#kelvin's color

[gloomsday]

snippet from paste magazine: "JNCOs, Hype Priests, and Liberace: How Christina Flannery Costumes The Righteous Gemstones"

[moeblob]

Amazing, take some of the side character demons from Evil Bound.

Vincie is a menace to Chuck and Chuck alone so in Hell, Chuck hexes his hand behind his back so that he isn't grabbed as much (and it's harder to pet him). Chuck is like the most irresponsible older sibling ever to demons though so Kelvin recruits him (as an older sibling vibe) to go help him get his ACTUAL older sibling from Earth. Chuck agrees. And then drags Vincie from Hell with them because no one else wants to babysit him and he refuses to unbind the hex just to re-hex when he returns to Hell.

In Hell, Kelvin actually doesn't appear much different than his human form! Like Kronos, the lines under his eyes are red in Hell but black on earth. Chuck however? In Hell he has wolf-ish ears and has a fur lining his neck (note the neck scars in human form). In addition to that he has four eyes in Hell (note the scars under his eyes in human form). Vincie just has horns in Hell. And! In Hell the hex doesn't have a silly looking "tied up" look, it's invisible unless Vincie strains it with movement and then its red text. But it shifts on earth to be visible.

Vincie's biggest agony for the entirety on earth is "dude it's colder here than in Hell I want a jacket to slip my arms into BUT I CANT BECAUSE IM BOUND".

[killgrey]

I FINALLY FINISHED IT. idk why it took me SO FUCKING LONG. 😭😭

[artez-000-zetra]

CONCUSSED MEN HIT DIFFERENT

HEAR ME OUT GUYS!!! HE IS TOO CUTE NOT TO LOVE, YOU CAN’T TELL ME OTHERWISE!

LOOK AT ME, AND TELL ME THIS GROWN ASS MAN ISN’T ADORABLE WHEN HE GIVES YOU A THUMBS UP! YOU CAN’T!

[judyblues]

Gemstone siblings x song lyrics

| No Compassion - Talking Heads / Volcano Girls - Veruca Salt / Extraordinary Machine - Fiona Apple |

[heartshapelocket]

[dielukedie-subaru]

New IPF bulbs for the Euro headlights to replace the PIAA bulbs. We will see how long they last.

Finally found the color yellow I wanted for the running/parking lights and they are high quality t10 LEDs. Currently using the PIAA ion yellow bulbs but they are halogen and don't last long, not even a year.

I was also looking to change to a 45-5000K bulb and these are freaking rad! They have a silicone ring that has a long lasting blue glow after the headlight is turned off and at dusk from the sun.

Was using 2500K solar yellow PIAA bulbs but they just are not bright enough for headlight use but work great for fogs.

For those of you wondering what light color or Kelvin to choose, this is a good reference using natural light. I personally stay away from anything over 5000K because it's too blue and kinda obnoxious. Between 4-5000K for headlights is perfect while 25-3500K is better for low visibility like fog and snow.

[dilfcherricola]

i know we all hate america here but every time i see a canadian or god forbid a european talking about how gross our food is i reach my hand a little closer to my red white and blue trucker hat

[thecenk]

KELVIN ışık sıcaklık ölçeği

KELVIN ışık sıcaklık ölçeği

[catboyelimgarak]

Do we separate SNW Kirk from TOS and Kelvin Kirk with SNW Kirk having thick ass brows ?

[copperpipes]

Ultraman spec bio part 4 (first part/previous part)

spacium energy:

I have been treating spacium energy like a substance despite it not really being one, so I want to pack some headcanons about how exactly it would act and classfie.

Spacium energy is visible by the human naked eye, can solidify into different shapes but stays flexible until released, it emits photons, a particle that's very light and very fast, and it is blue.

The blue color is usually an indicator of temperature, it is a relatively light blue color so this puts it at about 10,000+ kelvin (9726.85°C or 17540.33°F), so pretty hot. As we figured out, spacium is a very good isolator, whether its a metal or not is still a question i don't want to deal with (it is of a metallic color, reflective, but not necessarily a metal and still alien in origin) what we know is that outside energies wouldn’t be able to harm an Ultra, and the Ultra’s inside energy is also protected from inside and out. through their skin is where Ultras get their energy from, it comes from the sun in either solar rays or heat or whatever is available (electric energy, radiation, all kinds of deadly lasers yum) which is why an explosion wouldn’t kill an ultra, the only thing that would be a threat to them is the explosion’s kinetic energy. 

spacium energy is seen on the visible spectrum, but other than that what else can be told about this energy?

what’s it doing in there:

probably bounces off the walls, literally. 

Energy moves in waves, and when it's produced by the membrane of the ultra it is ejected off the walls inside, and it cannot escape (cannot come out!! MAMA!!), so it bounces off the walls. When the energy is directed out, it gains speed thanks to the narrow space in the ultra’s arms and when it comes out as a beam it is subsequently much more concentrated, with very destructive wavelengths similar to gamma rays in intensity, and very hot. 

changing sizes:

I am not talking about mass here and where it goes, I'm talking about what causes Ultraman’s energy levels to drop or shoot up for one reason or another, not about outcome but about cause.

by Ultraman: rising (which is what i'm doing this whole thing for) how much an ultra can last is dependent on their mental state rather than thinning energy reserves like in what i got from other ultra sources.

I wanted to try and combine the two. I want Ultraman’s energy to be an issue, one that doesn't allow to transform at any comfortable moment, that demands the Ultra to know their state and capabilities to ensure no sudden shrinkage.

releasing energy once in a while should also be important, otherwise if an ultra is too full of energy their movements may become stiff and uncomfortable until some energy is released.

why would an ultra involuntarily shrink/why would a color timer be triggered:

-a failsafe mechanism. an ultra in distress/ a scared or stressed ultra, like all living creatures is a dangerous one. removing the ultra to where they can’t harm their environment would ensure its wholeness and the ultra’s sanity. This point acknowledges the power that all ultras naturally possess and that can bring a lot of damage if not controlled.

-low energy reserves.

Actually, what does a color timer even do other than be an indicator?

In canon it's all that is, an indicator, but what if it was what allowed ultras to shapeshift and change sizes in the first place? knowing what they have done, they're probably technologically advanced enough for that to be plausible. when your race is suddenly turned into giants, everything they built probably stayed small, made to fit their size before they grew. 

