#if you bother to read this: i love you.

[queenburd]

there's a hole where your heart lies (i can see it with my third eye) - 1

A/N: hello. hi. I have this teslaverse/Queenie fic that I've been working on for the better part of two years, possibly longer, and it's just been kind of stuck for a while. but I think about it often, and chapter 1 has been done for a solid minute. I've edited it and re-edited it and it's just. it's sitting here. I wanna show people. so I am posting chapter 1 for now. and if I get more done, then I get more done.

warnings for this fic as a whole...? there's a lot of child trauma, but to get into details would be massive spoilers and I'm going to keep them under wraps. for this chapter? well, there's rather dismissive language about horror victims, and there's an extended horror scene near the end. also, BUGS.

chapter 1

The world's in gray-scale.

The dirty white buildings are tightly clustered, in a courtyard that only barely meets the definition—it's a glorified parking lot, if anything. Dark gray concrete stretches out in all directions, cut through with lightning-bolt cracks that are unevenly colored in with rubbery black filler. A low fog hangs heavy above bare trees and benches with once-white paint that flakes off the dead wood.

There's no wind, but the stagnant air still manages to sting cold, sharp and biting. There's a deadly silence that rings, makes one uncomfortably aware of his own heartbeat and breathing. An abject misery hangs from the sky over the buildings like a thick, suffocating blanket.

In truth, the place seems more like a penitentiary than a children's school.

At the end of the empty lot, from a narrow gap between buildings, comes the grating gravely noise of an object being dragged across the concrete. It approaches steadily in the same way rain drums against the roof of a car; a consistent thrum of rolling, unending noise.

The child crosses the concrete at a steady pace; her wheeled backpack rolls through the silence in a deafening grind that thunders loud like a heartbeat, louder and louder and louder still, until the moment it stops. The silence races back in to fill the gaps, faster than the mind can conceive, leaving a sensation like ears popping under the release of pressure.

The girl and her cargo have stopped. Her eyebrows are furrowed, mouth set in a perplexed frown that turns into an abject, angry scowl.

“You're not supposed to be here.”

Kass snaps upright from the mattress, lungs burning for air. His hand clutches frantically at his chest where his heart pounds away under his skin, viciously trying to escape him. Dib hovers at his elbow, eyes wide and flicking between him and his bed-mate. She's still, chest rising and falling slowly; her breath softly rattles on every exhale. The pads of Kass's fingers press to his aching sternum, massaging at the space to little avail as he tries to catch his breath. His mouth is dry and cottony; he takes the time to swallow and find it in him to speak.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

--

It's been four days since he pulled the van back up into the garage; four days since he gathered up her limp, light body from the cargo hold and carried it into the garage through the back doors. Four days since Dib paced back and forth, crushing a feather that's dangled off his wrist for the better part of two years in his fist, pleading, “I need help, I need help, come on, why isn't it working,” as Kass set her down onto his bed with a terrible gentleness, and set his body into autopilot so that he wouldn't retch.

Four days of fighting the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her awake, while Dib frantically went through his own dark websites trying to figure out what went wrong.

Four days. Four days ago they were sitting next to each other in the van.

--

The streetlights are cutting stark patterns through the dirty windows of the van as it grumbles down the eerily quiet city street. The yellow-orange beams aren't enough for Dib to see his notes for more than a couple seconds before they are gone, then there again, then gone. He grimaces where he sits in the cabin, just behind the driver's seat.

“Do we know anything about the survivors?”

“Survivor, singular. Not much more beyond what I sent you,” comes the terse reply from the driver's seat where Kass white-knuckles the steering wheel, eyes straight ahead. “The little delinquent's comatose, and he's not getting better. Even with the feeding tube, doctors are saying it's getting worse.”

“Some kind of vampire maybe?”

“Definitely parasitic, but nobody's caught anything creeping in and out the place.”

May looks out the window from her place in the passenger seat silently, her shoulders hunched and curled inwards. Dib shifts uncomfortably, catching how the streetlights cut her profile in the window. He watches Kass turn his head towards her, like he's trying to catch her in his peripheral, before something in his jaw tightens and he focuses on the road.

This isn't what Dib was expecting when Kass texted him the previous night, suggesting he assist with a paranormal hunt. When they'd discussed it, there had been no mention of... this, this weird, palpable tension that's settled over the two people in the front seats. He doesn't really know what to do with the suspicion he's likely been invited along to break some of that tension.

He pushes through valiantly. “What about the other kids? I know their condition was, uh, pretty bad, but couldn't get much detail off the news articles.”

“Husks,” Kass says, his tone clipped. “Dried up like they'd been there decades. No bites, no scratches, basically mummies without the wrapping paper.”

