#there’s no happiness to find in mass slaughter

[anarchypumpkincowboy]

I was gonna live blog as I watched but I very quickly started crying and ignored my phone the whole way through. It’s gonna be a rewatch tho so I’ll blog on the next run through

Quick end of episode rapid fire thoughts

Capitalism and ai will doom us until we forcibly end the hold greed has over humanity. Organized religion is absolutely a part of the problem BUT IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE Y’ALL JUST GOTTA STOP OPRESSING AND KILLING OTHERS IN THE NAME OF YOUR FUCKING GODS! Humanity has done and still has the potential to do amazing things but we gotta hold compassion higher than greed and control.

[justaz]

merlin au where merlin keeps excalibur and returns to camelot to serve under gwen as court sorcerer after she repeals the ban. merlin remains for years, unaging, even as gwen dons wrinkle after wrinkle and spouts grey hair after grey hair. eventually, gwen passes without an heir and since merlin holds arthur’s sigil, he ascends the throne and leads camelot for years. eventually invaders come and slaughter the people and burn the fields etc etc and merlin goes out to fight. he fights like a demon, which is what they call him with his unnatural abilities and golden eyes, and merlin chases them from his kingdom - only, they slaughtered everyone within the citadel. there is no camelot, not anymore, not without her people. merlin should’ve seen this coming as her one true ruler has been and will always be arthur. he waves a hand and puts out the fires and restores the buildings to their once gleaming glory then takes excalibur into the center and drives it into the stone. with the force and power behind it, merlin raises the earth around the kingdom and buries it away from further invasions.

he leaves the kingdom hidden beneath the earth and travels up to the surface to explore just how far the continent spreads. then theres new continents across the ocean and he explores those as well. he watches as the world expands and grows and learns and advances but humans go too far and begin to destroy the world and create weapons of mass destruction and threaten each other with war. merlin assumes arthur will come back considering the destruction of practically everything but he doesn’t. tensions rise and snap and in the blink of an eye, humanity is chased back to their caves. with the loss of technology and modern ideas, humans revert back to their roots and connect with the elements which means they reconnect with magic. it takes another few thousand years for these humans to achieve the level of civilization merlin grew up in his first few decades of life.

different tribes are settled across the land but, thats the thing, over the course of the last few millennia (lets pretend land moves super quick plsplsplsplspls) the separate continents have collided with one another and practically the entire mass could be considered albion. he’s not even sure where the original land resides now. sooo he’s not even sure where camelot resides now. he really should’ve set up some beacon so he could remember but its been thousands upon thousands of years. sue him for his memory being a little foggy. he wanders from tribe to tribe and learns from their new magic while acting as a physician which a lot of them consider him some sort of miracle healer considering his advanced medical knowledge. it’s a win-win tho, he learns new magic and they don’t die. everyone is happy.

then during one such visits to a tribe, he finds a man of twenty summers with a head of golden hair like a crown and sunkissed skin from working outside all day and bright blue eyes that look like the very sky was captured in his gaze. merlin stands for a while and watches him dig around in the dirt, sweat gleaming on his brow, and his muscles rippling as he works. merlin can feel the countless years falling from his shoulders, he feels lighter on his feet, and pure happiness bubbles in him. a grin wide enough to split his face pulls at his lips.

he can’t help himself from stumbling over toward his long lost best friend, his body awkward and gangly with excitement and when he calls out to arthur his voice seems younger than it has in millennia and he vaguely notices that his appearance of wizened old healer melted away to his twenty year old body. arthur looks up with a polite yet confused smile and greets him followed by a question and merlin is faced with the realization that arthur doesn’t know him, doesn’t remember him. merlin manages to keep a thin smile on his face as he reaches out with magic and finds an injury in his knee from years ago that must’ve been bothering him and excuses his use of arthur’s name as someone sending him to find him and help heal the injury.

anyways merlin and arthur become friends and set off on an adventure of gathering the knights of the round table from various tribes/villages and they eventually stumble upon gleaming white stone that merlin belatedly realizes camelot was built with. the knights all take turns tugging at the sword but it doesn’t budge, not until arthur reaches out and tugs as if expecting it to be y’know stuck in stone only it slides out like butter and he knocks the hilt on his forehead and knocks himself out it out. with the sword tugged from the earth, it rumbles and cracks and splits and a hidden kingdom arises from the dirt, gleaming white and shining in the sun. they stare in amazement and awe for a moment before they grow confused and distracted. then arthur turns to merlin and says his name in an all too familiar way and merlin starts sobbing bc arthur is finally back

[strawberrymilk-sunshine]

Boo~

Happy Halloween!

Warning(s): mentions of death, blood, dismemberment, yandere things

Imagine this, if you will.

You're enjoying a party in a mansion (courtesy of local freak, Rook Hunt) with your friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

You kiss someone, someone you're currently very interested in, Jamil Viper.

Around 2 hours later...

You find him in the dining room, with an axe lodged in his head.

Of course, panic fills your mind, wondering who could have done this...

Slowly, your friends start dropping like flies at the hands of some masked killer.

One by one, they're all slaughtered...

Blood and guts everywhere, severed body parts... you feel like you're going to be sick...

Eventually... you're cornered by the masked killer.

He kicks the head of your friend that rolls towards you... it lays at your food, the dead, hollow eyes staring up at you...

The killer's bloodstained axe is pointed directly at you.

"No... n-no, please... don't... hurt me..."

The killer stays silent.

They reach their hand up, and pulls off their mask...

"Boo~"

"...F... F-Floyd...?!" You ask in horror.

"Got it dead on~!" He laughs to himself, stretching out his arms as if presenting himself and the mass amount of blood he's covered in. "Are you surprised~?"

"What... w-what the hell?! Why?! WHY?! Why did you do that?!" You start to break down in tears, you're terrified and confused and Floyd just murdered... everyone...

"Why?" Floyd asks, a hollow smile on his face. "Why? You really don't know? I caught you practically sucking off Sea Snake! You don't think I'd be angry about that?!"

"B-but all we did was kiss-"

"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK, SHRIMPY! YOU CHEATED ON ME!!"

"...cheated...? Floyd, we... w-we aren't dating..."

"YES WE ARE!!" He screams, swinging the axe, lodging it in the wall just beside your head.

You're left speechless. He really just... almost killed you...

"Floyd... p-please... j-just calm down, I... l-let go of the axe, w-we can talk this out...!"

"...no. No, we can't just 'talk this out', Shrimpy." He says, staring at you. His eyes seem... empty. Like there wasn't a soul behind them. "You just admitted you don't love me."

He pulls the axe out of the wall, his expression... empty. There's nothing there.

"F-Floyd...? No... n-no, whatever you're about to do, d-don't, please-!"

"SHUT UP." He screams, staring at you... pure rage in his eyes. "You don't love me, so what's the point of keeping you around?"

He raises the axe.

"FLOYD, NO, PLEASE-!"

He swings the axe, lodging it in your chest. Then, he pulls it out, and does it again. Then again. Then again. Then again.

Again... again... again... again... again... over and over, he doesn't stop...

Not until he's sure you're dead.

...

"Good night, Shrimpy. Bye. Rot in hell, cheating bitch."

[themoodyestj]

I loved your example on objectification of women in academia, which I am a victim of myself. Thank you for that.

However, don't you think Jensen gets objectified so much because that is how he wants his fans to view him? He played a hot, charismatic bad boy for 15 years, and he made that his whole personality. People don't know much about him outside of that, they just know him as 'the hot dude from supernatural'. On the other hand, we hear people praising Jared for things other than his looks, his kindness towards fans, how he goes above and beyond to make them feel valued, how he contributed to the Austin economy by filming Walker there, and of course his work with mental health. I feel Jensen wants his fans to sexualize him, for example "the magic happens" interaction in that AD house tour video. You could argue that it was Elta who said that, but Jensen could've had that removed if he wanted to. He even had his home address leaked fully knowing how crazy his stans are. Jensen has been in this business long enough to understand branding, and I believe it his him that wants the sex symbol tag.

Well, first of all, Im sorry for your experience. You kick their butts and show who's boss! ;)

Second of all, regarding Jensen... Not invalidating your point, you may be right, after all, all we do here is speculate. However I'm inclined to... not really. Let me explain why.

I think probably Jensen milked that sexy man image at first. It was giving him attention, relevance, the girls swooned for him, all good. But then the rumors of being homosexual started. What does the guy do? Gets married. The wife throws a tantrum on media saying shes not a beard, yada yada. Boom! Family man image beats sex symbol. Now he's in love, he has kids and then...

