#petty fights between petty skeletons

[lya-ayl]

Bitties are easier to deal with since you can just grab them but actual sizes would just be hassle, even if they are shorter than you

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hello Mint!

I discovered roleplaying through Lancer, and it made me love tactics with a little emergent behavior (with the occasional surprise super silly combo), the sort we also have in some tactical puzzle games like into the breach or tactical breach wizards. Do you know some tactical RPGs with combat that can almost feel like puzzles at times

THEME: Combat with Puzzles.

Hello friend! I think I have some solid recommendations here, but don't sleep on what I've already written about! You can check out some other recommendation posts at the bottom of this.

Celestial Bodies, by Charlotte Laskowski @binarystargames.

Adrift Among the Bodies of the Dead

For a generation after the calamity, the infinite dark between the stars felt cramped, crowded by refugees on ships meant for fewer people and shorter trips.  In the second generation, those who survived in their home-ships now cannibalized the metal skeletons of the less fortunate ships.  The third generation did not just expand their ships; they expanded their mecha and their operations. They fled to farther stars — populations in space stations and on surfaces booming as quickly as lives were lost in petty disputes.  The fourth generation discovered the Titans. No probe had yet reached these dead gods whose frozen bodies spanned hundreds of miles across. You are the fifth generation.

Celestial Bodies uses an inventory system that feels similar to Mausritter; you have to fit your weapons and other gear inside a grid in order to carry everything. Your “puzzle’ involves constructing your mech to work effectively in battle according to the strategy you prefer. You’re also tracking resources gained and resources used; it seems like you have to keep fighting in order to get access to the things that keep you going.

Ultraviolence Radiation, by KintaroTPC.

Ultraviolence Radiation (UVR) is an experiment in action.

Deflect bullets with a knife! Grab a guy and use him as a weapon against another guy! Take a smoke break in the middle of a hail of gunfire! Get your revenge and look cool doing it.

Featuring 100 enemies with unique Intros, Attacks and special things they do when they die! 28 Abilities to make the action hero you want to play! A rule set which takes inspiration from Beat-Em-Up arcade games and applied them to the Tabletop genre.

In Ultraviolence Radiation, one person is a player, while everyone else at the table plays the baddies. The fighter can’t use moves that draw from the same stat back-to-back; a limitation that points towards having to think carefully about what you’re going to do. There are also moves that have cooldown limitations; you can’t spam the same move, but rather have to time everything to make sure you still have access to good options. Additionally, the fighter has access to passive moves, which have no cooldown, and in some cases, might be consistently in effect. They also have interrupt moves, which can be used outside of your turn. This gives you a fairly complex list of options to choose from, which I think is an integral piece to a good combat game.

Mutation, by OneFootWall Games.

The World as we know it has changed. Two centuries from now a comet strikes Earth. This hunk of interstellar rock was an attack by some Klendathu wannabes. “Goddamn bugs whacked us, Johnny.”

It wasn’t really a comet or meteor, or even an asteroid. It was a seed bomb for terraforming sent by some alien species. This thing detonated a mile up over the Florida Keys and scattered radiation, some kind of bio-gel, and spores around the globe. It wiped out 80% of life on the surface. And we never even got to see the damn aliens…

The world was a little weird and quiet after that. But like Dr Ian Malcom in Jurassic Park says, “Life, uh, finds a way.”

A 3d6 system with a reasonable amount of crunch, distance matters in Mutation, and turns have an action economy. This plus the attacks, talents, psychic powers, skills, and gear which all constitute your character mean that you have a number of different distinct tools that can be used to overcome obstacles, especially in combat. Your character also has the opportunity to inflict and also take different conditions; having different ways to affect and damage your opponent feels like another layer of tactical precision to me.

There is a free quickstart if you want to take a peek behind the curtain before you buy.

Thrones and Threads, by OpalBreeze Games.

Throughout the land, warlords hire mercenary champions to try and dethrone one another. Once hired, these champions don cloth adornments embroidered with threads of vibrant colours that signify their allegiance. Endowed with formidable power, champions are tasked with cutting through enemy lines and destroying fortified strongholds until no obstacles remain between their forces and the enemy throne.

Thrones and Threads is a role-playing battle arena based on Songs and Sagas, product of Fari RPGs, developed and authored by René-Pier Deshaies-Gélinas.

This game comes with 5 pregenerated characters and feels very much like an arena battle; combat is front and centre. Each character has a special move that makes them unique, and many of their traits are determined by different sizes of dice. Because each character has flavoured ways of using their stats, if you are inventive in how you describe your characters’ actions, you’ll likely be able to play to your strengths.

Strike Force Omega, by potatocubed.

It is the far future. Humanity spreads across the galaxy. Led by a council of corporate interests, the Imperial Core reaps the benefits of plunder and exploitation on an unimaginable scale, teeming trillions of human beings kept docile by mass media and the never-ending war against every other sentient species humanity has encountered.

You were a soldier in that war. Not one of the grunts, given basic training and a gun and shoved towards the enemy, although you might have started there. No, you were part of Strike Force Omega. Omega, because you ended things. Given the best training and equipment, remade by your corporate masters into a terrifying god of war, and expected to achieve the impossible on a regular basis. Which you did.

Until you got out.

But war has found you, even here. Not all the threats in the corp newsrooms are overstated.

The people of these worlds are frightened, but they will defend their homes against the oncoming tides – and they will fail and they will die. Even in their millions they cannot win.

Unless…

War is what you were made for, after all. You’ve killed and destroyed for far worse causes than this, so why not take up arms one more time and maybe try to claw back a little part of your soul?

LUMEN is generally a great system for strategic combat, all about creating combos that make you feel powerful and effective. Strike Force Omega is a setting that allows you to play with both magic and technology, and it includes 6 sample campaigns, one for each enemy faction written for the setting. Since the lore and world-building is built in, your characters already have a strong reason for fighting, something that sometimes I struggle to put together in Lancer.

demon blade ultimate, by Peach Garden Games.

Take up your Demon Blade and do battle against the oppression of the imperial army, put an end to the shaded cities, and bring the people of the undercity back to the sunlight.

Demon Blade Ultimate uses the Arts Grid, a character creation and power system pioneered in the legendary Horse Girl Infinity by Jordan Cuddlefish. Choose powers from the grid, unleash powerful summoning magic, and know that nothing is truly beyond your reach.

The grid system in Demon Blade involves choosing three powers on a grid. The spaces between the thing you want to do and the thing you are good at determines the difficulty of an action. Advancement allows you to increase your strengths, making you more powerful as you play.

This game takes a lot from shounen battle anime, so expect narratives about striving to improve yourself until you can vanquish the evil that threatens your people.

Other Recommendations:

Loot, by Gila RPGs.

My Dragoon Recommendation Post.

Fantasy With Tools Recommendation Post

Weapons & Weapon Customization Recommendation Post

Spatial Puzzle Recommendations

Combat Recommendations

If you like what I do and want to leave a tip, you can always stop by my Ko-Fi page.

[helphowdoiusethis]

When will you admit you are wrong?

It's not often that Edwin and Charles find themselves in the situation where a fight had been so petty that it created the need to apologise in quite a way that warranted a dance that the pair created five years into their thirty year existence after one case that left Edwin rather pissed off with the other.

"Do you not understand how completely stupid you are Charles! In these five years have you not learned, your impulsive actions will end with" but Charles had cut him off like he was fed up with the constant bringing up of hell; at least when not asked.

"One of us getting taken by death, I know Edwin, I know mate." Charles groans and flops onto their relatively newly acquired sofa thankfully not through the thing, not that Charles had a direct date of when it was gotten he lost count of the days about four months into his first year with Edwin when the lines of days and nights had blurred.

Edwin has frowned, it’s not alright for Charles to just know! Charles is not the one going back to hell if Death catches them; he had been sure to inform the younger just how terrible hell was at every inquirer that the not long dead ghost had looked for.

Charles sighs and looks up at the older boy and with a slight eye roll, he speaks “What? Do you want me to say I was wrong for protecting us?”

Edwin only simply nodded and tagged on a quite simple statement of, “and do a little dance while you're at it”

And that, that was how the ‘I was wrong’ dance was formed.

It was at the time a better way for the pair to communicate the dislike for their new found friend putting themselves in danger during cases for the other; it was mates worrying about mates after all. Anytime after the twentieth year that they had been partners, the reason for the dance changed it went from being consumed about the other with the introduction of communication; albeit limited but communication no less it had shifted to a petty more ridiculous nuance of change throughout the further years.

When Crystal and the journey to Port Townsend had taken place, Edwin had been the first to do the dance on the roof of the tongue and tail butchers, expertly doing the splits half way through the designed choreography which had been added about 4 years prior; that Edwin himself inputted after Charles had complained about the ease in which he was able to follow the choreography now after so long. When Edwin looked up through his thick eyelashes into Charles’s eyes and he had seen the familiar smirk that Charles wore now many times over the years. Charles had gone after; he had possessed a witch after all and while nothing had happened Edwin was still very mad. Both the dead boys with something they were willing to admit that they were wrong over and it wasn’t like Edwin ever tired hearing that he was right not when Charles has to of his own fruition bow down further than necessary with a “you were right” echoing out into the space between the pair.

The second instance of the dance whilst in port Townsend came not even twenty four hours later after saving Niko from the spirits. Edwin had of course done the dance for the fact that he had felt so much guilt over the ‘’wrong’’ action for performing magic on a cat and scaring Charles very very much when he had been taken by the Cat King for hours. Charles had danced for the sake of breaking the vessel in a successful attempt to save Edwin from a skeleton and Crystal had added after she had seen Edwin dance; that Charles had almost let the spirits possess her despite the many apologies that Charles had given after the fact.

Crystal and Niko had been privy to seeing the dance that time as Charles had addressed the reason but not the reason for why the dance existed at all or how in everyone’s name that Edwin did the splits and why Charles himself had bowing over more than necessary for two best-mates to see; that was waved off with a laugh and a pat to Edwin’s back.

After the Devlin house no dance was done much to Charles’s chagrin, he had been wrong for attempting to hit Mr. Devlin and getting trapped in the loop, losing his cool was something Charles did not do often not in the way that the Devlin house had made him mad and touched too raw nerves that hadn’t been viewed or even thought of since his death all those years ago.

Charles had sounded more devastated when he spoke, something that Edwin had consciously decided to ignore the sad, wounded look that had afflicted the normally sunshine smiling boy’s face.

“You need not apologise Charles. Anyone would have had that reaction if their father was..” Old British sensibility taking hold and reigning over the way that he wanted to explain that Charles need not apologise or do that ridiculous dance that they had made for not apologising and avoiding the actual issues at hand, not communicating in a healthy way. Charles did not need to apologise for this, for the fact that he had lost his cool in response to trauma - not when Edwin had done the same at Crystal three days prior and had been doing so whenever the risk of Death taking them away was an issue.

Charles had a rebuttal “but I almost got us taken by Death, mate” ignoring his trauma over, well his father.

“You did nothing of the sort Charles, you do not need to do the dance. So leave it at that, okay?” Edwin had been quick to stop Charles’s spiral; into his wrong thought about everything had taken place. This was something the younger had done before, not in a while but he had done this before the older knew that.

Charles had at that moment, slumped over slightly before correcting his posture in the most rigid way that the Edwardian ghost had seen, before Charles had gone back to normal with his sunshine smile plastered back in place.