Returning the ultras to their original size would be easier than rebuilding society, not to mention resources. so maybe they made a device that allowed them to switch between their old, smaller form, and their new natural giant one.

The catch is that they can't stay in their small form forever, because even small, their bodies naturally produce spacium energy, and from time to time it has to be released or else they could literally explode from the pressure. 

maybe some ultras even prefer their bigger size despite the inconveniences. After all, such a drastic change could eliminate or generate so many problems!

For example space travel and travel in general would become a lot less complicated and exisible, for as long as there’s energy hunger wouldn't be a problem anymore, and so much more!

Of course, it's not without cons as well, like population density and resource demand to name a couple, but I guess the population could just spread over a larger territory to solve those problems. we shouldn't forget the Ultra’s destructive potential as well :>

Next, part 5

[karvroom]

10 Things I Hate About Katsuki Bakugo

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⇦ 002. Your Overgrown Hatred for Assholes

003. French is the Language of Love

Kirishima was a quiet, but friendly boy who transferred from another school due to his dad's military career. U.A. was going to be the ninth school he's been to in the past ten years.

As a new student, he needed a mentor or someone to give him a tour of the large campus. Sero was assigned to show him around. They quickly became buddies after Sero's break down on the various cliques that occupied the school’s grounds.

Sero noticed Kirishima's aloof demeanor as he came to a stop. His eyes followed the red-head's. From the moment Kirishima saw Mina walking through the halls of U.A., he knew he had to have her. He was head over heels just by observing the way she walked and talked with her friends. Kirishima didn't care what everyone else said about her; she was a conceited, childish girl who would never date because of her father's house rules.

Of course, he was devastated to hear this at first. Alas, Kirishima wasn't one to give up so easily. It wouldn't be manly to allow a woman so stylishly wide-eyed and incredibly attractive to be swooned by a troll such as Kaminari and let him get away with it.

Once Sero mentioned Mina needed a French tutor, he knew that was his way in. Him and Sero devised of a brilliant plan: he would become a tutor for those who needed help in French. No, he didn't know the rich and melodic language , but he was willing to do anything just to grab Mina's attention from the snob, Denki Kaminari.

Kirishima was brought to when a bright red satchel was slammed onto the space next to him. His gaze followed the young lady that swiftly sat in the chair, folding one arm over the other, "Hi. Can we make this quick? Roxanne Corinne and Andrew Jarrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break-up on the quad, again."

"Oh, yeah, um, okay. I thought that we'd, um start with pronunciation, if that's all right with you." Why was he stuttering? Kirishima had never been this nervous before. He played with his fingers, feeling how sweaty his palms were. He felt like she could see right through him as her yellow irises grew.

Mina sighed, slumping her seat from the boredom that hit her, "Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part, please."

"Well, uh, there is an alternative."

"There is?" She smiled at the cloudy suggestion.

"Yeah. French food." Kirishima gulped, looking in every which way but Mina's. His cheeks flashed a color of pink as he continued, "We could eat some together, uh, Saturday night?"

"You're asking me out?" A sweet smile creeped onto Mina's face, revealing her pearly whites. The outer corners of her eyes scrunched together, "That's so cute. What's your name again?"

Kirishima moved his hands under the table, nervously fiddling with his sweaty fingers. He didn't know what he was doing. He was completely winging the entire thing, hoping she would say yes.

The red-head abashedly rubbed the nape of his neck as he stated his name, "Kirishima. Listen, I know that your dad doesn't let you date, but I thought that if it was for French class—"

Mina's face "Oh, wait a minute. Kelvin—"

"Kirishima." He kindly corrected, huffing at Mina's slight mispronunciation of his name.

"My dad just came up with a new rule. I can date when my sister does." Mina chimed, tapping her fingers against the light wood of the table. She kicked her feet beneath the table, glowing at the fact.

"You're kidding." Kirishima's heart began pounding out of his chest. He could hear the rhythmic sound in his ears, as he stared at Mina in absolute awe. He continued, "Let me ask you, do you like sailing? 'Cause I read about this place that rents out boats—"

"A beaucoup problemo, Kirkman. In case you haven't heard, my sister's a particularly hideous breed of loser."

Kirishima swallowed, not even bothering to remediate Mina once more. The lines on his forehead signified his concerns, realizing it wasn't as easy as he had wished to get the girl of his dreams. "Yeah. Yeah, I noticed she's a little antisocial. Why is that?"

"Unsolved mystery." Mina shrugged, her lips tightening into a thin line. "She used to be really popular, and then it was like she got sick of it or something. Theories abound as to why, but I'm pretty sure she's just incapable of human interaction. Plus, she's a bitch."

Kirishima was slightly shocked at how easy it was to get your sister to bad mouth you. He didn't expect it from someone so bubbly. Kirishima especially didn't expect the insults thrown to your name. He thought sisters were supposed to look out for each other, but no, Mina wasn't exactly the biggest fan of you.

"Well, yeah, but I'm sure, you know, that there are lots of guys who wouldn't mind going out with a difficult woman." Kirishima tried shedding some light on the situation, finding it hard to believe you were completely un-dateable. "I mean, you know, people jump out of airplanes and ski off cliffs. It's be like "Extreme Dating"."

"You think you could find someone that extreme?"

Kirishima smiled, realizing a plan was starting to come together, all he had to do was take action. "Yeah, sure, why not?"

"And you'd do that for me?" Mina put a hand on Kirishima's forearm. He thought he might explode in that moment. Suddenly, he felt more ecstatic.

"Hell, yes!" Kirishima shouted louder than he should've in the library, causing a few students to shush him. He shook his head, looking away from Mina as he brought his tone down a few notches, "I mean, you know, I could look into it."

◣━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◢

⇨ 004. An Idiot with Money

taglist🫐 @katsukota @wheezdostuff @honeydwitch @chuugarettes

[somesecretpie]

Weather Woman (Short Story)

Forty-seven dead. Bodies near unrecognizable. An eyewitness, Ms. Self, said the weather was to blame but Susan knew it was anything but that. This was homicide. Divine intervention. 

“My poor poor little pansies,” she said, peering over their wilted corpses. It had officially been a whole year since Susan’s county had any rainfall. Several months ago, the town began issuing fines to anyone who dared to water their lawn. Susan did not find this to be much of an issue—she continued to keep her garden green as suburbia withered and died around her, until she ran into a small problem. 

