so he can develop his own values and everything, but don't stuff him with genuinely evil stuff. And make it all stop when he gets overwhelmed." "Unbiased information, never malicious, and don't overstimulate. Alright. We still haven't decided on a film yet. Someone suggest titles." "Why don't we watch your favorite of all time?" Crescendo snickered. "I'm sure it's got enough gore." "American Psycho is not a Horror movie nor does it belong in any of the sub-genres relating to it, little suspense is dr-" "Hey, smartass." Static glared at both Crescendo and Amp, but mostly was just talking to Amp. "It says right here in Google, that it counts as psychological horror." As the comical trio bickered amongst themselves, RK giggled and nudged Lock lightly. "You can never catch a break with these three! Good thing the war getting stopped means we can be our silly selves." "I do not believe that an adjective with a connotation describes me in comparison to the rest of this group's members. Mr. Bellmont previously described me with the metaphor, "black sheep"." "There's nothing wrong with being an odd one. We're all kinda quirky in our own ways." Lock turns to the darkened TV. "A non-explicit movie will bore the others. I do not watch films and my internet access is highly limited yet I am not vulnerable to standard gore." "Are you sure?" "I am giving an affirmative signal." "Okay." RK patted Crescendo a bit hard on the shoulder. "Hey, debate class's over! Lock doesn't care if we watch something on the normal-levels!" Amp picked up the remote from his pillow and continued to view through it. "We could watch something classical. Like a slasher movie. Those don't usually have a lot of blood," Static offered. "Yeah." Crescendo listed off, "Friday the 13th, Nightmare on Elm Street, Scream.." "The Shining?" Static idly suggested. He huffed when his friends looked at him strange. "Geez, sorry. Okay, The Thing?" "Which one." There were two options. "First one's a sequel, pick the '82 one." Crescendo draped an arm around Static's shoulders. Amp stood after clicking on the right movie to flick off the lights, while RK explained to Lock that it was technically a science fiction movie.

[lastoneout]

No you're good also that is EXACTLY what it's like. I always say unmedicated ADHD feels like I've got my head inside a fishbowl, like it's some weird mix of disassociation and brain fog that numbs all your senses and makes it impossible to focus or do anything, but the TV/radio static metaphor is like spot on, it's really such an awful headspace to be in and part of the reason why I say taking adderall is like putting my glasses on, suddenly everything is calm and in focus and I can feel the difference between what's me and what's the world.

So yeah nah that's such a good way to describing it and god does it suck so fucking bad holy shit. I'm legit jealous of people who take the regular stuff rather than the extended release, it's be nice to only take it when I need it but my ADHD is SO BAD I cannot be unmedicated for long stretches of time, I need it all day every day or I'll go insane.

day 1 without adderall. goddamn I really lived like this for 23 years.

[onwriting-hrarby]

On writing advice

Countless blogs. Countless articles. Books by great authors, books by mediocre authors, books by bad authors. Physical courses and online courses and tweets and Tumblrs all dedicated to: make you write better.

As if writing was a sole thing, a sole notion, a commonplace and designation for everyone in the world, the same. As if writing was a natural thing where all humans converge—immovable, static.

How restricting—how incredibly boring.

Their advice

I've been seeing a lot of Tumblrs and blogs creating masterlists about "How to write a scene between a villain and a hero", "How to write a kiss", "How to write an angry character". All of their tips sound as if there was something so exact about writing. They make us believe there's a sole way to do this, and this is how you should do it (disclaimer: I do believe in the reader's criticism, and I acknowledge these tips might be helpful for a lot of people, so if they are for you, it's all good! But bear in me for a little longer).

But writing is not something universal—rather, the universality of writing stems from its specificity of it. Writing pours out of our own experience, vision and caleidoscope of ideology, experiences and semantics, and reducing everything to simple tips feels, at least, misleading.