It had been difficult after the Night Nurse had gone over the cliff after Charles had kicked her over. Charles had been ahead of the group from the moment that they had begun to return to the tongue and tail butchers from the lighthouse, silent in a way that had even Niko avoidant in checking in on Charles apart for glancing at him before at Edwin. Crystal and Edwin had spoken in silence almost in a way that seemed too odd for the pair but as the worry that Charles had spiked over the last two days, caused their banter to become more easy and those glances to be able to be passed.

The dance hadn’t been done, not when the group had returned to the butcher shop and separated into pairs, the girls with the boys after quick reassurances of trust had been shared between the boys and Edwin had stared at Charles before following Niko through the door and Charles and Crystal had shared kisses in an attempt to forget the day.

There was nothing wrong, nothing to ‘’apologise’’ for nothing that the boys had felt was due at the time.

The case of the two dead dragons, it had taken too much out of both Charles and Edwin those boy’s had ruined peoples lives just like how they had had their lives ruined at their deaths. Edwin had apologised; after returning from his rather awkward way that his conversation had ended with Monty and the new level of understanding that his feelings had taken on around Charles, about the tackles way in which he asked Charles to leave from the grave yard that day but not for asking Charles leave no that to him was the best choice with the ghost and the days prior.

When Charles had admitted that he was wrong for the way in which he had put on edge Edwin; apologising to Crystal while Edwin had been out. The almost sinful way in which Charles had looked up at the Edwardian ghost through his eyelashes with a “you were right..” whispered out into the air Edwin had almost lost composure in that instant, looking back and down on Charles, saying less through sarcasm and more through a wave of heavy ‘joy’.

Based on a post by @idliketobeatree

[goodlucktai]

could you write something about the crew saving sanji from captivity, like maybe he was caught by marines or somthing, and they hadnt been feeding him, and the crew gets to cook for sanji for once or something like that?

x

It made sense that they would run into a halfway intelligent Marine grunt sooner or later. 

“You don’t fight with your hands much,” he said, opening the file on the table in between them. “Weak arms? Nah, I’ve never heard of a sailor with weak arms. There must be another reason.”

He wasn’t anyone special. Sanji was familiar enough with the uniforms by now to tell at a glance that he wasn’t decorated the way the real heavy hitters were. Chief Petty Officer, maybe. Warrant Officer at best. 

Sanji was a Straw Hat. He wasn’t going to break a sweat for anyone less than a Vice-Admiral. He made sure to say as much, to clear up any misunderstandings. The officer didn’t appreciate hearing it for some reason. 

He put out a hand without looking up from the file. A guard by the door stepped forward and placed something in his palm. 

It was a ball-peen hammer. 

“You’re the cook. That’s why you protect your hands. You wouldn’t have a place in that famous crew of yours if you lost those.”

“Well, you’re partly right, at least,” Sanji admitted. “For someone stupid enough to spectacularly piss my captain off, that’s far more than I expected.”

The extraction team arrived in the form of an unhinged skeleton and a six-foot-tall reindeer that tossed his knife-point antlers hard enough to put a decent-sized hole in the doorframe, but only after two fingers were mangled on Sanji’s right hand and one was freshly broken on his left. 

The officer whirled around at the sudden appearance of uninvited company—surprised for just a moment, and then gray-faced with fear. 

“About time,” Sanji snarked, and wrenched his shackled hands hard enough that the chain links binding him to the floor snapped. He stood, stretched his spine, and flicked a disinterested look at the Marine officer, who went melting towards the back of the room on legs that wobbled like jelly. Disregarding him, Sanji added, “Did Robin have time to get those files she wanted? I stalled for ages.”

For a beat, neither of his nakama answered him. Then Brook’s jaw made a cracking noise like a gunshot, the way it does when he’s grinding his teeth, and Chopper shrieked, “Your hands!!”

Sanji glanced down at them. “Oh, yeah. Our mutual friend over there wasn’t very creative.” 

It hurt like a bitch, but it was far from the worst thing he’d ever felt. If it had gone much further, he might have seriously considered deviating from the plan, but a few broken bones? His brothers used to do that just for fun. 

Brook tossed his guitar over his shoulder, where it hung against his back by the strap looped across his chest, and withdrew his sword instead. 

“I can be very creative,” he said, sing-song. 

“We’re leaving!” Chopper proclaimed, and herded Sanji toward the door with his antlers. Sanji went, amused by the pushiness. 

It’s much less amusing an hour later, when his fingers are splinted and wrapped carefully, and Chopper tells him in no uncertain terms that he’s banned from work until Chopper’s satisfied with how they’ve healed. 

Sanji agrees easily, because Chopper is equal parts adorable and terrifying when it comes to the health and safety of their family. But when he slips into the galley to begin preparing supper, the reindeer is right on his heels, scolding, “Sanji! That’s work!”

“Hardly,” he scoffs. Then, “Wait, are you serious?”

Chopper throws up his little hooves, as exasperated as any healthcare professional four times his age. “Why would I joke? Your bones are broken. Put down that spatula or I’ll scream!”

Sanji puts down the spatula. He’s never felt this wrong-footed before in his life. What does one do in a kitchen they aren’t allowed to cook in? He shifts his weight and looks sideways at the pantry.

“Oh my god,” Nami says. She points at the table. “Sit.”

“This feels kind of absurd,” he says. 

“So it’s completely on-brand, then,” Usopp says, frog-marching him to a chair. “Good to know.”

Sanji lets himself be bullied with a scowl, and tucks his hands under the table where they can’t get him into any more trouble. Zoro, from the other side of the table, snorts into his tankard. Carrot drapes herself over Sanji’s shoulders, faux-sympathetic, but her chest rumbles with subvocal animal laughter. Franky and Jimbei are grinning openly.

It’s not funny. It’s time to eat. After all that action, their bodies need to replenish nutrients. They need carbs and proteins. He could at least be making smoothies while everyone argues with him—he can multitask!  

Luffy, whose face has been a thundercloud ever since they returned to Sunny, leaving the Marine base actively on fire in their wake, brightens suddenly. 

“I got it!” he announces, and that’s his trainwreck tone of voice. The very familiar, always inevitable, ‘you can try to stop me but it’ll just end in tears if you do’ tone of voice. Sanji braces himself, but nothing could have prepared him for Luffy cheerfully declaring, “We’ll make dinner!”

“Uh, no,” Sanji says quickly.

“Captain’s orders,” Robin says peacefully. 

She was angry with him before—in that careful, soft-spoken way she gets angry with her nakama that always leaves them feeling lower than dirt—for letting himself get hurt in even this unremarkable capacity. But now she meets his eyes with a smile that only the people aboard this ship are privileged to see, and he fumbles his half of the argument before he even has a chance to make it. 

Within that time, half his crew have migrated to the kitchen proper, and Nami is heaving open the huge recipe book that lives in place of pride on the counter. 

“Hey, hey, Sanji!” Luffy yells. “What do you want to eat?”

“This is really unnecessary,” he says, shifting to stand. Carrot becomes deadweight on his back, dangling there like the world’s weirdest scarf. 

“We’ll survive without five star food for a few days,” Jimbei says dryly. “If I were you, I’d answer their question before they take matters into their own hands and decide for you.”

In the kitchen, things are already rapidly devolving. There’s a lot of clamoring around and shoving of shoulders. This crew would never agree on anything they couldn’t argue about for hours first. Luffy clambers up onto Yamato’s back to get a bird’s-eye view of the recipe book, stretching an arm over Nami’s own shoulder to point out every dish that catches his eye. Yamato is a cheerful, agreeable jungle-gym, not even batting an eye when Luffy’s grip on one of his horns causes his head to tilt slowly to the left. 

If Sanji had known letting that measly little officer play his shitty power games would end like this, he would have kicked the creep in the mouth hard enough to shut him up permanently. 

He taps his bandaged fingers against his knees, frustrated and restless. Normally his friends’ stubbornness is weaponized against other people. He doesn’t like being on this end and he doesn’t understand why it’s happening. 

“They want it to be special for you,” Zoro says suddenly, interjecting for the first time all night with that infallible wisdom he likes to pull out of thin air when it suits him. Then he takes another drink and adds, “God knows why.”

There’s nothing Sanji can do for a moment but stare at him. From the corner of his eye, he can see Robin and Jimbei’s knowing smiles, Franky looking as though he’s about to laugh. Carrot is still purring, tickled pink by the whole thing. All around them, Sunny shifts and groans as she bears them across the sea, and somehow it sounds like she’s in on it, too. 

Sanji, who can’t remember the last time anyone cooked for him, refuses to feel touched. Honestly. This isn’t touching, it’s goddamn annoying—but he might as well let them have their fun, right?

“French toast,” he finally says. Not very loud, all things considered. But the anarchy in the kitchen comes to a sudden halt, and Luffy’s smile is bright enough to put that sun god lurking inside him to shame.

“With strawberries and cream,” he says importantly. “I remember! Sanji’s favorite!”

“Oh, that sounds good,” Yamato exclaims, still standing at a weird angle and unbothered by it. Next to him, Brook is imitating the pose, for no immediately apparent reason. “Do we have strawberries?”

“Strawberries!” Chopper yells, in what is either accord or a demand, and Usopp opens the fridge to investigate.

Sanji lets his chin sink into one of his hands, overseeing the chaos from his seat at the table. That itchy, uneasy feeling in his chest settles down. Now he just feels reluctantly fond.

He can’t help thinking about what the officer said to him back on the base. 

Sanji is a cook, and he does protect his hands, but that’s the extent of what the self-important stranger got correct. Luffy would drag him back from hell if he died, so the idea of being cut free because his usefulness has expired is outright laughable. Sanji doesn’t need to secure his place here. 

The reality is much simpler—providing food for the people that he loves is a privilege, one he doesn’t take lightly. It just honestly hadn’t occurred to him until now that the street goes both ways. 

Dinner preparation takes twice as long as it should that night.

Somehow, it tastes twice as sweet. 

[ghost-mantis]

An audiobook I highly recommend and that you need little to no prior knowledge of warhammer lore to enjoy. Hear me out…

Two undying space skeleton liches spend an entire book acting like they had the divorce to end all divorces and are fighting each other to be the first to open an ancient tomb.

One is a mix between Indiana Jones, The Librarian (Movie/TV series), and a Pokemon collector.

The other is the most petty version of Dr. Strange you’ve ever seen.

They spend half the book trying to essentially slap-fight and backstab each other out of spite. They go to court (yes really) over a fight that lasts long enough to erode mountains.

It’s a glorious train wreck of a treasure hunt story, and the audio version does a fantastic job of bringing the characters to life.

10/10 Would Divorce Again

[hcwritter]

Howdy ! I juste followed you but i did a before on tiktok,sad that you left i've got a request if you Can Do it pleasee ? Its about fell sans nsfw and with aftercare i love your content btw 💗

-SPECIAL REQUEST FROM A FOLLOWER DATING ONE SHOTS-

‼️⚠️NSWF⚠️‼️

( my opinion )

Side note: you didn’t specify if you wanted headcanons so imma do fanfic since it’s nswf and after care ^^ i hope you enjoy

Fell:

It was a nice summer day at snowdin, ironically there’s no snow this summer but nice warm breezes and no snow onsite but green grass. But it would have been a cherry on top if your lover, fell. Wasn’t such a man baby and making a huge fight between y’all over mustered. “Geez relax, can’t you let it go?” You annoyingly sighed after then crossing yours as the taller skeleton stares down at you with his red glowing eyes, “what would you do if someone used YOUR last mustered, huh?!” He yelled childishly “well for starters, I wouldn’t make it a big fucking deal because i can easily just buy a new fucking one!” You yelled back way more harshly than before.