Susan ran out of money.

From all the fines she was paying. 

She reentered her home, morning paper in one hand, and her weekly subscription to “Martha Stewart Living” in the other. Her house was a wondrous temple of correct furniture and appropriate color palettes, bowls of plastic fruit at the center of each faux-mahogany table. Photographs of a happy family arranged in a symmetrical pattern (Not her own, though; they were stock images.) She would have absolute perfection, were it not for that scorched eyesore that marked her entryway garden. 

Susan poured her morning coffee, popped a bagel in the toaster, and turned on the weather channel for her district. That was the only thing she watched now: The weather. Mr. John Sunday in front of his green screen, with his little yellow bowtie, and his eyes the color of the unchanging sky. He looked quite unremarkable for a man that disseminated such important information to the public, but looks can be deceiving. One does not look at a perfect egg and see themselves contracting salmonella.

“Please, John, some rain for my pansies,” Susan whispered into her morning coffee. She turned up the volume and his pleasant voice filled the living room. 

“Good morning, Marin County! It’s gonna be nothing but blue skies this week. Perfect weather for going on a nice long walk. And enjoying all that mother nature has to offer—“

Susan threw her bagel at the television in a fit of anger. Then promptly cleaned it off the floor and swept it into the wastebin. 

What did she do to deserve these never-ending blue skies? I’m a nice woman, aren’t I? she lamented. Don’t I deserve purple pansies? Don’t I deserve a little rain?

There was something malicious and secret behind John’s blue eyes.  Something he knew that she did not. She could not bear to look at them! 

She shut off the TV. 

Her heart beat madly in her chest. What ever would Susan do? Refill her bed of flowers with desert cacti and succulents? No, wrong color palette. Take out a loan to continue watering her plants? Now that would be ridiculous…

The weather was to blame—but Susan had a poor understanding of it. What went on up there in the sky? Who, exactly, could she send a strongly worded email to?

That same morning, Susan Kelvin decided she would take out a loan after all, but not to water her plants. Instead, she would go back to her local community college to study meteorology. She was quite sure that most of her coursework was merely propaganda from Big Weather, but she needed that associate's degree so she could learn that secret that lurked behind the eyes of Mr. John Sunday. So she could join his ranks. So she could become a Weather Woman.

Susan applied to the local television network with high hopes. The fate of her future rested on their acceptance. She snuggled into bed that same night of her application and dreamed of fresh purple pansies dotting the corners of her deep green lawn. But...something was terribly wrong!

Susan gasped for breath and opened her eyes. Strong hands grasped her arms, the fabric of a bag over her face—she was being kidnapped! Oh this is going to work horribly with my schedule! thought Susan. She began to protest but a harsh voice shushed her to silence. She was shoved into a car.

After an hour or so of stumbling around, the bag was lifted, and Susan blinked rapidly. She was in a musty room lit by candles. Deactivated cameras hung on racks against the wall, and a circle of sharply dressed bodies surrounded her, their shadows bending and stretching in the flickering light.

“Welcome,” someone said. “You have been called before our chapter because of your personal obsession with the weather. And from our understanding, your qualifications may permit that obsession to become...something more.”

Susan struggled to get her bearings. In front of her was, if she was not mistaken, sliced tofu arranged into an occult symbol.

“Your name is Susan Kelvin and you have a degree in meteorology from Marin County Community College, is this correct?”

“Yes,” Susan confirmed.

“You live alone, your parents are deceased, and you have no friends or loved ones. Is this also correct?”

“Who are you people?”

Susan then noticed that she recognized the woman sitting on her left—it was Ms. Rivers from channel eight. A proper weatherwoman, straightened and carefully sculpted black hair, with a stormy gray pantsuit that tastefully contrasted against her dark complexion. And to her right was that weatherman from channel seven what’s-his-face (his appearance was not noteworthy). And at the very front, at the head of the body of bodies, the man who had been speaking to her was none other than Mr. John Sunday in his yellow bow tie.

“What interest do you have in becoming a Weather Woman, Ms. Susan Kelvin?”

“I…um…”

They waited patiently for her answer. It suddenly occurred to Susan that this was probably a job interview. She straightened her back and folded her hands in front of her. 

“I believe I could bring a lot of value and a unique perspective to the weather conversation,” Susan said. “It has affected me personally…My district hasn’t had any rain in over a month.”

“I’m sorry,” John said. “That must be terrible for you.”

“What are you apologizing for? You can’t control the weather.”

John Sunday leaned forward, and his blue eyes flashed a deep dark red. “Oh but we can.”

“Can what?”

“We control the weather, Susan.”

Susan narrowed her eyes. “That is completely absurd. You’re all a bunch of wierdo people who kidnapped me and I’m...I’m going to tell the authorities!”

“No one will believe you,” whispered Rivers. 

Susan glared at everyone, but the weather people held still, not a trace of doubt of their ability. But surely the truth about the weather would not be so…uncomplicated. Surely the unseen forces that murdered her flowers would not have human faces. 

“I don’t believe you,” Susan said plainly. “But I do need this job so that I can pay off my student loans–” 

“The forecasters bear a burden.” John ignored her question. The speech was likely rehearsed. “To be a forecaster is self-sacrifice! To be a forecaster is to be a champion of the greater good! Does that describe you, Susan Kelvin?”

She hesitated. 

Champion is rather vague. It can have multiple meanings.

She thought of her beautifully decorated house. 

Oh, but I am certainly good.

She thought of her neighbors and their inferior sense of style.

And I am certainly greater! 

Slowly, Susan nodded her head. 

The weather people muttered amongst themselves enthusiastically, like children, until silenced by John. 

“Excellent,” he said. “Very good. Then, on behalf of the California chapter of forecasters, the masters of the weather, we welcome you. Thank you, Great Mother.”

“Thank you, Great Mother.” the weatherpeople said in tandem. 

Someone clapped twice, and the overhead lamps blasted light everywhere. 

“You’ll be shadowing Rivers tomorrow at eight. Look sharp,” John said dramatically, but without the candlelight defining his cheekbones, it was quite hard to take him seriously. 

The next day, Susan arrived at exactly eight o’ clock, wearing her best suit, and hair pulled back in a tight bun. She found Rivers, on set, eating conservatively from a bag of soynuts. 

