#to hell with stain's philosophy

[jahnavisurenda-21]

Hazbin Hotel||Alastor X Reader||Stress Relief

Take a deep breath, before you yell at some poor face who just happens to have the misfortune to walking in to one of your days, where everything seems to be going south.

This seemed to have taken one of the most bizarre turns you could have ever imagined, you had no idea why you had agreed to such a trivial, petty matter.

Oh! Now you remember it was Charlie, who had clasped your hand looked at you with the doe eyes which reminded you of some of the Korean shows you watched as a teen and young adult.

You would admire the eye makeup, the most because once your dad who had been a makeup artist had told his philosophy of makeup to look absolutely flawless, the eyes and lips should be standing out the most.

Totally irrelevant, you didn't understand the point of recalling this faint memory of your dad. You wished you could just go back to your suburban house, in the mountainside feel the spring flowers touch your skin again, you can't believe you once hated them.

Well, you always, miss what you once never cherished and lost.

"Coming this far, can't believe all the messed-up hotel mess is on Y/n." Angel dust once told Alastor, "The civil examinations study there and study even after your dead!"

"A what now?" Alastor questioned, "Oh! you didn't know? Not very bad now, are you?" Niffty asked, climbing on Alastor.

"What exams?" Alastor had asked once again, pushing Niffty from his shoulder,

"You always are the last person to know about anything are you? Don't you have like special powers or something which you can spy on anyone?"

Alastor looked at them like he was just about to lose his smiling grin, but of course smile is the best makeup.

"So, you know right Heaven is facing some economical crisis they spent so much time providing the 'perfect after life' guess the angels forgot money doesn't exactly grow on trees." Angel said sarcastically. But some hints of satisfaction could be made out.

"How exactly is this related to Y/n now?"

"You seriously don't know anything." Vaggie interjected, "When you had mysteriously run of in one of your 'expeditions' Adam the asshole came to the hotel, not for the execution apparently in the weekly magazine or something in heaven there was about a mysterious economist, or a business manager who was really good at managing expenses and could stabilize the afterlife."

"Well that turned out nicely did it not?"

"Ugh!" Vaggie hit her head, "No you egocentric, piece of shi--"

"Don't try that with me." Alastor warned,

"Yeah yeah she's really good." Angel finished, "It was tracked to Y/n, now heaven knows that Y/n is still choosing to be in hell, Now they want her there in heaven."

"To help them manage there life."

"Y/n has to write a civil exam the hardest one, or else they would attack the hotel."

"Well they don't know who they are messing with."

You sniffled, "Can't do this anymore." You murmured, "Want to die."

"Now my dear, is that a word you should use when you are literally saving the hotel?" Alastor appeared like the shadow, like always.

"Alastor?" You slowly poked your head from the blanket, "Why dear you're a mess!" Alastor said moving next to you on the bed,

"Can I put my head on your lap?" You asked, he nodded cheerfully.

"So why did you agree to this my dear?"

"I didn't want to fail everyone the extermination is already scheduled earlier than expected I didn't want to crush Charlie's dream."

"You're working really hard, without sleeping, isn't that concerning? It's concerning me."

"Thank god your here!" You said,

Alastor put a hand on your tear-stained cheeks.

"It's time for a little rest. Dear."

"I can't the exam is in three more days I think, I don't know how time works in hell."

"If That Adam guy keeps bothering you, I'll just remind him why I am here."

You laughed, "I'm sure you will."

You kissed his cheek, "Thank you."

"Never forget to smile my dear, and now take care."

He switched of the lights, and saw you instantly hold him close before cuddling up to him, he really knew how to make you loosen up a bit.

[brucewaynehater101]

Love the blog! I have been thinking about what would be interesting ways for Jason to slowly adopt a 'no killing' philosophy. I want it to do nothing with Bruce Wayne or the Batfam (the self realisation is so so so much better,, plus I don't want it to be like... him forsaking his philosophy for... just family stuff, it has to be more) and I've been loving reading ur blog for the past few days so I was wondering if u have any thoughts on it.

I really liked Beast World's approach on it 😭😭, smth like that!! I also like the approach of how killing is actually vvv hard on Jason, and how he maybe uses it as sh sometimes. Interesting stuff methinks !!!!

Hi 👋 Thank you ^^ Very interesting premise!

Tw: Death, purposefully giving someone permanent disability, torture (?), let me know if I need to add more

I do think this depends on Jason's characterizing, but the main problem with Jason switching over to not killing is his main ideology with it:

The prison system is not adequately preventing hardcore repeat offenders from committing heinous crimes

It feels... Disingenuous if Jason just stops killing without this major flaw being fixed. Yes, maybe you could go, "It is not your job to harm yourself like that for everyone else," but he is a Bat. Giving their entire being to the cause is what they do.

In order for Jason to stop killing, he would need proof that other methods are working. Here's a few suggestions:

Blackgate/Arkham reform [and no one escapes for over a year]

Inhumane procedures/failsafes against high-risk criminals (such as bomb in the head, loss of limb, impairment, heavy medication use, brainwashing, etc.) [Wouldn't be killing, though]

Legal system fixing [would take years to implement, though]

Dangerous criminals shipped off to the Phantom Zone or some other virtually inescapable place

Some of these methods are impossible without the batfam, though :/

There is one ideology I can see Jason adapting in the meantime, however.

If they die, they stop suffering.

As long as someone puts the little notion into his brain, it will get the ball rolling. He would start to morph from killing shots to permanent injuries. Not only would this affect their quality of life, but their medical bills will become expensive. It's also a permanent reminder of what they've done (I'm not arguing for this method. This is a reflection of what might change his mind to refrain from killing).

As he slows or stops killing, he may find this to be preferable (lessens the blood staining his hands).

I also think the Outlaws could help him with these realizations. They may kill as well, but that would allow Jason to have open and honest communication about the costs.

Jason could also use his tactical prowess for designing personal hells for every person he deems worthy of it (like the real disgusting jerks out there).

In the end, he would refrain from killing unless he deems it necessary for his, his teammates, or civilians' safety.

As far as using killing being a form of SH, I can agree with that idea depending on the circumstances/how it's interpreted.

We could see how killing takes a literal tax on his soul, but I'd prefer to analyze how killing harms his relationships/support system (not talking about his friends. We stan them and their unwavering support).

The Bats, his family, are actively against killing. This is not an argument of whether they should or not. This is a statement about their boundaries. Jason knows that the Bats are against killing and that maintaining a relationship with them while killing would be extremely arduous, or, in some iterations, impossible.

We could argue whether or not Jason should even be part of the Batfam (for his own sake) or how he may have hoped they'd love him in spite of that. We could debate on how much Jason's independent actions should affect the Bats considering their vigilante status vs their family status.

Those are all separate but vital arguments.

Bottom line, Jason knew/knows that killing is a HUGE point of contention. How the others react (and, in some cases, they react horribly) is besides the point.

