#convo : angel

[ptieuca]

[nirhia]

They have bunnies!

[lilpuffyart]

Can Angels cry?

[eucacici]

Angel deserved better

[sherlock-is-ace]

Holmes calling Watson John will always make me soft, no matter the adaptation :')

[poopiefart420]

Prayers to Agni, unheard.

Alt title: teenage boy uses Agni as his personal death note

[aquaquadrant]

How would htp!Tango go with the bit from Limited Life episode 4 when he's running from everyone?

How would it be different from the actual scene?

(not canon to HTP ofc because the timelines don’t match up but HEY i like angst)

"tango!" skizz calls desperately, peering out over the ocean. he could’ve sworn he’d heard tango’s voice when he came this way, but the range of amplification their voices get from the proximity mod can be a little tricky sometimes-

“skizz?”

tango’s voice crackles out of skizz’s communicator; he must be in range, after all. but skizz doesn’t relax just yet. crouching by the water’s edge, he scans the waves intently. his grip tightens around his axe.

"alright, where are you, dude?" he asks, voice low. he keeps the horizon in his periphery; he can just barely make out the horde of yellow names off on the distant shore, digging and searching for tango.

“r- right below you.” tango’s voice is shaky; probably from the adrenaline. being hunted by almost the entire server isn’t exactly a picnic. “where- is impulse with you? or- or etho?”

skizz shakes his head, even though he knows tango can’t see it. “no dude, they’re running interference, okay, but it won’t be long before the others see me over here.” he swallows. “you gotta let me kill you.”

there’s a brief silence.

“okay.” tango’s voice is barely audible. the tone of it gives skizz pause; that sounds like more than just nerves. “okay, o- okay, fine, i’m- i’m fine with that.”

“are you?” skizz asks, his brows furrowing.

“i…” there’s a shuddering exhale. “i don’t- i’d rather it be you, if- if i’m honest. the others, they might…” he breaks off, making a distressed sound in the back of his throat. “y- you know.”

there’s definitely something wrong. skizz’s heart is starting to pound, but he keeps his voice steady. “alright, yeah. this is gonna stick it to them so bad.” he lifts his communicator up and peers through its lens. “can you give me a quick tag, buddy?”

tango doesn’t reply, but skizz sees the flash of a gamer tag beneath the ocean before it vanishes again. tango’s not taking any chances, apparently. not that skizz can blame him.

“you’re pretty deep underwater, dude,” skizz informs him regretfully. “and i don’t- ugh, i don’t have my stupid shovel.”

tango inhales sharply. “i- i can’t- uh, can you…?”

“okay,” skizz murmurs. he knows tango won’t be harmed by water like a real blaze, but it’s uncomfortable even on the best of days and that’d be a lot to ask of him right now. “alright, i’ll come to you. stay put, okay?”

“okay,” tango whispers.

“there a hole for me, buddy?” skizz asks, putting his axe away.

“yes.”

“alright.” skizz straightens up, folding his wing tightly against his body. even one wing will cause a lot of drag underwater and he’s already not looking forward to soggy feathers. “i’m on my way, just hang on.”

taking a deep breath, skizz dives into the ocean.

salt stings his eyes as he swims towards the sand at the bottom. it’s darker down here than he’s expecting for midday, only the faint glow from his halo allowing him to see. he starts digging as soon as he reaches the bottom, hoping he’s in the right place. he’s acutely aware of how long he can hold his breath for and the last thing he needs is a stupid drowning death to steal even more time from him-

a figure enters his field of vision, making him jolt. it’s scott, his freshly yellow timer barely visible in the deep. still holding his breath, skizz equips his axe.

scott actually rolls his eyes. “i’m not gonna kill him, don’t worry.” his voice carries well underwater, and he doesn’t seem to have trouble breathing. must be due to those recently acquired gills of his.

well, that’s fortunate. skizz nods quickly and puts his axe away before resuming his digging. to his surprise, scott floats down next to him and starts helping, his webbed fingers making easy work of the sand. after a couple seconds, they’ve cleared enough sand for skizz to see a hold in the underlying stone, with a faint light beyond it. lungs burning, skizz dives for it.

he makes it through right as the first damage hits him, head breaking through the water with a gasp. kicking against the current, he finally emerges from the ocean. gravity once again takes hold of him. he flops onto the damp stone floor quite ungracefully, his wing heavy and pulling him slightly off-balance.