“Oh hey! It’s you,” the weatherwoman said. “Sorry about all that cult stuff. John can be so dramatic.”

Susan smiled in relief, but quickly hid it away. “That is an understatement,” she muttered. “Will there be any more kidnappings?”

“Only for your monthly status report,” she said, “But give me your number and I can text you before it happens.”

Susan did so hesitantly, and kept staring at her phone after the fact. She had one whole contact now. How quaint. 

That day, Susan was supposed to examine the cue cards, inspect the camera crews, and stare intently at the weatherwoman, noting every minute thing she did. Rivers delivered her forecast with a smile. Blue skies again. 

“That’s disappointing,” Susan said to her over lunch. “I was hoping for some rain in my district.”

“John already has the weather planned out for the next few weeks,” Rivers said stiffly. “So sorry.”

Susan did not laugh. “This again? Tell me you do not believe this “controlling the weather” nonsense! You are not wizards!”

“Did you not see our occult symbols?”

Susan swatted at the air. “Meaningless shapes.”

“And what about John’s flashing red eyes?”

Susan’s voice lowered to a whisper, “Now, I don’t know about that…But he should see a medical professional.”

Rivers rolled her eyes and left to prepare for her evening forecast. When it was  done and there were no more cue cards to read from, she very quickly told the audience, in a joking manner, that there would be isolated showers over their recording studio from exactly five fifty PM to five fifty one PM. She then strut off the stage with a smirk. 

“Well, that’s an oddly specific forecast—“ 

The weather woman grabbed her by the wrist and led her all the way to the back-door exit with the recycling and the parking lot. 

“Check your phone,” Rivers said. 

Susan did not see why she should, there would be no messages. This was because she only had one contact, you see. But as she held her phone in her hand, a large raindrop splattered on the screen. Then another. And now rain was pouring from the sky, dripping down her hair and suit. Susan’s jaw dropped. She had not felt rain in so long. It was five-fifty. And by five fifty-one, the clouds departed as if swept away by a large broom. The sunlight stung her face. 

Rivers smiled at her. 

So they really did control the weather. 

This revelation posed a great many questions. Like, why did the public not know about this? And why did the weathercasters have these powers? And why had Susan studied for two years to become a meteorologist when she could just pulled forecasts out of her asshole? Susan frowned. Now that she thought about it, it was rather odd that her meterology courses mostly consisted of specifications for ritual sacrifice and obedience lessons. Susan had simply thought it was “one of those things” about academia. 

“Well, Rivers…”

“Yes, Susan?”

“I suppose this whole “forecasting” thing is...it’s fun, isn’t it?”

“Fun doesn’t do it justice!” Rivers said, through a handful of soynuts. “Just knowing how much power there is behind your every word. So long the camera is rolling, there is nothing stopping you from doing anything you damn well please!” Rivers laughed heartily, but kept her eyes trained on Susan. “Except your conscience, of course!”

“Oh, yes,” Susan said. “Ha ha!”

Fun doesn’t do it justice…It had been a while since Susan Kelvin had fun. She tried to remember when that was. 

Oh, yes, of course!

It had been two weeks ago. Susan had just gotten home from work after a rough day, shoulders drooping, hair ruffled, when she looked down on her front porch and saw a beetle. The bug was turned on its back, legs flailing weakly in the air. There was nothing nearby for grasping, nothing but hot sunburned concrete. This bug had no way of righting itself yet it struggled still. Susan sat down and watched this bug. She watched it until it stopped moving. Until it returned to its natural state. Nonexistence. That had been fun, Susan remembered fondly. I am eager to have fun again. 

After two days of shadowing Rivers, Susan was given her own partition of airtime over her district and a weekly forecast by her fellow weatherpeople. She delivered the forecast exactly as instructed. Blue skies. 

“Pretty good for a first-time,” Rivers said. “Although, you were a bit stiff. Trying showing more emotion, more body language, you know?” She placed her fingers on her own cheekbones, pressing them upward. “Remember to smile.”

Susan didn’t know why she hadn’t. Perhaps she wasn’t having fun yet. She spent the rest of that evening practicing smiling in the mirror. She read Martha Stewart, baked a five-cheese lasagna exactly per the instructions, and smiled upon removing it from the oven like Martha Stewart did in the picture. She smiled until she did it without thinking, baring her teeth even in bed, as she dreamed of purple pansies. 

The next day, she delivered her forecast so well that even John himself gave her a flamboyant “Well done!” And Susan smiled at them as they congratulated her—but still she was not having fun. 

All this power and I never get to do anything worthwhile. Susan sighed. I could fix my front lawn if only John would let me.

Later at the meeting, Susan tried to articulate her feelings. 

“We could be doing so much more, John. We could be helping the needy, like those poor people of Marin County who’s front lawns have been destroyed by the California heat!”

The weather people muttered undecidedly. Susan recognized her experiences were not universal, and acted accordingly, “Or what about people affected by hurricanes! Or wildfires, droughts, what about them, John! All those poor people we could help with our power—“

“Our power is a gift, you fool!” John snapped. 

Susan raised an eyebrow. “A gift?”

“From Zietzebala,” said Rivers. “Our Great Mother Earth. She has gifted us with this forecasting power in exchange for our obedience as well as a few…sacrifices.”

“Ah.” Susan looked down. “And I suppose they have to be virgins too, don’t they. I’m still friends on facebook with a lot of men I went to highschool with who are probably–”  

“No! Dammit, no! I meant, like, recycle. Plant a tree!” John looked exasperated. “Sometimes we sacrifice a tofurky, but we’ve never really gone farther than that.”

“Maybe we should,” muttered Rivers.

John turned sharply to look at her. “Don’t think I don’t know about that little stunt you pulled yesterday,” he said with a voice like acid. “Isolated showers? Over our studio? You know how important the schedule is–”

“I’m sorry.” Rivers said. She did not appear sorry. “It will not happen again.”

“It had better not.”

John left the room in a huff.

Once he was safely out of earshot, Susan asked “What did you mean by that?”

Rivers sighed. “I know what you mean about wanting to help. About all the good we could do. Climate change has already killed millions…and the death toll will continue to rise.”

Susan thought of her dead flowers and trembled. 