So, if Jason is trying to play nice with his family by not murdering anyone, he could easily jeopardize himself/his relationships by killing again (this is not a discussion about how the Bats react/what Jason deserves). In one action, he would destroy everything.

I've seen a lot of fics where Jason renegades his agreement due to one of his family members being hurt. He ends up killing again due to the severity of the perpetrator's actions against his loved one(s). This is fabulous angst.

However, I haven't really seen one analyzing Jason killing again because of his low self-esteem. After months of not killing, he relapses in an effort to push everyone away from him with the eventual goal of impersonating a dumpster fire.

In this scenario, Jason kills again to scream, "Look! Can't you see? I am the monster I think I am. I don't deserve love/kindness. I don't deserve you."

Thus, him killing in these circumstances is actively harming himself and fucking up his life. A good batfam would communicate and help him through this. A bad batfam would allow Jason to distance himself or, worse, provide the punishment he feels he deserves (i.e. being banished from Gotham, being locked up, etc).

But, overall, I agree. Jason shouldn't change his methods just for his family. It's an important piece of his identity as a vigilante. He, as a murder victim, believes that death is justice for those wronged. While not all victims would agree to this, it is how Jason feels. He no doubt would be relieved and less fearful if the Joker was dead.

[donutwatches]

MHA 2.17 - Climax - part 2

This is a first watch of MHA, no spoilers please.

Imagine talking to sunshine boy Iida this way. Stain's philosophy has enough logic to be compelling, but his standards for heroes are impossibly high. No one is perfect and heroes should not be murdered for having human flaws.

Todoroki is out here spitting vocab AND truth. I do not even have to understand a word he just said to know he is laying out facts.

Ah yes, this is Shoto- You Have Been My Friend For 5 Minutes, And Now I Will Roast Villains To Their Face For You- Todoroki.

He is only a high school student. He is still learning! He is so harsh on himself. His brother was injured in a forever life-altering way and lashing out is normal. I got chills watching him stand back up to fight!

Ah yes, this is Tenya - You Have Been My Friend For 5 Minutes, And Now I Will Run In Front Of Flying Daggers For You - Iida.

This is so smart! I love it when this show comes up with such creative uses for quirks.

GET WRECKED! This had the best action of the show thus far. It got bouncing in my chair.

I have nothing to say about this screencap. It is just funny. Look at these three idiots. Look at them.

He got humbled by 3 high school kids. They iced him, literally. Being wrapped up in ice like that would hurt like hell. GOOD.

Click here for part 3

Click here for the masterlist

[mauesartetc]

Faux-compositing Hazbin Hotel for more visual clarity

A while back I recolored a screenshot from the Hazbin Hotel pilot to make the overall palette look more cohesive. Here’s the original:

And here’s the result.

And I figure, hey, that was fun, and folks (myself included) seemed to learn from it. Why not make some more? If you subscribe to the “every frame a painting” philosophy, this is the post for you.

I’ve always had two criticisms regarding Hazbin’s colors:

1. There’s entirely too much red in the environment. I know it’s Hell, but this is really overbearing. There are ways to make the setting feel oppressive other than bombarding viewers’ eyes, y’know?

2. The background characters have so many disparate palettes that they don’t feel like they belong in the setting. This could’ve been avoided by giving the fans who designed the characters a master palette to use as a guideline. Here’s the one I used for my hellhound designs:

It contains colors derived from canon Helluva Boss characters, which makes the new ones feel like they fit in the same world rather than hailing from completely different shows. For the faux-composite above, I sampled colors from Charlie and the background, and used them to rework the surrounding characters. For other shots, though, I may use the hellhound palette as needed since Helluva Boss is set in the same universe.

Let’s get to it!

To start with, there’s a lot going on in this scene. We have a detailed foreground character, a detailed background, and a middle ground character caught between them. In the left side of the frame, it’s hard to read the wolfman’s silhouette against the background elements since their values are so similar. Meanwhile, the cowboy stands out fine for the most part, though his hat brim gets a bit lost in the trim of the building behind him. So basically I needed a way to make all three layers look distinct from one another.

I settled on cloaking most of the background in shadow and doing the same for the cowboy, except for rim lighting and a glow from his cigarette to highlight his face. The wolfman and cart full of bodies have minimal shading; enough to give them some dimension but not so much that they blend in with everything behind them.

We then have more background characters to deal with at the news station:

In these cases, I simply painted over the crowd with purple on a couple Multiply layers (same as my initial recolor of these folks), erasing bits here and there to suggest rim lighting and glowing eyes. Charlie’s silhouette stands out much more clearly now that the heightened value contrast has cemented her as the focus.

I tried a similar approach with the demons outside the TV store:

While there was never any doubt that Alastor was the focal point here, I felt the ancillary characters’ color schemes could be more unified, and that their shading could reflect the light sources surrounding them (mainly the TVs in front of them, and the fire surrounding the horned skull demon). I also felt the wall on the right was blending in too much with the background, so I threw on some shading to make it pop.

Now we get to Charlie’s phone call:

I found it odd that the stained glass in the doors was illuminated from the inside when the previous scenes showed us that the hotel was dark. We did see a check-in desk with functional lights, but it was located waaaay down the hall from these doors. Thus, the glass is now in shadow, with some added texture on the edges to suggest its thickness.

Charlie is now also covered in shadow to fit the gloomy mood of the scene, though the rim lighting and her unshaded eyes keep her separate from the background.

Finally, the skyscraper windows in the second screenshot were way too bright, which gave them a contrast that drew attention away from Charlie. It’s never a good sign when animation backgrounds upstage the characters. So I slapped some color on them and shaded that front row of buildings to boost the overall gloom factor.

Then, Alastor arrives:

Given the darkness of the previous scene in the same location, I figured it’d make sense to kill the lights in the awning for this one. And now that most of the hotel is in shadow, Charlie and Alastor stand out a lot more (especially Alastor’s hand, which was practically invisible against the red wall). It really helps that the saturated yellow of the awning is toned down so it won’t be such an eye trap any longer.

Alastor makes himself at home:

...And the hyper-detailed background threatens to swallow him up.

Look, guys- I get that you’re proud of your rendering skills and all, and it’s admirable that you put so much love and care into these layouts. But, y’know, we don’t have to see the whole thing, especially not at the cost of the final frame. The portraits and wallpaper are especially distracting, battling Alastor for visual dominance. A little shading ensures Alastor is the focus without obscuring the portraits completely. Let ‘em be fun Easter eggs fans can study when they pause the video, not the stars of the show.

Alastor then regards the two grumps on the couch:

There was a noticeable lack of shading in this scene (except the default shadows on what I’m guessing were 3D models), making everything look flat. With the help of my good friend the Multiply layer, I gave the background some dimension and brought the characters forward.

Vaggie warns Charlie that Alastor is bad news, and Charlie takes it into consideration:

Again, we have the issue of background portraits attempting to steal the characters’ thunder. In the second screenshot, look at how much those bright greens and cyans stick out like a sore thumb against the dusky pink of everything else. Was it really necessary to keep all the colors of that illustration exactly how they were for the final product?