skizz hauls himself to his feet, dripping wet and catching his breath, and looks around the cave tango’s carved out for himself. it’s tiny, with just three blocks between them, and lit only by the glow of tango’s blaze rods. they’re redder than usual and roaring with flames, whirling above his head in agitation- the way a blaze spins before it starts shooting fireballs.

tango himself doesn’t seem to be doing any better. he’s crouched against a corner, his arms wrapped around his knees, claws digging into his skin. his pupils are blown, so much so that it almost makes his wide eyes look completely black. his chest is rising and falling rapidly, and the noise that comes with each breath sounds disturbingly like a blaze. his mouth hangs slightly parted as he pants, lips drawn back to show his sharp teeth- like a wolf does. but there’s no ferocity in his expression; just sick fear.

altogether, the sight sends a chill down skizz’s spine. it’s like he’s looking at an animal; a cornered, terrified, wild animal. there have been things in the past tango’s reacted strangely to, sure, but skizz has never seen it this bad before. god, he wishes impulse was here.

“hey, tango,” skizz says softly.

for a moment, tango just stares at skizz. then his eyes dart to the side, to the hole in the stone. belatedly, skizz realizes what’s got tango so concerned.

“scott,” he calls carefully, keeping his gaze on tango, “just uh, just stay out there, okay, dude?”

a dark shadow passes by the hole before vanishing. “you’re fine, just get on with it!”

skizz swallows. he stays where he is. “tango, buddy, you okay? talk to me.”

tango’s gaze cuts back to skizz. “is martyn…?”

“no, no martyn,” skizz assures him.

tango takes a shaky breath. “i killed him,” he says hoarsely. “he- he’ll want revenge. and- and the other yellows- you have to kill me, before they find me. skizz, please.”

“hey, hey, hey, it’s alright,” skizz soothes, despite the way his heart feels like it’s twisting itself into a knot. he never thought tango would fear the other players so badly; these are his friends. “you got it. what do you- uh, how do you want me to do it?”

“TNT?” tango asks quietly. “if you light it…”

“alright, yeah, i got some TNT,” skizz says, rummaging through his inventory and pulling out a block of it. “here, uh- you wanna just take that?”

warily, tango teaches a clawed hand out and takes the TNT. he sets it down right in front of him, flush against his folded knees.

“tango?” skizz prompts gently, pulling out his flint and steel. “i need to hear you say it, buddy.”

tango shudders. “do it,” he whispers, turning his face away. “you can kill me, you- i- i just want it to be over.”

“okay, thank you,” skizz murmurs, taking a cautious step forward. “that’s right, dude. after this, it’ll all be over. i’ll come find you at spawn, okay?”

“okay."

“i’ll see ya there. now, count to five for me?"

tango swallows. “one…”

skizz lights the TNT. the sound of sizzling fills the air as the TNT starts to flash.

"t- two..."

putting the flint and steel away, skizz turns and dives back through the hole, into the ocean. tango's voice still sounds from his communicator.

"three..."

kicking madly, skizz swims towards the surface, where scott is waiting.

"four-"

BOOM.

skizz breaks the surface, gasping for breath. he glances back down and sees a new crater at the bottom of the ocean, water and sand churning into a froth. treading water with one arm, he holds his communicator up and looks at the chat.

Tango blew up.

scott gives skizz a sidelong look. "i know how hard it is to let a teammate kill you," he says, his voice low, "but that seemed..."

"scott, buddy," skizz says tiredly, heading for the shore, "keep this between us, will ya?"

~

[funhouse-mirror-barbie]

Thoughts on “Loser Baby”

—TW: talk about sexual assault/self-blaming for SA/internalized victim-blaming

I watched episode 4 of Hazbin. Warning that this will be partially more of a personal vent as well.

In regards to everything with the discourse surrounding episode 4–The arguments on Threads and all the talk about depiction of sexual assault and abuse. Well, it’s made me reflect a bit on my own assault.

And what made me reflect on it more than anything wasn’t actually “Poison”, although I will talk about my personal feelings on that later, it was “Loser, Baby”

I want to talk about my thoughts on the song—but before I do I’m going to talk briefly about my experience with sexual assault.

If I’m being honest, I feel like I have to bring it up. With all the contention surrounding the episode, I’m worried that if I try and just give my opinion, fans of the series will try and “disprove” my feelings or opinions on the song and episode.