First, we can differ in characters. Why? Because everyone has had their fair share of experiences with people. If I want to write a villain that is nuanced, I should be able to do that; but if someone wants to write a villain that is plain "villainous", it doesn't mean that they are not doing it correctly.

We feel the appeal of literature because it shapes our world—and it does because we're shaping literature in return, too.

It doesn't make sense that everything should be written the same, because not everyone experiences the same, in the same parts of the world, with the same ideology. How I, the daughter of an ex-dictatorship country, might depict a dictator, might differ completely from the depiction of someone who hasn't lived in a dictatorship. Expecting everyone to write the same is not also reductive and unfreeing, but also completely privileged and biased.

Why writing advice is often privileged

I believe that those who write this advice come from the same place. And I do, myself, when I give advice on planning. We come from higher education, or access to literature, or even access to a computer. We come from places we can turn on our TV and watch series and learn about pacing, or watch some tropes, or feel some way or another about daily topics.

But literature is not only writing, and writing (as it often happens) is not always literature. To write literature, there must be something else (I'll refer to it as truth, and speak about it largely after). Sure, everyone can put down a thousand well-written words, making sense, even with metaphors, and dialogues. But is this really literature—if we regard literature as something that transcends the writing and shapes us?

Because, if we do regard writing as literature, what do we do about the people who have so much to tell, but not the privilege to tell their stories?

When we tell someone about "writing power dynamics", are we all understanding the same? What about a kid who has been raised in a household with power dynamics, but can't rebel, or society doesn't allow him to see that? What about people who, for example, are not taught that their story matters?

This is the problem of a single story, as Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie explains. And while I think we're progressing in this sense (more and more new, unheard voices in literature and the book publishing sector), I am still baffled by how we keep normalizing certain writing advice on how to write certain scenes, and certain tropes, as something you should regard in terms of writing. Because not all experience is the same, and therefore, the advice that some people claim as universal might differ.

Because everything is your own tradition

Everything is a fashion, and everything is tradition. My literary tradition might not be your tradition. When someone tells me that "stories can be told in a consecutive way, in media res or from the end", or any other advice on how to plot, this feels so simplistic to me. There is just not one way—there are hundreds of ways to begin a story and tell it.

You can begin my merging voices of the beginning, the in media res or the end of the story. You can put different adventures in the middle of the main plot—coming back to what happened, but not in a chronological way (the way The Odyssey does). You can begin in the middle of the action and never address what happened before (Berlin Alexanderplatz by Alfred Döblin; The Transformation by Franz Kafka)—so that the "story" that was "worth" being told is not the "story" that is actually being told.

Pacing: "be sure not to use a lot of commas. Use full stops when you want to speed things up", etc. How about you get the help of the music, as if writing was writing a partiture (the way Thomas Bernhard did)?

The three acts of writing: What about you do five, or four, or basically, concentrate your whole plot in just an event? You can focus your story in just a day (Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf, Ulysses by James Joyce)—not caring about the plot altogether.

You can write characters that are already "evolved" by the beginning of the story (Humbert Humbert in Lolita), that will never evolve (Werther in The pains and sorrows of young Werther). And so on.

This is the great joy—and obvious mess—about writing.

The infinite possibilities allow us to explain a story that is completely ours. Even if what we are telling is similar to another person's, the scope of the story might change completely depending on the words you pick, the way you use dialogue—every single little decision.

Cover the basics

Of course, it doesn't mean that you should not cover the basics. Orthography, grammar, syntaxis, vocabulary—this all comes in handy. It is handy, especially for non-English native writing in English (aka me) to have posts that signal you the use of "" for dialogues, and how punctuation goes.

But don't let the rules constrict you, it's all I'm saying. People that gives this kind of advice are well read, and have really studied this, and maybe have even gone to grad school for that—but what they normally fail to mention is that maybe rules are there to be learnt, then bended when we need.

You just need to be mindful of how you're writing.

Of course you should learn how to write in in media res, because if you don't, maybe you won't know when or if you're doing it and the plotting might be a whole mess. And you can't pretend to write a character evolving without having learnt that characters evolve.