To remedy this, I desaturated the portrait’s colors and skewed them towards red so the image would better fit the context of the scene. And parts of the picture frame next to it were blending into the wall, so I added some shading there to make it stand out more.

Sometimes, changes made to a confined area can make a world of difference:

I muted the bright greens of the balloon and the flag so their saturation wouldn’t dominate everything else in the scene (again, eye traps), and shaded the stuff behind Alastor so his side of the frame wouldn’t look so busy.

I used similar tactics for when Niffty enters the picture:

For the first screenshot, I plunged the left side of the background into darkness, shaded the center with mainly lighter colors, and left the right side alone since that’s where the light emanated from. This resulted in a sort of gradient effect in the shading, which let Alastor and Niffty pop out a lot more.

In the second screenshot, the vase on the right was a bit distracting in how detailed it was compared to its surroundings, and it was the only pink thing in the frame besides Niffty. I shaded it so it wouldn’t steal the spotlight without disappearing completely. There was also the matter of adding shadows to the rest of the environment, particularly the stretch of hearth the firelight doesn’t touch, and the skeletons on either side of the furnace’s opening. Just some little touches to help the world feel more solid.

Then we meet Husk, and things get tricky.

Husk’s bar was a challenge due to its plethora of light sources. The green rim lights on Husk and Alastor suggest the light’s coming from the green blackjack table, but then we also have light coming through the window, lights in the sockets of the skulls above the bar, a yellow glow from the top of the bar itself, and a faint green glow from the top edges of the wooden wall. And in the third screenshot, the window grabs a lot of attention since it’s almost smack in the center of the frame and it sports some pretty saturated colors.

I did my best to shade things in a believable manner without using too much of a single color. I’m happy with how the purple worked to tone down the window, though I might change the brightness of the blackjack table. It’s still pretty saturated and a bit distracting from Husk and Alastor, though at least they stand out from the wall a bit better.

Now for the part where things get PINK:

Like wow, SO much pink. Holy hell.

I layered some yellow over Charlie and Alastor’s faces, bodies, and limbs so they’d be more discernible from the background, with extra emphasis on their faces to show just how enraptured they are during this musical number. I even left some glow in the negative space between them, representing how connected they are in this moment. Two auras become one. Or something. (Look, I am by NO means a Charlastor shipper; I just think a little more creativity in the visuals of a dance scene could convey more energy and chemistry between the partners. Especially when everything on screen is this monochromatic, like damn.)

Anyway, Sir Pent is here.

That blue in the tunnel of his airship was WAY saturated, and while the reds and yellows barely managed to pop out against it, I thought I’d give them more of a fighting chance. The body of the ship is also more consistently shaded to make it feel 3D, and I added some rim lights to the tips of Pent’s hood so they’d stand out against the dark tunnel.

But Alastor’s eldritch horrors dispose of Pent in pretty short order:

The extremely light glow on the left side of this screenshot caused the hotel to compete with the tentacles for dominance. And once again, there was the matter of the skyscraper windows being so bright they drew too much attention to themselves. I colored these windows with the same orange as the sky behind them, cloaked the hotel in shadow, kept a yellowish glow around the characters, and darkened the evil spirits to make them pop out.

Finally, we get the characters’ reactions to what just occurred:

Figured I’d handle both the normal lighting and the “horror” lighting for this scene. The normal version’s pretty simple: Color in more skyscraper windows, eliminate that weird ray of light that seems to come from nowhere, darken the top of the sky for more contrast with the characters, add some rim lights to Alastor to make his form more clearly defined, and remove the pentagram planet-thingy that looked like it was awkwardly resting on Husk’s hat.

The horror lighting involved some of the same steps, but with more addition than subtraction. The glow from the tentacle demons now hits our characters, lending them a greater sense of volume. Light purple shadows on the gang in the back offset the yellow glow, and Alastor now sports reflections in his shaded areas. There’s no character animation in the transition between the terror and the levity, so if a person wanted to paint this stuff in After Effects, then fade out its opacity to reach the regular lighting, they easily could. Hell, you know what?

Do with this information what you will.

So what’s the takeaway here? I guess, in a nutshell: Don’t let your animation backgrounds upstage the characters. Don’t make them so intricate or busy or saturated that they hog the spotlight. They don’t need to wow the audience with how impressive they are; they just need to serve the story.

Will the Hazbin series learn from past mistakes (including those made in Helluva Boss)? Fingers crossed. As always, I hope y’all found this post insightful or enlightening in some way. See you in the next one!

[miracles-and-butterflies]

Will Mirabel actually talk with Luisa about this?

“What the hell have you done?!”

Looking between the two dead bodies of some sleazy teenage boys, the blood staining fresh grass, and then her younger sister, Luisa didn’t see the issue. She was going to kill them anyways, but as soon as she saw them catch up to Mirabel and pawing at her, she only became more driven. The adrenaline was pumping through her vines, more powerful than caffeine had ever been.

“I’m keeping you safe, hermanita,” she said, gently. She wiped some of the sweat and blood from her brow and didn’t bat an eye at the stain on her fingers or the sight on the ground; Mirabel looked like she was about to be sick. “It’s my job to protect Encanto, it always has been, you know that. Especially for you, as your elder sister. I protect you from everything, I can keep you safe.”

The amber eyes struggled to look away. Granted, it wasn’t much better to look anywhere else.

Luisa had turned the area into her own graveyard of rotting corpses; most of which could no longer be identified. But there was one thing she knew for certain, she was yet to catch Isabela. Her older sister had always been so awful. But every time Luisa seems to lure her out here, the moment she’s finished, she’s holding some random townsperson’s dead body. Of course. It would only be right that Isabela slipped out of justice like the serpent she was.

“This is wrong,” Mirabel whimpered, struggling to get a word out.

She shook her head, smiling a bit. “No, it’s not. Check your little philosophy books. You said something about ‘necessary evils’ once. That’s what this is.” That got Mirabel to lift her head. “See? It’s okay. Now, how did you find out about all this?”

Mirabel didn’t say anything. Even as Luisa approached and repeated the question. She took a few small steps backwards, stumbling a little.

“Don’t run, hermanita. I’d hate for you to get hurt.” Luisa called.

It was something so normal, something she had probably heard Luisa say a thousand times before. But hearing it now, with everything else, sounded so vile to Mirabel. She remained rooted in place, her heart beating rapidly inside her chest.

“I’m not mad, Mirabel. I could never be mad at you. I just want to know,” Luisa insisted, smiling, now in front of her younger sister. She reached a hand out, ignoring Mirabel jerking away from her touch - not that she had anywhere to go - and brushing a hand through dark curls. “You always were so very clever. Have so much going on it that clever head of yours. Did you work it out yourself, brains?” And tugging, “Or did a little birdie prompt you?”

The little squeak Mirabel let out, probably more from pain than anything else, was answer enough for Luisa. She grumbled, gritting her teeth audibly. Fucking Dolores. If that’s how Dolores wants to play, then fine. Camilo is a good enough reason to test out the axe she stole.