Fell took a step back and clenched his heart and was sadden in expression “i-…ugrr!” He groaned and irritatedly walked away and went upstairs. “Oh yeah! Walk off like a fucking kid huh?” You tried to bring him back but he only stayed in silent. After a few hours it’s dinner time now and Papy told you he will be staying over by alphys for the night, “great..” you sighed stressfully and got to get your coat and your boots on and grabbing the keys “hey bitch face! Im going out to get chicken tenders alright?” You expected a yell or at least a noise but not a peep was heard. ‘This guy..’ as you left.

After you got the food with the drinks you lock the door and went to the dining table expecting him to be there but none, no one was even downstairs and now a thing was moved. “He’s seriously gonna be this petty?” You started to feel the anger boil up as you snapped and went up stairs and started to pound on the door “hey asshole! Wake up! We have to eat dinner, its chicken tenders so you don’t have a reason not to eat!” You yelled but only got nothing, “are you serious?!hey!” You we’re about to bang again but then it opened and your fist stopped on top of fells head starting at you weirdly calm but you notice his eyes were red and puffy “.. what the hell happened to you” you lower down your fist and stared up at him as he was only silent and then tried to close his door again but you stopped it with your hand and forcefully opened it wide and let yourself in “hey! Im not done talking to you asshole! What is wrong with you?!” You started to lecture him but he only looked down at his feet and took it in silent “hey! Im talking to you look at me!” You aggressively yelled as he finally looked but then came along him aggressively holding your shoulders and pulling you closer to his face seeing his mid grinned expression “listen here dip shit, your lil mouth of yours have been getting filthy lately. Why don’t we shut it up? Aye?” He suggested with a grin as you tried to get loose but he was now lifting you up and taking you to his shoulders and slamming you down to his bed and pinning you.

“F-fell! Get off me this instant!” You tried to push but got your both of your hands tried with his hand as he was now hovering above you “ relax doll face, i won’t be gentle ” you grunted “you little shit!” As you hissed at him and glared “let go!” “oh? Why would i? You were the one barging in my room” you blushed knowing somehow this would happen but never expected your predictions would ever come true but now your facing it right now “i was trying to help you eat dumbass! Not this! Pevr!” You spit as he only giggled and lowered himself “oh really? Then why ya nipples hard then doll face?” He pointed out as it was true,you were turned on. Your nipples we’re sensitive and he knew damn well, “lets me just~” he let go one of his hand on your wrist and pinned you with one hand one and one now teasing your nipple and playing with it with his middle finger. You groaned and moan at the sensation “f-fell! Stop! Pl-eaah!~” the sudden hot air and tongue that was placed on top of your breast was enough to skip through foreplay, “wow~ seems like this is the trick to turn you one faster huh dollface? Heh, what a slut.” He grinned as he his muffled word’s insulting you was just the cherry on top of what you want to add right now. “Fell please..I’m sensitive there..” “oh yeah? Thanks for letting me know doll face” “h-huh?!-AGH!!~” he took that information and got into sucking with the other side and and kept on switching on each nipple and leaving bite marks on’em, “ya like that doll face? Yeah?” He tease as he bites it hard in front you as you look down at him with embarrassment as he starts to lick and kiss the bite mark tendering it and repeatedly doing the same thing all over again.

“Fell! Please stop! It’s too much! Im..im..im leaking..” you tear up as your legs were shaking, fell grinned and happily let go of your wrist as it lazily traced to comfort tour breast from the abused “ahh..~” you tried to touch your own chest but it’s so sensitive you can barely touch it without twitching, “leaking huh? Let me see,spread.” He demands but you huff and did the opposite and tried closed your legs but before you could even close them properly he has it hold on your knees and knew you were about to pull some shit like that and was prepared. “Ah-ah-ah dollface, listen to daddy” he groans, the word ‘daddy’ to phrase himself got you to unconsciously spread your legs for him “good girl” he went to slide off the bed and drag your hips with him your legs hanging off his bed as he is on his knees and pulling your legs on his shoulders “this is such a beautiful view” he complimented as he was adoring your cunt as you only stayed embarrassed and hide your face with your arms “hiding your pretty face now?” He giggles as he leans towards your cunt and then started off with a big lick that made you moan loud “ah~ you like that aye? Ill give ya some more” as did,he was eating you out like it was the tastiest thing in the world. The soft licks and sudden flicks made it so exciting and fun, even the grips on your thighs was enough for you to arch and buckle up your hips making him have a face full of wet pussy.

“Mhmm~i love it when you thrust your cunt onto my face” he said as he licks of the wet spot on his cheeks as he counties to devour you while making eye contact. Seeing your body twitch and whine and arch was making his own cock hard as hell, he then pushed his tongue inside you all of the sudden making you squeal and squish him between your thighs and wrapping your legs around him pushing his face further inside you as you moaned once again “yu kow i luv diez” “what was that?” His words were muffled and couldn’t be heard and so instead of letting go and saying what he wants to say he instead pushed further and starts to wiggles inside you. “Agh! Fell!~” the sensation was so godly good you could feel tears on your eyes as you feel like stop and let go and pull away, “phew.. dayum girl, you got me drowning in this pussy” he compliments as his fave was covered with all of your cum as you flusteredly giggle, “geez thanks?” You replied as he chuckle himself as he went to fix your position and put your legs back in bed and got flipped you guys over. “Huh?!” “Heheh..come on doll,ride me” you playfully tapped both of your ass as he enjoyed it giggle with his hand “but..” “hm?” “I don’t know how to..” you shly said as you hunched over due to embarrassment “hey hey, it’s okay my love. Ill help you.” He wholesomely smiled as he lifted you up as you hold on to his hands as he lowered you to his cock, “FUCK! T-TOO BIG!” You cried out as tears were falling from your face as you held his hands for support. His cock was so big you could see the seeable budge on your tummy, “fell..” you cried out his name as he wipes your tears away “come on my love, you can do this” he encouraged as you then took that encouragement and waited for yourself to adjust as, after a few minutes the pain went from a an agony to an addiction.

“Fell.. please hold me” you offered as he did so, holding hands as he watches you bounce on him slowly, god it felt good. The slow downs were enough to throw his head back and eyes rolling, “god..keep it coming my love” you nodded as you start to go a long faster and slamming down his pelvis hard each time, taking it all out then taking it all in, the repeated sensation was just god like god for the both of you. “Oh god my love..” “fell..” you both became a moaning mess as it only got worse as you started to go faster and faster, his cock leaking a good amount of his thick cum on the side of your cunt as it sticks on your ass and created this spiderweb strings every time you lift your ass up and slam it back down creating a lewd sticky noise. “Oh god darling im gonna fucking cum-“ “me-me too!” You both got tense and got faster as his grip went from your hands to your ass and your hands on his chest as both if you went into a devilish and lustful sensation as both of you came on each other and in each other,

the heavy puffs before you fell into on top of him on his chest as you wrapped your arms around his neck as he his on your body and held you close. “You dis amazing my love, so great” he kisses your forehead as you giggled at the warm kiss as you lifted your head and kisses him on kiss cheeks as both you laid there for a few moments . “So are we alright now?” She asked with a mischievous grin “hmp! Maybe I could consider this as a possibility” he childishly hmps as both you only laughed at the dumb fight and kissed once again and went to shower together and got into y’all’s pjs and went down stairs to eat the chicken tenders while watching Disney.

“I love you so much” you look at him with a genuine smile as you lean into his arm, he giggles and wrapped one arm on you and leaned his head on you “i love you too darling” as both of you enjoyed the rest of the night and slowly and cozily fell asleep together in the coach under the warm fuzzy blanket as both of you cuddling into slumber.

[olderthannetfic]

https://olderthannetfic.tumblr.com/post/733604643667623936/some-ya-novels-have-some-really-great-ideas-for#notes

There are a lot of fantastic YAs out there, BUT the problem comes when the ones like Shanice La Boomboom get promoted because they're made for broader masses and easier to market.

Afterall, why read and promote a story with a lot of intrigue and effort put into all the nuances of its world? It's much easier to market a cookie cutter Shanice La Boomboom story that is more "comfortable" and familiar. It's all the same just with a different coat of paint. Publishers prefer to sell and promote stories they know will sell, that's why they always follow the big trendsetters, and leave everything else on the backburner.

Editing is also much much easier and faster for stories where the world building gets completely ignored in favour or relationship drama and other petty fights between friends and lover's quarrels especially if you basically just copy paste them. You don't need to make sure the lore is cohesive or that the more complicated parts fit together if you can just leave the skeleton hidden behind the loveless love drama.

Also, let's be real, it's probably much easier to take a Shanice La Boomboom story and make a movie out of it, probably cheaper as well and focus on a small set, than a story where you'd have to adapt a ton of lore, with big set pieces, and have to pay mind to a broader story and actual world building.

--

[stoicbreviary]

James Ensor, Skeletons Fighting Over a Hanged Man (1891) 

Critics debate whether this painting represents Ensor's mistresses arguing over him, or the battle between art critics about the merits of his work. 

It could be both of these, but I ultimately see the pettiness and futility of all human conflict. 

[kevindaydayiseveryday]

“Oh hell yeah! A fucking fire sword. Woomwooom swish!”

“Nice sound effects, dumbass.” Adrianna calls over her shoulder to Mike, our ever heroic and mature paladin, her hand shuffling through a draw full of clothes. The Druid’s hands pull out a silvery piece of cloth that shimmers with a low white glow. She smiles and pulls it out, draping it over her shoulders.

The liches’ dead bodies still smolder from Eric’s eldritch blast that finally did them in. The warlock himself circles the dead bodies, tuttering at their defeat and looking for objects immediately visible on their person. Our wizard, Baxter, sits in a corner of the large cavern, looking through dusty tombs, searching for spells and other possible places where treasure can be found. Crystal, the singing bard, searches through scrolls on the opposite side of the cave.

None of them seem to notice the slight crack in the wall that indicates a door to another room. I lean against the wall, and breath in the slight breeze coming from the crack. It smells of roses, wax and pine. Candles and soap.

My fingers itch to know what’s back there, past the lair part of the liches’ hideout and into the area they actually lived in. Getting this deep into the cave system was difficult, full of traps and dead ends, a lot of magical illusions to turn us around, undead creatures to fight and, honestly, just a lot of natural problems you’d expect from a cave system. Gaps in the path way, pressure, hearing water but not ‘being able to find it, and a lot of other issues.

I come up with a lie. “Guys, there’s a slight crack here. I’m going to look and see if it’s an exit. It’s possible they wouldn’t have even been able to fit through it, though.”

I get a general dismissal of approval from my companions, and a, “There might’ve been a faster way to get here? Oh, fuck me!” From Mike, as he raises the flaming sword, getting dangerously close to the very flammable scroll case in the corner. Crystal yelps and jumps about five feet away. I don’t stay to watch the rest of the petty fight, shimmering instead through the doorway, hands brushing against the hidden hinges. I’m careful to keep the door from moving as I climb, but the others are focused on their magical artifacts.