Destiel. He gets super uncomfortable, cant shake the gay rumours, says Destiel doesnt exist. Gets slaughtered at the Hellers altar. The poor excuse of a wife, what does she do? She holds Misha's hand and says, lets join forces to piss off my husband. Destiel delulu increases, Danneel is no longer a beard, she is now a relevant participant in the threesome, and makes her hobbie to invalidate/hummiliate/ make fun of said husband any chance she gets. Danneel is finally (somewhat) relevant, Misha gets the attention he so desperately craves, Jensen's life sucks. So much for the sex symbol image, none of that is sexy.

The problem, in my opinion? PR. Very weak or very incompetent PR. He's scared to displease the masses. And because he was so willing to make the masses happy (or at the very least calm), the masses started spreading him in all directions like taffy, and now he's viewed like what?

I dont know, a Ken doll that can be inserted in whatever people want him to be, regardless of what he himself wants to be. They make him sleep with everything and everyone except Jared. And Jensen is a bit to blame, because although he was vocal sometimes about how he wanted to be viewed, he got scared easily and didnt assert himself. And they held on viciously to that.

And now he is pretty much the clay of everyone's fantasies.

To some, any way. There are some sane people that want to watch him grow as a person and as an actor and encourage him to find his true self. None of those people are Hellers or AAs. But nah. Definitely not a sex symbol.

My two cents.

[darkestspring]

love is the death of duty

a/n: im so excited to write for maegor again, he’s my problematic fave, he’s a garbage man, he’s my chaotic evil baby. this was requested by the lovely @frankcastleonlyfans​ for a maegor x littlesis!reader (you can find the request here because im too lazy to detail it and a little half asleep) as always, the headers i use, are made specifically by me for my writing so fun times ahead!!! thank you for all your support.

You had always loved your elder brother Maegor, always adored him as you clung to your mother. You loved him despite his cruelty, you brushed off other people’s horrible statements of him and defended him. He was your family. Targaryen’s are closer to gods than men, so it’s not strange to do things that the people of westeros find strange, weird, unnatural to them. You were of valyria.

That much was obvious, with your white hair and amethyst eyes, a symbol of your valyrian heritage.

You loved your brother but right now? You hate his cruelty, his affinity for violence to get his way. You hated that quality about him. You no longer clung to him with bright eyes and bright smiles as you had as a child.

“Brother.” You stared at Maegor with cold eyes and a frown on your face, seeing the blood he’s covered in. “Must you slaughter this entire nation.” You scolded him with a clenched jaw.

“I won’t be denied, beloved sister.” His voice was nonchalant, entirely too bothered at what he had done. “If they refuse me, then they should forfeit their lives as recompense.”

Your mother called your name with softness as he hand touched your arm with all her gentleness and you softened as you gazed at her. How could you be mad when she was pleading with you like this?

The softness disappeared when you gazed at Maegor once more. “What has lead your massacre this time, My king?” The words were bitter upon your tongue but you forced them out regardless.

“Our marriage, my sweet sister.” Maegor walked towards you with slow steps as his hand reached up to caress your cheek. “It matters not, we can simply marry in the tradition of Valyria. There’s nothing that could ever stop me from taking you as my wife.”

You frowned at him before moving back. “You have already slaughtered crowds of Septs to become king, you now slaughter them to make me your wife?” You questioned, not necessarily surprised.

“I would do anything for you, my lovely. Slaughter masses, burn this world to the ground.”

“Please don’t. We live here.” You retorted as you pulled yourself away from him. “When?”

“My sweet?” You mother asked, voiced coated with confusion.

“When are we to marry?” You asked, eyes going in between your mother and your brother.

“Tomorrow.”

That conversation had happened two months ago. Maegor was still himself, with a great capacity for violence and cruelty but the soft warmth to his hands as he held you made you want to melt.

“My love.” His voice rumbled as he pressed kisses to your neck. “My beloved sister, blessed by every god that watches us.”

You arms wrapped around him as your head tilted to the side, eyes half-lidded. It was times like these, that it was hard to remember that your brother dealt death like it was nothing. He was so soft with you. So loving. So protective, like he had always been with you.

“Ask me to kill for you.” He begged you as he cupped your face. “I will, I’ll kill for you. I’ll give you everything you could ever wish for, you need only ask for it.”

You laughed softly as one of his hands left your face to press softly against your hip. “There’s no need for that.” You smiled at him sweetly. “We’re happy brother, there’s no need to set the world on fire.”

“But i would, for you.”

You hum as you reach over to kiss him, content. The thought of him being capable of great violence never left your mind but you were capable of handling it. Of staying his hand, as his queen. 

[ruumirmir]

Reprise of a rolling mist

Part 1 Part 2 (soon)

☽◯☾ Summary - You, the revered God of Healing and Mist, one of the oldest friends of Zhongli, are not one to be easily taken down, but alas, in the Archon war of brutal massacres, you can’t escape death for long.  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ☽◯☾ Characters - Zhongli, (minor) Cloud Retainer, (minor) Madame Ping ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ☽◯☾ Tags - Zhongli x Reader || Gender Neutral || Angst || Eventual happy ending || Description of blood, violence, and fatal injuries || Mention of death   ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ☽◯☾ Word count - 1.2k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ☽◯☾ Rumour◇ says - my first ever fanfic to be published on tumblr. In case you haven’t seen my previous post, please do! It has some context in it. I hope i did peepaw some justice,, as much as I love him, it was slightly hard to pin his personality down especially in this wild scenario. I’ll probably belt out the part 2 really soon cause I’m done with it, just gotta decorate the post lmao.

‎• ——————————————————————— The nearby corpse of a beast twitches once before falling still. The loud ringing in your head gets louder by the passing minute. Mouth set into a grimace, you roll onto your back and hack out a wet cough.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ It's hard to breathe with a gaping hole in your torso, still fresh and bloody. Your half-lidded eyes focus onto a speck of ash, floating up to melt into the night air. ‎  ‎

‎ ‎ ‎

The God of War doesn’t fear. No. He is the one who’s feared. And yet...

“No...”, Morax kneels there, watching his old friend, laid upon the charred grass.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Your once lustrous hair, now melds into the soot-stained ground, tainted by blood and grime. Your breaths come shallow and short. For all the dust and debris left in the battle's wake, Mt. Tianheng had a pleasant breeze to offer.

His palm find its way to yours; cold to the touch. Fingers tighten around you, and the clarity slowly returns to your hazy eyes.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

The stench of burnt flesh permeates the air. His gaze lingers over the yawning cavity in your body; charred at the edges. From such a pair of gods, its not Morax who wields the power to heal and mend. It’s not you who possesses the energy to do so.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ And so. his hands tremble uselessly over your gut, or the lack thereof.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

His most trusted. His closest companion. His oldest friend... The one who shares countless memories with him. The one who had promised to do so for many more years to come.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

"M-morax," his name spoken like a sigh. The corners of his mouth twitch into a small smile. Your stomach flares in pain when you fight back a strangled whine. "I am... not your burden to bear amidst a battle."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

He sits by you, pained. “Hush... do not strain yourself by talking.” You lie before him, bleeding.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

“O great Rex Lapis, won't you be kind? Won't you be wise? Renounce your lands and people? Spare us all a calamity from befalling those subjects of yours? It’s the least of your payment... for eons of slaughter caused by your hands”

A great many creatures had cackled, with many more swarming in. The seething mass of... beastly wasps, misshapen and overgrown, were all too eager for a massacre. A hivemind; disgustingly coordinated in brains and brawn. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

By the first rumbling of his meteorite that bombed over Mt. Tianheng, a familiar billowing mist had rolled forward to assist. Whether in your solid body, or a lashing mist, it was hard to quell the pyro gnats. ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

The grass is stained red by now.  He takes your hand and grips it tight, to his chest. You brush your fingers over his bruised knuckles.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ By the second rumbling of raining spears, Morax’s harsh orders had sent the adepti and yakshas scrambling towards the unprotected city of Liyue. . . . By the third rumbling of his shield molding around you... a flaming projectile had already shot clean through your torso.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

You need to fight to keep your eyes open.  From a simple flesh wound... what a joke. Your not the admired deity of recovery, just in name, are you?

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Your fingers twitch, tightening around his robes. "Help me sit upright..."

His sharp exhale falls upon your brows, and with the utmost softest touch, You’re pulled up against his torso. Your head sags against his shoulder, where you can feel the thick pool of sorrow under his skin.