“But the articles said they'd been missing--”

“Four days, I know, Einstein. You do realize I read the articles before I sent them to you, right? Why do you think the nasty particulars were kept out of them? The press would have a field day if they knew how the kids looked. It's why all their parents opted for torching. Can't imagine any of them would be interested in open-casket.”

It's crass, which isn't new. Beside Kass, May's fingers curl a little tighter into her sleeves. The van jostles as it pulls off the street into the empty parking lot in front of the deteriorated storefront. It comes to a rough stop that leaves Dib gripping the shoulder of the driver's seat, before the engine dies.

“Right,” Kass says. “Come on.”

They exit the vehicle in relative silence. As he climbs out the back, Dib examines May's face closely. Her eyes won't meet his, a fact he's becoming more and more alarmed by, but before he can try to reach out to her, she's trailing away from the van towards the boarded up storefront without a word. Huffing, he slams the door to the cabin shut and runs to catch up with Kass, who is two steps behind May, hands shoved into his coat pockets.

“I thought you said this place was closed up. It looks in bad shape. Why are the lights on?”

“Whole block is paid for by the city. Since the other storefronts are open, they don't bother trying to get this one shut down. Plus,” Kass says with a grimace, “wiring's at least two decades old. It's all knotted up with the other stores, so taking it out would mean rewiring the whole bloody building. Costs less to just let the bulbs burn out.”

True enough, past the dirty and broken panes at the top of the store windows, the lights inside flicker with irregularity. When they step onto the pavement, Dib can't help how his eyes are drawn to the bright yellow police tape that flutters slightly in the night breeze, stretched in front of the locked sliding doors. “You sure we're not going to have to worry about authorities?” he asks suddenly, uncertain. “Isn't this an active crime scene?”

Ahead of them, May has shifted without looking back and flown up to one of the broken windows to creep in. Kass's gaze follows her, his mouth a firm thin line. “Not anymore. Police can't find evidence of foul play, since they've gotten fuckall from the scene they're trying to retrace the victims' steps. Hell, they can't even pinpoint what day they died because of the condition of the bodies, so they're looking into other avenues.”

“But,” Dib starts, gritting his teeth when the front doors slide open slowly with a grinding noise, the padding bristles rotted and the mechanism complaining from lack of oil. May pushes them to fully widen with a grimace, and tears at the police tape with hardly a thought. “But,” he starts again, “you guys are pretty sure it's supernatural.”

“Like you said. Vampiric tendencies.” Kass steps into the store past May, and pauses there. Dib narrows his eyes, squints at the way Kass's arm lifts, as if to set a hand on one of her shoulders—before it moves up instead to scratch at the back of his head. “Hurry up now.”

Dib huffs again and follows, falling in step with May, who had stayed in the door frame. “Hey,” he says, nudging her shoulder with his to try to catch her eyes. “Thanks for getting the door.”

May finally meets his gaze, offering a crooked little half-smile that slips away far too quickly for his liking. Her brows are creased upward, and in the flickering LED lights he can't help seeing the deep dark shadows under her eyes. “S'what I'm here for.”

“Pfft, no, there's plenty of other ways we could've gotten in, you're here for way more important reasons.” Dib grins. “Somebody's gotta have some sense here. You are the one with the brain cell in the party.”

That prompts a quiet huff of laughter. “Truly, we are doomed.”

“When you two are finished playing out your sitcom,” the short tone snaps from ahead, “come look at this.”

Rolling his eyes, Dib focuses forward again, where Kass has stopped just past the customer service counter near the store entrance. He finds him looking down the expanse of the building with a grimace, and follows Kass's gaze.

“Jeez. This place is worse than the garage was when you were living in it.”

The store may have closed several years ago, but it still hosts plenty of racks and rows and shelves, numerous nooks and crannies covered in dust, grime, cobwebs, and who knows what else. It's big, too, and it only feels bigger from the broken mirrors that line the ends of the clothing racks and hover in every dark corner of the building. It's impossible to see the entirety of the store from the front, the view blocked by the shelving and the supporting pillars, save for the two main walkways down the length of it. Overhead, bugs drift lazily around the inconsistent lights.

“I thought it would be... emptier,” May says from Dib's other side. “I mean, I know the whole chain closed, so they'd have to try to sell the stands and so on, but... I guess they didn't manage.”

Kass taps his index finger against his thigh in irritation. “Bollocks. Right, strategy is going to have to change considering the mess we'll have to sort through. We'll have to be methodical about this.” He turns suddenly, his annoyed squint aimed at May. “You used to work retail. Any suggestions?”