Or say that I’m shutting down victims, even though I’m just trying to talk about how the song made me feel in relation to my own experience with sexual assault.

So. Here we go.

Final tw—talk of sexual assault/groping/internalized victim-blaming

I hesitate to even call it an assault, because I was groped, and I feel guilty calling it that. Like, there are victims who have been actually physically assaulted and raped and had it so much worse, and so I don’t have the right to call it “assault”.

Maybe I minimize it because it makes it less scary, the idea that there are people who just believe they can do whatever they want to you and your body. I don’t, and won’t, call myself a survivor because I just can’t when I think about everything others have had to go through and still survive. All I had to survive was the shame of what happened to me, and the shitty hangover I had the next day.

Anyway.

When I living abroad as a teacher, I was groped by a stranger multiple times while I was out drinking with coworkers. I didn’t speak the local language fluently. I’m pretty sure I was 24.

At the time I was really really drunk. I don’t remember a lot of that night, just that every-time I got up from our booth to go to the bathroom or get a drink this old man at the bar kept touching my ass.

And I remember not understanding what was happening at first, and then slowly realizing the situation. After that I know I drunkenly I told him off to his face angrily. I remember shouting “I do not forgive you” in the local language. I remember storming outside the bar. I remember that when I was screaming at this man who believed he had the authority to touch my body without my consent, he was smirking and smiling at me, unimpressed by my indignation.

My coworkers came outside and asked me if I needed a taxi to get home but I was so embarrassed that I said I was okay and walked home. I called my friend who was also a foreigner like me and told her what happened. I talked to her most of the walk home, and she comforted me and distracted me by telling me about her day when I asked her to.

I remember as I got close to my apartment I finally fell apart. I just have this memory of leaning up against a telephone poll down the street from my apartment building and sobbing against it. It was probably somewhere between 1 and 2 in the morning, and I had never felt more alone in my life.

I felt so embarrassed and so so stupid. Like. Why had I decided to drink that much? If I hadn’t I would’ve been able to tell what was going on sooner. Maybe I could have stopped it! Maybe the guy wouldn’t have touched me at all if I had been sober! I felt humiliated and violated and like I had made a fool of myself.

In short. I felt like a loser.

What I’ve come to realize since then is that no. I am not a loser. I didn’t do anything wrong that night.

It was the man that groped me, the man that wrongly believed he had a right to touch my body wherever he wanted, who was the loser.

I think that’s why the song “Loser Baby”, to me, is so so much worse than anything Poison could have portrayed. And why it feels so so unnecessarily hurtful.

I don’t want to “reclaim” the feeling I had that night. I want to scream and scream and scream at the man who assaulted me until his head pops like a balloon.

I want to tell EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON. Who has ever been touched or groped or assaulted or worse that, no, it’s not your fault. It will never be your fault. You did not do anything wrong. You are not to blame for this. You are not a loser, and you have nothing, nothing, NOTHING to be ashamed of.

And. I think I also want to somehow minimize what happened, because I know that worse has happened to other people.

When I think about this—and don’t worry, I think about it very rarely now—but when I do, a part of me says “you’re complaining about that? A couple of ass pats and grabs? What’s wrong with you? Other people have been raped! What you went through was nothing! Quit whining and feeling sorry for yourself”

And the same way I try to minimize my own feelings and pain about when I was sexually assaulted, Husk minimizes Angel Dusts feelings and trauma around his abusive relationship. I realized that was a big part of why the song upset me so much too.

In the show Husk sings to Angel about how he’s being a baby. About how he’s whining and lots of people have it bad or are also in shitty situations and are losers so he should embrace it. That they’re losers together!

Except after seeing the beginning of the episode and after seeing the montage of abuse Angel went through in Poison, I don’t want him to think he’s a loser. He’s not. He’s not sloppy seconds, he’s not used goods, or a degenerate, or a cum-dumpster, or “problematic”.

He’s not those things to me anyway. To me, he’s an abuse survivor who deserves love and respect and to be told that he is not to blame for his abuse.

And I really don’t think the intent behind the song was to say that he is all those things and that he is truly a loser. At least. I hope that wasn’t the intent. But I personally have a really REALLY hard time interpreting it any other way.