She retracted her hand from Mirabel’s hair, instead securing it around her shoulders. She guided Mirabel back to the path. “No matter! Let’s get you back home, nice and safe.”

“N-no.”

“No?”

“I.. I don’t…” Mirabel tried pulling from Luisa’s grip. It was futile. “Luisa, this is very wrong. You aren’t okay. We need to get help. Someone will be able to—”

“Oh! You always were so precious with your motherly fussing,” Luisa cooed. She pet her hand over Mirabel’s head, before grabbing a handful of curls and pulling them taut. Mirabel wailed, forced to make eye contact. “I don’t need help,” she growled. “I have never felt better. And you aren’t going to say a word to anyone. Everyone already thinks you’re one step from an asylum after Antonio’s party, nobody would believe anything you said. Let me do what I need to do, to keep you safe, and that snitch might keep her life.”

[chipen]

i been thinking... i been thinking thoughts.

atsuhiro is something of villain royalty - being the great great grandson of the peerless thief. with the rise of heroes through the generations however, by the time the sako family gave birth to atsuhiro himself - i think society had shifted enough that any allegiance towards the bandit king is more kept hush, hush. while the sako's still maintained oji's last philosophies - his parents likely thought it was a 'moot point' to attempt to steal from the heroes and dismantle hero society as aggressively when the world was so deeply entrenched. atsuhiro didn't tho!

while the whole family was gifted on the entertainment front - atsuhiro is probably the most gifted. exceptional with stage magic, escape artistry, gymnastics (aerial and otherwise), silks, even the trapeze and singing - atsuhiro lights up a stage whenever he steps on it. he knows it too.

stealing is... very easy for him. not only because of his quirk but frankly atsuhiro is smart. painfully so. he could pick pocket someone who is watching him do it, and still get away with it. THAT SAID -

atsuhiro's philosophies still follow oji's 'robin hood-esque' motifs - but with an edge of darkness. he doesn't have the same capability of stealing from the rich ( wealthy heroes, support companies, etc ) to give back to the poor. instead atsuhiro is more interested in stain's and shigaraki's belief system. he is EXTREMELY driven by the belief that the hero system is corrupt right to it's very core, and he has proven again and again and that he'll go down swinging just to make his point

that said though he definitely has stolen shit and used the money for either league supplies, or done his due diligence in charity gifting ( usually prisoner reform political parties, orphanages, pet shelters )

atsuhiro is no saint though. he has killed heroes and villains alike and tends to do so in rather brutal ( yet somehow painless ) manners with his quirk. it is very possible for atsuhiro to manipulate his quirk in such ways ( if given the proper openings ) that he can literally compress an organ into a marble. so that's fun.

he knows he's handsome. he knows he is the drama. he is the moment, and he's arrogant about it to boot. he has used his charm, his wit, his seduction, his romanticism, and his good looks to his advantage more times than he can probably count.

atsuhiro loves the league very, very much. they are his family - and he undoubtedly misses them everyday.

he thinks best jeanist's outfit is dumb as hell.

[xofay]

𝙊𝙍𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙀 | 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙌𝙪𝙞𝙣 | 𝘍𝘌𝘔 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙

✧ warnings: brief mention of murder/blood, mention of pedo, fluffy as hell

✧ summary: Love, your girlfriend, discovers that your philosophy professor has been trying to make moves on you, and she fixes that problem for you. You come home to a night all about you.

You didn't hate college, but it most definitely was not your favorite aspect of life. You had a good social life, a decent circle of friends, and you were smart. The biggest downside of your college was definitely your philosophy professor. He was an attractive man, you had to say. He was wealthy, and loads of students wanted him, but to your demise, he, wanted you.

You could sense his motives quite easily. He would give you great grades on your assignments, even when you noticed you did something wrong. He'd call on you constantly, and would excuse you if you were late or even absent. You decided not to push it, but one day, you knew it would be different.

Love, on the other hand, was completely aware of this. She had listened to every single detail you had said about this man, and picked up anything slightly off you said. She remembered one day you told her how he put a hand on your thigh, and how another time he would rub your head ever so slightly during a conference with him. And she hated that, so, she had to put an end to it.

She got off of her work a bit earlier that day, to drive over to your college. She wore a basketball cap, and an oversized flannel. It was fall, after all, she had to dress the part. Love stationed herself in the bathroom, after easily getting into the campus. They should really work on their security.

She would walk into a stall, and would close it behind her, awaiting for the bell to ring. As she reached into her pocket to get her phone, her fingertips skimmed another object in her pocket. A pocketknife. Small, but effective, she thought.

Only about three minutes after the bell rang, Love stepped out into the bustling hallway. She'd look down, keeping her hat over her head, as she made her way to the philosophy classroom. She may or may not have been researching your campus just a night ago.

She got into the classroom, and there he was, your professor. He was sat behind his desk, probably grading. As Love quietly shut the door behind her, she got a whiff of a familiar scent. Your perfume. The notes of musk, sweetness, and some form of wood filled her senses, and her body would almost instantly loosen up at the scent.

"Oh, Hello Ma'am. Do you... need something?" The professor would say, looking up from his work, leaning into his chair. Love would purse her lips. She'd walk towards him, reach into her pocket, and before he could speak another word, his blood had stained the white papers on his desk, and her orange flannels sleeve.

You hung your coat on the little rack by the door of Love's house, which was basically yours at this rate as well. The moment you walked in, the scent of freshly cooked food, candles, and Love's scent took over your mind. She was cooking you your dinner. A smile uncontrollably covered your face. As you walked further into the house, you peaked into the kitchen, and saw Love hard at work in the kitchen, she has something cooking in a pot, which smelled delicious.

"I really don't deserve you, Lovely." You would say with an amused smile as you approached her, and embraced her in a hug from behind, resting your head on her shoulder, peaking over to see what she was making. Beef stew, your favorite thing to eat in the fall. Especially when she made it.

"Mmm..." She would hum in response, a small blush on her face. "Don't boost my ego anymore dear, that may be dangerous." She'd joke as she'd turn her head slightly to kiss your forehead. Her free hand that wasn't stirring would find itself on your waist, holding you close in a possessive nature. She wore an orange tank top, her scent causing your eyes to go half lidded.

"Go get cozy in bed sweetheart. Pick out a movie and i'll bring you your dinner. It's a room service kind of night, isn't it?" Your girlfriend would say with a little smile on her face, before she'd land a playful slap on your ass. "Before I have to ask you twice, despite how much you may like that. She'd tease.

You would jerk a little at the slap before an airy giggle would leave your lips. "As you wish," you would say. You'd wriggle out of Love's hold, and would excitedly walk upstairs. You'd instantly change into your favorite pajamas. It was a black silky two set, Love had a matching red one as well. You'd remove your makeup, and would let your hair down, before you would settle into Loves comforting, soft mattress. You could almost fall asleep just now.