Just like how we are taught verb inflection in a language, but then when we're fluid, we totally miss it and bend it to adequate it to the talk in the streets—writing is finding your best channel to portray what you want. Maybe the writing advice doesn't work. It doesn't mean that you're not doing it right.

But what writing advice fails to say

And this is the thing that angers me the most—maybe the reason why I've decided to write all of this—is that they never tell you to read.

It infuriates me: read all my writing advice, but forbid you to read a book. Maybe it's the kind of thing that's happening everywhere—we gobble easy content, and it's undoubtedly easier to read a short article on writing than reading a novel of 500 pages.

But it will never be the same.

Because what you can get from reading (or even better, a re-reading) is your own interpretation of the literature you've been given, and there's nothing more powerful to understand yourself—therefore, to understand your motives, your aspirations, your topics as a writer—than seeing how you, as a reader, react to structures, plot, dialogue, character ideology.

Use all the writing advice you want, but your writing will lack truth if you don't read.

Because few people have this spark—this truth about them that makes a reading special. And trust me: I read a lot of manuscripts, very good written, decent in plot. But this is not all. There is something, and I can't quite explain it—a soul, a spark, maybe. It is the moment when you read something and go: "Ah". It's like sighing of relief, having your heart clenched, being absorbed by something—plot, style, whatever. It's that word that the author has used that is so unique in that context, like you feel that no one has ever used that before.

Some people have the craft and the truth but, to me, they are extremely rare. And it's always much better to have the truth than the craft—the craft, you need to learn, and that's more or less easy (you'll find a ton of articles, haven't we said?). But the truth takes years, even a lifetime, because we are in constant development—after all, never forget that even if we apply the best advice to our writing, we're still human: inherently flawed.

[cchapsticck]

UNTITLED RECORDING rcd ca. 1987-1988 (35334 words) by cchapsticck Chapters: 13/13 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Jeff (Stranger Things), Gareth (Stranger Things), Unnamed Freak (Stranger Things), Robin Buckley, incidental OCs Additional Tags: Eddie Munson Lives, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Recreational Drug Use, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Neurodivergent Eddie Munson, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period Typical Attitudes, Internalized Homophobia, Vignette Narrative Structure, Eddie Munson POV, Character Study, Relationship Study, Discussions of Parental Neglect, Self Referential Homophobic Language, In This House We Handwave Away The Vecna Situation Conclusion, Friends With Benefits, Friends With Benefits To Lovers But No One's Saying It, Implied/Referenced Parental Death, Implied/Referenced Addictive Behaviors, Descriptions of Healing Injuries, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Body Dysmorphia, Blood and Injury, Non-Graphic Violence, Mild Sexual Content, Unhygienic Tattoo Practices, Implied/Referenced Childhood Homelessness, Coming Out Series: Part 1 of METALHEAD Summary:

“You’re okay,” Steve says quietly. Steve who's awake apparently, which he more feels through Steve’s chest than hears, his fingers scratching into his hair. Like a soothing gesture. Like he’s a spooked animal. (He is.)

When this was all new, he was sure it would pass. It would roll off his back like anything else ever had. That this was a temporary house guest, this fear of things he was previously incapable of feeling fear for; sudden loud noises, the flapping of bird wings, thunder without rain. Finding him even in sleep sometimes. But he's starting to know now its moved in for good, they're putting down roots, as deeply horrifying as that particular metaphor has become. And its not just in sleep. Its not just dreams that are sort of hypothetical and unreal. Like there's shit hanging in the rafters all over. As much as he’d made a scene of mourning his B.C., his sweetheart, before he picked up the SG at a pawn shop in Columbus, he’d been terrified he’d never be able to play again. That he’d hold this static and unfeeling object in his hands, this thing he used to be so proud of, and it would just feel like his own blood on them again, it'd feel like tearing flesh and red atmospheres.