It’s one room, the cavern walls peaking out behind wooden paneling, decorated with curtain drapes and floral wallpaper. I check over the walls before going through the two desks, the bed or the kitchen area. There’s no way to get behind the wall without blowing it up. I take a knife and slam through the wood, sneak through between and find a glowing red gem of some sort. I pocket it and go back to the desks, searching for the property title, their wills and testimonies. It takes a few minutes, but under desk pressed close to the bed is a secret draw, containing the papers I need.

We’ll be burning the skeleton bodies and tossing what’s left of them in the pit, inform the neighboring village that they don’t have to worry anymore about being terrorized by the undead. No bodies, though, means no way of proving they’re dead. We could’ve just as easily chased them out. The sheriff won’t bat an eye at my claims.

Anything to avoid conflict with high ranking heroes. An easy property scam. Who doesn’t want to rent in a place known for housing villains and being owned by a hero? The moment I get back to town, I’ll completely forge the papers to my name, make it look like they gave it to me. A legit ownership.

I find their IDs, death certificates and birth certificates in a small chest under the bed.

I slip back out through the doorway and drop dramatically, papers shoved on the inside of my coat. I grab a few benign knives and clap my hands, walking to the middle of the room. “That was a dead end. I was hoping for more, but all I could find was this gem.” I toss the red one over to Baxter. His face lights up immediately and he starts muttering about powers and whatever the fuck else.

While your colleagues are fixated on magical items and artifacts, you’ve been quietly collecting all the deeds of ownership for the ruins and dungeons you clear.

[lalalovezfrenchfriez]

I guess because I have no fear people will steal this (and if they do it’s a home brew…like…whatever) and I know my players will probably not even go for these missions and ruin it I am here to share a few npc quests and lore they will encounter before their fight with the BBEG

Vampires are a small clan in the mountains in the West that protect Orcs, Trolls and Goblins (OTGs) that have been prosecuted by more “humanoid” races. These vampires are resurrected beings and have been treated fairly humanly by the OTGs despite their bat like features. As a token of appreciation they protect the OTGs with only an ask for a large mansion for them to sleep in, and a daily dose of fruit that they devour (only the most drugged out vampires drink blood, it’s mostly wizards turned vampires) OTGs often let wanderers and explorers find the vampires and do not warn them, leaving a trail of skeletons to the vampires’ lair…

There is an expansive and HOT desert in the middle of the map for only about 5 miles, where the players will find large, tall….DINOSAURS?! Unfortunately the Fae, keepers of balance by the Deity’s word in the world, are there to exterminate the dinosaurs. Under The Deity’s eyes, the dinosaurs are not necessary in the world anymore, and must be killed with a natural disaster

A Fae in it’s homeland (a small area in the north east) that houses a Celestial Angel in its quarters, only for the players to find out the Fae and Angel are in love and are planning to run away from their duties to The Deity (heresy!) they know no matter what, they are willing to fight for their love…even if they are killed

There are Three Human kingdoms in the middle of the East and West, going down in order: The Wallowed, The Wondered and The Wild.

The Wallowed is a kingdom without a king, for once every winter solstice, do they welcome their King back: The Bone King! A joyous holiday is celebrated as the King’s bones are brought back by a mysterious magic and he rules his kingdom in its darkest times with a fit of pure childish joy! (He’s heavily based off of Jack the Skeleton King BUT COME ON ITS SO CUTE CHECK OUT THE WALTZ OF THE BONE KING BY PETER GUNDRY)

The Wondered is the Middle Kingdom, a trade path between the West to East and home to those who need shelter from Wars. The prince who rules this kingdom longs for his princess, and rumors speculate it may be the *gasp* fairy princess!?

The Wild, the lowest kingdom near the outskirts jungles of the south, with the Dinosaur Desert above them to separate from the Wondered, is ruled by an old yet generous Queen, who was once rumored to be a nymph for her connections to the Ani-folk (part animal part human, aka centaurs, Catfolk, Bugfolk, u get it) for her kindness to them to settle out wars, and her peace with them. While many of the human kingdoms have their fair share of distrust with Anifolk, the Wild Kingdom never strays or closes its arms to the smile of an Anifolk.

Separated by grudges and pettiness, the Wizard and Witch clans are on opposite sides of the world (Wizards West, Witches East) and whatever one the players meet upon, they meet a pair of twins (Kori, witch and Cory, wizard ) who are magical and were separated by the distrust of both. They need to pass messages upon to each other to meet at the Wondered kingdom for their freedom and reunion, and if is only up to the players to help.

The players encounter a troll, Jayne who invites them to the underground cities that the OTGs hide out in from their oppressors, only to realize they are not welcome because the OTGs never let outsiders inside their cities! Can the players come up with a good excuse to stay inside, and ease their distrust?

And finally, two silly ideas to play around with as the player’s journey comes to a close:

A Tentacle Seafolk (sea creature human mix) who wants the head of a Dragonborn (dragon human mix) for biting off her lover’s head, Krilliam. I find the name Krilliam hilarious. And the Tentacle Seafolk blubbering over the loss of Krilliam amusing. Idk I’m God.

A Catfolk who is willing to help the players to the island to meet the BBEG as she wants to be a seafarer however she is TERRIFIED of water, however if the players can convince her they can pay her in fish and that she can definitely steer a boat, she will agree. funny cat sailor.

THAT IS ALL I HAVE TO SHARE TODAY!

this was super fun as I can’t rly spam my friends with this, but I know for a great fact my bf and my two best friends will appreciate this, even if this is their first time playing! I’ll probably go into their quest later if anyone is rly interested, but I’m glad I have a space to freely share this :,) love u guys!

[moonchild-things]

Chapter Three: A Chance

Summary: Delphia Odinsdottir is the Goddess of Virtue. While stopping petty fights between her brothers, sparing with her friends, and practicing with her mother, Delphia has visions of the future. However, her once boring, uneventful life as Princess is disrupted by one of the most disturbing visions she had ever seen. Which leads her to run into a patriotic captain in red, white and blue.

Word Count: 3401

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Tønsberg, Norway

1942

LOUD GUNSHOTS COULD BE HEARD IN THE small town of Tønsberg, Norway. The townspeople did their best to stay hidden as troops brandishing many different weapons marched across the cobblestone roads. A single logo plastered on nearly every side of their large machinery. It was distinctly the logo of Hydra.

A young man ran across a courtyard towards a church with speeds that could rival an Olympic runner. A gun was slung over his back and swayed with each swift step he made. The rumble of the oncoming vehicles of Hydra’s soldiers shook the ground as the man bursts through the wooden door of the church.

When the door opened the young man was greeted with the solemn, wrinkled face of the tower keeper. The younger man, Jan, caught his breath in deep pants and spoke breathlessly in his native tongue, “they have come for it!”

The ancient tower keeper’s withered expression stayed the same as he came down the stone stairs, “they have before.”

Jan shook his head and gulped loudly, “not like this.”

The older man’s expression didn’t falter as he held a determination in his ancient eyes. “Let them come. They will never find it.”

Just as he said that a loud rumble approached the building and started to shake the ground. The candle holds around them and chandelier about swayed from side to side and threatened to fall over. Before they could react the stone wall burst open and was broken into many pieces. Dust fogged up the room once the robust wall came crashing down and littered the floor in chunks of stone. The old man leaned down and lifted a piece of stone to find the young man dead underneath it.

A large tank made room for a group of soldiers to march into the room and instantly made their way to the stone tomb that sat in the middle of the room. They hastily started to work together to push the lid off of the stone as their superior shouted at them.

“Open it!” The Lieutenant order the group of men who did their best to try and pry open the stone grave as fast as they could. “Quickly, before he…” His commands died on his tongue as the man himself, their leader, climbed over the rubble towards them. The menacing man waltzed his way over to them across the pile of stone. The man wore all black which made it quite difficult to pinpoint him in the pitch black of night. Black gloves adorned his hands as he wore a black trench coat that had the familiar pin of Hydra on his lapel. His narrow, long face was set hard in a glare as he looked down at the old man who laid on the ground.

“It has taken me a long time to find this place,” Johann observed the church that was now covered in rubble and dust. The soldiers around him seemed to shake in their boots at his presence and it was obvious that Johann is a very intimidating man. “You should be commended. Help him up.” The soldiers pulled the older man onto his feet. “I think that you are a man of great vision. And in this way, we are much alike.”

“I am nothing like you,” the older man denied harshly.

Johann nodded his head, “No, of course. But what others see as superstition, you and I know to be a science.”

“What you seek is just a legend.”

Johann countered him quickly, “then why make such an effort to conceal it?” He took off his hat and walked over to the grave that the soldiers were having a tough time opening. With little to no effort, Johann pushed the cover off like it weighed nothing. He revealed a skeleton covered in cobwebs and maggots that clutched a light blue cube in its boney hands. He pulled the cube out of the dead man’s grasp and examined it carefully, “the Tesseract was the jewel of Odin’s treasure room.” He turned to the old man and dropped the cube that broke into pieces once it hit the ground. “It’s not something one buries. But I think it is close, yes?”

“I cannot help you,” The tower keeper denied.

“No. But maybe you can help your village.” Johann started to threaten, “you must have some friends out there. Some… some little grandchildren perhaps. I have no need for them to die.” The mechanical sound of the tank outside turning its cannons towards the village filled with innocent lives caused the older man’s heart to race. Johann was willing to kill this village over something a simple as a cube. Over something that he had been on the search for a very long time. The old man stood his ground and said nothing. Johann was indifferent to whether or not the old man would help him or not in order to save his village. Johann would get what he wanted, no matter how many people died. The Hydra leader noticed a carving in one of the church's walls, “Yggdrasil. Tree of the world. Guardian of wisdom and fate, also.” He approached it and surveyed it with a keen eye. He then noticed the eye of a snake seemed to resemble that of a button. He pressed it and a small compartment opened up. The tower keeper’s heart sank as he knew the sick man had gotten what he wanted. Johan opened up the box and allowed the bright blue glow from his prize to paint his face. “And the Führer digs for trinkets in the desert.” He looked up at the distressed man, “you have never seen this, have you?”

The tower Keeper shook his head, “It’s not for the eyes of ordinary men.”

Johann’s lips turned up in a smirk slightly, “exactly.” He closed the box and didn't hesitate in his next order, “give the order to open fire.”

“Jawohl!” The Lieutenant did as she and guided the soldiers out.

Just as the Hydra soldiers were leaving the old man shook slightly in fear and exasperation. “Fool!” The older man shouted, “you cannot control the power you hold. You will burn!”

“I already have.” Johann then shot the man which effectively killed him and splattered his Hydra pin with dark blood.

---

The fair was bustling and bright as many people ran around from exhibit to exhibit. Of course, everyone crowded around Howard Stark himself to see what he had to show. And although it was a place for people to have fun and forget about the stress of life, there was also a recruitment building. Despite the fact that people may have wanted to focus on the good aspects of life, there was still a war raging on across the ocean. They needed to get men to join the army from anywhere.

One man who desperately wanted to join the army stood up to the picture of a soldier and found that he was too short for his face to appear in it. Steve Rogers, the man who seemed too frail and short to be in the army, sighed. His slight sadness was interrupted when his best friend, James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes, came up from behind him. The tall soldier had a head of black hair on his head that was covered by his army uniform hat. His chiseled, handsome face was painted in exasperation that was directed towards his pale friend. “Come on. You’re kind of missing the point of a double date. We’re taking the girls dancing.” Bucky tried to sway him though already knew that Steve would say no. That man could be as stubborn as a mule sometimes.