Just a few minutes later, Love would walk upstairs, carefully holding a marble tray with two bowls on it, as well as some tissues and utensils. "For the princess," She'd say with a little wink as she settled the plate onto your lap. A blush adorned your face as you looked down, seeing how much work she put into this meal. Love would dim the lights, and would pick up a lighter, before walking around the room, putting on three different candles. The room now had a beautiful orange aura to it. Of course, the average lesbian household had 3+ candles in each room, as they should.

Once she was done with her pre-movie ritual, she would crawl into bed with you, seeing you were already enjoying your food. A proud smile would cover her face as she watched you eat as if you've never eaten before. She'd kiss your cheek before starting to eat her own bowl.

"So... was your day alright hun?" She'd ask as her free hand would snake around your waist, You had already finished, due to your fast pace. You leaned on Love's shoulder, and would be adorning her soft neck in kisses before you spoke, reluctantly pulling your lips away from her skin.

"Fine.." you would say, before recalling your meeting with your professor. He had his hand on your thigh under the table the whole time, and there was this hunger in his eyes. "I mean, Mr. Colben was weird as usual but... Nothing out of the ordinary." You'd say with a small chuckle.

Love would be listening to you speak, as her hand would rub your back lovingly. The words would send a shiver of anger down her back, before she'd chuckle ever so slightly.

"don't worry hun, I'm sure it won't happen again."

"how do you know?"

"I just do. So, Legally Blonde tonight?"

a/n: i know i didn't have many orange things here but like realistically speaking what the hell is orange?? Anyways enjoy murderous momma Quinn <33

[froody]

I’m agnostic or perhaps an atheist but simultaneously Episcopal. My parents are both atheists but my maternal grandmother is a staunch baptist and my other side of the family is evangelical and Methodist. I grew up in the Bible Belt attending several different churches on different occasions. I didn’t grow up Episcopal but I was sent to an Episcopal boarding school.

It was a miserable experience but oddly enough, the only highlight was going to chapel once a week on Wednesdays. I hadn’t really understood the allure of religion of any sort before then. And then under stained glass window, with incense burning, drinking from a chalice full of wine, I realized the appeal. I felt fancy and very glamorous, yes, that was some of it. But praying in those antique pews was like meditation. A time I could get my thoughts together. I felt, I don’t know, wanted and whole in that church in a way I never had in any other church I’d been to growing up.

I was used to the way evangelical preachers went on soapboxes about sinners and hell, homosexuals and atheists worming their ways into our lives. Us vs. them. We’re good and they’re evil. I’d sit in the pew in my little uncomfortable church shoes and wonder when it would be over so that I could eat. Knowing in myself even then that I was transgender, I liked men and women, thinking was an atheist. I was an 11 year old sinner. It didn’t matter because I didn’t believe his words and I couldn’t believe anyone would willingly come here to listen to this man say this shit. I couldn’t understand how religion could be helpful to anyone if it was this.

When the episcopal priest approached the pulpit in her beautiful robes, she did not yell at us. She read to us from scripture and then dissected and discussed the meaning and interpretations of the words and parables and stories. It was almost like English class, literary analysis, which I’ve always liked. Her preaching wasn’t about her, wasn’t about anger at a perceived enemy, it was about interpreting God’s will, the morals and complex advice provided in scripture, how to apply it in our lives. I was amazed. It was like philosophy, like advice instead of scorn, like brightness instead of dark.

[yourtouchismidas]

I’m absolutely obsessed with all of the Gigi blurbs you’re spoiling us 😩 would you wanna write anymore about Matty and ruins girl? How even after all the shitty stuff, they’re still in love? I’ll take any fluff and or smut you wish to gift us 😍

I feel like the last blurb I posted was quite fluffy so let's go smutty because why the hell not. So.

CW: Smut

You're on tour. Matty is about to go on stage, ten minutes from now, and he is pacing, nervous. He's wearing a white scoop neck top and you can see the skin underneath it, ink of tattoos poking out, already starting to glisten with sweat. It's been a while, hard to touch each other, let alone anything else, when you're on a tour bus, and running around after a toddler. You're kneeling on the floor next to Gigi, while Ross is pretending to drink tea that Gigi has pretended to pour out a plastic cup, and wearing a princess crown, as well as his ear piece and his shirt for the show.

You're supposed to be watching your daughter, but you're watching him. Matty. You're watching the V of his chest while he moves, the curve of his arms under his t shirt, the twitch of his chiselled jaw as he runs something through his mind. His mind. You want to cut it open sometimes, see the inner parts of it, the glitter, the darkness, the words, the philosophies. You want him to speak honeyed dark words into your lips, you want him to sing about you and only you, desperate for you, crying out for you over the mic with gravel in his voice, you want his lips on your neck, his sweat on your chest... you want him, right now, this second. Your chest aches with it. Your skin burns.

"Ross can you watch Gigi for a few minutes," you say quickly, getting up before he even says yes. Which he does and you know he would. You walk over to the father of your child. Your man. Yours. He's got his back to you and he's mumbling and you stand close to him, just close enough that he can feel your warmth, your energy, the buzzing of you, and you can feel his.

"Can I talk to you for a second, Matty?" You say.

You snap him out of whatever thought he is thinking. He sees you. Properly for the first time in a while. Distracted. He looks at your lips which are pouted and stained red.

"Sure," he says, smiling. You turn on your heel and go into his dressing room. He follows.

"I'm about to go on, are you okay? Am I in trouble?" He says.

"Close the door," you say. He does. He's quiet. Looking at you. Eyes bright. Curls soft.

You look at him dead in the eyes, and say, sultry, "You are in trouble. Yes."

Matty breathes in hard, breath hitching. Swallows. He knows what's going on. What you want. What, with those few simple words, he now needs, more than anything, or he won't be able to continue, won't be able to perform, won't be able to think about anything else.

"Fuck," he breathes out.

You push him gently against the door, hand on his chest and stare up at him.

"Fuck," he says again, but it's a moan this time, and he leans his head back against the door, eyes closed. You can feel him getting hard already. And you've barely even touched him yet.

"You want it then?" you ask. He moves forward to touch you. To please himself. To take control.

"No no," you say, pushing him back again. "You want it then?"

He whimpers. Nods. Eyes still closed. He's already thrusting his hips, tiny movements, involuntary, trying to get some sort of relief from the desire you have already caused him. You hold him back, pressing a kiss on his neck, then another, then another. Chastely. You run one hand across his dick, rock hard now, hand barely there, just a whisper of a touch. His chest caves into itself as he feels it.

He doesn't try to move. He doesn't try to touch you. He knows you're in control. He knows he's at your mercy.

You lead him to the chair and push him down into it. He looks up at you, raptured, his chest heaving. You climb on top of him, straddle him, push his arms up and pin them down with your hands. You kiss him, hard, deep, bite his lip a bit which makes him shudder, then you start grinding on him, slowly, hips moving in circles and side to side. It feels amazing. You tip your own head back, hair cascading down your back, and you let him lift a hand to touch the thin ends of it with the tips of his fingers, while he watches you, and then pin his arm down again when he moves his hand to your side and slides up. Instead, you slide out the top half of your dress and keep grinding, watching his face as he gets more and more desperate, and as it feels better and better for you. You moan.