"Please... I do not want to cause you more hurt," The words fall hollow from his lips. He holds you up gently, and you can finally focus on his face.  … where you’re met with a wet shine to his eyes.

"What... are you trying to do?" His mouth trembles downwards ever so slightly.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

But you... you break out in a rebellious smile, don’t you?

The pain is unbearable. And you laugh all the harder for it. Sweat beads your forehead, and your fingers dig into his arm when he presses into your stomach to slow the bleeding. You bite out a groan. It burns.

"Don't look at me like that Morax", you pant. "This... this is but child’s play for a healer of my caliber...."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Yet, your life trickles out like the grains of sand in an hourglass, and your vision flickers. 

He wipes the blood off your lip, clearly vexed, "You are still yourself, I see. Even as you lay here, near death, you are still joking."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

"Just... won’t you humor me one last time?" You rasp out, feeling faint. All sensations except the gritting pain have left already. "Lend me some energy- so my body can return to what it once was..."

"Because... I, the Healer God of Mist, am alone the revered one... who holds mortality at my fingertips..." your voice breaks towards the end, but you still flash a smile of dogged arrogance, don’t you? (There is nothing but a theory borne from your feverish thoughts.)

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

He gazes at you; minutes away from the end. The god who holds no regrets, who has not one ounce of fear in their voice. (You have never been more terrified of death, for you only know how to run from it.) With a melancholy rustle of feathers, comes another soft voice, "Ever so conceited, until the very end...”, Cloud retainer murmurs into the night.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

His skin glows alight, veins illuminated on his chest and arms. His gnosis ignites for your fanatical whims. It always did.  "How could I ever refuse you...?", his trembling voice, so quiet. You’re met with a familiar embrace.

‎ … ‎ ‎ ‎ “If mortals pray to gods in their time of need, who does a god pray to?”

Two drops fall to your neck, rolling away until they wet your clothes.

“No one.” His smile is soft, and voice raspy. “A god can only pray to himself... but, he may have hope in others.” ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Your body slowly starts to dissipate into millions of droplets of condensation that scatter into the air, where the wind blows parts of you away, and away. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The soft tunes of a zither ring out into the air, permeating the atmosphere with a slow melody. An adeptus sits atop a nearby rock, her eyes downcast.

ah. ‘Ping's zither’, you sigh. ‘How kind of her.’

And he smiles through his tears.

Isn't it beautiful?

A great rolling mist dissolves into the air. With dust and ash in the air, it swirls and rises up and above. The wasted grassland is littered with thousands of droplets that shimmer like stars as the moonlight reflects off them. It is as beautiful. as it is empty.

On a night like this, Streetward rambler’s tune graces the wind, until her fingers bleed. Cloud Retainer sheds no tears, but know that she holds your memory well.

And you, Rex Lapis,

Morax,

you weep for me.

Taglist - @ainescribe ||  @theorchardcollective  || @flos-historia​ || @nightrayseishina ||  @thesparklingwriter

[koogl001]

I have a request so......uh....here ya go *awkwardly delivers* Alastor finding out his s/o is a fallen angel. Like what if reader committed mass murder or smth up in heaven and got banished to hell???

(also if this is the second time you've seen this request I'm sorry. Tumblrs acting weird and wont tell me if my asks are going thru)

One-Shots and Headcanons Masterlist

Freedom, that’s all you ever wanted

Freedom to think, speak and do as you please

But there was no freedom in Heaven, there was only restrictions

You always felt trapped, like a bird in a cage, with wings that could take you anywhere in the world but unable to do so because of your imprisonment

God's Ten Commandments they called it, you called it giving up your freedom in order to live a life that was written out for you

There was only one thing you could do, and that was rebellion

You didn’t mind God sending you to Hell to repent, that was after all your goal

Now you were truly free to do as you pleased, with no one telling you what was right and what was wrong

When you first heard about the Happy Hotel, you just HAD to check it out

Not because you missed what you once had, no no no

It was because the idea seemed laughable to you

You knew there was no way for a sinner to ever atone, to save themselves from this burning inferno and escape to the safe haven called Heaven

And even if there was a way, you were more than sure that those who succeeded would regret their decision soon enough

That is how you met Alastor

He was a business partner with the owner of the Happy Hotel, the princess of Hell, Charlie Morningstar herself

He could tell you were different from the start, he just didn’t know how

And boy does he not like not knowing

He ordered his shadows to keep you under close surveillance, underestimating you dearly

You were a divine being and despite the fact you we no longer an inhabitant of Heaven, you still possessed your holy powers

The holy aura around you protected you burning Alastor’s shadow to a crisp in the process

You knew just what he was doing, and you weren’t gonna let him have the satisfaction of figuring you out

His frustration was just a cherry on top, making him more that perfect for you to play with

After all, you were now free to sin to your hearts content and he was your first target

But first, as a contribution to your new life and to spite the big man above, you decided to break all the Ten Commandments that tied you down and suffocated you for so long

You shall have no other God’s before me

You started building up your reputation in secret, gaining the title of the God of the Underworld for yourself

Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven images

As a new God of Hell, you soon started gaining followers and as your first command for them as their new leader, you requested a statue, as big as a skyscraper of yourself which they ought to pray to in your name

Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain

As the self-proclaimed and later recognised God of the Underworld, you already had this one covered

Remember the Sabbath day and keep it Holy

It became your daily routine to go out on Saturdays and wreak as much havoc as you could, slaughtering anyone that stood in your path and leaving a blood bath behind you

Honor your father and mother

Come on, this one is too easy, no?

All you have to do is find your parents that are definitely in Hell if how they treated you was anything to go by, and just tell them to go fuck themselves right to their face

Thou shalt not kill

Say that to the little fucker that thought he could challenge you and take your tittle

Thou shalt not commit adultery

All it took was a single night getting hammered in the club, again too easy for your liking but hey, you were too petty and set in your goal so what is a girl to do

Thou shalt not steal

Making this one a challenge, instead of snatching up some clothes from a low security shop you decided to steal Alastor’s cane radio thingy, too bad it was in your possession for only a few hours before he “retrieved” it but making him mad but at the same time seeing him trying to restrict himself from killing you was entertaining enough

Thou shall not bear false witness

You should have seen Angel’s face when Vaggie charged at him

Hope it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact you might have told her he told you about fantasizing about Charlie giving him a b job

You shall not covet

Now that one was going to be a tough one

You had everything you could ask for, mainly because if you wanted something, you took it

Deep in thought about how to go about this one you didn’t realise Alastor was closely observing each of your moves

When you started with your little quest, he suspected it to be some kind of revenge for ending up in Hell but the more Commandments you broke, the more he realised this had to be personal

But how could a sinner have a personal vendetta against God?

There was only one way he figured; you weren’t a sinner at all

It would also explain why you looked more human-like, your strange powers, your aura and even why naturally you gravitated towards the hotel

Oh, how he would enjoy having the leverage over you, knowing your special little secret

You knew if word got out of you being who you really are, all of Hell would be out to get you

Don’t take me wrong, you’re more than strong but if the overlords, princes, rulers and such united, you wouldn’t stand a change

So, you had no other choice but to make a deal with the devil himself

He made you his personal maid, working you like a dog until you couldn’t even lift your hands anymore

The power he had over you was like a drug to him, and he just couldn’t get enough

But he hated how friendly and buddy-buddy the others were with you, ordering you to treat them as nothing but trash from now on and soon restricted you from even being in the same room as them

You were his and his alone, you didn’t need anyone else in your life

You were gifted a collar with Alastor’s name on it, after all who wouldn’t want to have an angel as their personal pet

How ironic, that you left heaven, finally escaping your cage with the hope freedom was what was awaiting you, only to fall into the chains of the deer demon, tying you down once again

[askata]

a thought about cos because Ive been playing it lately and Im so fascinated by it in some way, so heres what I think about it

theres a lot of talk around the whole idea of the game itself, a lot of arguing over what is right and what is wrong. carebears, kos, that kind of stuff. its a topic for a lot of survival games, its really only tradition. I personally dont think theres any specific way it should be played. the mechanics are there, but its all a suggestion and no one can stop you from how you play with it

its a survival game with social and cosmetic aspects, it also encourages strategy but will not make it a dire mechanic of your run. it allows room to breathe and sit and talk but not without the looming threat of some larger creature. it balances the risk of death with the social comfort of the open map and chat

its not a forgiving game in many aspects (specifically the death point system (I used to farm points, its hell)) but its also not entirely unempathetic. you can be rewarded for your work and dedication, and there are so many positive aspects of giving it a try instead of tossing in the towel. just because it says you might not win against something doesnt mean its not worth the fight, and often times its more satisfying to die fighting than to die trying to escape

when you sit back to think about it, its a beautifully balanced game. sure, the pay system can seem really unfair, and the economy side of things can be strange. it can also be extremely frustrating to be a collector or someone who leans into the trade side of things, but I think the frustration of it is intentional. its not meant to be easy, and thats what makes it so fun!!