He had invited Steve to come along on a double date with him, Connie and her friend. Obviously, Steve wasn't exactly enjoying himself because his blonde date was not interested in him at all. Bucky figured that this would happen, but he just wanted to have his last night before he was sent out to the army to be fun. What better way to do that than with a couple of dames and his best friend. It hadn't gone that way.

Steve shook his head, “you go ahead. I’ll catch up with you.”

Bucky stared at his long-time friend in slight irritation and turned to him with a serious tone to his voice. “you’re really gonna do this again?”

Steve shrugged his shoulder, “well, it’s a fair. I’m gonna try my luck.”

“As who?” Bucky scoffed, “Steve from Ohio? They’ll catch you. Or worse, they’ll actually take you.”

Steve shook his head, “look, I know you don’t think I can do this.”

“This isn’t a back alley, Steve. It’s war!” Of course, Bucky was referring to earlier that day when Steve had ended up in an alleyway with some moronic bully beating him up. Sometimes, Bucky honestly thinks that Steve likes being punched.

“I know it’s a war.” Steve said, “you don’t have to tell me.”

“Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs.”

As the men argued, the brunette woman who had followed them inside watched them with calculating, wide hazel eyes. Her light pink lips were pulled up in a small smile as she observed the men. More specifically, she watched the short blond who seemed to be passionate about joining the army.

Steve was completely annoyed with Bucky, “what am I gonna do? Collect scrap metal…”

“Yes!” Bucky exclaimed.

“…in my little red wagon.”

Bucky shook his head, “Why not?” He didn’t want his friend to be a soldier in this war. If that wasn’t obvious already. He understood that Steve wasn’t someone to take something without a fight and would stand up for anything, even if he had so many medical problems. He couldn’t deny that he admired that about Steve, however, Bucky just had a feeling that his spirit was going to get him killed one day.

Steve continued, “I’m not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky.”

“I don’t…” 

“Bucky, come on!” Bucky was quiet for a moment as he allowed Steve to continue on passionately, “there are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me.”

Bucky couldn’t help himself but scoff, “right. Cause you got nothing to prove.”

“Hey, Sarge!” Connie, one of the girls that Bucky had invited for a double-date with him and Steve, shouted as they waited outside the recruitment building. “Are we going dancing?”

Bucky nodded his head and smiled widely at them with his pearly white teeth, “Yes, we are.” He turned back to Steve and knew that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with him. He sighed in resignation and started to back away from his friend, “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

Steve laughed now that he knew Bucky wasn’t going to try to stop him anymore. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

Bucky walked back over to him as the brother-like friends embraced in a tight, quick hug. “You’re a punk.”

“Jerk. Be careful.” Steve watched his friend go, “don’t win the war till I get there!”

Bucky shakes his head and saluted to Steve before walking away and flashing the girls that they had brought with them a charming smile, “come on girls. They’re playing our song.” Steve watched as the suave soldier waltzed up to the two lovely girls to give them a good time. He knew that his absence wouldn’t really hinder their fun. 

“You are very brave.”

Steve jumped, startled, and spun around to face the speaker with such a honey lathered voice behind him. He came face to face with a woman. She was a tad bit taller than him which was obviously no surprise. Just about everyone was taller than him, even kids. Her shiny brunette hair rested on her shoulders freely and, to him, there appeared to be a glowing, golden halo encasing her entire body. The man was overwhelmed by her appearance. “E-excuse me?”

“I am sorry,” the woman apologized as she stepped closer to the shorter man. “I did not mean to intrude on your conversation… I know it was rude of me to do so. “

It took Steve a moment to comprehend that the woman was talking directly to him. He gulped, “it’s alright, ma’am.”

She smiled slightly and brushed some of her chestnut hair behind her ear. “It is just… I find what you said quite admirable.”

Steve nodded his head in disbelief, “thank you…”

“Delphia,” her angelic voice told him, “my name is Delphia” She introduced herself with a small, charming smile that nearly had Steve melting into a puddle on the ground. “And there is no need to thank me for your actions…”

Steve began to stutter as he became flustered. It wasn’t every day that a beautiful dame such as the one standing in front of him wanted to know his name. “Rogers, Steve. I mean, Steve Rogers.” He took a gulp of air as he calmed himself down enough to understand what he was trying to say and not embarrass himself further. “My name is Steve Rogers.”

The beautiful brunette woman standing in front of him giggled. To him, her soft laughter sounded like the tinkling of a small bell which was pleasant to hear. She flashed him another one of her wide, white-toothed smiles. “Well, it was lovely to meet you, Steve Rogers.”

Steve continued to stare at the alluring woman a moment longer as he tried to collect himself. He completely forgot how to respond. What were words? Oh, right. “S-same to you, Delphia.”

Delphia nodded her head respectfully and spun on her heels to head over to the man waiting for her slightly further into the building. Steve watched her go with lingering eyes as the golden shine followed her as well. God, he had never seen someone as beautiful as her. He was finally able to pull himself from his thoughts slightly before stumbling into the building to enlist himself for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

In the shadows, Dr. Abraham Erskine and Delphia watched with calculating stares as the skinny man walks into the building to enlist. It was surprising to see a man of his stature so willing to fight in the war. Though that may be why he had grabbed their attention. 

“Do you think he’s the right man?” Abraham asked Delphia and turned to her. She had yet to tear her eyes from the retreating figure of the stubborn man who refused to sit around and not fight for his country.

“He has such an aura of respect and humility…” She said absentmindedly before noticing that she was still looking after him. She cleared her throat slightly and looked at the old man with a small smile, “it would be stupid of us to not consider him for the experiment.”

The old man nodded his head as he offered his arm to the brunette. “Well, I suppose it's time we test our possible subject.” Delphia took his arm and the two walked into the enlistment building together to give Steve Rogers the chance to change the war.

---

Steve sat on an examination table as a military doctor looked over some paperwork. Steve’s nerves were high at the moment. This was the sixth time he had tried to enlist and he had a feeling that his lies were going to catch up to him. Though since he hadn't been caught yet, things would be no different this time Just as he thought that things would go according to plan, a nurse walked through and whispered something to the doctor.

The Doctor turned to him, “Wait here.”

“Is there a problem?” Steve asked apprehensively.

“Just wait here.” The doctor then exited the small space and closed the curtain.

Growing anxious at the prospect of getting caught for lying on his application, Steve hopped down and started to pull his shoes back on. Steve was willing to do just about anything to get into the army. However, if he was caught lying he would be imprisoned. If that were to happen there was no way that Steve would ever get to serve his country. As his worry started to increase, a soldier walked through the curtain. The large soldier stood rigid and menacing which caused the smaller man's heart to scream in panic.

Suddenly a man then walked into the small space. He had round glasses, grey hair and was dressed in a brown suit. And to Steve's surprise, the woman that he had spoken to earlier followed after the older man. “Thank you." The man waved off the soldier as Delphia smiled at Steve brightly. "So, you want to go overseas. Kill some Nazis.”

Steve was completely confused. Had he been found out? “Excuse me?”

“Dr. Abraham Erskine.” The older man introduced himself and then gestured to the beautiful woman standing next to him, it was the same woman who Steve had talked to outside. “And my assistant, Delphia. I believe you two already met.” She flashed him another one of her heart-melting smiles. “We represent the Strategic Scientific Reserve.”

“Steve Rogers." He shook Abraham's offered hand and smiled bashfully at Delphia. Though he couldn't help but notice something about the both of them. Their accents. Abraham's was no doubt German which did not cause any alarm for Steve. If Abraham was a threat then he certainly wouldn't be anywhere near this place. Delphia was also not American. Steve was too enraptured by her beauty early to really comment on it, but he did notice that she sounded British. Well, the British are allied with American and fighting in the war against the Nazis so it shouldn't hard to understand why she was here. "Where are you from?”

“Queens." Abraham instantly replied as he looked over the files about Steve, "the both of us. 73rd Street and Utopia Parkway. Before that, Germany." He gazed up at Steve over his circular glasses. "This troubles you?”

“No.”

Abraham nodded his head and continued to look at the file. “Where are you from, Mr. Rogers? Mmm? Is it New Haven? Or Paramus? Five exams in five different cities.”

Steve started to panic slightly as he realized that it is about his lies in his applications. “That might not be the right file.”

“No, it’s not the exams we're interested in," Delphia said softly with her eyes shining in understanding. "It’s the five tries."

"You didn’t answer my question." Abraham continued for her, "Do you want to kill Nazis?”

The frail man tilted his head in confusion, “Is this a test?”

“Yes.”

Steve took a deep breath while he tried to come up with the right words. “I don’t wanna kill anyone. I don’t like bullies. I don’t care where they’re from.”

Abraham and Delphia shared a glance and seemed to have a silent conversation before the older man turned to Steve. “Well, there are already so many big men fighting this war. Maybe what we need now is the little guy, huh? I can offer you a chance." The trio then exited the small room, "Only a chance.”

“I’ll take it.” Relief washed over Steve now that he knew he wasn't going to be punished for his lying and instead actually be enlisted.

The grey-haired doctor smiled at the younger man's enthusiasm, "Good. So where is the little guy from, actually?”

“Brooklyn.”

Abraham then handed Steve his file with a large smile and optimism in his eyes. “Congratulations, soldier.”

The frail man opened his file and stared at the 1A stamp on his application. He couldn't deny the fact that he was giddy now that he was officially apart of the US army. Of course, there was also that slight fear of going into combat, but it was something that Steve could deal with.

He was broken out of his thoughts by the angelic voice he was starting to love. “Good-bye, Steve,” the brunette woman said with a wide smile as she followed after the doctor. Steve was left behind with butterflies in his stomach, from the fact that he had finally been accepted and the sweet smile the angel had flashed him. Things were certainly starting to look up for Steve Rogers.

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Return of the Goldfish Problem

Summary: Two people trying to look after one in secret. Problem is that no one communicates and knows the other exists. 

Warning:  None. 

Word Count:  1046

—--

The tank was empty. 

Marc was pretty sure that had not been the case before they had left for the alps. Did goldfish jump? How could a goldfish that was missing a fin jump out of a tank?

He stared down at the floor around the stand, his tired eyes struggling to focus. Nothing about the alps had gone right. Falling out of a window was not supposed to have woken Steven up. He could still remember struggling to get control back as he’d watched Steven flail around trying to avoid getting shot. 

He was missing time. In and out, he’d felt like he was swimming as he tried to put Steven back to sleep and take over. Each time he managed to get a foothold, the waves would come up and drag him back down again. He’d had a heart stopping moment when he’d woken up at one point to find himself driving some sort of cupcake truck while fighting off someone. 

“Fuuuuuck.” Marc looked back in the tank. Maybe the damn thing was hiding somehow. In the boat maybe? Behind the pyramid? Perhaps in the plants? 

He rolled up a sleeve and shoved his arm in the tank, moving things around gently as he struggled to flush out any hiding fish. Maybe a little fish skeleton would surface like in the movies, fully intact and cartoonish. 

When nothing came from his splashing about, he pulled his arm out and stared at the tank some more. Maybe a bird or cat had gotten in. 

He turned to look at the window. It was cracked open a little. Did pigeons eat goldfish? Perhaps Khonshu had eaten it as some sort of petty revenge for nearly mucking up the golden scarab thing. 

Steven was going to be upset. Goldfish didn’t just disappear. 

He put his face in his hands and took a slow breath. “Okay. Okay okay okay. Hnnnnngh.” He grabbed his wallet and keys and trudged back out into the streets. 