"Please," he whispers. You ignore him. Carry on. Until he raises his voice. Louder. Harsher. But with the whimper behind it.

"Please," he says again. So you undo his belt buckle, pull aside your underwear and slide him inside you. He cries out. You start riding him, and you let his hands go, and they do, desperately, all over your body, your waist line, your ass, your tits, he runs them all over you, watching you and you ride him, when the pleasure isn't too much that he has to close his eyes. You feel it too, the growing depth of it, the climbing of it, and you're close you're getting so close and you know you're about to...

"Baby," Matty stammers, "I'm sorry... I can't... I can't help it, I'm gonna..."

You thrust, same rhythm, because you're so close too and you just need to do this, to get there, to carry on, you can't stop, you need this, you need him.

"Hold on for me," you say. And he grabs the flesh on your hips with his hands, tightly, physically holding on while he tries to stop himself from going over the edge.

"I can't baby, I cant" he says, "I need to come," and then his whole body is shuddering, and he is groaning, deeply, loudly, and watching him pushes you there too. The feeling explodes through your body. Loud. Deep. Hard. You tighten around him. His fingers are pinching you at the waist and it tingles through you like the rest of what you're body is feeling and then you're both done. Panting. Sweaty. You collapse into his chest.

"Fuck," Matty breathes into the space behind your hair, then again into it, "Fuck."

"I just needed you so bad," you say.

"Mmm," Matty mumbles, an aftershock of shudder going through his chest.

When you watch him onstage later, he winks at you from the middle of it, from the pool of spotlight. Girls in the audience scream for him. They want him like you did. Do. But you had him and they can't. You have him. He's yours. And you can tell, by the way he looked at you while you were fucking, and the way he looks at you now, from the stage to the wings, helpless, that he knows it too. He's yours.

[ultragift]

FROM: @scribby-wibby TO: @melancholystorms It's a real shame that philosophy and artistry had fallen out of sphere during the latter years of the Final War. Had the world been more receptive, they wouldn't have missed the philosophies of a certain Dr. Julia Ritzer who proudly proclaimed that all problems could be solved with a ladder. Need to reach a high shelf? Ladder. Need to pass a test? Take a ladder to your professors house, break in, and find the answers. Nations warring over land? Ladder, obviously.

The quintessential dilemma of this very philosophy was taking place long after Dr. Ritzer’s death, where a drone swore at it's swordmachine who was currently struggling to scramble up a steep jut of rock in Greed. Fun fact: drones are capable of complete speech, serving as messenger pigeons during the 22nd century, but have an abhorrent temper, therefore only speak in censored swears.

Enter stage right, our morally inept protagonist on sabbatical. V1 watches the two bicker from the velvety shadows, draped gracefully over the desiccated terrain. Thick cuts of building stick out of the sand like broken teeth. Why two machines sought to scale a lone pillar in the middle of perpetual midnight was beyond V1’s reasoning. Perhaps Dr. Ritzer’s ideology was not precisely about ladders, but just upwards movement previously unseen; a bush-beaten way of reaching upwards instead of pushing forward; To build bridges into the heavens.

V1, who was attempting with little success, to build bridges between its brethren, approaches the pair with outstretched arms in what was supposed to be a peace offering. Of course, when one of your arms is a also a gun, this offering is swiftly misinterpreted.

The swordmachine wheels around with it’s blade unsheathed, upheaving the sand around it into a dusty whirlwind. V1 dodges to the left, narrowly avoiding a shot from the drone locked onto it from above.

V1 in turn unsheathes a small flag, which used to be white but was stained a burnt red from… well, an inability to abide by what the white flag symbolizes.

Fun fact: swordmachines are colorblind. There’s no reason for this. It’s a learned behavior from dogs, supposedly.

The three come to a screeching halt, all with their weapons still raised. V1 wiggles the flag again. The other two machines relax marginally.

Peering up at the lip of the pillar, V1 sticks out a thumbs up in their direction with it’s arms akimbo.

It takes an exaggerated step towards the pillar, hunches down, and leaps up. it’s feet scrape against the side briefly before it jumps again. On the third meeting of V1s feet with the pillar, it realizes this method may be ineffective. Less than halfway to the top, V1 skids down the pillar like nails across chalkboard. It hits the ground rear first with the grace of a beached whale.

Despite not having eyes, the swordmachine looks unimpressed. The drone beeps once, low and drawling.

V1 gets back onto its feet and extends it’s finger as if to say wait. It reaches behind and pulls a small device from it’s wings, making a series of clicks.

The incredulous looks shared between the drone and swordmachine is cut short by a sharp brilliance of light cutting through the dark sweep of desert.

“Machine, I thought I had told you not to call on me unless it was a matter of utmost importance.”

V1 cocks its head in confusion. Apparently losing a game of checkers counts as a matter of utmost importance to the former judge of Hell, but assisting its denizens doesn’t.

V1 circles its finger between itself and the two other machines before pointing to the top of the pillar.

Gabriel sighs petulantly: “I am not a chauffeur, Machine.” He lies.

Regardless of Gabriel’s anti-chauffeur attitude, he grips V1 and the swordmachine’s head like ski poles, with the drone nestled in the swordmachine’s hands, and transports them to the top of the pillar. The view is staggering. Concrete strewn across the sand like crumbs, various twisting architecture catching the moonlight to create a field of glistening needles.

More perplexing that the view, is the circular table with two chair tucked beneath in the center of the platform. The swordmachine pulls out both the chair and sits in one, while the drone awkwardly hovers over the other.

“What.” Gabriel speaks, his voice creeping along the edge of anger, “why would you need help getting up here again if you already moved a whole furniture set here before?”

The swordsmachine and drone look between V1 and Gabriel as if to shoo them away. V1 pats its companion’s arm in condolence as his wings begin quivering in disbelief.

It takes a large step off the pillar, leaving Gabriel no choice but to follow.

[theprayerfulword]

October 25

John 17:21 Jesus said, “As You, Father, are in Me and I am in You, may they also be in Us, so that the world may believe that You have sent Me.”

John 13:35 Jesus said, “This is how everyone will know that you are My disciples, when you love each other.”

Hebrews 10:25 Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another — and all the more as you see the Day approaching.

1 John 1:7 But if we walk in the light, as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, His Son, purifies us from all sin

Romans 10:13 For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.

Galatians 4:6 And because ye are sons, God hath sent forth the Spirit of his Son into your hearts, crying, Abba, Father.