She seems taken aback that he's looking to her, so she stumbles through her words for a few seconds. “Oh, I—um, when—When I worked retail they had us in sections for our shifts. You'd sort of weave through the aisles and shelves in that section to make sure everything was in place. And, you know, to keep an eye out for security devices.” May brings her hand up to her mouth, curling a light fist to press against her lower lip while she thinks. “Oh, and, when going to and coming back from breaks, we'd have to loop the perimeter and go through the aisles there in the same way.”

He nods, clearly thinking while he paces forward a few steps. “So starting at the corner and weaving through to make sure nothing's overlooked. I'll take the front left side and head towards the back. Astro-boy, head to the back right side and move towards the front. Duckie, take the middle racks.”

Dib frowns crookedly. He can see the logic in Kass's strategy, but it's definitely not the safest approach. Beside him, May seems to have similar thoughts.

“I don't know if it's such a good idea to split up, Kass,” she starts, before stepping back as Kass turns to stride towards her.

“What do you suggest, then? If you've any opinions on the subject, please feel free to share with the rest of us.”

Dib's missing something, if the way Kass's words make May's shoulders go right up to her ears is anything to go by. He watches uncomfortably as she visibly steels herself, words tripping through a false start. “I'm not—I'm just saying it's a lot more dangerous that way.”

Kass's voice becomes poisonous saccharine. “How about I go start in the corner, and you come back to me when you decide what you want to do instead, if what I want is clearly so unrealistic.” The humor drops and leaves chilly anger in its wake. “You make up your mind and tell me what you want. If you ever feel like bringing it up.”

“That's not—” she starts, but he has already stepped past her without giving her another glance. Dib watches her forcefully swallow, hands curled into little fists that she presses under her arms, shoulder curling inward. “That's not fair,” she finishes quietly, to nobody in particular.

There's a creeping awkward silence, where neither she nor Dib move. Then, with a small huff, May presses her fist to her mouth again and begins walking with purpose. “C'mon,” she says quietly. “We'll weave the right side together, see about getting things done more efficiently.”

Dib trails after her down the right main walkway towards the back of the store, heels of his boots feeling loud on the filthy concrete tile and broken glass. “Hey,” he says, mostly to her back, “May, slow down, c'mon.”

“What, Dib?” The question is short, terse, but she obliges, lets him alongside her. From here he can see her eyes are still on the floor, her arms still tight bands against her chest. They pass mirror after mirror, and May's profile is distorted in the cracked reflection. It makes him uneasy, how many mirrors there are.

“Are you okay? No, wait, that's a dumb question,” he admonishes himself quickly. “You're not okay, I can see that. But—what's going on between you and Kass? I mean I know it's not my business, we've been over that a million times, but I'm really... you look...”

“Like shit,” she finishes in a deadpan voice. “Yeah, I know.”

“I mean I wasn't gonna say that.”

“Yeah, but we both know it's accurate.” May gives a hard sniffle, gritting her teeth like she's angry with herself. “It's—We're. We had a... disagreement. He's angry. He's...”

Dib scowls. “He shouldn't be taking it out on you, whatever the hell it is he did.”

“He didn't—Dib, you can't always...” They reach the back of the main building, and May stops and turns to face him, pinching the space between her brows hard enough to dent the skin with her nails. “He's frustrated, and it's my fault. He's allowed to feel frustrated with me.”

“That doesn't change the fact he's being needlessly mean.”

“Can we please not talk about this anymore?” There's a desperation in her voice, and a threat of her voice cracking. She looks up to the ceiling, where the lights capture the passing silhouettes of winged insects, moths and gnats alike. Her eyes shine as she clearly and valiantly attempts to not cry in front of him. “Can we just do this and, and I'll sort it out myself? Please?”

Dib audibly lets the air out of his nose. “I'll stop bugging you. Here,” he says suddenly, “you take the right side starting from the back. I'll take the left side from the back, and meet up with Kass halfway. We'll start on the middle.”

May's eyes flick from the ceiling to him, the corners lined with resignation. She looks so deeply tired, and below the flickering light the bags under her eyes look stark, the sockets sunken and shadowed.

“You know that I know you just want to pick a fight with him, right.”

“I'm not gonna pick a fight!” he says, unconvincingly defensive.

She sighs and squeezes her eyes shut, clearly frustrated but too worn to pursue the subject. “Fine. Go on. Don't hound him though. I'll meet up with you in a bit.” She doesn't look at him when she turns the corner and walks away from him, her silhouette terribly small besides the tall stands before it disappears from view entirely.

Dib takes a deep breath, and then he goes to the corner. He turns, and he doesn't weave, but beelines for where Kass is about a third of the way through the aisles, crouched by an endcap that faces the wall.

“Thought I told you to go to the other side, Encyclopedia Brown,” the man states without looking up from where he's examining something on a low shelf.

“May's started there. I need to talk to you.”