Im not a huge trader, seller, buyer, whatever. I dont really like collecting things either. I like playing as creatures I feel confident handling and fighting with. I like to socialize, but I also love the anxiety of being a creature in a world of other strange and unpredictable creatures. the constant threat of death is a thrill that enriches the positive feelings of survival and risk taking

you start to feel proud of yourself, and then you begin to accept your losses when they come around. fairness goes both ways, you cant always win and call it an equal balance

I love seeing people have fun, even if that fun is mindless slaughter or the aggressive helicopter parent treatment. admittedly, Ive been under every single one of the labels you could think of, outside of the roleplay stuff. Ive kosed, Ive carebeared, Ive been an anklebiter, Ive logged before, Ive whatever.

(never really got into roleplaying on there, unless you count being in a pack of the same creature and acting in a "lore accurate" way (hunting, traveling together, nesting, etc etc) but I dont mind the roleplayers. you guys are cool, and I respect the determination despite how people talk about you guys. you do you, just be safe and follow the rules :) ❤️)

what matters is that I find it to be both mechanically and mentally rewarding. I love this game, even though it sucks sometimes, and it glitches out, and hackers can be a bit of a pain if theyre mass killing, but whatever!!! games have flaws, and Im happy with that

anyway, this was a big ramble. I appreciate this game a lot, I love it for what it is, and its super fun to get home after a long day and be weird and happy without worrying about much else

[beevean]

Another thing I find intriguing about CoD's story is that it's actually more original with its "revenge bad" theme than you might expect at first.

It seems to me that nowadays there's a growing backlash against this sort of story. You know the drill: character is wronged, they go on a massive badass rampage in their quest to get back to the one who wronged them... then, at the last minute, they decide "no, this isn't worth it. I will be better than them".

Which is a noble sentiment, but if done sloppily, we might be asked to ignore all the atrocities that person committed in their quest, making them completely worthless.

While I could make multiple examples, sticking with CV, N!Isaac is exactly what I'm talking about. In S3, he's so determined to go to Styria to kill Hector and Carmilla to avenge Dracula, that he kills without impunity or regret. Not everyone, but people who dare to oppose him for perfectly valid reasons, and he causes the death of all the villagers that the Magician kidnapped and brainwashed. But by the time he decides to conquer Styria... he doesn't want to kill N!Hector anymore. "Revenge is for children," he says. "You had no agency anyway," he adds just to spite me. And while he sets to kill Carmilla, it's not because of Dracula, but because he has become a hero who wants to save the world. Not that he spares a thought about all the people he unjustly turned into demons during his rampage, of course, we're just meant to be happy that he finally knows what to do in life.

CoD could have easily gone through this route. Julia even says the classic "the beloved one you're avenging would not like to see you like this". Hector could have at any point dropped his sword and decided that he wanted to be a better person than Isaac, understood that he acted out grief, and let his friend survive; the story still would have gone in the exact same way. But that's not quite what happens.

Hector never fully forgives Isaac. At most, he pities him:

Similarly to N!Isaac above, he recognizes that he didn't have full agency, because of the Curse. But this moment doesn't happen right before striking the final blow: he's looking at Isaac's corpse. At this point, whatever Hector might feel about his former friend is moot. And interestingly, it echoes a similar scene from the MF manga:

In this scene, he's pitying the deceased Dracula in the exact same way, even though some weeks prior he opely declared that he wouldn't be a pawn in his "ridiculous plot for revenge". I think this behavior gives us an important glimpse into Hector's personality: he might get angry, but he's not hateful, and he might even be sympathetic. He never resented humans for mistreating him, at least not to the point of agreeing with Dracula's plan of mass slaughter. He doesn't resent Dracula either, and he still speaks to him and about him with a modicum of respect (although he's clearly enjoying himself when he gloats about being a Devil Forgemaster :P). And, when he's in a clear mind, he can't bring himself to resent Isaac either.

And this is the real turning point, when he remembers Julia's words.

Remember Leon's words to Mathias in LoI?

Is this what the woman you loved would have wanted? The Mathias I know would not have loved such a woman.

I always found interesting that Leon puts it like this, not "you're disappointing your beloved" but actually "was the woman you loved this cruel, that she'd be pleased with your actions?". It's a more... radical way of putting it, I'd say, not about behavior but actual character. I think Hector here made a similar reasoning. "I am not being the person Rosaly fell in love with". Not disappointing her, but... literally, Hector is not like that. The Hector we had been playing as for the entirety of CoD is not the "real" Hector, but one who was driven insane almost as much as Isaac was.

Hector doesn't drop the sword because "if I kill him I will be just like him" or "I don't want to perpetuate this senseless cycle of revenge". He drops the sword in horror because Julia's warnings were enough to make him put two and two together and realize that he had been acting on thoughts that weren't his. He lost agency, and it frightened him.

So really, this isn't a story that teaches that revenge is bad, it's not really about that. It ties with Hector's general motif of self-affirmation. Dracula wanted him to be a tool of slaughter; Isaac forced him to become a hateful person dabbing in the dark arts he wanted to seal away; Zead wanted him to fully succumb to his hatred and cross the final threshold so that he could be used as a vessel for Dracula's resurrection. They all want him to be Dracula! Literally! And Hector got so close to losing himself! He was used twice over, his vengeful feelings toyed with, and he was so close to being the catalyst for Dracula's full return! It was only thanks to Rosaly's love and Julia's help that he found the self-awareness to pull himself over that precipice.

Going back to Hector pitying Isaac, while it's not fully expressed, I also imagine that Hector was not merely sympathizing, but empathizing with him. After all, he has realized how it feels to be ruled by the Curse. Both of them, hero and villain, were closer than they imagined, dragging each other down to the same level. How could he ever hate Isaac, when he was acting the same?

But it's not really forgiveness, just a general clarity of mind. Hector's self-awareness has always been his saving grace, unlike Isaac, who has always been ruled by his most negative emotions.

Then again, Hector planned to die under the crumbling castle after neutralizing the Curse; and it's not framed as a heroic sacrifice, but really him giving up on life after doing the best he could to atone because really, what else could he do? He got a hollow victory, he would have returned to an empty home anyway, and most likely, he got overcome by the humiliating and guilt of having almost become a tool for evil again. Hector is not a hateful person... except when it comes to himself.

It also is yet another way Hector parallels Dracula. Dracula never let go of his hatred for God and humanity. Eventually, through the centuries, he became a shell of his former self, before having to actually become another person to find peace.

[mackthecheese]

My bestie and I were hanging out today and I brought up the idea of fankids specifically for the Nightmare Mode characters and. We have some fun ones and I wanted to share. I would also like to note the only ship listed here I don't actually support is the first one

Abducius + Zoth + Yog: E. Bola, the Bloodletter (14/15, they/he) A very tall plague doctor looking guy who's "beak" does in fact open like a beak, and is full of razor blades. Their nails are also as sharp as razor blades, and they have like. A whole bunch of arms hidden under their cloak. They can drop and move like a centipede if they wish. They are very loud and annoying, finding everything to be a joke. They literally live in the walls. They mostly avoid their fathers as Yog doesn't seem to actually care about them, Zoth is rarely home, and Abducius is a little to eager to punish him. Very jumpy. Literally the worst instigator ever. Is very protective of the other kids (including Quachil).

Bryn Mawr* + Teutates: M11257403LY a.k.a. Molly (13, they/it) the Weapon. Molly outwardly looks like a bomb. They are made of grey steel and have no facial features except glass eyes that look welded on, and behind them the colour of their eyes shift in a warm colour spectrum. They wear a black military uniform with no medals, dog tags with the nuclear waste symbol painted on them in yellow, and a red beret. Molly is capable of flipping inside out, exposing all around it to radiation and risking an explosion, but that only happens under dire circumstances as it can only explode once. It rarely shows emotion other than extreme anger. It has a very strong bond to its parents and often goes out to help them. It has a robotic voice with no emotion behind it, and speaks like a soldier. It is also very susceptible to manipulation. This becomes important because Yan Luo Wang Diyu realizes they are a weapon and wishes to train it. It scares the other kids, but it isn't bad.

