#just the already canonical ones

[try-set-me-on-fire]

The Parable of the Drunken Man

A short tale about Robert Nash and the devil himself, part of a longer tale that has not yet been written

The drunken man is already drunk when he stumbles up to the liquor store, which he probably should have figured out meant trouble, big trouble, should have been able to see the walls of the hole he’d dug for himself. But it's a sunny day — five o’clock nowhere, oh how deep, oh how deep — and he’s not thinking about much besides getting through the glass push door with the little jingle bell on the top. He makes it up all the steps and only stumbles once, bangs his hip on the railing fucking ow. He makes it through the door too, jingle jingle, hey, just like Christmas, that’s coming up, it’s getting cold. Ice box inside is cold, the big fridges are cold, he could grab some Fitgers like his daddy drank but they shuttered their doors in ‘72 and his dad was in the ground pretty soon after — the hole, the hole — and anyway what’s beer gonna do. The drunken man needs something from one of the shelves up behind the counter, warm in its bottle, strong as paint stripper. And the clerk knows him — can’t you hear the shovel — and he doesn’t even really have to ask, just points and the bottle comes to him, presto magic. And then the drunken man pats his pockets and there’s nothing in this one, nothing in that one, not in his coat, not in his jeans, empty empty empty.

“I’m good for it,” he says, “You know I am, come on.”

“Sorry, Bobby,” the clerk says, and to his credit his eyes are sad.

When the stranger says “I can cover for you,” only a step from his side the drunken man is surprised. He didn’t think anyone else was in the store. He didn’t hear the bell jingle jingle. And this guy, this stranger, he’s in a suit, a real nice suit, nothing like piss poor piss drunk pissed off clientele that usually graces these fluorescent lit halls. But the drunken man wants his drink so he shrugs.

“Sure. Mighty kind of you. I owe you one.”

The stranger has a smile that’s real wide. His teeth are all straight. “Do you now? And what might that be?”

The drunken man glances at the shelf behind the counter. “$17.95.”

That stranger makes a sound that must be a laugh because the drunken man doesn’t know what else it would be. “That’s not a very interesting deal, Bobby.”

If he stays out too long there’s people who’re gonna be mad at him, can’t he fucking wrap this up? The drunken man glances at the clerk. The bottle is there in his hand. “What do you have in mind?” He wonders for a moment what the stranger will ask, what he might be willing to give. He’s not that desperate. He has some Johnny Walker at home, he’s pretty sure. It’ll be harder to get to it around Marcy, but he could manage. If this is a sex thing, he can just say no.

The stranger shrugs. “What would you give for a drink, right now?”

The drunken man’s shoulders shiver a bit, he’s not sure why. It’s what he’d just been thinking, but, whatever, coincidence. “I- I don’t know.”

“Would you give up your apartment? Your whole floor?”

The drunken man laughs. “I don’t own my whole floor, man, I don’t even own my fucking apartment.” They’d owned the house but the medical bills had stacked up and up and up and the drunken man had dug down and down and down until the difference had been too great to ever balance out again.

All those teeth. “But would you give it? All the people in it? Trade them, right here and now?”

The drunken man is just kind of annoyed. This guy, this out of towner, fucking with him. “Sure. Yeah, and the whole rest of the building, too.”

“Now there’s a deal,” the stranger laughs again, slaps the drunken man hard enough on the back it hurts, it bruises, it’s yellow on his shoulder when he goes to work on Monday and no one even bats an eyelash that’s he’s fucked himself up in some new little way. He hands the clerk a handful of cash — more than $17.95 it seems to the drunken man’s eyes — and the clerk hands over the bottle with uneasy eye contact and then the drunken man leaves, goes home, swigs once twice in the parking lot before heading up to the roof and stashing the bottle and heading back downstairs and in to his wife and his daughter and his son, cheeks red from the cold and other things, and he wasn’t too late — too late, oh he’s too late — and they all eat dinner together.

Exactly one month later, the building goes up in flames. He’s drunk on the roof. He was high in an empty room, with a space heater plugged into the wall. The hole is deep and he doesn’t even have the grace to die at the bottom of it, next to the tiny bodies of his children, next to burnt living corpse of his wife. And now he’s sleeping in a motel his brother paid for but he’s not sleeping there, he’s trying to drink himself to death in the parking lot out back when he sees the stranger again, in the nice suit, still all his straight teeth showing.