–

The tank was occupied. 

Jake stared at the tank that was supposed to have been empty. 

When Khonshu had explained the mission, Jake had understood that this was going to be more than just a day or two. It had the potential to be far longer. Sure, he could have paid someone to come to the flat and take care of the fish, but then they would have seen the way Steven lived. Questions would be asked. 

He had packed up the little one-finded wonder and taken it to a friend’s house for safekeeping. Once they got home and Marc had taken his time to settle, Jake had gotten up to take care of the things Marc wouldn’t think of. 

He looked at the container in his hands. Yup. This was Gus. One fin and swimming sideways. So who the hell was that? He leaned in and stared into the tank closely. 

Did Steven get a new fish already? Did Marc? Steven was sure to notice that one of the fish had seemingly grown their fin back. 

“Hijo de puta.” He sighed and pulled out his phone to call up the friend again. He could feel Steven starting to stir and he didn’t have time to try and figure this out right now. They would just have to watch the fish a little longer. He really hoped Steven didn’t notice the extra fin until he could switch them out properly. 

“Hey, it’s me again… Still in the area?” He sighed and grabbed his keys as he headed back out with Gus. 

–

Jake muttered as he put both fish into the tank. He had managed to call up his friend when he had woken up in Egypt. He had stupidly believed that he could somehow figure it all out as if it all relied on the fish.

In the end, didn’t it? Steven would have believed it was all a dream if he hadn’t seen the stupid fish. 

So what was his plan now? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He was upset. Between the Alps fiasco and then Cairo and Harrow, Jake was in a terrible mood. 

He watched the fish both swim around and for the most part ignore one another. 

“You stupid fish. You don’t even care do you! Moved around, switched in and out, taken from your own and put back and you don’t even notice! You don’t even notice this other guy! I could put ten in there and you wouldn’t notice or care! Too preoccupied with yourselves!” He tapped the tank then sat back and sighed in frustration. 

He hoped they noticed. He hoped Steven asked about it and Marc had to try to come up with some reason that let him live in denial. “What am I going to do now?” 

Marc and Steven were talking now. How was he supposed to handle that? Did he pop up and introduce himself? “What do you think, little fish? Do I give them time to figure things out or do I rush in and hope they welcome me too?” 

The fish floated to the top, looking for a meal. They bumped into one another a couple of times then floated away. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking too.” 

Jake sighed and glanced around the flat. The body was tired and he was tired. He had a lot to do but he would do it later. For now he would let Marc and Steven figure things out for themselves. But right now, he would sleep. 

–

Steven stared at the fish tank. 

Two fish. That was nice. Marc must have done it for them, though he wasn’t sure when Marc went out and did it since they got back from Cairo. He was happy to have fish again, though he was sad thinking about how the others must have died while they were away. 

“....Hey Marc?” Steven leaned in and stared at the fish closer. “Marc!” 

“Steven, what?” Marc was still tired, but he was coming around. 

“Maybe I’m thinking too much into this…” 

“Usually. What is it?” Marc yawned and groggily started to take status of the situation around them. 

“That fish has one fin.” He pointed, thunking his finger into the side of the tank. 

“It does?” Marc frowned. 

“....IS THAT GUS?!” 

[its-malarkey]

No no you’re right and it took me a little while to realize it too, although I think he was actually revived shortly before Skeleton Key. It’s probably why his first move was to drop the skeleton key (because she says he betrayed her with his first breath) and then to try to kill Wukong. But that’s what gets me— he doesn’t give a reason for wanting to kill Wukong at all. Wukong doesn’t even react when he sees him aside from with anger, let alone with guilty. And he says “are you ever going to get sick of living in my shadow?” and moves straight to the fighting.

Something AWFUL must have happened between them to give them both that kind of reaction, because after that, Wukong is still mad even though he supposedly killed Macaque. Macaque is bitter and petty but it’s mostly a sad bitter and petty. He tries to convince MK that Wukong ultimately isn’t worth his time because he thinks Wukong doesn’t really care about MK, but Mac isn’t trying to kill him. Which is the world’s most confusing attitude flip to me. It says to me that the entire episode was a mix of post-death rage against the one who killed him, petty manipulation to get back at his student too, and testing the waters to see how far Wukong would be willing to go.

Wukong isn’t in the mood to joke, refuses to banter, and takes their battle seriously. This is his kid that Macaque is messing with, and he won’t let anyone do that. But he doesn’t go full-out. “Show me the real Sun Wukong! The old you would have leveled this entire mountain range to stop me! But you’re scared of hurting some kid? Pathetic!” Wukong must have done exactly that in his battle against Macaque before he killed him. And we know exactly how powerful Wukong is when he’s going full-power— he was able to beat LBD once and almost beat her a second time. But he isn’t going full-out this time, so where did that anger go? Why isn’t he attacking Macaque with killing force? Why is Wukong so concerned about this stupid kid? Why did Wukong change his attitude about killing his enemies just to protect him from getting hurt in the crossfire?

And he reaches the conclusion that Wukong has replaced him with yet another person he doesn’t see as an equal— someone who is exactly what Macaque was before Wukong broke him, who doesn’t know any better than to blindly follow the Hero.

Now that Macaque’s rage has cooled from “bitter enemy” to “bitter ex”, he seems more concerned about convincing MK not to be as naive as he was and to stop following his master before he gets hurt. He’s gone from genuinely trying to mess with MK to projecting his own experiences into MK’s life and pretending that he’s only trying to mess with him. It just seems like he’s trying to teach him a very specific lesson. Every word he says about Wukong during Shadowplay (and less-so during season three, when he just wants to escape LBD) is a cry of “can’t you see that we’re replaceable to him?” He does the same thing with Tang in Benched.

But never (except for two in-show moments that I mention in another post from like two weeks ago) is he visibly afraid of Wukong. We know this is probably because he himself said that he internalizes everything and should probably talk it out with someone. (Ironically he’s literally doing that in Shadowplay as he says that. He talks about Wukong ALL the time.) Aside from maybe three occasions, he acts like he’s completely prepared to face Wukong— those three occasions being 1) that time he fought MK in Shadowplay and had a flashback to Wukong swinging his fist down form above 2) that time Wukong flew at him in a rage after he tried to escape after unleashing the Samadhi fire and 3) when he was about to fight possessed Wukong in the special. Possessed Wukong who has a weirdly blank expression on his face during all of his scenes (except for one, when he’s about to punch MK??) which is the exact same expression he made in all of the flashback pictures to Macaque’s death.

But he’s not reckless enough to kill those he’s close to anymore or even to physically harm them. He still hurts them by keeping information close sometimes, but he’s working on it, and, dare Macaque actually believe it— he’s learning from his mistakes. Wukong may not have completely changed, but he’s still far from the same monkey who recklessly challenged the Jade Emperor and laughed off all of the people he’d made angry.

I think that conclusively we can say that Wukong did kill Macaque, but even after that and all of the hurt the two of them are throwing at each other, Wukong still looks to Macaque first when the idea of forgiveness and making things better is introduced. And Macaque, in a moment of hope he hasn’t experienced in hundreds of years, shows him he’ll forgive him.

They make me feel so much 😭

I JUST now realized that Macaque was only revived after Skeleton Key in season 1. Like, yeah Ik everyone else realized this, but lemme rant about shit for a sec

I mean, yeah it makes sense, since thats when LBD was set free. But man... I always assumed he was revived hundreds of years ago and just doing tasks for LBD. But knowing that he was revived during the series just makes his story more heartbreaking to me. Like, can you imagine how he felt being revived, knowing that his ex bf (your choice if it's best friend or boyfriend) killed him and he's been dead for what? 500 years? It also means that he hasn't had much time to process it before being pushed around like LBD's puppet.

(And even despite all that, he still longs for him and smiles softly at him and seeks out his company and I can't do this right now-)

[archived-kin]

petty ghost haunts their murderer but doesn’t actually do anything vengeful, more at eleven

note from kin: i don’t even know what this is myself to be honest but the simple way of putting it is that you were accidentally killed by one of satan’s fits of rage and now your ghost follows him around and messes with him at any given opportunity out of pettiness

basically i came up with the prompt ‘vengeful spirit is more of a slightly miffed and extremely petty spirit who doesn’t actually do much but inconvenience their hauntee, shenanigans ensue’ and ran with it

(as a heads up, reader is not mc in this situation, and this takes place before any of the exchange program stuff, so belphie’s not in the attic and solomon and the angels aren’t in the devildom)

fandom: obey me!

character(s): gn!reader, satan, beelzebub

pairing(s): satan/reader (though it isn’t particularly romantic since you’re, y’know, dead, so it’s more of a satan & reader)

warning(s): references to death, beel eats an entire rotisserie chicken

genre: crack (with a bit of fluff i guess???)

“For the last time, [Name], put the knife down.”

“Bite me, bitch-boy.”

Satan lets out a long-suffering sigh and sets down his mug of coffee, then reaches out and carefully pushes the floating butter knife pointed directly at his jugular back down onto the table. “I don’t know why you keep trying that. You do know it wouldn’t actually get through my skin even if you did manage to hit me, right?”

“It’s the thought that counts,” comes your disembodied voice from somewhere near the ceiling. You’ve probably decided to float up there to sulk like you always do after a failed attack.

“I’d prefer you didn’t think about it at all.”

A still-wet towel pulls itself from the rack on the wall and hits him square in the face. Satan gives an exasperated groan as it slides down his face and lands on the table with a soft splat.

“That’s what you get,” You sniff indignantly, finally materialising in front of him with a scowl. You’re floating upside down in a way that makes it look like you’re standing on the ceiling. “Buttface.”

“Come on, you can come up with better material than that,” Satan shakes his head, pushing back his chair and picking up the wet towel you’ve just flung at him to hang it back up again. “Where did all your creativity from yesterday go?”

“Six feet under with the remains of my body, probably,” you reply with a scowl. Then, as an afterthought, you add, “Confounded cheese wheel.”

“Oh, that’s a new one,” He comments, mildly surprised. “Where’d you pick that up?”

“Made it up myself. Ha!” You bob past him and through the wall, most likely to go terrorise Mammon by making his lights flicker on and off again. “Guess my creativity isn’t as dead as I am after all.”

“You still haven’t gotten over that, I see.” He sighs.

Your head immediately pops back out of the wall and glares across the room at him. “Excuse me?”

“It’s been weeks now - months, even,” Satan explains carefully as he sits back down at the table, not wanting to aggravate you further. The last time he'd brought something like this up, he’d ended up making you so angry that you’d managed to become physically corporeal enough to fling him across the room. “I would have thought you’d have passed on by now, that’s all. Surely it doesn’t take this long for the gates to the Celestial Realm to open?”

You consider his words, apparently appeased by their logic. “...I guess. Maybe I’m not passing on because I can’t rest in peace yet, like the ghosts do in horror films.”

“They’re films, you can’t expect to apply what happens in them to reality,” Satan replies flatly. “Besides, even if that was the situation, you've met all the criteria to 'rest in peace’, haven't you?”

“Are you trying to tell me, the dead one here, what merits as ‘resting in peace’?” You counter, floating back through the wall so that your entire body is in the room again. “My murderer’s still walking about like he doesn’t dress in the entire green colour spectrum and think it’s a good idea. How am I supposed to rest in peace knowing that?”