Shub + Ishtar + Lilith: Buggaboo (5, she/her) the Crop Carver. Buggy looks like a giant bug, specifically a cicada. She has big eyes, wings that are almost too big and antennae, as well as demon horns that stick straight up and red runes all over her body. She wears a little yellow and white sundress. Buggy is five. She is happy to do literally everything. She loves to "draw pictures" on farmer's fields and play hide and seek, even if she's bad at it because she gets very loud when she's happy. She's never seen without one of her mamas with her, they take very good care of her. Sweetums. She also is usually seen with E. Bola as he has claimed her as sibling no. 2.

Xezbet + Drugia: Amygdala, or Amy (17, she/her) the Trapper. Amy is a ghost with shackles around her neck and wrists, who is surrounded by floating hands. She wears a long, tattered white dress and glows blue. Instead of a face she has a black void, and she has flowing white hair. She helps her mother and father by creating labyrinths in people's dreams (with her mother's help) to trap them so her father can take their souls. She herself takes pride in her work, and she loves designing her traps to suit whichever poor soul she's tormenting. She's cordial to her neighbors and isn't all the agressive towards them.

Dagda + Izanami: Gl'bgolyb or Gloppy. (18/19, he/him) the Impersonator. Gloppy appears to be a wooden puppet body at first, being held up by something behind it. Its face is worn and scratched, almost unrecognizable as a face. The rest of its body is equally weathered and worn, splintering in off places and moving jerkily. Gloppy himself is actually a flesh creature behind the puppet, a mass of skin and eyes and mouths and ears and anything you can think of. Gloppy is a very jealous person, wanting to be seen as the most disturbing thing here but losing to Molly. Despite this he is the next reasonable of the kids next to Amy. He mostly just acts as a lure.

Chaugnar + Nyogtha: Mal (28, she/her) the Slaughterer. Mal wears a lamb mask with blacked out eyes and a simple red robe. Her hair can be seen, it's sort of fluffed out behind her head. She often visits her parents and helps out with rituals as she carries out sacrifices (she also works with Zoth). She usually babysits the younger kids, or teaches them how rituals work and how they are meant to be done. She's actually a very pleasant person!

Also important to note. Mal and Buggaboo have real world counterparts (Malinda Schmidt, and Sheila Bubbles (Margarette adopted her from one of her friends who couldn't take care of her), but no one else does. Amy and Gloppy may be based off of Roman and Lois' and Alf and Rafttellyn's kids but. Yeah. E. Bola and Molly both have absolutely no basis in reality and only exist in the nightmare.

*Here Bryn Mawr is Francis 2's nightmare form. Bryn Mawr is a spirit from Welsh folklore who goes from house to house during Yule, asking to be let in. If you let her in she'll eat for food and join your celebration, and if you refuse to let her in she curses you. So I feel it fits. Bryn has a pleasant looking face, quite cute actually, but wears a muzzle. He also wears torn clothes that show mouths all over his body, and he has claws and a cat tail. He is usually used as a hunting dog for whoever needs one.

Oh my god these are so fucking sick-

I want to doodle them heheheh >:)

[deadcactuswalking]

Southport

So… pop music was in the news this past week. This is, as we’ve seen over the recent events with Charli xcx, Taylor Swift and Kendrick Lamar all delivering popular music phenomenons in 2024, something I typically welcome with open arms. Music is one of my greatest passions and having that level of “expertise” actually come into relevance outside of Eurovision, award season or the Christmas #1, generally makes me very happy. This week, however, a pop star was in the news - through no fault of her own - for reasons I hate. Given that this is a blog about the UK charts, I deemed it necessary to discuss this, but it’s really not something I’d want to ever happen in this country, let alone as a direct result of an artform I hold dear.

On Monday afternoon on the 29th of July, a young man who I won’t name for his family’s sake entered a workshop for children based around yoga and dancing, with a Taylor Swift theme, that was located in Southport, Merseyside. He, for unclear reasons, committed a mass stabbing, most victims of which were children. Three little girls, none over the age of nine years old, were murdered whilst in attendance of this Taylor Swiift dance club. I do find myself particularly desensitised to news, especially true crime, but this was exceptional in that these were children engaging with music they loved on a considerable level, ensuing it as a passion.

I have spoken in great detail and nuance about Taylor’s art and public image but one thing that cannot be denied is that for many young people, Taylor will be the first popstar they know. She’ll be singing the first songs these kids recognise and love, perhaps the first album they listen to all the way through is a Taylor Swift record. For the 22 children there who did survive, that passion is now associated with the unjust slaughter of their friends. No motive has been identified as of yet, but as it stands, these three precious little girls were killed because they, and/or their parents, decided to engage with the music they enjoyed by attending a yoga and dance workshop revolving around an artist. There’s no grand statement to be made there other than that I’m heartbroken and horrified for the families and friends of the victim, as well as even Taylor, for this tragedy to emerge from something so innocuous.

I would have commented on this story regardless of its aftermath because of how tragic it is and through its connection to how pop music is consumed and appreciated in the UK. However, the reaction to this from a sector of society has made me sick to my stomach in ways that news has failed to do for a long time. I simply cannot comprehend how rioting and destroying the town these children called home and the families are living in during their grieving period, in the name of misinformation you found posted on X by anonymous far-right accounts, is in any way bringing closure to those affected by the tragedy. I don’t understand how attacking a mosque makes any difference when the murderer is a 17-year-old Rwandan. I really refuse to come to grips with how attacking the police already preoccupied with an unusual and exceptionally violent incident in an otherwise peaceful town that you have bussed over to in order to spread hatred, is going to bring the justice you speak of.

There is no defence for the violence committed during and after vigils for the deceased, by those who have so densely distorted the facts that this tragedy somehow becomes about them and their twisted, hateful ideology. For the racist pieces of shit who believe that any ethnicity or religion is the major factor behind these murders, I hope you know that you’ve been lied to. For those people, I hope you know that the same government you critique for controlling the media or whitewashing the “concerned” public, contains MPs  who have made it their career to manufacture vile rhetoric regarding immigration and feed it to you until you start believing in it. For those people, I hope that if you ever read, hear or watch the inevitable court trial for the murderer, that you see the parallels everyone else sees between you and him. For those people, I hope and pray that Hell’s best seats are available for when the lack of pushback in your echo chamber to your faux outrage flies you too close to the sun.

No amount of violence will ever give the fascists dignity. Children everywhere should be able to enjoy and further their passions without the fear of violence and hate encroaching on their ability to do so. I love pop music, and to think of a younger me or a younger version of any of my music-loving friends and acquaintances, being killed for caring about art, does not just sadden me but angers me in knowing that the next victim of violence will have their circumstances warped to fit worthless ideologues. Stay safe and thank you for reading.

[pandoradoesotherstuff]

How Your Companions Would Spend Christmas at Camp:

------------------------------------------

A/N: Happy holiday's everyone, no matter what you celebrate or don't celebrate! I hope you have a good time, irregardless. 🥰

This is just a fun little something because, although I'm in no way religious, I like this time of year. (To a certain extent. 😂😂)

Enjoy! ❤️

---------------------------------------------

Astarion:

Doesn't remember how he used to spend the holidays before.

Quite happy lounging about camp and telling everyone else how to decorate the tree properly. "It's blatantly obvious I have the best taste in camp, darling. You can't expect me to do the hard work and make the decisions. That's what our oh so fearless leader, Tav, is for".

Develops a taste for mulled wine and wonders aloud if mulled blood could/should be a thing.

Gale:

Absolutely loves the idea of spending Christmas altogether.

Suggests getting a tree because he can finally have one that Tara won't knock down.

Spends the entire day cooking with numerous fires and self stirring pots.

Backhandedly complains the entire time but then refuses anyone's help.

Falls asleep as soon as he's finished eating but insists he's merely just "resting his eyes".

Halsin:

Single handedly carries the tree into camp.

Doesn't need a ladder or a flight spell to place the star on top.

Insists he doesn't want a gift from anyone but loves the jar of honey Tav gave him and refuses to share.

Whittles everyone a personalised duck. I.e, Shadowheart's wears her Sharran circlet around its head. Astarion's has fangs. (Or should that be Goostarion.)