May you not be lax in doing the work the Lord gives you or in carrying out the assignments of the Spirit, for while others are designated to bring disaster and punishment upon the world, you are given the gospel to share so that the lost sheep may be found and the harvest gathered in before the storm strikes. Jeremiah 48

May you seek for and strive after a repentance and reformation on a national level so that God's judgment may be avoided, but be certain that you maintain a personal repentance and revival so that you may be prepared for it as you walk in a respectful awe and humble obedience towards the Lord. Jeremiah 48

Though nations strive with each other and men of might exert their authority over others, may you always respect the rights of the poor and stand up for the cause of the destitute, protecting the widow and nurturing the orphan, for God Himself will see that His righteous judgments are accomplished in the earth and will call all men to account for their actions. Jeremiah 49

May you preach the Word; be prepared in season and out of season to correct, rebuke and encourage – with great patience and careful instruction, though they will not put up with sound doctrine. 2 Timothy 4

May you keep your head in all situations, endure hardship, and do the work you are given, discharging all the duties of your ministry. 2 Timothy 4

May the Lord stand at your side, giving you strength to fully proclaim His message, and deliver you from the lion's mouth, rescuing you from every evil attack. 2 Timothy 4

Know the truth, My child, and it shall set you free. The undeniable truth is that you were born into an inheritance of the flesh and of sin that you cannot escape through your own efforts or will-power, any more than a leopard can change his spots to a tiger's stripes. Man's greatest efforts to create a paradise on earth are doomed from the beginning because the seed of selfishness and sin are always present in his works. Man's highest philosophy can never carry him beyond the effects of his baser nature for there is no way to separate his actions from his intentions; his heart is drawn continually toward evil and spirals ever toward death. The eternal truth is that I have overcome the world, defeating death, hell, and the grave, and overturning the kingdom of the evil one. I have the keys to your shackles, and I have opened the door to your prison cell. I am the Truth, the Way, and the Life, and no one comes to the Father but by Me. I formed all of creation, and after it fell, staining with sin that which I had pronounced good, I followed the path by which I was able to redeem it. I, who am holy, became the offering for sin; through Me, by your faith in Me, as shown by your obedience to Me, you are born anew to life instead of death, to righteousness instead of sin, to pleasing the Father instead of enmity to God, to good works which have been foreordained instead of works of the flesh which have their part in the lake of fire. Know the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, that you may be free from the lies and half-truths designed to steal, kill, and destroy that which the Father has declared clean, accepted in the Beloved, and holy. Walk in the light as I am in the light, and know the fellowship of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, in the company of the Body of Christ.

May you sing for joy to the Lord and shout aloud to the Rock of your salvation, coming before Him with thanksgiving and extolling Him with music and song, for the Lord is the great God, the great King above all gods. Psalm 95

May you bow down in worship and kneel before the Lord your Maker, for He is your God and you are in His flock. Psalm 95

May you sing to the Lord with all the earth a new song which praises His name and proclaims His salvation day after day, declaring His glory among the nations and His marvelous deeds among all peoples, for the Lord is great and most worthy of praise. Psalm 96

May you fear the Lord above all gods, for they are but idols of the nations but the Lord made the heavens; splendor and majesty are before Him and strength and glory are in His sanctuary. Psalm 96

May you ascribe to the Lord glory and strength which is due to His name, bringing an offering as you come into His courts to worship the Lord in the splendor of His holiness as the whole earth trembles before Him Psalm 96

May you say among the nations that the Lord reigns, for He will judge the peoples with equity when He comes, He will judge the world in righteousness and the peoples in His truth as all of His creation rejoices – the earth will be glad, the sea will resound, the fields will be jubilant and all the trees will sing for joy at His appearing. Psalm 96

[dramatisperscnae]

Headcanon - Bruce Wayne

The Code

Batman’s no-kill code is well known – and occasionally scoffed at – among the cape-and-cowl brigade. It is an ideal he strives to live by, and one he encourages – and usually expects – others to hold to, particularly those he trained and those he actively works with. He holds to this code for several reasons, among them being:

he does occasionally require the assistance of the GCPD, and if he – as a vigilante and thus technically a criminal himself – actively kills in the line of duty he will lose any and all goodwill he has earned from them

he does not want to stoop to the methods of his enemies. There is, on occasion, only a very fine line that separates the Bat from those he fights; not killing is a part of that.

Most, if not all, of the martial disciplines he has studied and mastered often come with cultural philosophies regarding the sanctity of life. To betray those philosophies would be to stain the legacies his masters left him.

If his hands become stained with blood, what makes him any better than the man who gunned down his parents in that alley?

That said, there is a well-known book in which is written ‘let he who is without sin cast the first stone’. For Bruce to demand no killing, ever, for any reason, would be the height of hypocrisy; he has taken life in the past, though seldom willingly and always in self-defense. [for canonical evidence of this, see this post by The Real Batman Chronology Project] He is well aware of this, and aware that there are times when his code may well cause more harm than it avoids; after all, Bruce himself will freely admit – and has admitted –that the world would indeed be a better place if the Joker was dead.

Killing is, and always will be, a hard line for Bruce. He knows how easy it would be for him to become a killer, how simple. How all it would take for him to become the villains he fights is to allow himself to pull the proverbial trigger on the basis of helping, of trying to do good and removing major threats like the Joker or other shown-to-be-irredeemable villains from the world for good. The road to hell, as they say, is paved with good intentions.

Nowhere has he seen this most clearly than in the fall of Hal Jordan in the wake of Coast City’s destruction. Watching a man Bruce had come to respect and trust – and even, though he might never admit it, to see as a better man than him – become something like Parallax, willing to tear the entire universe apart in the name of trying to fix things, was a sobering experience, and pushed Bruce to hold even tighter to his code and demand others do the same.

Even so, as idealistic as Bruce can be at times, he is nothing if not a realist. In his line of work, in the kind of battles he fights, there will be death. It’s unavoidable; no matter what he does people will die, and if it comes down to the choice between his life and his opponent’s Bruce will choose himself. He has to; it’s pure instinct. He can, will, and does try to avoid that choice as much as possible, tries to mitigate the damage and prevent death with all the skill and power he has, but, well.

Sometimes even the Batman can’t avoid lethal force in self defense.

It will always – always – be a last resort, when literally all other options have been exhausted, and it will never – ever – be in cold blood. It may simply be – and often is – a mere chance of fate, the luck of being the one on top when two men fall off a roof in mid-grapple.

Because of this, he will allow certain compromises, if one can call them that: those who work with him, while actively working with him, are expected to maintain and uphold his no-kill code; likewise, any hero or vigilante who wants to work in Gotham City is also expected to do so. Outside of his city, and when not actively on a team-up? He’ll expect them to try, but will be less exacting about the degree of success. In either case, a death during a mission is not necessarily a deal-breaker; self defense is a thing, and while Bruce holds himself to extremely strict standards he can be surprisingly lenient with others even on hard-line matters such as this...so long as the killing was not done with active intent or malice aforethought.

Straight-up murder someone, though, and you best pray he never finds out. No matter who they are.

[icescrabblerjerky]

As an atheist (and I'm not trying to make people be atheist here, jsyk, but it adds some perspective here that I think is valuable) it's fucking fascinating to me that there are people out there who think their own moral purity means more than the immediate threat to lives that would come from Trump's election.