“No, you don't,” Kass retorts. “You need to turn back round and trot off like a good loyal chihuahua and take your nose right out of my business where it doesn't belong. I know you have eyes, Dib, but according to everyone in your little yes-man group, you also have a brain, so do us the honor of using it for once, and keep your trap shut.”

“Okay but you realize you just brought it up yourself before I could even say anything.”

“I'm well aware we're about the furthest thing from subtle, Columbo, even someone as emotionally constipated as you would pick up on it.”

“Could you stop being an asshole for five minutes?” Dib says utterly exasperated. “I know you don't care about what I think, and I know it's not my business, but May's in bad shape and you have something to do with it. Big shocker, I know, but I have a problem with that!”

Kass finally looks away from the shelf to put his elbow on his knee and press his forehead to his fist with a grimace. “I know, chrissake. I know, Dib.”

His tone is startlingly pained, even fraying with a waver laced through his words. Dib hasn't heard anything akin to it in his life—well, no. That isn't true. It's remarkably reminiscent to an apology offered in a deserted mall to a younger Dib. The stark surprise is enough to render him silent.

Kass continues without acknowledging whatever might be on his face. The man looks almost agonized, teeth grit and brows drawn tightly together.

“You think I want this? D'you think I find it fun? That I enjoy being an absolute arse-shit to the one person who I—who actively enjoys my presence? I don't, believe it or not, I actually truly don't.” He stands, turns sharply to face Dib, expression hardened. “But this isn't on me, this whole clusterfuck. I can't fix it. It's broken but, if you can even comprehend it, I'm not the person who cocked it up and has to try to patch it.”

Dib swallows, body tensing when Kass approaches and bullies his way into his personal bubble. They're about matching in height these days, so Kass can't loom over him like he used to, but the man's whole posture is still actively aggressive, on the offensive--

No. That doesn't seem right.

There's this thing that some species in nature do to protect themselves—it's called deimatic behavior. The phrase is used to refer to animals that do things when under threat, like make themselves look bigger, or show off bright toxic colors, in the attempt to scare off the thing hunting them. Frill-necked lizards fan out the frills on either side of their faces and open their mouths wide while standing on their hind legs, to look as large and imposing as possible. Some species of snakes flatten the skin around their heads to look more like a cobra. It's a bluff tactic, only really a type of defense mechanism.

What Kass is doing is not much different, Dib thinks. He looks posed to strike, but he's only resorted to this after an intense negative reaction because of what Dib said. He's trying to look large because he's trying to protect himself.

Dib has seen Kass in a bad way before, but hindsight is 20-20 and he lacked the context at the time to recognize a large amount of the cruelty was means of lashing out to keep himself safe. It doesn't help that, as a baseline, Kass is sullen, unpleasant, sarcastic and all around nasty around most people.

But, when Dib was younger, Kass didn't need to posture as much, not until he was on the back foot. He only doubled down when he felt actively in danger.

So this...

Kass seems to realize his reaction in the same moment, because he steps back and pinches the brow of his nose, letting out a breath.

“I know she's not okay. I know I'm not helping. I get that you have it in your head that you can just thwack me over the head to the point of concussion until I apologize or some other children's show nonsense, but this is not something either of us can fix. We can't just put a plaster over it like a baby boo-boo. Do you realize how aggravating that is, to see something so fucked but not have any power over the situation?”

Dib swallows. He bites the inside of his cheek.

“She said you were frustrated with her. I thought she was just—trying to justify you being a shithead.”

Kass doesn't say anything to that, rubbing his hand against the side of his face.

“Did she... do something?”

“She didn't do anything,” he finally mutters. “She never--”

He's cut short by a noise Dib doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget. May is screaming.

They're both moving before his brain even fully processes the sound; experience has ingrained instinct. Kass bolts ahead of him through the aisle, and they both see the stark, blazing light that reflects off the mirrors and leaves spots in Dib's retinas. It pulses and shines like a star, there by the right walkway where the aisles turn into racks.

They're still a few yards from it, their boots thudding and squeaking loudly on the dusty floors, when the screaming cuts out. Kass lurches forward, gun drawn and arm yanking at the wheeled rack, pushing himself forward. Those last few feet, Dib pushes himself desperately for a last burst of speed, so he's unprepared to run face-first into Kass's shoulder where he's stopped suddenly.

Before them, May screams around a massive bony hand that wraps around her face to hold her entire skull against the floor. The sound is muffled by the noise of swarming insects—moths of every size, in the air, on the floor, crawling out of the thing that has pinned May to the ground while her heels skid and squeak against the tiles in a futile bid for traction. They're in May's hair, on her clothes. They flutter through the exposed ribcage made of rotting wood--

The monster is a massive, skeletal thing. Wide empty sockets stare at its captured meal, out of a shattered skull where the winged insects crawl and alight on the branches of a dead tree. It's part bone, part wood, part flayed skin and exposed muscle, all pressed down on May's chest, its thin limbs caging her small body.