Karlach:

Is 100% the most enthusiastic for the celebrations.

Excitedly tells anyone who'll listen about her childhood Christmases.

Keeps cursing Zariel/Gortash for not being able to kiss anyone underneath the mistletoe.

Bursts into carols at any given point, although she doesn't remember most of the words to them, so instead, she makes it up as she goes. Scratch enjoys barking alongside her.

Lae'Zel:

Doesn't understand what this "crest-mass" is all about even after Karlach explains several times.

"This sounds like a frivolous waste of time. Istik children would be better off training as to avoid being slaughtered by their enemies."

" Bah...humbug? What does that mean? I've never come across such a word in any of the teachings. It may be very powerful to be so rare"

Starts to like the idea of "crest-mass" more when Tav gifts her a new heavy crossbow.

Shadowheart:

Pretends like she isn't that interested in the celebrations but finds herself humming along to carols she didn't know she knew. (Thanks Shar!)

Develops a taste for mulled wine along side Astarion.

Helps Karlach and Tav to decorate the tree, sad that it doesn't bring back any childhood memories like they have but keeps it to herself.

Gets (mulled) wine drunk before dinner and sleeps through the whole thing, wakes up just in time for dessert.

Wyll:

Heartily agrees that celebrating Christmas would be good "for morale".

Gets drunk after dinner and tries to dance with Lae'Zel. (She refuses)

Shares a sweet moment with Karlach after she gifts him a "horn care" kit.

"I've never been more glad to have missed my prey, Karlach. Mizora was wrong, you're anything but heartless.

Scratch:

Is absolutely the bestest boy ever. Enough said.

[hollybell51]

An angel loved you

Navigation, Supernatural

Castiel x Goddess of life!Reader (but it could be gn)

Supernatural (2005), pre-canon

Request by @slayingyourmomrn

Hey I don't know if your taking requests (I'm kinda new to requesting) but I was wondering if you could do head cannons of Castiel falling in love with reader who is the goddess of life? X

Word count: 1.4K

Content: very little to be warned about, maybe some vague body-horror-ish stuff (angel true forms) and mentioned/implied sexual content.

Notes: I love this idea so much! I haven't done head canons before, so I'm not actually sure how this went, and omg i had so many ideas! I ended up going with the one that worked most comprehensively as this format, in pre-canon, and I'm honestly not 100% happy with it but I'm also a perfectionist trying to be ok with things that aren't my magnum opus (you can tell lmao). Either way, I tried, I hope this is ok!

Life is old, almost as old as God and Amara. Definitely older than an angel, even the first angel ever created 

Earth was your favourite place to be, purely because there was so much life everywhere – single cells dividing exponentially, then clusters of cells all striving to grow, then the first real creatures, algae and lichen and fungi and plants, then fish and amphibians and reptiles and finally mammals and, of course, humankind

You loved watching humans grow and cultivate the land, almost as much as God himself

But with that came fighting, and killing, and destruction. You’d met Cas after such a slaughter, you didn’t remember which one, but there were angels and demons involved and you hated it. Hated how humans got caught in the crossfire of heaven’s battles as much as you hated the purely human violence

You’d never seen an angel who didn’t look totally content and exalted with any of heaven’s actions, but there he was: shoulders of his human vessel slumped, wings hanging limply all around him, many eyes rolling slowly over the world, brilliantly sharp rings spinning slowly around his core

You’d approached, a little hesitant, and had eventually voiced your own sadness at the destruction

The angel seemed surprised, then wary, but had agreed with you: it was senseless and costly, and the humans in the middle did nothing to warrant being caught there

After that first conversation (maybe too rich a term, since it had consisted mainly of you simply standing next to him, just coexisting) he’d come back to find you, wherever you were, and gradually you’d begun to seek him out wherever he was somewhere you could reach 

As a goddess, you didn’t feel things the way humans did. You were ancient, after all, and that kind of thing took a long, long time

It was at the close of world war two that anything had really happened between you and him

You were mourning the genocide of an innocent people, Castiel was chafing against heaven’s refusal to do anything about it – despite the obvious rise in demonic power and the evil of the whole thing 

He’d come to you, frustrated (though not yet rebellious) and had sought comfort in your presence, you in his 

“Do you think we can feel?” he’d asked, uncertainty tainting his ethereal glow. “Angels aren’t supposed to, but I see them suffering, I see them dying and I… I want to stop it from happening.” 

“I don’t know,” you’d said after a pause. Uncertainty and doubt were not things angels were supposed to experience. You didn’t even know that was possible until you’d met Castiel, but you supposed any prototype was going to be different. 

“Do you?” he’d asked, rings clicking and whirring

“Feel?” 

“Yes.”

You’d thought about that, then nodded. The ache at your centre when you looked over the mass graves and shredded, bloody uniforms was feeling, certainly. The warmth when you watched children playing in a garden was a feeling. Even the tingling heat inside you when Castiel was around, lower and deeper, was a feeling. 

“I’m feeling now,” you’d said. “Are you?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe. It’s… confusing. I don’t know how they deal with it every day.” 

You’d laughed at that. “I don’t think they do.” 

A couple of floating, glowing eyes had spun to focus on you, blinking slowly. Then something soft had brushed against your form and you’d looked down to see a wing sliding over you, gentle and almost… nervous?

You didn’t need to actually breathe, but you sighed anyway. It felt good to touch him, to have him touching you. You’d leaned into the wing and brushed what passed for a hand over it, and the two of you had stayed like that for a long time

Things had continued as per usual after that, but you touched more often. His form couldn’t hurt you, goddess that you were, and you liked not being confined to a human’s perception. He saw you as you were, as you really were, and you saw him too. Rings, wings, many heads and eyes and limbs, the whole shebang. 

Maybe you’d been spending too much time among humans, maybe you should have gone back to your roots on one of Chuck’s newer and younger worlds, or headed down to the simpler environment of the ocean or a forest

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere near the turn of the century, you realised that you loved Castiel, really loved him. It wasn’t like the love you felt for humans and plants and animals and life, either, it was hot and hard and roiled low inside you like hot syrup. And once the thought had occurred, you couldn't get it to go away

It was around this time that you melded your form into something substantial, still a goddess, but taking on a human appearance. It was heading into a harder time for gods and spirits, with new deities of money and technology and power and greed taking over. And climate change was wreaking havoc on your strength too, something Castiel seemed to realise – he was certainly spending more time with you

“I just feel so powerless all the time,” you sighed as you perched on one of his rings. The head of a deer stared back at you, then you blinked and it was a lion with snakes in its mane 

“You’re not powerless,” he told you. “I think other than God, you’re the most powerful being I’ve ever met.” 

“Thanks, Castiel. I just… I just wish that I was one of them, sometimes. Do you ever wish that?” 

Silence, then, “sometimes. I think it would be a lot simpler.” 

“Mhm. Just get born, grow, have babies, die. So simple.” 

He’d hummed, and the ring under you had cooled infinitesimally. You’d sat in silence for a while, then he’d asked, “do you really wish you were one of them?” 

“Huh?” 

“You said you sometimes wished you were one of them. Did you mean it?” 

You’d really had to think about that. It would be nicer, living a short life like that. Experiencing childhood. Falling in love with a person like you, marrying them, having a child. Growing a garden by hand and watering it every day. Cooking food because you needed it. Then dying when you got too old and life became too tiring. 

But then you’d only ever get to see what was in your lifetime, and on your limited plane of existence. You wouldn't get to watch a single cell turn into two, you wouldn’t remember the first fish crawling out of the sea, wouldn’t have met an angel, and certainly wouldn’t be sitting on him right now. 

“No,” you said, “not really.” You’d patted the ring under you, wobbling when a shining wing pushed at your back. “Besides,” you’d smiled, pushing the wing back. “I wouldn't get to do this.” 

“You’d be obliterated.” 

“Yeah. You’d have to find a vessel, and then I wouldn't be able to sit on you.” 

“I wouldn’t even know you existed if you were one of them,” he pointed out. 

“Maybe you’d be one too.” 

“Maybe. I wouldn’t like to be.” 

“Why?” 

“I wouldn’t get to see you.” 

That had flawed you for a second. 

“I love you too much to exist without knowing you.” 

You’d just smiled, reached out and taken a hand near you. “I love you too, Castiel.” 