Satan looks down at his outfit, a little offended. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“What’s right with your clothes?” You shoot back, drifting over to him and passing a ghostly hand through his shoulder, apparently too lazy to muster up the energy to make your hand physical enough to touch him. “Look at it! Your blazer doesn’t even have lapels!”

“It isn’t a blazer.”

“Jacket, then.” You make a move as if to pinch at the fabric, but your fingers just pass right through it like a hot knife through butter. “It doesn’t even fit you. The sleeves are too short.”

Satan resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to wear it if it didn’t fit me. Besides, why does it matter to you?”

“The demon I might be doomed to be attached to for the rest of my afterlife has the worst fashion sense in all three realms is the matter,” You sigh dramatically and float up to the ceiling again. “Why do you even wear rip-off jeans if you’re going to put a belt over it?”

“First of all, they aren’t rip-off jeans,” Satan tells you as you start idly making the kitchen light flicker. He should probably tell you to stop doing that whenever you get bored, but he’s gotten so used to it at this point that he can’t really be bothered to. “And, second of all, why does it matter if I’m wearing a belt on it?”

“Rip-off jeans are meant to be ripped off,” You explain with all the patience of a mother explaining something to a curious child, completely disregarding Satan’s first point. “Putting a belt on top of it kind makes that redundant.”

Satan thinks about it for a moment and begrudgingly comes to the conclusion that your statement is correct - not that it makes a difference to him. “...they’re still not rip-off jeans.”

“Think whatever you want to think, burro verde.”

“What?”

“It means green donkey in Spanish.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Where’d you get that from?”

“I took Spanish for, like, three years when I was in high school,” You shrug, and the light brightens and dims slightly with the movement of your shoulders, as if it’s shrugging with you. “Failed all the exams, but at least I got something worthwhile out of it.”

“Three years of linguistic lessons and all you learn is how to string together bizarre insults,” Satan shakes his head. “You really are incorrigible.”

“That’s a big word. You sure you know what it means?”

“Of course I do,” He gives you a slightly disgruntled look. “I wouldn’t use it if I didn’t. What do you take me for?”

“Someone who doesn’t know what incorrigible means, obviously.” You pretend to aim a kick at the spider perched quietly in the corner of the ceiling, but Timothy ignores your efforts to boot him from his web. After a moment, growing tired of bothering the little guy, you ask, “...what does it mean?”

Satan snickers, then answers, sounding as if he’s reading the definition directly out of a dictionary, “In reference to a person or their behaviour, unable to be changed or reformed.”

You contemplate his words for a few seconds. “Is that a good thing?”

“Not usually when that particular word is used for it, no.”

“Oh. Bitch.”

He pauses at that, moving his mug of now marginally cooler coffee away from his mouth again, having been in the middle of taking another sip when you decided to insult him again. “Where did that come from?”

“You called me incorrigible, which you just said is not a good thing to be,” You explain as if it’s obvious, frowning down at him. “So I’m taking it as an insult and insulting you back. Bitch.”

“You didn’t have to say it again.”

“I didn’t, but it’s fun to call you names.” You snort and glide down from the ceiling to float above the table, crossing your legs and pretending to sit down on it. “It’s not as fun as it used to be, though. You never get all puffed up about it anymore.”

“That’s your own fault for doing it so much that I got used to it,” Satan reproaches. “Besides, it was pointless getting angry. It’s not like I can do anything to you in return.”

“You could ignore me and pretend I don’t exist or something.”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“No!” You hurriedly throw up your hands in a gesture of surrender and shake your head so hard that Satan swears he actually feels a breeze - an even more impressive achievement considering that your body isn’t even tangible. “Please don’t. You’re the only being in the entire universe that I can actually interact with.”

“Sometimes I wonder if that is a good thing,” Satan mutters.

“It’s a good thing for me, and that’s all that matters,” You reply, unfazed.

No one other than Satan appears to have the ability to see you, which is an odd thing in and of itself. Ghosts aren’t a foreign thing to the Devildom - they’re so common that you could probably just walk into a convenience store and find one shelving cans of soup - but you don’t seem to follow any of the rules that they do. Sometimes Satan wonders if you’re able to actively choose to not allow his brothers to see you as you drift around the house, but then again, he’s pretty sure that, if you had the option to make Lucifer watch you pretend to fist fight that weird skeleton hanging in his room, you definitely would.

Satan doesn’t pretend to understand the laws of your otherworldly existence - he’s read so many variations on the rules behind lingering spirits like you that he can scarcely tell the difference between pure fiction and actual logical hypothesis. It’s easy enough to wrangle you into behaving for a day so that he can observe you properly by promising to leave his radio on for you while he’s out, but the observations themselves never seem to lead to anything. He knows that you’re able to pass through any physical object (as far as he knows), can make lights (of both the electronic and candle variety) flicker at will, can muster up enough physicality to move and touch things if you try, and can phase in and out of perceivable view, but he doesn’t know why you can do any of those things.

“Quit trying to come up with explanations for everything,” You’d told him wisely a month or so ago, when you’d floated in on him muttering to himself about the possibility of something called ‘ether energy’. “You’re just gonna give yourself a headache.”

Then you’d started making his candles flicker like disco lights until he stopped.

“...but I don’t think he spotted me, since he probably would’ve commented on the floating meat cleaver if he did, and— hey, big guy!”

That last exclamation is aimed at Beel, who has just walked into the kitchen and is now rummaging unceremoniously through the fridge, most likely in search of something to eat. At this point Satan’s pretty sure that you still don’t know any of his brothers’ names - at the very least, even if you do, you’ve never called them by them.

Beel continues to sort through the various already empty boxes and containers in the fridge as you start zooming back and forth through him, marvelling over the sheer broadness of his chest and shoulders. It isn’t the first time you’ve done this to him - or indeed any of the brothers - but Satan can tell that it’s more innocent awe than any kind of objectification or intent to harm, so he doesn’t mind. As mischievous as you are, he’s pretty sure you don’t have a genuinely malicious or wanton bone in your body... well, you don’t have any bones anymore - or a body, for that matter - but the point still stands.

“Hungry?” He guesses, but it’s honestly more of a statement. It is Beel, after all.

The Avatar of Gluttony withdraws from his search briefly to offer a nod. “I didn’t get to finish all of my lunch.”

“Well, there’s a surprise,” You comment as Beel sticks his head back into the fridge, finally tiring of buffeting yourself back and forth like a pendulum and choosing to start hovering just over the second youngest’s shoulders to watch his hunt. “Wonder what he was up to that got him to stop eating.”

Satan opens his mouth to reply, then stops and closes it again. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Beel with the not-really-a-secret of your existence, but he’s sure that at some point or another, Beel will end up letting it slip to Lucifer, who would most likely want to know why your death ended up attaching your spirit to his brother, and Satan’s already gone to great lengths to make sure that the oldest won’t find out about the rampage he went on that cost you your life in the first place. It'd just be a waste of that effort for Lucifer to find out anyway. Besides, it isn’t like the information will make much difference to Beel - he can’t see or hear you, and you’re pretty harmless, so there wouldn’t be any need for him to get involved in the situation anyway.

You, meanwhile, are well aware that Satan isn’t going to be saying anything to you while one of his brothers is in the room - you don’t really understand his reasoning for it, since you like to think that you’re a pleasure of a ghost to know, but you suppose you can’t really force him to make any decisions. Besides, you’re pretty content with the way things are right now; you don’t want to complicate the situation by bringing in another demon who, as far as you know, might just smite you on the spot if they find out about your existence.

Instead, you busy yourself with watching in fascination as Beel somehow pulls what looks like a rotisserie chicken from the very back of the fridge and shove the whole thing in this mouth. You exchange slightly disturbed looks with Satan as he begins to chew - you’re pretty sure you’ve just seen him dislocate his jaw like a snake to fit it in there.

“You might want to calm down, Beel,” Satan advises after a brief moment’s stunned silence, though even he knows that it’s a fruitless warning. “You’ll end up choking.”

Beel nods, but makes absolutely no move to slow in his aggressive chewing.

“This must be what the peak of evolution looks like,” You say in bemused awe as Beel finishes eating. The entire chicken has disappeared down his throat - bones and all. “How the hell does he manage that?”

Satan doesn’t answer, but his subtle shrug says that your guess is as good as his.

Much to your surprise and Satan’s resignation, Beel immediately goes back to the fridge, apparently unsatisfied by the copious amount of fowl he’s just eaten. To be honest, you feel sorry for the guy - while the you from when you’d still been able to eat would have done some unspeakable things to be able to consume as much as he does and still remain that fit, you’re sure that the black hole he calls a stomach must be an awful thing to have to deal with. At least he gets to enjoy a lot of food because of it, though you suppose it’s a double-edged sword if he’s also constantly being scolded for it. Personally, you don’t understand the reasoning behind telling someone off for eating as much food as they need, but they are demons. You probably shouldn’t expect them to have that level of compassion.

By the time you break out of your train of thought, Beel has found something else to eat amidst the many empty boxes in the fridge. It’s much smaller than the rotisserie chicken - some kind of pastry with a dollop of snowy white cream on top, decorated with a few lines of melted chocolate to look like a cat’s face. In fact, it looks almost identical to…

“Hey, wait!” You swipe a useless hand through Beel’s arm as he raises the pastry to his mouth. “Don’t eat that—!”

Too late. The pastry disappears into Beel’s mouth, and you drift backwards again, letting out a defeated groan. Satan shoots you a curious look - you can’t eat, after all, so why are you so upset about Beel eating that pastry? Is there something special about it?

His question is answered when he actually turns to look at his younger brother. The Avatar of Gluttony has gone rigid on the spot and is blinking rapidly, his eyes the size of moons.

“Beel…?” Satan questions hesitantly. “Are you feeling alright?”

Beel takes a long moment to respond, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Satan takes a closer look and realises that Beel’s pupils seem to have dilated to an almost impossible degree, resembling a cat’s eyes when it’s about to go absolutely feral. Whatever it is was in that pastry, it’s definitely hit him hard.

Now, Satan isn’t one to interrupt good fun when it’s about to happen, so instead of stepping in and performing some sort of spell that might help on his possibly-high brother like a good guy, he sits back and watches as Beel’s head swings around the room as if he's never seen anything in it before like the mischief-loving little shit he is. Beel himself doesn’t appear to be negatively affected, so it can’t be that bad, right?

You float cautiously around the giant as his hands ball into fists. His entire body is trembling slightly with pent-up energy. Then, a split second later, as if he’s been zapped by some catalystic bolt of lightning, he abruptly snaps back on his heel and positively zooms out of the room. You can practically see the cartoony cloud of dust that he’s kicking up as he disappears down the corridor.

“He’s absolutely zooted right now,” You comment, flipping upside with a resigned sigh and crossing your arms a little grumpily. “I told him not to eat it.”

“He couldn’t hear you, you know,” Satan says, moving over to the fridge and slamming it shut, since Beel has neglected to. “What was even in that thing?”

You shrug. “Don’t know. I’ve just been calling it demon-nip.”

“I suppose that it does to demons what catnip does to cats, then?” Satan doesn’t even wait for you to answer before continuing - rude. “How did you even get a hold of it? Never mind that, how did you manage to get it in a pastry and put it in the fridge?”

“I got some help from one of the poltergeists downtown to make it,” You wave your hands about dismissively. “You should pay more attention when you go out. I disappeared for, like, five hours, and you didn’t even notice.”

“When even was this?”

“Tuesday, I think. Remember when you bought that giant bag of cat paw-shaped biscuits and then accidentally dropped the bag in the hall and got them everywhere?”