Kass shoots it straight in the skull, expanding the shattered hole into the eye sockets. The only reaction it provides is a tip of its head, bits of matted thin hair swaying as it tilts its face towards them.

The noise of the swarm rises, moths flying in thick clusters as Kass shoots again at a target Dib can now barely see. “Stop, stop, you'll hit May!” Dib shouts over the noise—but before the sentence is even fully out of his mouth the noise dies entirely.

The moths are gone. The creature is gone. The only sounds now is their panting, and the horrible wheeze that rattles out of May's throat as she convulses on the floor for only a moment more, before going entirely, deathly still.

Dib pushes forward past Kass, who still holds his gun as he scans the store rapidly. Dropping to his knees on the floor, Dib presses his hand to May's shoulder, then her face.

“May! May, wake up!”

By all accounts, she seems physically unharmed. She's still breathing, though it still sounds somewhat strained. But despite his shaking her shoulder, despite his hands pressing to her throat and her cheek, her eyes stay closed. She doesn't rouse. She doesn't move.

And there's something else.

“Kass, she's not waking up! She's not—I thought she was invulnerable!”

He glances over his shoulder where Kass has approached, and finds the man has gone still at the sight of them. The color has left his face entirely. He doesn't answer Dib, which is probably the most frightening thing.

“Isn't she?!”

Kass drops beside him. He touches May's hand, her cheek, and confirms what Dib has already discovered. Her skin is almost cold to the touch.

May is never cold. She's a goddess of light and life, a literal firebird, always barely warmer than the rest of them. Now, her cheek is cooler than even his own fingers.

“How was I supposed to know,” he breathes out. “I wouldn't—if I'd known this was necrotic based, I'd never have been so stupid as to have brought her.”

He looks up at Dib. The lights above are stark and harsh, which only adds to the ghastly pale shade of his face, drawn up in unfamiliar terror.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know?!”

end chapter 1.

[gibbearish]

love when ppl defend the aggressive monetization of the internet with "what, do you just expect it to be free and them not make a profit???" like. yeah that would be really nice actually i would love that:)! thanks for asking

[lancteu]

this has drained me of my will to live

[dukeofthomas]

Here's my controversial opinion; if you're trying to write Bruce as a non-abusive, good parent, you should also write him respecting his kids' privacy, boundaries, and not stalking&surveying them.

[welcometogrouchland]

Disgustingly messy and crusty sketch dump but I couldn't get my own terrible theory out of my head and ended up making a bunch of sketches about it. Also at the end a bonus dickbats and Damian doodle bc I was reading an issue of their Batman and Robin run (IDs in Alt)

[erinwantstowrite]

the duality of comments i get gives me whiplash sometimes. cause i'll get a really nice very sweet comment from people, then i'll get needless feedback that is like. if i wanted you to critique my work i would have asked for that. and then i'll get a comment like "you should kill yourself" and i'm just like. if i wasnt an adult and/or wasn't in a good headspace can you imagine the repercussions that would have. if i had gotten these types of comments when i was a teenager i don't think i would be writing right now. people get real brave when they think things are anonymous. anyways you don't know what people are going through and maybe, just maybe, think before you make a mean comment or critique without permission. if you're leaving any other kind of comment then you're already doing 10x better than that and making someone's day

[shepscapades]

This one was a freaking doozy. If I keep talking i think i may be in trouble

[committingcrimes-2047]

I'm thinking about Vander x reader- im thinking about a story where they are maybe childhood friends and then they end up fighting on the bridge together but get separated and no one knows where Reader is so they assume theyre dead only for them to show up a year later.

Imagine Reader showing up at the last drop as its closing and Vander has his back to them and tells them that hes about to close up shop and they just sit down and maybe ask for a super specific thing that they always used to order and he like turns around and realises its them and it goes from there.

I know people are in agony with the new season so I thought I might as well throw some silly little ideas out into the wild. Please tag me if anyone writes this- not because its my idea but because im desperate for more Vander please and thank you.