“Was it you?” The drunken man hollers. “Was it you? Did you do this? Did you make this happen?” He’s throwing the bottle, he’s grabbing the front of that too nice suit and the guy is just smiling, just fucking grinning, big and pleased as a cat with all the cream.

“You were always gonna burn that building, Bobby,” he says, and his tone of voice, there’s something about it that’s true, there’s something about it that’s impossible not to believe. “That’s how that night was always going to go.”

“Then what- then why-”

“You just gave me permission to collect.” The drunken man hadn’t thought the stranger was taller than him, but he leers down at him now.

Like Bobby knows he was telling the truth, he knows he’s not talking about, whatever, an insurance payout. “What did I- what did I give you?”

“Souls, Bobby. You traded all their souls. And for such a grand prize.” And the stranger held up his hand, and in it was a bottle of Devil’s Springs, 151 proof.

The motel day shift front desk girl finds him there in the morning, half frozen, laying in a mess of broken glass.

[stemmmm]

more people gotta try this shit where bill has not improved and will not change but he's just chilling so its fine probably. its great

[paintedcrows]

Had a silly thought about hypothetical cat curse shenanigans with @dark-lord-of-awesomeness's How to Cat Burglar a Family ;)

Bonus doodle!!

[puppppppppy]

who is your favorite AA character? 👁️👁️

ziska… I hope capcom brings her back someday

[egophiliac]

Your first initial impressions of any Twst character vs your current feelings about them?

honestly, my perception of pretty much every character went through some metamorphosis of "this guy looks like a jerk" to "oh, he's a stupid jerk? now hold on." it's all about that balancing act between a dark brooding asshole and a dark brooding asshole who is also totally ridiculous, and it really does make ALL the difference.

perhaps most ironically, I've mentioned before that I was absolutely not into the Diasomnias at first, because the impression the website gave pre-release was somehow even less favorable than for everyone else and I was mad at Lilia for getting my hopes up for a token girl). and then we got their stories and, well, I kind of just haven't stopped thinking about them since. 🤷

also, I went in thinking that Crowley was going to be. y'know. competent at his job. a helpful guide. a mysterious yet caring mentor figure, a fitting leader for this band of delicate young magic waifs with their fancy little magic outfits and their perfect, perfect hair. I've never been so glad to be wrong.

[wasabi-gumdrop]

Kabru has a secret admirer in the castle!

[aalghul]

once again thinking about jason as duke’s robin. he’s ~4 years younger than jason, and that puts him at 8-12 during Jason’s time as robin. that’s prime time to get attached to your local kid vigilante before your own life goes downhill.

and if we try to keep duke’s meeting with bruce in zero year + duke’s age (so he can remember the meeting and hold that conversation with bruce), he has to be around 8. if he starts following batman through the news at that time because of the mess that just happened, the robin he sees is probably jason. I’ve literally connected the dots

[hinamie]

realizing how much i like drawing him a million years too late :<

[lotus-pear]

saw the labru trend and IMMEDIATELY thought of them

[riickgrimes]

Man of his word. It only took a couple of lifetimes. I was in love with my son's best friend. I didn't know what to do. Then you asked for that toothpaste. I was damned if I wasn't gonna find something.

[soupmanspeaks]

Yk if Steelwool could make an easy Hundred thousand Mikemillion dollars if they put him in Secrets of the Mimic trust

[andstuffsketches]

bring the girlies back

[fuupan]

drew these for heart pirates day and uhhhh ep1115

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[backpackingspace]

Okay so with the line "the olive tree where we first met" we have two equal hilarious options.

When penelope was sassily like oh I'll marry you if you make a living bed out of this tree right here! Cue penelope stumbling over odysseus very very carefully digging up the tree "because how else is he going to get it to itacha we can't have a wedding bed out in the open in sparta duh"

Or

2. Penelope, knowing that Helen's suitors would soon be arriving to take over her home for a while. Snuck out and went on her own wacky shenanigan filled journey where she scoped out all the major players. Odysseus caught her spying in an olive tree. And when she got back she told Helen she had dibs on the cutie from itacha.

[loveaetingkids]

After seeing this post I decided to insert my little blorbos in here:

(Like or reblog if you wanna use)