You don’t miss the way that the tips of his ears go slightly pink as he coughs subtly and averts his gaze. “...why would the poltergeists help you? They hate humans.”

“I don’t know, actually…” You ponder for a moment, then decide, “...probably because I’m cute.”

“Are you?” Satan deadpans. “Cute is what you’d call a cat. You’re just… tolerable.”

“Oh, fuck you, I think I’m adorable.” You huff, flying over and poking him hard in the side of the head. Satan hisses in pain and reaches up to rub the sore spot, but he supposes he should have seen that blow coming - you’re never too humble to make yourself physical enough to hit him after an insult.

“Where did that idea even come from?” He asks quickly, not wanting to take another attack. You may be a mere imprint of a dead human, but your fingers are sharp, and he’d prefer not to provoke you further if he can avoid it.

His change of subject is so abrupt and obvious that it’s almost laughable, but you choose not to call him out on it. As much as you’d like to set him on fire or something, he hasn’t given you a really good reason to commit arson yet, and you’d just end up feeling bad for doing it. Well, to be fair, he did kill you… but still, you don’t want to keep holding that over his head.

“I read it in a book.” You answer. Satan’s eyes light up slightly.

“Do you remember the title?” He asks almost eagerly, and you disguise a snicker. His intentions are practically painted in bright red paint across his face - he’s hoping that there’ll be more schemes like the one you’ve performed that he can use against that sadist of an older brother of his.

Unfortunately for him, the book doesn’t exist. “Yeah. It’s called One Hundred Ways To Get Back At The Ass That Killed You, Free Of Murder and Actual Crimes That Might Get You Persecuted And Sent To Super Hell.”

Satan clearly isn’t thinking very hard today, because for a moment he actually looks as if he believes you - you suppose it’s because he’s grown desensitised to the oddness of such long titles after hearing so many weirdly specific anime titles from the otaku brother that you still have yet to see come out of his room. (You’ve floated in a few times to have a look around and appreciate the decor, but other than that, you’ve barely even seen his face. You’re not even sure what his name is, to be honest…)

He realises what you’re getting at after a moment, though, and immediately frowns at you in disapproval. You just grin, pleased with your small victory.

“You're insufferable,” He says, shaking his head with an long sigh.

“No, I'm cute,” You counter, frowning. “Weren't you listening to me earlier?”

He throws his hands up hastily as you drift forward with a hand brandished and a nasty glint in your eye, unwilling to get jabbed at again. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

You, however, don't relent. Eyes narrowing, you float even closer - so close that, if you'd been physical, he’d have been able to feel your breath on his face. “Say it.”

Satan may be one of the seven most powerful demons in the Devildom (below Diavolo, of course, and possibly Barbatos), but the aggression of a pissed-off ghost, especially if that ghost is you, isn't anything he wants to be on the receiving end of right now. “Fine, fine! You're adorable, you're cute, whatever. Now will you leave me alone?”

You finally pull back, beaming in a gratified fashion. “That's all I wanted to hear!”

Satan gives you an irritated look as you drift back across the kitchen, a satisfied grin on your face. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’ve said that already,” You sing back, laughing in victory when you see his eyebrow twitch slightly in annoyance. “And you had the nerve to lecture me about creativity earlier! Why don’t you come up with better material, Mr Shoes-Up-My-Ass?”

He doesn’t reply for a good moment, attempting to think of a insult to counter your admittedly slightly juvenile one. Try as he might, though, all of his good jibes seem to have evaporated. “...shut up.”

His pathetic response, of course, immediately compels you to take the piss out of him. Clutching your chest dramatically, as if Satan’s just stabbed you with the knife you’d been waving about earlier, you wail, “Oh, thy words do wound me! 'Tis like thou hath rip’d my heart out with thy own hands!”

Satan glares you for a long moment, but he doesn’t have the heart to keep it up when you’re grinning so brightly. Honestly, you’re a nuisance and a brat sometimes, sure, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t consider you his closest friend at this point. “...do you even know how to use those words?”

You drop the act faster than Asmo throws it down on a Saturday night, shrugging and floating back over to hover just above the chair across from Satan’s. “Nope. It sounded right, though, right?”

“I haven’t read enough works in Old English to know,” Satan admits with a shake of his head. “But it did, I suppose…”

It’s kind of weird that he’s agreeing so easily, you think. Has he just had enough of your bullshit and is complying with to keep you quiet? Or has he just finally seen the light of your brilliance?

...well, you suppose it doesn’t matter. You grin and move to ruffle his hair, but forget to make your hand physical and instead end up flying right through his head. Satan shudders slightly - though he doesn’t feel it, it’s still weird to have an entire hand and arm go through his cranium.

“Could you not?” He complains as you right yourself and pull your hand back again. “This feels weird.”

“Baby.”

“Pet names aren’t going to do anything,” He sighs, pulling his chair to the side so that he’s no longer half-inside your torso. “Hands to yourself.”

“No, it was an insult,” You correct him. “I was calling you a baby. Though bitch-boy works too.”

Satan lets out a long sigh. Now you’re just back where you started.

[silverishy]

waking up in the morning and looking at the bare walls, once adorned with their smiling face.

reaching for your phone to invite them to a new movie that they would absolutely love to watch, but realizing the last conversation in your messages with them was four months ago, and even then, it was polite and strained.

no one tells you how to cope with losing a friend.

there's overwhelming advice on how to get over a lost lover.

everyone tells you to binge ice cream and romcoms, they tell you that the best way to drown out your loss is to drown yourself in one-night stands and alcohol, they tell you that the pain will soon heal and you'll be with your new other half soon enough, once you cut your hair and start your life over.

but when you lose a friend, there's rarely a dramatic fight that ends with one person in tears on one side of the door, and the other punching the other side of the wall. there's no calling things off and agreeing to see other people with the secret knowledge that you'll find your way back to each other.

there's talking on the phone ever day, and then every few days, and watching those days turn into weeks and months while the silence between you turns into radio static.

you remember their birthdays and why they shut everyone out on every June 26th and what their dad's laugh sounds like and what they no longer hide under their mattress and what their favorite Halloween candy is.

and you don't know what to do with all this knowledge, since you can't just tell them that "I still remember which skeletons in your closet you have still hiding in there, and which ones I helped you dispose of. I still remember your favorite childhood memory and which arcade game you're still determined to beat. I still remember the night you broke up with Emily and how I helped you paintball her house in a fit of petty rage."

you cradled the memories in your head until you pack them away tight, like the stuffed animal they left at your house one day and never asked about again, and the dream journal you two created when you were 9, and the anklet they asked you to fix and never got around to fixing.

you grew up with each other in your hearts, but the space inside never grew along with you both. so as you grew up, you broke each others' hearts.

... so how do you cope with losing a friend?

do you visit their favorite places whenever they're preoccupied just so you don't have to run into them and stumble through awkward, stilted conversation, and follow the same routine as they did whenever they visited those museums or parks? you run your hands along the spines of the mystery and science fiction books they used to buy in large quantities and pick up a book they used to love, but remembering that they're no longer in your life, you pay for it and annotate it until it's full of bittersweet notes and you tuck it away to never be seen again.

do you clear your head of everything they left behind in your mind and throw yourself into your existing friendships? you may keenly feel the loss of one friend, but you still have other friends that are feeling the loss of friendship, so you can mend their wounds while they help heal yours, through late night campfires and early morning jogs. if your old friend was part of your friend group, just know you aren't the only one suffering and you can heal your wounds all together. you can only staunch your bleeding for so long until you become too weak to fend for yourself, so let others help you out in your time of healing and you'll feel inclined to do the same for them.

do you start to meet new people through book clubs and yoga and immerse yourself in the worlds that are now new to you, and slowly come to accept that you're becoming fast friends with them already? you learn some of their secrets during late-night conversations, and grow platonically intimate through nights of strip poker and days of acoustic concerts. there will always be more opportunities to lose those friends but there will always be opportunities to make more, and that's just the beauty of life. your friends will remember all you bared and they will miss you when you leave their lives, but you had the mutual joy of meeting a kindred spirit, and the building blocks of friendship and the finished product that forms the shape of a long-term friend will always be more powerful than the loss.

slowly, the pain of losing your close friend dulls until it's just a familiar but rare ache in your chest that only appears when you think you see them in a crowd but they've already gone, or when you think you hear their name in someone else's conversation but it was just someone else. you no longer have a ruined mood when you hear the song they loved to play in the car, and your hand falls back to your side when you see a comic book they would have loved to read.

you'll lose friends and you'll make them, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. you can't force someone to fit in your life when the shape of your hearts no longer align with the spaces you previously occupied inside. they smoothed out their jagged edges and you had to cut off some of your own. everyone is part of one giant puzzle, and it's hard to find people you match up with, but you'll enjoy the time you have with the people you meet, because everyone is always changing and for everyone that steps out of your life, there will be someone else that fits in perfectly with the space the other friend couldn't quite fill.

[fortheonetrueking]

The gun's smacked away before they can even properly aim, Junior's hand coiling back into a fist and slamming against Greymarrow's forearm. A pitiful attack, they don't have their father's strength, or an Ashen Lord's.

They eventually stop kicking around, the wisps flaring further in anger as they're held up and displayed like some war trophy. A difference between the regular pirate and Junior- Junior doesn't overstay their victory. Goading is not their style. The few battles they've won were clean kills, more akin to an execution than a pirate riling up their crew.

Of course, they're dealing with someone more akin to their father's style. Public humiliations to break the opponent in spirit as well. The Reapers stare at the display in silence, not budging from place until Junior barks out a half muffled Go, and only then do they start to retreat, looking back a couple times before boarding and sailing away.

One of the parrots departs with the ship, while the rest remain around the fortress, taking on more hidden away positions- with the fight over, it's uncertain if they'll be shot down.

With one hand still grabbing onto Greymarrow's wrist, they fetch the charms from their pockets- a petty side of them wants to crush the things, see if it will finish scrambling up those skeletons, but their current predicament is precarious enough for them to behave for now. They hold the charms out to Greymarrow wordlessly.

The flecks of light dancing up from their mask is very curious, indeed. Was he squeezing too hard, perhaps? The poor thing was falling apart at the seams. He chuckles as he watches them struggle, amused by their obvious fury. The traitorous skeletons settle down, staring forward with their jaws agape as if in a trance.

"And who said I would do such a thing?" He cooed slowly, venom seeping through his words. As Junior brandished their pistol, Greymarrow slapped it out of their grip, knocking it down to the sand beside them. He knew they wouldn't have had a good shot, anyway, but he'd rather play it safe. This fight was fun, but it was time to stop playing around. He turned his head to the Reapers, focusing his attention on them.

"Show's over!" He shouted with that ever-present good-natured tone. "Thank you all for the battle. You lot'll be on your way now! Head home, and I may return your captain to you in time." He held Junior up in front of him, displaying them as a representation of the Reapers' defeat. It was up to them if they'd accept it, however. "And the rest of ye! Boys!" he raised his voice even further, tone much less friendly. "Back inside! I'll have a word with you all later." With that, the skeletons winced and broke free from their entranced comrades, gathering them up and attempting to haul them to their feet.

"Now, pet, you've got a few things of mine I'd like back." He lowered his voice to a growl, gripping their head ever so slightly tighter. "My charms, if you will?" Not like he was really giving them a choice, but it was at least polite to give them a chance to salvage their pride.