“Don’t feel bad, Rivers,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”

“No but it is literally our fault we control the weather Susan.“

“Oh right.”

Susan had forgotten. 

Rivers began crushing the snacks in her hand. “The horrible thing is–I could fix it all. I have an incredibly detailed plan to fix the environment that, when I placed it on the alter to Zietzebala, turned into a swarm of doves! So I know she approves!”

Rivers glared. “But her pact is with John. And John has a bad heart.”

Susan nodded. “Truly a wicked man.”

“No, he literally has a bad heart. Arrhythmia.” Rivers hit twice against her chest. “I’m next in line for leadership if ever something terrible happens to him, just so you know.” She looked askance, placing her hand on Susan’s. “Do with that information what you will, Susan.”

Several things flashed through her mind at once. She saw Rivers dressed in the fanciful robes of climate cult leader. Rivers telling her how beautiful her lawn was. River’s soft, well-manicured hands holding hers, not just now, but over and over again in the future. Rivers could be more than her singular phone contact. Susan’s cheeks grew hot and she withdrew.

“Susan?”

She collected herself, pouring another class of ceremonial non-alcoholic wine. She raised it in a toast. “Here’s to hoping John drops dead!” 

Rivers laughed, “Oh Susan, you’re so funny.”

Ms. Susan Kelvin squeezed her incredibly soft hand. “And when you’re head forecaster, you’ll give my district some water, won’t you? Because we are…coworkers?”

Ms. Rivers seemed confused for a half-second, then replied. “Of course! We will help everyone, which includes you!” 

“But not me specifically?”

“Not you specifically, no.”

“Oh.”

Susan looked away. 

Rivers offered her a soynut, but Susan refused it. 

***

Next morning, Susan awoke with a start. She had a good feeling about today, that good feeling had apparently kicked her out of bed at an hour earlier than usual. What to do with the spare time?

She clapped her hands together. I know! I will go out for breakfast!

So Susan drove her little car down to her neighborhood Denny’s, avoiding all the dead beetles in the parking lot with her new high heels. She squeezed herself into a cozy booth. A nice table all to herself. 

A waitress approached. 

“Brown toast, and two eggs please.”

“Will that be sunny-side up, ma’am?”

“No no,” Susan turned from the window. Blue skies. With a twinge of bitterness she clarified, “I like my eggs over easy.”

“Sure thing!” The waitress jotted it down. “Sorry for assuming, most people like ‘em sunny—.”

“Well I like them over easy,” Susan said with a smile. 

Susan tapped her heel as she waited, sipping some lemon water. A tingling feeling ran up her leg, like a bug was crawling. She quickly ran her hand up and down her smooth leg, but it was nothing. Nothing. 

Moments later a steaming hot plate arrived. The toast was cut into triangles (the only adequate shape), but the eggs. Oh, the eggs. They were sunny. Side. UP. 

Susan stormed out of the establishment without paying, and sped to her job, positively seething. 

She did her broadcast as normal, except for one teensy addition as follows: 

“Lastly, you’ll be seeing a horrific category five hurricane over in Marin county with wind speeds of about one hundred twenty miles an hour. It will be localized entirely within this area.” Susan pointed with her pointing stick to the map, on which she’d drawn a red circle around that one particular Denny’s.” Susan smiled. “That will be all!”

They cut to commercial break. 

No one approached Susan for a full five minutes. Then John appeared, apparently having powerwalked from the adjoining broadcast room.

“Susan, what the hell–”

“It was a joke!”

John looked flabbergasted. 

Susan made a silly face. 

“A…joke?” 

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “Susan…you need to be really fucking careful with “jokes” when you’re on camera…You’re not in training anymore. Everything you say will happen no matter how ridiculous.”

Susan smiled slightly. That was exactly what she hoped.

John put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Look here, when the commercial ends, you are going to tell everyone that was a “joke”. You are going to tell everyone that there will be no category five hurricane at that particular Denny’s. Okay?”

“Okay, John.”

He backed away as the camera man counted down. Susan straightened her collar.

“Good evening, Citizens of Marin county. I have something to tell you all about that Category Five hurricane I mentioned earlier.”

Susan thought about reversing her decision. But why should she? That Denny’s had tried to poison her. She was doing God’s work. 

She cleared her throat. “That hurricane is going to have hail. So so much hail.” John was pulling at his hair.  

“And that’s not all. Susan looked directly at the camera, “Mr. John Sunday is going to die at exactly six forty-seven PM, and nothing that anyone does, not any doctor, not any ambulance, not any priest will be able to stop it.”

John Sunday ran onto the set, jumping over the rolling chairs and camera crew, reaching for her microphone. 

“And the power to this station will go off NOW.”

Darkness fell. Susan tried to run, but John tackled her to the ground. He pulled the microphone from her face and shouted into it, “No! No that will not happen, actually, that will not happen. Susan is wrong!” 

But the cameras were not running.

“You’re too late, John.”

John clutched his face.

“What time is it?”

It was six forty-six. 

There was terror in his eyes, “That wasn’t even weather related!” he stammered. “You will be fired for this!”

“Who is going to fire me, John?”

John took out his cellphone with a shaking hand and dialed 911. Susan heard it ringing, a steady pulse in his hand. But what John really needed was a steady pulse in his heart. He fell over in agony, and Susan bent over his writhing body. She watched until it stopped. Until it returned to it’s natural state. Nonexistence. Now she was having fun. Susan took his yellow bow tie (it was a clip-on.)

She ran through the crowd of concerned onlookers, off to her car to beat the rush-hour traffic. She heard sirens in the distance, a wailing chorus. Approaching. She clutched the wheel until her knuckles turned white.

Susan saw the siren was that of an ambulance and sighed. Pity that it wouldn’t help anything. What was done was done. 

That night, Susan made tea before sleeping, listening to the soft rain against her window as it cooled, with one of Martha Stewart's Living magazines resting on her lap. It was all very calming. She tucked herself into bed at exactly nine-thirty, as she did every night, and slept as she had always slept. 

But in her dreams, something was wrong. 

Something was terribly wrong.

Susan always dreamed about being in her house, but now she was on a pedestal. On all sides of her, a dark abyss stretched down into infinity. 

Instead of her carpet, the ground was teeming with worms. 

Instead of the whistling of her teakettle, she heard an ominous wind, delivering muffled shrieks and cries.