The secret he’d take to his grave was that he was glad she was gone.

[voxmedia-billsans45]

*Vox simply glanced towards Vaggie's direction! his grinning face fizzling in a fuzzy haze of static as his face-display was replaced with an animated screen-visual that looked like a mock-PSA advert about the dangers of not looking left and right towards oncoming cars! and well...a car would SLAM into the little Chibi-Vaggie who didn’t "look" left!...one can already see where Vox was going with this~...* [[Remember to look "BOTH" ways when crossing folks!~]]

*Vox would eventually turn his attention towards the Radio Demon, watching as Alastor shot verbal flares at him with one sharp-whited comment after another! Vox's corner-lip twitched of course, but his award-winning smile did not falter...for why SHOULD it when Vox has leverage against him? Maybe it will not cause any long LASTING damage to Alastor's reputation...but he does not NEED to damage it...not entirely anyway...breaking him apart peace by metaphorical peace comes LATER...right now? Vox wanted to make a point, to make sure Alastor is on his toes no matter WHAT he may say or HOW he may act...to see even the faintest HINT of Alastor feeling threatened is all he needed...he didn’t NEED it to be obvious...he just needs to remind Alastor...WHY he rose to the top in the first place, and how...* *Thinking back, it was rather hilarious how ALASTOR commented on Vox's actions...Vox worked his way to fame and glory! attaining power, influence, every sinner in the underworld looked at Vox like he was a GOD! And yet the only thing yet unwon was Alastor's RESPECT...well...that was a long time ago, he no longer NEEDED his respect! nor his approval! back since the 1950's, Vox had already started working his way up LONG before he met Alastor! he just thought he finally found someone who could relate to his goals! that he finally found someone JUST like him in this weary afterlife! Oh well...guess good things do not last forever...* *Bah! Vox's thoughts were straying off topic, he had no use for reminiscence! Instead...he decided to continue on with this..."riveting" convocation for as long as need be.*

[["HohHOooOOooo! Bold of you to assume my words of "PRAISE" were a translation to genuine respect! I applaud you for trying to TWIST and TANGLE my words to suit your own narrative Ol-ALSWORTH!~...but I think we both know your insults, like your smile!...are "OLD" and "WORN"~...Oh but I'm getting ahead of myself here! So lets make like Vaggie's left-side and turn a "BLIND EYE" on this momentary TANGO session of ours, shall we?"]] *As he said this, the only remaining TV would soon glitch out, going static beyond the screen as small sparks of electricity surround the whole set!...until...eventually?...the WHOLE screen begins to bleed what seems to be some kind of...liquid...substance made out of glitching TV graphics??...the substance would spark and fizzle until it begins to ZIP and MANIFEST! forming Vox's physical body until the mass BURSTS in an electrical flow! forming Vox's solid form...but Vox's sudden arrival was only the cake! the real icing...was the fact that he came with his OWN CANE!...* *Alastor wasn’t sure if Vox was trying to add an extra flashiness to his appearance, or that he just felt SO bloated with ego that he felt the need to bring a microphone-cane JUST like Alastor's...ether way...his "good mood" was starting to feel..."off"...to the Radio Demon...an air of uneasiness filling the air...*

["OH! and those "holy flames" that you proudly mentioned earlier?...from a "FALLEN EXTERMINATOR"?...How exactly do you think THAT'S gonna play out? I mean factually speaking, the prospect of an "under-classed angel" clashing with an OVERLORD is kinda...while "entertaining"!...VERY redundant~ who's even heard of that HAPPENING!?~"]

*He laughed! all while he taps his cane onto the ground, causing the broken up electric store shops to GLITCH OUT before the TV's behind the glass display were instantly restored...each TV resuming a random network of sorts! ahhh...a symphony to his optic sensors~*

["And oh yes! you contributed FAIRLY you raggedy old ransack~!...

...ON SHOWING US JUST HOW "VULNERABLE" YOU REALLY ARE I MEAN~..."]