[nibbelraz]

I am endlessly entertained by the prospect of MBJ just having literally no clue how human physiology works, and thus believing everything he hears (which, paired with SQH's propensity for saying dumb shit without thinking, is a recipe for disaster)

like:

SQH: ugh if I read any more expense reports my eyeballs will fall out of my head

MBJ: *frantically gathering as many expense reports as he can carry before shoving them into the fire*

SQH: *literally watching all his work burn up in flames* i-

MBJ: please hold in your eyeballs

______

SQH, offhandedly: lmao wei qingwei ate so many bao buns at the festival that I honestly think he's going to turn into one

MBJ, absolutely horrified, actually gives his condolences to the (very confused) human man because this affliction which will soon take his humanity is a fate worse than death. Also he starts hiding SQH's melon seeds

_____

SQH: ugh I'm so stressed out i'm gonna EXPLODE

MBJ: NO-

Yes YES OH man Shang Qinghua definitely has no filter when complaining about stuff, Poor Mobei he's learning so many awful things about humans and how MUCH DANGER THEYRE IN (how much danger his favorite human is in)

He tries to learn more about what can happen to his poor human so he's spying on Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghuas meetings only to hear them BOTH dramatically explain how tired they are, Shen Qingqiu with some peak lord duties juggled with Binghe and Shang Qinghua with just the amount of paper work and how they both won't make it if things don't slow down soon which prompts Mobei to immediately tell Luo Binghe that his consort is going to DIE if he doesn't get rest immediately this second

I can see this getting SO out of hand so fast, He'd bury Shang Qinghua in blankets and hold him tight so absolutely nothing can bother him and he'd be safe

[sysig]

How much of me is me? (Patreon)

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

jon val jon or something

[allastoredeer]

Me : well maybe it's not that bad?

Me : looking for radioapple art and immediately get hit with big buff Alastor and tiny shorter than in canon Lucifer, Lucifer in a dress getting fucked by Alastor, Lucifer in a dress getting fucked by big buff Alastor, Lucifer who look like 5 yo and 'suave sugar daddy' Alastor who holds him and each with thousands of likes and absolutely zero of anything else than that

Me : nope 🙃😔

Save me Vox/Al artists, save me

Man, I love Vox/Alastor art so much.

I just love the Vox/Alastor ship as a whole, be it one-sided, mutual, or anything in between, and a lot of it stems from Alastor still feeling like he's Alastor.

I mean, I think people make Alastor a little more cruel and heartless towards Vox sometimes, but overall he still feels like himself. He gets to be dangerous and manipulative and he gets to be silly and whimsical. It's perfect.

Adding a cut right here because this post got WAY longer than I anticipated ⬇️

I think with RadioApple, when it comes to Alastor, people lean too much into this:

And not enough into this:

It feels like his fun, sassy, and whimsical side gets stripped away and he's turned into a stereotypically tall, dark and menacing love interest.

Where's his flamboyancy? His razzamatazz! As Susan would say, "Where's the showmanship? Where's the pizzaz? Fucking mediocre."

If I'm reading a fic or looking at art and I can't imagine their Alastor doing one of his girly-pop wrist flicks -

- then I can't keep going. His girly-pop vibes are too important to me.

Of course, when it comes to tone in both fics and art, sometimes fun and whimsical aren't what the artist is going for. But even outside of NSFW art and stories, so often Alastor just feels...bland. He feels too stiff. Too much like a suave, old fashioned, smooth talking gentleman, and not enough like a fun, silly, and sassy little freak who loves trolling people.

And with Lucifer if feels like they lean too much into this:

And not enough of this:

I feel like any, if not all, of Lucifer's flaws are brushed aside so often and so easily.

He feels softened and watered down. Like he's either a sad & awkward UwU boi all the time, or he's the most flamboyant, seductive little minx there is. And to be fair, he is both a very sad boi and a seductive little minx.

But rarely does he ever come across as powerful to me. A lot of the time he feels too normal. Or too sad and naive. Literally, like he could be any other sinner if I didn't already know he was the kind of Hell. And that's so funny to me because we've seen him openly and extravagantly display his powers multiple times in the show--not to the extent that he did in the finale--but he was definitely flaunting all the things he could do, make, or summon for Charlie during his musical-battle with Alastor. He was 100% showing off how powerful he is.

Not only that, but, honestly, Lucifer feels too open and sincere because that man is judgmental as fuck.

Going back to the "Dad Beat Dad" episode, there are multiple examples of him being a self-righteous little shit: 1) he was incredibly critical of Charlie's hotel the moment he stepped inside, even if he tried, and failed, to cover it, 2) he didn't even try to hide his disgust for Alastor's bar, which he didn't even know was incorporated by Alastor (who he hadn't even met him yet) and could've been incorporated by Charlie or Vaggie, for all he knew, 3) he wasn't taking Charlie's hotel or her plan for redemption seriously from the start, he didn't even have his mind open to the possibility, he wasn't there to hear about her plans he was only there to see her, and 3) when the hotel was attacked by the loan sharks, instead of making them go away or preventing the hotel from being damaged - which he could have very easily done with no amount of effort - he hung back and smugly reiterated that he was right and sinners can't be redeemed and Charlie should just give up on her goals/dreams because it's just not possible so there's no point in trying.