Susan tapped her foot on the wormy ground. Well, this is boring! she thought.

But no sooner did her mind form that thought than the wind began to pick up. 

Howling now. 

And from the sky of inclement weather came a flash of blinding lightning. Susan opened her eyes and who should stand before her but...

“Martha Stewart!” Susan struggled to speak. “I am your biggest fan, I’ve—I’ve read every issue of your magazine, I read your blog—I try so hard to be just like you!”

The woman answered in a booming voice that was far too deep, “But you are not like me, Susan. You are a hollow vessel. You are a parody of human being.”

“You’re not...really Martha Stewart, are you?”

The woman bared her teeth. “I’m afraid not. I am merely taking a form that you can understand.”

Susan had a feeling she knew who it was. “Are you... Great Mother?”

“The one and only!” Zietzebala winked. 

Susan looked her up and down. That dress was actually quite unfashionable now that she really looked at it. In hindsight it was obvious this was not Martha Stewart. Susan sighed soberly. Yes, not even a literal goddess can replicate such perfection.

Susan spoke to her in her usual condescending manner. “Why have you come to me like this...in a dream?”

“Isn’t it obvious why I’m here?” Not-Martha-Stewart said softly. “John Sunday is dead.”

Susan began to sweat. She adjusted her bow tie—no that was John’s bow tie, now she had drawn attention to it!

 With the intention of discreteness, and complete failure of that which was intended, Susan removed the article and hurled it into the abyss. Not even a full second later, the bow tie had reappeared. 

Again, Susan tossed it. 

Again, it reappeared. 

Again, she tossed it. 

Bow tie back again!

Again, she tossed it—

“This is who you are now, Susan!” shouted Zietzebala. Crackling thunder leapt from her perfect face-framing bob-cut of yellow hair. “This is your burden.” 

But the yellow of the bow tie didn’t even go with the current color palette of her outfit! Susan stood helplessly, in her persistently unfashionable clothing, staring into the eyes of this unearthly creature. And for the first time in her perfect life, Susan feared for her immortal soul. 

“Great Mother, I am so sorry,” she said tearfully, “But you must let me explain myself! He was preventing me from doing my job as a forecaster, so I had to kill him. I had to!”

Not-Martha-Stewart's eyes flashed red. “Don’t take all the credit, my child. I killed him. You merely allowed me to.”

Susan stopped pretending to look upset. “Oh. So we are on the same page?”

“Not exactly.” 

The Great Mother began to circle her, her high heels striking the writhing ground. “John is dead because he thought he could worship two gods at once.”

“He cheated on you?”

“With money.” Zietzebala shook her head. “John was too soft, much like the tofu he insists on sending me…He was unwilling to make the sacrifices I demand. But are you?”

The goddess was getting too close for comfort. 

“That…depends…what they are?”

“I want blood, Susan.”

She had figured. 

“Rivers has a two hundred page plan on how to save the environment. You are instrumental to that plan, Susan Kelvin. Because you are unlike any human I have ever known.” Her eyes glimmered like starlight. “You are…completely empty.”

Susan frowned. She felt strange. She felt used.

“I must go now–”

“Wait,” Susan stopped her. “While you’re here, can I ask you some questions about the nature of the universe? I’ve had a sudden stroke of curiosity.”

Zietzebala sighed. “Ok. I’ll give you three.”

“Objectively speaking, is the “Farmhouse style” or “Riverside cottage” style superior for a home kitchen?”

“That depends on the context, Susan.”

“Why are all the flowers in the magazines prettier than mine?”

“Because of the drought, Susan.”

She paused. Her last question…What shall it be?

After putting some thought into it, Susan decided to ask, “Is there life after death?”

Zietzebala smirked playfully. “Oh, I think you already know the answer.”

“Do I?”               

“Haven't you ever thought there was a bug on your leg, and upon looking, found there was no bug?”

Susan squinted. “What of it?”

The Goddess leaned in closely. “Ghost bugs.”

Susan shuddered, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Susan grabbed onto the front of the goddess’s coat. 

“Wait, I have one more question.”

“I said I’d give you three.”

“Please, just one more!” Susan demanded. “Are there other gods?”

“You already know the answer.”

Susan scoffed. “I’m…not sure that I do!”

Zietzebala turned from her, staring into the abyss. “It is time for you to wake up, Susan. Remember all that I have told you. Collaborate with Rivers. Eliminate everyone she tells you to.”

“What?”

“Be the good that Martha Stewart wants you to be–or there will be consequences!”

With that, she clapped twice and disappeared in a puff of smoke that smelled like cedar and pumpkin-scented candles. 

Susan sat up from her bed abruptly and jerked her head to the side. Six o’ clock. I must get ready for work!

Susan hurriedly bread her hands, popped her soap in the toaster, ironed the carpet, and tore down Main Street. In her urgency, she went two miles above the speed limit. 

Seeds of doubts sprouted worries in her mind. Do I really have what it takes to be an eco-terrorist? Susan fancied herself the very image of perfection. Was she not? She who kept her lawn so neatly trimmed? Who’s china was so neatly kept? Susan breathed rapidly. She who ravaged a Denny’s…

Destruction. 

Peace. 

Order. 

Susan whirled into the parking lot of the recording studio, blew past everyone without a word, avoiding inquisitive eyes, avoiding accusatory fingers, planting her ass firmly in her little red rolling chair. She took a deep breath. Be the good…that Martha Stewart wants you to be. 

Rivers ran up on stage, grabbed Susan’s face and kissed her passionately. Susan stumbled backwards, bracing herself against the desk. This was NOT an appropriate workplace activity. But Susan could not help herself. She returned the expression, kissing Rivers hungrily, barely noticing the notecards that had been pressed into her hand. 

“We’re on in five!”

Rivers pulled away and Susan gasped for breath. “Read these exactly as they are written Susan,” Rivers said. 

Susan dared not look down at the paper in her hand. What horrible dreadful things would be written on them?

Television static buzzed in her head. Someone was counting down. 

The cameras trained on her. 

“Now we will go live to Susan Kelvin with the weather!” The news reporter  eyed Susan from her screen. “And I see you are wearing John Sunday’s signature yellow bow tie.”

Susan leaned forward slowly. 

“That I am, Fiona. I have worn it to pay my respects—God rest his soul.”