If the song makes you feel empowered, or safe, or anything positive, I want you to know that I am truly, truly not trying to take those feelings away from you. Nothing I say can invalidate your feelings, your opinions, your passion for things you love. Please remember that.

I’m just talking about my experience and my own feelings regarding the song and the episode. And well.

It made me feel real bad.

(Final note—it’s okay to reblog this—but PLEASE do not use it as a way to shut survivors or victims who feel differently than me down. Please don’t use it to invalidate anyone’s feelings or opinions. I wanted to share my feelings here, because I felt strongly about doing so, because I felt like maybe I was just crazy and the only one feeling hurt by this at all, and because I knew if I didn’t get them out somewhere I was just going to fester on them until I got even more upset.)

[propertyofsamcollins]

Soooo David definitely had braces as a teenager, right?

[faith-thee-slayer]

faith lehane // how i could just kill a man!

[clockwork-carstairs]

rereading clockwork angel and i’m thinking about the parallels between will/jessamine and tessa/jem.

will and jessamine: both come from parents who left the shadowhunter life, spending their childhoods in the mundane world. their behaviour is often rude, volatile, they shout and argue, both masking their pain by lashing out and rejecting the love charlotte & henry offer them (for wildly different reasons, but the outward behaviour is not dissimilar). they have moments of raw vulnerability before rapidly closing off (jessamine and her dollhouse; will when tessa sees too much of his real self). will and jessamine’s lives both make them hopeless — will because he cannot let anyone get close, and jessamine who says she’d rather die than live this life she never wanted. will chooses the shadowhunter life, because he cannot go home; jessamine wants nothing to do with it, but she cannot get out. they’re both desperate for their lives to change (though we see more of this from will in cp1).

and then you have jem and tessa: both travelled from different continents after basically losing everything, to arrive in london. both tortured repeatedly, forced to recalibrate to the world after. they feel out of place initially, yearning for the lives they had before everything changed, before they had to travel so far from home (which brings the most pain, as jem says). people see them as different for what they are, for things they cannot change — the “half one thing and half another, like me” conversation. they take on more nurturing roles, so in the rare moments when they do express anger, it hits extra hard. they both want something essential: jem to experience the kind of love his parents had, and tessa to know who she is, to not be alone in the world.

they all carry their histories in different ways, i guess is the point here, and it’s interesting how certain characters’ backgrounds/stories parallel others. this isn’t to compare either pair, rather i’m just observing the similarities — it’s always struck me how will and jessamine seem pretty similar at the start of clockwork angel, (which shows in the way they argue and shout at each other a lot) though obviously their needs/reasons/values are incredibly different. and then there’s jem and tessa, who are more shy and yet, contradictorily, more openly feeling, who i think because of their nature often have their pain overlooked (especially the fact that they were both tortured!!) and tessa representing a reason to hope for both will and jem but also jessamine, who later projects this onto nate, bec she’s desperate for a way out, while jem and will have a reason to not be resigned to their fates.

anyway stan tid for breaking my heart again!

[ptieuca]

You don't care anymore, is that it? It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what I feel.

[haloheadhater]

Jammin

[angelsaxis]

there was a post going around a bit ago complaining about the claim that chappelle roan and other white lesbian musicians are bringing in a renaissance in lesbians in music (in pop specifically I think? Ive never seen the renaissance claims myself) and while OP was right to be complaining about how people only ever focus on white women for their music, they said "how can u say these white girls are putting us in the renaissance when we have syd --"

terrible paraphrase sorry. but it annoyed me because yes syd is a lesbian and Black but she's not in pop and she's been around for a while. I love syd. i LOVE syd. maybe this is me splitting hairs but if someone says "yaay lesbians in pop" and you bring up syd. idk.

and then they said there's been Black women singing about loving women for ages and they brought up megan thee stallion, janelle monae, khelani, and others and its like yeah! they do all love women! none of them are LESBIANS though and that was the original statement made in their post, lesbians (in pop) starting a lesbian music renaissance.

and again maybe this is splitting hairs or just petty of me or something but if yall cant even name a Black lesbian musician OUTSIDE syd and tracy chapman and the artists you do mention dont even meet the parameters then --

[eebie]

i cant keep it hidden any longer

[ibeewashere]

Thinking. Thinking about Danny Pudi in the arguement again. God he looks so fucking frazzled I just want to kiss him on the forehead and maybe just maybe the lips