Like, Charlie was very clearly in distress over her hotel being attacked and destroyed, but he was too busy boasting about how he'd been "proven" right to see that.

He's very easy to anger and his ego is so easily bruised. Alastor got under his skin immediately and effortlessly - though I also believe that's on part that Lucifer doesn't have a high opinions of sinners anyway - and Lucifer 100% escalated the conversation/argument he had with Alastor during their first meeting.

See the whole scene of him referring to Alastor as a "has-been" and insulting the name he'd given the hotel, especially when you take into consideration that until Alastor said that he named the hotel, Lucifer thought it was Charlie who came up with it.

And I'm not going to say that Alastor was an innocent, picked on little baby in that scene, he was 100% riling up Lucifer from the start, but also, like...Alastor's lines weren't outright antagonist like Lucifer's were. They were more subtle, slightly needling and passive aggressive, but nothing that could really be taken as a insult.

This is literally the dialogue, word for word, of their very first interaction:

Lucifer: What in the unholy Hell is that?!

Alastor: Just some of the renovations we had done. Adds a bit if color, don't you think?

Lucifer: And you are?

Alastor: Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you, Sir, quite a pleasure. It's nice to finally put a face to the name. You are much shorter in real life.

Lucifer: Who is this? Who is this now - are you the bellhop?

Alastor: Ah-ha, no! I am the host of the hotel. You might've heard of me from my radio broadcast.

Lucifer: Hmm, nope! I guess that's why Charlie called it the "has-been" hotel, hahaha!"

Alastor: Ha ha ha, it was actually my idea.

Lucifer: Ha ha, well it's not very clever.

Alastor: Ha ha, fuck you.

Like. That's their first interaction. And if you go back and actually pay attention to facial expressions and body languages, this was the first time he's seen Alastor, and Lucifer was immediately disdainful.

I went back and screenshotted Lucifer's face, right after Alastor's first line (which was a relatively innocent in and of itself and didn't even sound that antagonist), and:

That's a lot of disesteem for someone he literally just met. At most, you could argue that it was Alastor's smirk or tone that set him off ⬇️:

But even that is such a small thing to get upset over.

I'd say the only time Alastor really started getting openly hostile towards Lucifer was when he wiped his hand after shaking Lucifer's cane (which Lucifer didn't even see as he was too busy fixing his hat) and commenting on Lucifer's height (as a shortie myself, can confirm, that'll get on the nerves very fast).

My point is, Lucifer was immediately unfriendly towards Alastor and escalated the situation just as quickly, if not quicker, than Alastor did. Alastor implied that Lucifer might know of his radio broadcast, and Lucifer jumped right to calling him a "has-been." He doesn't even know him. This is their very first meeting. He was judgy and dismissive of Alastor at first sight, and, let's be honest, he kind of threw the first punch with that "has-been" line. Alastor said Lucifer was shorter than expected, but it's not like he laughed, pointed at him and called him a undercooked little chicken nugget. I'm sure a lot of demons/sinners who've never seen Lucifer would also assume he would be taller and more menacing at first glance, and I doubt this is the first time someone was surprised with his height (still not cool, Alastor. We vertically challenged folk have feelings too).

But Lucifer was prejudice from the start and antagonized Alastor just as quickly, and way more openly, than Alastor did to him. And don't get me wrong, this isn't me saying that's a bad thing on Lucifer's part! This isn't me criticizing or scorning him for it. I think it speaks so much of him as a character!

Cause we've seen the soft and tender moments he has with Charlie. We know how much he loves and cares for her. But he's also egotistical, antagonistic, and judgmental as hell, and that's what makes him such a fun character to write about. He's awkward yet showy, smug yet caring, depressed yet prideful. And by god, this man will show off his power without hesitation. He knows he's hot shit. He knows he's the strongest person in all of Hell. He knows he's the top dog and he can do whatever he wants - even if he has no love or interest in interacting within the Pride Ring (as far as we've been shown).

He's got a lot of multi-facets to him and I adore it, and that's why I get so annoyed when all of that is stripped away and he's turned into this soft little sunshine UwU boi who's just a sad, sweet lil lamb who's done no wrong.

No! He has done many wrongs! There's a reason he and Charlie were estranged and I don't think it was Lilith's fault - or, at least, I don't think it was all her fault (I have many thoughts about Lucifer and Lilith's divorce, okay)

I didn't mean for this to turn into a full-blown character analysist post LOL but alas I tend to get carried away. This was all to say, I really enjoy RadioStatic because Alastor typically gets to keep his sadistic and whimsical side, and I appreciate that. His silliness means a lot a to me, and if he comes off as too stiff or formal, it takes me out of a story.