“It’s kind of weird that you were able to forecast his death in such perfect detail.”

Susan paused. 

“Yes well…he had a heart condition. So it was only a matter of time really. 

“Of course.”

Susan exhaled deeply, and looked down. 

Written on the notecards were not the names of oil barons to kill. Not golf courses to destroy. Not death, not destruction. Written on the card was simply the words “rain for everyone”

The television static grew purple.

Rain for everyone. 

It was insulting.

“...Susan?”

Her eyes met Rivers. She was grinning ear to ear. 

Rain for everyone.

Susan’s whole body shook as she began to deliver her forecast, “A cloud… will appear.”

The room melted away, only Rivers remained. 

“Right over my house. A cloud will appear and it will rain. And it will never stop raining.”

Rivers smile twisted into a look of abject horror. 

“And my pansies will respond to the rain. They will be the brightest purple. They will be the envy of all you disgusting animals.” Susan hadn’t noticed but she was screaming every word.

The ground beneath the recording studio quaked from thunder. The contract had been broken, wrath was eminent. 

“I AM NOT EMPTY! I AM FULL OF PANSIES! I AM FULL OF RAIN.” 

Flowers began sprouting from Susan’s ears, nose and eyes. Water poured from her mouth onto the floor. Choking on rain, Susan finished her forecast.

“And that…just about…wraps it up. Ba–ck…to you!”

A bolt of lightning shot down from the heavens, miraculously cutting through the walls of the recording studio, striking Susan. She fell from the stage. Shortly after, more bolts came and the recording studio violently burst into flames.

Forty-seven dead. Bodies near unrecognizable. Eyewitnesses said that the weather was to blame but Ms. Rivers knew that it was anything but that. Homicide. Divine intervention.

Rivers stood alone in the parking lot, charred bow tie in one hand, and in the other, a flash drive that contained the cure for the goddess of earth. The only god. “Damn you.” Her fingers closed around the yellow cloth. The weather was about to get so much worse.

But for now, rain fell in sheets from the sky above Susan Kelvin's house, with no sign of stopping. Her pansy grew taller than cornstalks, stretching upwards, garishly purple. But Susan would never see them. Susan Kelvin was gone. 

Though, some say that on hot summer days when the sky is endless blue, at the back of your neighborhood Denny’s, you can feel her.

Crawling on your leg.  

[killgrey]

im starting on the digitsl version of these sketches.... giggles snd kicks my feet

dw i havent forgotten sbout the raid one, ngl ive been... procrastinating on it but idk why😭😭 coloring is usually fun 💔

[beardedmrbean]

Bad Dragon is suing SinSaint over copyright infringement of their dildo designs. What I want to know is, can you copyright the shape of a dog's dick? Because if you can, you shouldn't be able to.

I did knot need to hear about this one.

one more pun

TSG is gonna be one of the more reputable sources for this one

MARCH 25--A manufacturer of “fantasy-themed sex toys” has accused an upstart Brooklyn, New York firm of knocking off its distinctive designs, according to a federal lawsuit alleging that the defendant has infringed on copyrights for dildos such as “Spritz the Seadragon” and “Tyson the Water Buffalo.”

In a March 20 complaint filed in U.S. District Court in Arizona, Bad Dragon Enterprises contended that its “sculptural” products have been illegally copied by SinSaint, which is headquartered in a Coney Island warehouse and advertises that all its “Ethically Manufactured” toys are “made in Brooklyn, USA.”

Bad Dragon, which noted that it has had “significant commercial success” in the adult toy field, alleged that SinSaint has been selling the duplicative dildos through its website and other trade channels, including the recent AVN Adult Entertainment Expo in Las Vegas (where the new firm’s exhibitor booth was next to that of the all-nude Palomino strip club).

The lawsuit identifies 13 separate dildos that Bad Dragon claims have been copied (and renamed) by SinSaint, which was incorporated in New York last year. The colorful silicone toys feature scales, tentacles, suction cups, and other design elements meant to mimic the genitalia of dragons, sea creatures, and other fantastical characters.

Some of the Bad Dragon products that SinSaint is accused of swiping are “Kelvin the Ice Dragon,” “Stan the T. Rex,” and “Vergil the Drippy Dragon.” SinSaint has not been accused of pirating other Bad Dragon offerings like “Jason the Demogorgon” or “Cuttlefish of Cthulhu.”

According to the lawsuit, SinSaint’s counsel last month stated that the company had begun removing “some of the allegedly infringing listings for product redesign.” This response, Bad Dragon contended, was “unacceptable,” adding that it “continues to be harmed by Defendant’s ongoing, unlawful conduct.”

The Bad Dragon complaint seeks an order enjoining SinSaint from continuing any further alleged

copyright infringement and seeks “disgorgement of all of Defendant’s profits” related to the artificial penises. The company may also seek statutory damages of up to $150,000 for each of the dildos in question.

For more than a decade, Bad Dragon has sought trademark and copyright protection for various product lines. While often successful, the firm’s application to trademark its “Cum Tube” was abandoned after a government attorney rejected the ejaculating dildo because the “applied-for mark consists of or includes immoral or scandalous matter.” The application included a very NSFW image, which can be found on the U. S. Patent and Trademark Office website.

According to an August 2023 trademark application, SinSaint’s owner is Oleg Semenenko, 50, a resident of Brooklyn’s gated Seagate community. Semenenko lives less than a mile from SinSaint’s warehouse, which shares an address with GlobMarble, an industrial molds business for which Semenenko is listed as “manager” in a separate trademark application filed this month.

In a brief interview today, Semenenko was asked how a dildo firm grew out of his original business. “We work with rubber,” he replied. Semenenko dismissed Bad Dragon’s claim that its products were unique and original: “How can octopus hand can be your idea?” (4 pages) ____________________________________________

Hope the judge that did the recent trump case gets this one, even though I know that's basically impossible, just the thought of making him listen to hours of testimony about how these rubber fantasy dildos are protected by copyright or trademark law, or something like that is funny to me.

It's not a revenge thing wanting it, just a keep him humble thing. I know you think you're hot shit now, so here listen to these arguments for a bit.

Totally different note, I'm wondering how long until the discourse starts up, or if it has already started up, where using horse dildos is either bestiality or a gateway to bestiality because what with the way people treat cartoons of fictional people I can't imagine it's far off or not already here.