After that, you were practically inseparable. You floated outside your form sometimes, with him, just to feel him on you, around you, in you. Sometimes, when he took a vessel, you’d share intimacy the way humans did

You discovered a love for sex with Castiel, in human form, where you could still see the rest of him beneath the surface and feel his grace all over you and inside your whole being 

You’d tell him you loved him, and he’d say it back to you, and sometimes you’d just get stuck in a cycle of “I love you”’s until one of you either flickered and became insubstantial, astronomical, ethereal, or was shut up by the other’s lips. Either way was fine with you

You were the goddess of life, and you were living, and you loved an angel. And an angel loved you. 

Taglist form here

[novankenn]

Steadfast, Immovable (1)

Chaos swarmed the Arc estate, a horde of grimm a size unlike the warrior family ever encountered rushed their walls and defenses. Auto-cannons, and auto-guns, roared to life, cutting great swaths through the closing mass of darkness. In the main yard, Nathaniel Arc and His wife Jasmine readied their weapons, as did their eldest children. About them, the staff piled into waiting transports with their families. Many wanted to stay behind, to stand with the family that treated them with so much respect and love. They wanted to protect this slice of peace and prosperity with everything they had.

“It’s time, husband.” Jasmine spoke formally as she readied her auto-gun. “We have need.”

“I know.” Nathaniel replied as he readied his chain sword. Adjusting his stance easily in his bulky power armor. “But is he ready? The strain it would put on him.”

“We face annihilation. He should be given the chance to stand with his family, to and face our final demise, like an Arc should. We stand together always, even in the face of inevitable death.”

“Then…” Nathaniel paused, as he touched the rosary hanging around his neck, and let his finger press in on the skull situated in the center of the Arc Crest. “So it shall be.”

/=/

“So, what is the situation in Ansel, Qrow?” Ozpin asked his long time friend and confidant as he sipped from his mug, while looking out the windows of his office.

“We found two survivors of the family, they were inside a bunker about five clicks from the estate with the rest of the town’s population. But the place is a disaster zone.” came Qrows steady voice over the speakers of Ozpin’s private terminal, even though the video feed was choppy.

“I see. So the Arc family?”

“They went down fighting, no way to tell how many they took with them, but I would say they more than lived up to their name and reputation, but we do have two Arcs who survived.”

“Survivors?” Ozpin bit his lip, a small sense of relief passed through him. “Who?”

“Saphron and Juniper; but there’s something else, Oz.”

“Else? What are you talking about?” Oz turned from the windows to look at his terminal, and the glitchy video feed.

“Picture, Ironwoods Prototype Paladin, but bigger, meaner and trigger-happy.”

“Qrow?”

“I don’t know how to explain it, Oz. There is stuff I’ve never thought existed, I mean weapons and power armor, the likes that would make Jimmy salivate. The Arc’s have some real weird shit out here, and that thing is included on that list.” Ozpin waited, watching Qrow wiping his face with a grime cover hand. “I think you should come out. I’d send a video feed, but the signal is shit, and it won’t stop trying to take our heads off.”

“The risks. If she found out I was out and about.”

“In this case, I think the risks are worth it.”

“I see.” Ozpin set his empty mug down on his desk, “Anything else, I should know?”

“A lot, but it's better you see it in person. I don’t know where this tech came from, but it outclasses anything I’ve ever seen.”

“And how are Juniper and Saphron?”

“How, do you think?  You have a two-year-old and a five-year-old who are just finding out their whole family was slaughtered.” Qrow paused, Opin saw him take a swig from his flask. “Physically, they seem to be unharmed, as far as we can tell. Emotionally and mentally, I have no idea.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oz, get your ass out here. Sums is with the girls. But I need help. Whatever this thing is, it won’t let anyone in to examine the bodies, or set foot near the main compound. I think it has some type of AI, and probably a whole host of tech that’s letting it counter any move I make.”

“I’ll see what I can…”

“Don’t see, Oz. Just do it.” Qrow snapped, “I’m going to make a perimeter check, while Sum stays at the bunker with the girls. Get here soon, and bring some help.”

“I’ll have Glynda arrange a bullhead for us. We should be there early this evening.”

“Be better if you brought more than just Glynda… be ready for weird shit.”

“Do really think that is necessary?”

“At least bring Bart.” Qrow replied, “I should do that patrol.  See you when you get here.”

Ozpin nodded in response as the call was ended. Taking a deep breath as he let his ind try to fathom why this had happened, he sent both Glynda and Bart a message requesting that they meet him at the bullhead pads in an hour. Regardless of why, the result was the same. A stalwart and valuable compatriot in his secret war had been removed from the board; and Vale’s southern border was now undefended. /== Table of Contents ==/

A/N I will say this now. All I know about Warhammer 40k is from youtube, so if I screw anything up... please be gentle or point me in the right direction. I have no clue if I'll do more than what I have posted now... I'm mentally drained and sort of sifting through old content to post things to show I'm not totally MIA.

[dappledpaintbrush]

Full honest options on dimentio?

Looks at you like this

Autistic Answer: OHH YM GODODDODHRKEJTJTKTJR LAYS FLAT ON MY BSCK ON A HIGHWAY HESSOOO FUCKINGGNCOOOOOL RUNS FULL SPEED AT A. BRICK WALL AND JUMPS THROUGH LEAVING A CLOUD OF DUST AND A SHAPE OF MYSELF IN THE WALL IN MY WAKE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH HES SO INTERESTING AND LOSER PILLED I NEED HIM EMBROIDERED ON MY ARM

Autistic Answer:

Okay so at the start of my spm special interest when I was a tiny little googoogaga baby (seven years old) Dimentio was just. This guy. Evil and shit but just a guy. But he was MY guy. I don’t remember beating the game that young. I seriously think I gave up on the yold desert puzzle and just binged koopakungfu let’s plays over and over again but regardless I remember the aftermath and GODDDDDDDDDD I was so indescribably enamored with this Thing . it was REVOLTING.

Now as a near 19 year old I can’t think about him or the game in general without having to stop drop and roll but at the end of the day, Dimentio is still just some guy. But in the morning and the afternoon he’s a fucking idiot. Like you absolute goofiest of goobers, all you had to do was teleport the heroes to Dimension D and wait everything out. That shit is why he’s currently burning in hell. Not for mass murder or being annoying but for the stupidest plan I have ever heard in my entire life. He is also one of the most intriguing characters ever made in the Mario franchise.

Like okay. You are given this purple and yellow triangular smudge on your screen and you go “hmm… (scratches chin) something is Wrong With This Animal. It Might be Sick.” And of course he ends up betraying the sympathetic tragic villain Bleckie Bear and dies (thank GOD) whatever credits roll NO!!!!

FIRST. This guy tells you Bleck has lied about creating new worlds. That is . THAT IS!!! Now he could be lying but he could also NOT be. After all, what other motivation would he have for betraying Bleck? All the worlds to himself perhaps …………………. That’s the thing. You don’t know . That’s this entire character.

You

DONT.

KNOW.

Anything he says and anything about him is either a blatant lie, COULD be a lie, COULD be the truth, or is vague 3,000 year old information given from this dude in a bar that may or may not even be about Dimentio. He is LITERALLY wearing a mask. A TWO FACED MASK might I add.

Nintendo doesn’t lay out his story for you on screen like they do with Bleck. If you don’t take the time to explore, Dimentio will never be more than Bleck’s silly and funny-talking minion who betrayed him out of greed or.. whatever reason. Because he didn’t say it. No no- You have to go out of your way to investigate and pay money and put pieces of this puzzle together to find out that hurt people hurt people (🤓)

He could be some random bloke. He could the descendant of this sad unnamed character and somehow “never found happiness” whatever THAT means. He could be THE sad unnamed character that went through an accident so devastating that it left his mother dead and it left everyone believing HE was dead. This accident, whatever it was, was so horrifying that Dimentio, who can teleport across dimensions, was unable (by choice or not) to find and tell his remaining family he was alive. After his “death”, his sister would die as well. Their father, likely going insane with unimaginable grief, would rip her soul from the afterlife just to keep his only child- the only family he had left- with him, oblivious to the fact that somewhere, his son was still alive. This little girl, now forever trapped as a Pixl, would become so angry at what her father had done that she would start a war and slaughter ANYONE that tried to get in her way. The Pixl Queen- this angry, scared, and confused child- would lose once more. She would be destroyed. All she is now is a shadow of her former self. And that’s what she would reform as in the pits below an Ancient city, where, at the hands of our heroes, she would lose AGAIN. Dimentio could be oblivious to all of this. He could know a fraction of it. He could know all of it. He could hold no guilt. He could blame himself for what had happened to her, for he had been gone all those years- whatever that means.