Lucifer's flaws and sheer power also mean a lot to me, and I wish there were more fics and fan-art that showed that. If Lucifer reads too much like a normal, every-day person, I lose interest. I like the idea of people getting used to him, and getting comfortable around his presence, only to get a sudden and overwhelming reminder that he is, in fact, an ancient and immortal being with immense power that their brains wouldn't even be able to comprehend.

I have so many headcanons about Lucifer as a fallen angel and how his habits and lifestyle developed over the thousands upon thousands of years he's been in Hell. Habits he's adopted that unconsciously help him duplicate the mannerisms and behavior of sinners and demons, but also those small, indistinct tells that are quick and subtle reminder that he could destroy everyone in Pentagram City with ease if he decided to; and also, those times if you were to look closely and really pay attention, you get the faint, unsettling feeling that there is something very un-human about him. A subtle, unnerving shiver down your spine as your instincts yell at you that this person is not a person at all, he's just passing off as one.

That shit gets me. Give me ancient, eldritch Lucifer and I'll love you forever.

I am sorry Anon, I did not mean for this response to get so big 😅 You gave me a paragraph and I gave you a novel. But yeah, save me RadioStatic artists, save me 🙏 I rarely have to worry about Alastor turning into a big, buff alpha man or a soft little UwU when he's with Vox, and I appreciate that.

Edit: Adding a screenshot of my tags here because apparently I wrote down too many and it cut off the character tags.

[rottiens]

Stepmom Yuki has severe breeding kink 😔✊️

she fucks you nice and deep, putting her hands on your belly looking adoringly at the way the cock separates your slippery folds and she would love nothing more than to fill you to the last drop. she in fact, debates whether she would love to cum in your folds or so deep inside you. her thumb moves from your belly button to your clit and strokes it sweetly as she takes the leg above her shoulder and kisses your calf, moving her hips in such a way that she manages to get even deeper.

the idea of her seed inside you, your tits swollen from pregnancy and her lips on your sweet sensitive nipples is what makes her cum silently, calling your name as she bites your skin.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

i finished reading krakoa era and comic cherik are amazing SO i wanted to ask do you have any favorite issues/series i still don't really remember how to call it where cherik are also cool?? some iconis comic moments with them maybe??

im FARRR from finishing all of krakoa (ive probably barely even made a dent in this series), though i do think following the HoX + PoX issues themselves are great if we're talkin cherik-focused issues/books. i already said one of my fave aspects of cherik is their moments working together, so having a whole Omnibus dedicated to them Working Together and trusting each other (bonus points for Protective Erik with the Something Sinister bit) is already guaranteeing a sure spot in my Faves collection

one of my fave cool moments i've read so far- which is a moment i wager a lot of people can agree is Sick As Hell Visually if i may be so daring- is ABSOLUTELY this sequence from Inferno #4

any time erik and charles get to do some bamf shit together it is IMMEDIATELY peak to me this cannot be disputed and i'd be lying if i didn't say i bought this run solely for this moment here (ignore the fact they fumble this fight horribly that dont matter they looked cool as hell for five seconds !!!!!!!!!!!)

i can't wait to read more and find even more moments i love and want to tape to my eyelids <3 !!

[milquetoad]

of the many injustices put forth toward the show by fans i think the most overall damaging and telling of a complete lack of critical viewership is the idea that sam riegel builds his characters with nothing more than the bit in mind. like you are only telling on yourself if you think characters like scanlan shorthalt and veth brennato are one-dimensional and depthless

[shesmore-shoebill]

new amangela fic!

"Two cheez-it packets and an apple is not dinner. You don't have any leftovers or anything in your house?"

Angela groans, leaning forward and balancing her forehead on the edge of her laptop screen. "I don't even have groceries right now, because I didn't have time to do a grocery run on Tuesday. I think the last time I looked in the fridge it was literally just condiments and a jar of martini olives." She pauses, and then, continuing to not look at Amanda, adds. "...And half a lemon."

"Half- why is it only half a lemon. What happened to- okay, you know what, not the important thing here. Babe, what the hell."

AKA: I said i was going to write a fic about the half lemon in Angela's fridge and i meant it.

It started from "i want this specific scene as a result of Angela kind of Going Thru It" and quickly turned into "how many acts of love and service can i feasibly cram into the before and after of this". Its VERY fluffy, consider it an exploration of "what can you do when your friend is overworking themselves to the point of being stretched very thin + a healthy dose of Amangela banter and love".

Its written in a way that I think is arguably platonic, but I mean, you all can decide that. enjoy!

also, a huge thank you to the other amangela fic/content writers on here- for directly or indirectly discussing, providing encouragement, motivation, etc, and also making their own stuff! Cool stuff makes more cool stuff.