Look to japan for the tentacle ones.........

[plague-of-insomnia]

Is Sebastian “Evil”?

Recently, I saw a post by @puppyfan9000 about Sebastian, commenting on whether or not he is evil, suggesting he’s more like a lion, who preys on animals for survival and not because they’re “evil.”

I guess I had not fully appreciated how many people apparently view Sebastian through the lens of Christian demonology and dogma and thus view him as evil, some apparently going as far to say he’s the villain of the series. (Yana has said he’s the protagonist, actually, but go off, I guess.)

While I can’t ofc know what Yana had in mind with Sebastian when she created him, I do feel like the manga does a good job of pointing out that demons are not innately good or evil, and the truly “evil” ones are humans themselves.

(This is gonna be a bit long so I’ll go ahead and tuck the rest under a read more.)

Shinto Kami & Three Natures

One of the cores of Shinto belief is the kami, sometimes translated as “god,” though I think “deity” is better since the former often has an association with “good” in the western mindset.

The thing about kami is they aren’t good or evil; they exist outside those human parameters. They’re more like a force of nature than what we in the west might view as demonic or godly.

And each kami has 3 natures, or mitama:

aramitama - rough and wild

nigimitama - gentle and life supporting

sakimitama - nurturing

[SS from Handbook of Japanese Mythology by Michael Ashkenazi]

Think of these three as different colored liquids all contained within a vessel. Each kami has a diff amount of each, with one or more of these natures dominating in different situations and at different times.

Connected to this, the line between a “god” or “kami” and a “demon” (so many words you can use here, including akuma, or even yokai) is fluid in Shinto belief.

A kami can “fall” and “devolve” into a baser yokai or “demon” if they become impure (purity is a big part of Shinto belief and ritual), and/or if their aramitama nature becomes more dominant.

Even so, these beings aren’t considered “evil” in the same sense that a Christian views Satan as “evil.”

Just as the destruction caused by a hurricane can’t be called “evil,” the behavior of a kami or other spirit likewise is neither good nor evil. It simply is.

Yana has described him as “without shame or moral sense” but I think this is a bit misleading in translation (though the original Japanese is lost so I can’t say for sure what she said exactly). I think what she means isn’t “he’s evil” but that “he exists outside the framework of human morality.”

Humans Vs Demons in the Manga

I feel like to call Sebastian evil is to miss the fundamental message of the manga: that humans (and formerly human creatures like shinigami) are far more demonic than demons.

Ciel says that almost verbatim, depending on the translation (and if you’re talking about the manga vs the anime) at the end of the circus arc, and Seb replies that is something that sets humans and demons apart.

Sebastian doesn’t kill for the sake of killing. He only kills on command/when necessary to execute (ha) Ciel’s orders/goals. More than once he’s expressed either his distaste at Ciel’s desires, and while Ciel calls him a beast, he takes offense to that.

From Sebastian’s perspective, humans are interesting because they are more complex than demons, who seem to be driven largely by their hunger and not much else.

Recall that Sebastian hesitated to burn down Kelvin’s manor with all the children inside, and it confuses him enough he even questions Ciel about it later. Likewise, while he does kill everyone involved in the Green Witch arc, that was far less about his being “evil,” and more about his doing the job that Ciel ordered him to do while giving him a chance to get his own “revenge” for nearly losing his meal due to the effects of the gas.

I think the closest thing to “evil” Sebastian gets in the manga is when he first makes the contract with Ciel and tries to trick him by making him believe his brother is alive, since he can’t actually resurrect the dead. But I feel it’s telling that is “day one” Sebastian and he has certainly grown and changed since then.

The Ripper Arc: The First Evil

The first true arc is the ripper arc, and I think it’s important because it shows us early that while Sebastian is a literal hellspawn, it wasn’t a demon involved in the serial murders but rather a human—Madam Red—and someone who was once human—Grelle.

Grelle then kills Red in cold blood because she’s become “boring,” which, as far as we know, Grelle never regretted or felt remorse over.

I’m not quite sure if I would even call Grelle evil, but the point is clear: humans, and former humans, are more demonic than demons.

We see it again and again, with the cult, with Kelvin, with the German military in the GWA, with Undertaker and the Aurora society— perhaps it is telling that Sebastian is the only known demon in canon (no, season 2 of the anime is not canon), because it really forces us to see that even the worst of Sebastian’s actions pales in comparison to the depravity of human beings.

If we do wanna look at non-canon, the first season of the anime featured an Angel, a being that is normally associated with being “good,” who becomes so twisted and obsessed with “purity” that they let their aramitama nature take hold and commit great evil in their quest for purification. Even so much as to try and ally with a demon and offer Sebastian any souls he wishes in exchange for Ciel.

So once more we see a non-demon character being the evil one— and Pluto, who is technically a demon, isn’t “evil.” He only “becomes evil” when Ash/Angela break his mind and force him to attack the city.

Ignoring Ciel’s Commands

Finally, I think it’s important to point out that despite promising to always fulfill Ciel’s orders, there have been several times in the manga that he has disobeyed in order to protect Ciel.

One example happens in the circus arc. Ciel’s asthma flares from the harsh conditions at the circus, but he’s determined to go out regardless. But they’re stopped by Agni and Soma.

Agni then gives Sebastian a harsh lecture that makes him realize that simply always following Ciel’s orders isn’t enough if doing so puts his life at risk. So he goes against Ciel’s wishes and not only makes him rest, but let’s him sleep as long as he needs to.

Later, during the Weston arc, when confronted by Undertaker again, Sebastian ignores Ciel’s orders to try and catch him because he learned from his experiences on the Campania and doesn’t want to risk putting Ciel in danger again.

If Sebastian were truly such an evil being, an embodiment of sin, then why would he care about Ciel’s health? Yes, he’s cultivating his soul for optimum yumminess, but harvesting him a bit early wouldn’t really affect him that badly.

Though Sebastian says that he’s doing it because of the terms of their contract or because he’s “taken great pains” to cultivate Ciel’s soul and doesn’t want him stolen, I don’t think that is entirely the truth. While he ofc doesn’t want to lose his meal, I think it’s more than that.

No, he protects Ciel because he wants to. He keeps him safe and out of harm because he chooses to. And demon or not, I don’t think someone like Agni could call an evil being his friend.