*This moment appeared on his screen display PROUDLY...another trophy for his case! an award winning visual SCOOP! a grandiose FILM PRIZE for his next award! He giggled to himself in a digitally filtered voice before his screen switched again, floating just barely off the ground with his feet hanging above, spinning his modern podcast microphone between his fingers.* ["Aww but HAY!~ It wasn’t ALL bad! I mean you DID manage to esca--OH! WOOPS! SORRY!~ I meant..."tactically RETREAT"~ when someone ELSE decided to finish what YOU could not...Now--aghh--SHOOT! who WAS it that kicked Adam to the curve again?.....OHHHH RIGHT!~... BZZZZ!

...It was LUCIFER...WASN'T IT?~..."] *He said...his voice getting more static and more glitchy at the mere mention of the underworlds KING! Vox knew Alastor ran with his tail between his legs...and in the end?...LUCIFER was the one who came by when the Radio Demon couldn’t even finish the job!...which is what he gets for underestimating his foes~...*

@countlessrealities

*The TV headed demon had to admit, he was rightfully amused by Vaggie's reaction at the part where he basically made a big JOKE out of Pentious's noble sacrifice! (if you can call getting flashed onto by a burst of holy light in a mere instant NOBLE of course). Vox had never cared much for that slithering annoyance anywho, he couldn’t even hold up a simple espionage! AND IT HADN'T EVEN BEEN A DAY ETHER! And while Vox was very...VERY disappointed, he could not help but laugh his ass off at the mere sight of him being BLASTED into dust like it was nothing! Credit where it was due of course...at least he went out SHINING.* *Vox looked towards the Angel who...at the moment? was SMASHING up an area full of top quality VoxTek product! much to his irritation. But he tried paying it no mind! Vox ran one of the largest entertainment tech companies in the underworld! coupled with the fact that he had great demonic power that enables him to create more of his TV systems like a breath of fresh air, he didn’t seem all that worried.*

["HA! Please, spare me the clear condescension Alastor! You think a FEW less broken Television systems are gonna start making me role against the ground BALLING like a new-born? I have WAY more where THOSE came from! Let little miss "guardian" over there vent as MUCH as her lack of depth perception can allow! I've got more than enough time to spark up a hearty CHAT with YOU here!"] *Vox clearly seemed to be in much higher spirits! that calm yet arrogant demeanour across his on-screen face display told Alastor much...Vox was happy about SOMETHING...but at the moment it seemed unclear as to what it could be. Vox grins wider at the sight of Vaggie dismantling the other TV sets with broken screens, circuits and wires all littered across the floor!* ["BE SURE TO CLEAN UP AFTER YOUR DONE!~ Most people consider littering to be a public misdemeanour! Though since we ARE in the underworld, I DOUBT anybody will care THAT much!~"]

*He laughed out loud! enjoying the chaotic nature of how she was unleashing her anger before he turns back towards the Radio Demon, with a large amused smile adorning his face in an attempt to match Alastor's signature grin!*

["SO! Tell me Mr RADIO DEMON, What's the LATEST, Hmmm? still spending the entire duration of your afterlife recuperating after your HUMILIATING display of DEFEAT? I'd AXE if you were okay! but we BOTH know I'm none too cordial when YOUR in the picture~"]

["Oh speaking of "PICTURE"! You REALLY should have seen yourself on live TV! I didn’t broadcast the whole thing in public! (YET) BUUUUT HohoHOOOooo BOY! Just IMAGING how every sinner in hell will react when THEY see just HOW utterly RAVAGED you were when Adam AXED your performance!!~ Now THAT is sure to wrack up ratings!~"] *Wait...Vox had recorded that WHOLE moment against Adam...and now he has it on standby?...talk about PETTY...but Vox seems to see it as a huge peace of entertainment value! and if it shakes up Alastor's reputation even a LITTLE?...all the BETTER~*

@countlessrealities