He could want to destroy everyone and everything out of personal gain- to recreate them all in his image and rule them as he sees fit all because he is a greedy narcissist. He could want to destroy everyone and everything because, like Blumiere, he sees no point in anything after losing all he loved in all worlds. Maybe he betrayed Blumiere because Dimentio wanted to rule a timeline that goes his way and ONLY his way. Maybe “his way” is where he gets all he wanted in riches, in wealth, in a population that essentially worships him, and so on. After all, he does say that he wants to be king of all worlds. Maybe that isn’t everything he wants. After all, he doesn’t just wipe out everyone in all dimensions and create mindless followers using the Dark Prognosticus that is capable of doing that exact thing. No. Like Blumiere, Dimentio, too, wants the worlds gone. Erased. All of them. The worlds that caused that accident. killed his mom. “killed” him. killed his sister. And in these self-described and self-created perfect new worlds, his timeline, his way, where he can create anything and anyone he wants- maybe he isn’t alone anymore. Whatever that means.

In my full honest opinion, I think he is SO .FUCKING. COOL.

[capybaracorn]

World Refugee Day 2024: Different Generations, Same Dispossession in Gaza

20 June 2024

Abu Kefah stands on a dune overlooking an IDP encampment. © 2024 UNRWA Photo by Fadi Thabet

This World Refugee Day, Palestine Refugees in Gaza are struggling to survive a humanitarian tragedy that, for the older generations, is a chilling echo of their past dispossession.

Young and old alike continue to survive - holding on to their right to exist - amid unspeakable violence of nearly nine months of war.

Abu Kefah Qadih, is an 81-year-old Palestine Refugee from Khan Younis. He has weathered forced displacement not once, but twice in his lifetime. As a child, he endured the horror of the Nakba – the mass displacement and dispossession of Palestinians during the 1948 Arab-Israeli war.  Now he has been forced to witness the dispossession of his own grandchildren. Together they are currently living through the same ordeal he knew too well as a child. This heart-wrenching reality leaves the elderly man profoundly shaken, shattering any hope he may have held that his family could be spared such a cruel fate.

"The scenes I witnessed as a child are being repeated with my own grandchildren," he laments, his voice trembling with raw emotion. "Watching helplessly as people flee from death, forced to live in tattered tents, clinging to the desperate hope of one day returning home - it shatters my heart to witness this horrific cycle unfolding all over again, this time impacting my own family," Abu Kefah says.

Abu Kefah in an IDP encampment in Gaza. © 2024 UNRWA Photo by Fadi Thabet

His aged eyes reflect the weariness of a lifetime burdened by unrelenting displacement and loss. "Many have been killed, their homes reduced to rubble, but still we remain steadfast, accepting God's will," he affirms as a tear escapes from his eye, a potent testament of the profound sorrow etched into his weathered face.

Hajjeh Zainab sits in an UNRWA IDP shelter. © 2024 UNRWA Photo by Fadi Thabet

Hajjeh Zainab, 88, is another al Nakba survivor from Beersheba. Her family fled the once peaceful grazing land they called home for the Maghazi area of southern Wadi Gaza in 1948.

Before the Nakba, her family cultivated the land and lived off the livestock they raised, such as sheep, goats, and camels. Hajjeh Zainab recalls, "We used to honor guests and welcome them into our homes and on our lands from which we were forced to flee. We always used to say, 'May God grant us a guest before the sun sets,' such was our love for honoring guests. These are the traditions of the Bedouins in the tribes of Beersheba, and we, the good people of this land, lived a simple life filled with love, harmony, and happiness,” she says. “But in one night and one day, gangs attacked us, killed us, slaughtered our children, families, and men, and forced us to leave our homes under the threat of fire, killing, and massacres,” she laments.

Now she is enduring renewed displacements.“We were displaced from our homes in the Maghazi area to schools in Nuseirat. For eight months, we did not leave the school because we could not find a safe place, and we had no options or alternatives. We lived in the school, which [went on to be] bombed several times. We experienced all forms of suffering, fatigue, and fear. Most of us were injured by shrapnel and fire while we were sleeping in our rooms. We believed that the shelters, being run by UNRWA, would be safe, but even the schools were bombed and targeted,” she says.  

“Our homes were targeted, and large blocks were completely wiped out. We lost many relatives, neighbors, and friends. We lost the livestock and poultry we raised, and our lands that we cultivated with our sweat were bulldozed. The most tragic moment was when the school we had taken refuge in was bombed, reminiscent of the fear and horror of our displacement in 1948,” Hajjeh Zainab says. “The remains and body parts were scattered in the schoolyard. It was a terrifying and shocking scene. The cries for help from the injured, the victims, children, men, and women echoed, but we were not rescued until much later, by which time most had lost their lives, lying in the schoolyard, corridors, and classrooms.”

Despite the horrors she has lived through, Hajjeh Zainab conveys a strong message, emanating resilience and willpower, “We call on all countries to stand with us and compensate us, as we have been living through tragedy since the Nakba of 1948. We have lived through calamities since the Nakba until now, we are tired of sorrow, grief, death, and torment. We have lived through the Nakba many times in long and different chapters. Our memories, homeland, and homes were lost during the Nakba. And here is a new Nakba, repeating the same scene but on a larger scale. Our homes and memories are lost, and we have lost family and friends,” she says.

“Until when will we live these tragedies? Do we not have the right, as humans, to live a small part of life? I have reached the age of 88 and have never seen such devastation. There is no difference between one tent and another; we are all in the same misery,” she laments.

Nur in an UNRWA IDP shelter. © 2024 UNRWA Photo by Fadi Thabet

Sadly, yet another generation of Palestine Refugees will carry the trauma like that shouldered by Hajjeh Zainab and Abu Kefah Qadih.  Nur Ziyad, 14, is from Beit Lahia, in the northern region of the Gaza Strip. She recounts her own harrowing experience of dispossession, when intense shelling hit her family home. A neighbouring four-story building collapsed on to her house, and Nur and her family of 10 found themselves taking shelter in an UNRWA clinic in Jabalia refugee camp.

Amid the shelling and fires, Nur was constantly worried for her family’s safety, grasping onto her mother’s hand tightly for fear of losing her. Conditions at the clinic were difficult, more than 80 people crammed into a single classroom, all of them lacking food, water, and basic necessities. After thirty days of continuous fear and danger from the nearby shelling, the family decided to move south, coerced by Israeli Forces evacuation orders.

They walked from the north through a military checkpoint near Wadi Gaza, witnessing decomposed and dog-mauled bodies along the way. After crossing the checkpoint, they continued to Nuseirat and then to Rafah by truck. On the way, she saw children crying from lack of food and water, the journey to Rafah taking two whole days.

When she reached Tel al-Sultan, she had no tents, tarps, or plastic sheets, and while crossed the checkpoint, Israeli Forces ordered her to discard all her bags, clothes, and phone.  People informed her and her family about a school in East Rafah, so they walked for a day to reach it, spending the night outdoors. Someone gave them a blanket that they shared amongst the ten of them, combatting the severe cold of the night. Thankfully, the school in East Rafah provided them with shelter, however food is scarce and insufficient for the needs of Nur and her siblings. They’ve often had to wait in long lines to collect morsels.

Susan in an UNRWA IDP shelter. © 2024 UNRWA Photo by Fadi Thabet

Susan, 12, also carries the burden of trauma of the generation of Palestine Refugees before her. "I will never forget those scattered remains everywhere...I lost contact with my friends and don't know who among them is still alive. I miss my soulmate, Lama,” she says.

“In the early days of the war, Israeli Forces demanded that we leave our home, but my father didn't comply. We didn't know where to go, as we had no other place. When the unpredictable shelling in our neighborhood intensified, we were forced to flee from Shuja'iyya to a school in Khan Younis,” she recounts. “A few days later, that school was bombed. I rushed to search for my father in the corridors, all filled with the dead and injured. I will never forget seeing scattered remains everywhere. I kept calling for my father until I found him. I hugged him and couldn't believe he was still alive!” Susan recalls harrowingly.

“I dream that the war will stop and that we can return to our lives as they were. I miss the gatherings for tea, manakish, and…everything,” she says.

Around 1.7 million people - more than seven out of every 10 people in the Gaza Strip - are currently displaced by the war, with many of them having been forced to flee multiple times.

https://www.unrwa.org/newsroom/features/world-refugee-day-2024-different-generations-same-dispossession-gaza