If you're religious... what does it get you? Is there a free pass to whatever heaven you believe in if you PERSONALLY don't take part in a process that is literally designed (however awfully) to give you some modicum of input into society? If you're religious do you think that (like the Calvinists) one little dark stain of action on your gloves means you're condemned to the hells forever? DOES INACTION COUNT THOUGH? How do you KNOW? I will admit the religious part of it baffles me completely no matter which way I come at it because I am an atheist, but I'm still fascinated by the way you can justify doing harm to more people and staying somehow morally pure - that said, I'm baffled by the Catholic Church too and I'm married to a Catholic so whatever.

If you ARE an atheist (and i do also know that in the USA this is a minority) I am baffled by how being "morally pure" actually... is even a thing? My philosophy in life is to do the least harm. I am not a moral authority, I do not choose to push my beliefs on others, but if I see a path that actively hurts others I fucking get the fuck off it. For me morality is a personal thing and if your personal morality has decided that MORE folks "just need to die" because "otherwise I'll be morally corrupt" then I don't like your personal morality at all thank you very much.

[wrenhavenriver]

Top 5 Dishonored missions (from all games including DLC)?

yeeeeees i'm always glad to answer dishonored asks!!! i've been asked this one a few times over the years and my answers shift slightly each time but there are a few common threads - basically any level that has a fuckton of ways to resolve things, any level featuring one of my Fave characters, or any level where the vibes/art design/dialogue/etc gives me the Shivers. off the top of my head right now i'm feeling:

high overseer campbell - the sheer variety of methods you can use to deal with campbell and/or save curnow is so fucking satisfying, my go-to is smashing the glasses in the meeting chamber, following campbell and curnow down to campbell's secret room, waiting for campbell to start sneaking up on curnow with blade in hand, then turning off the music that's playing so curnow is alerted and turns around and shoots campbell down himself. "now the rats can fight over your guts" is such a metal thing to casually say over the body of the guy who just tried to murder you? and speaking of great lines, this level also features one of my fave outsider shrine dialogues: "I'm older than the rocks this place is built on, and even I didn't see that coming."

lady boyle's last party - yeah we all knew this was coming, it's practically obligatory, right? the masquerade ball. the nobility being delighted that you're "dressed up" as the guy who's been killing them. the fireworks outside and that one weeper standing sadly staring at them through the gate. the sister you're targeting/their outfit colors changing with each playthrough. signing the guestbook. "drunkenly" confessing to the guard that you're an agent of the outsider. the "there's a hole in the world" graffiti which has become my singular defining personality trait/philosophy for the last ten years! that one guard getting pissed off at you for eating his apple. [stefon voice] this level has everything. will always regret the non-lethal approach was so fucken gross but even the devs acknowledge they fucked up on that one, so i guess that's some small comfort.

a captain of industry - the number of ways you can get into the slaughterhouse in the first place. billie's report about the man off the shore watching the place and her deeply sarcastic "if i weren't so young and pure of heart, i'd suggest he's up to no good." said man being reverently fearful of daud and very efficiently establishing that daud has a reputation as a fucking scary dude. abigail ames full stop - but especially her casually murdering rothwild with a screwdriver if you leave them alone. being able to mercy kill the poor whale - and blowing up the whole fucken place afterward to boot.

eminent domain - introducing thalia and roland, both of whomst i love. the beautiful genius of roland's revenge scheme, and the hilarity of the scene of timsh being arrested. the truly eerie speech thalia gives describing the séance. "i thought only the dead appeared at séances" is such an understated line but it inspires so much dread.

the good doctor - just feels like a massive level with all the floors and secret rooms and the partially flooded basement? and i'm a sucker for a good jekyll and hyde homage. most importantly tho: HYPATIA MY BELOVED. admittedly one major grievance: in the non-lethal route we literally just leave her sitting on the floor of her gore-stained laboratory in horrific shock, what the hell's up with that.

[sarkos]

To this day, these churches still draw from the spiritual legacies of Christian missions and receive funding from off-reservation congregations under that definition. Global Ministries of the United Methodist church spent over $11m in 2022 for missionary services. Wels spent $661,018 just for the Apache missions and over $23.5m for all missions, as laid out in its most recent report, from 2023. Wels first came to Arizona in 1892, five years after the Dawes Act. When it was clear that exterminating the Apache people would not be possible, the federal government engaged Christian denominations working with the military to force the assimilation of the Indigenous people. RH Pratt, the superintendent of the first “industrial” boarding school under this policy, coined the term that embodied the philosophy behind these institutions: “Kill the Indian in him, and save the man.” pews and stained glass Federal boarding school policy allowed the military to forcibly remove Apache children from their families and send them to industrial schools in an attempt to militarize and alter their identities. They were forbidden to practice their religion or speak their language, and reports of physical and sexual abuse were common. Many children never returned home. If an Indigenous child was found outside during school hours, Indigenous police were appointed to snatch the child and deliver them to a school under the US military’s jurisdiction. If a parent sought to hide their child, they could be imprisoned or cut off from food and other necessary daily supplies. Apache children were kidnapped and taken as far as Pennsylvania, where they were forced to fully assimilate into Anglo-Christian society. Their clothes were burned, their language forgotten. Many children died of disease, neglect or abuse. And while the number of deaths is not yet known, it is believed that Apache children comprise a quarter of the graves at Carlisle Indian Industrial school. To think that 1800s attitudes towards Apache children have changed would be a mistake. Outside of the Wels mission, volunteers of other denominations drive around in colorful buses and still pick children up throughout the reservation, whether on the side of the road or other public areas. They take them to play games and learn about their version of Jesus and then drop the kids off again where they found them hours before. Parents are not always told or asked permission.

They took part in Apache ceremonies. Their schools expelled them for satanic activities | Native Americans | The Guardian

Great-Grandad survived Carlisle. In his words, “It was a hell of a way to meet Jim Thorpe“

All of this is why my reaction to someone telling me they’re Christian is the same as “Would you like to hold this blue-ringed octopus?”

[hidingoutbackstage]

Uhh I’m in a creative block so I can’t give you a specific prompt per se, but something Chamberfield 👀 for love and yuri?

Hell yeah peace love and yuri (putting beneath a cut so as not to clog anyone’s dash but yuri should NEVER be hidden <3 so pls read)

Claire was a special kind of homesick. The kind where she was sitting here, in her two bedroom apartment, at the table eating cereal she’d gotten from the grocery store down the street, while wearing cozy pajamas. In all perspectives, she couldn’t be more home. And yet here she was, missing home desperately, because home wasn’t the two wooden chairs where one slightly rocks and the other creaks when sat on, home wasn’t the couch from a a garage sale with a few cigarette burns and various stains, home wasn’t the nightlight in her bedroom that she’d had since she was a child to keep her from waking up terrified and screaming in the dark.

Home was a person, a person who was currently halfway around the world, a person who Claire could feel as she wore said person’s cozy sweatshirt, as she gazed happily at a framed photo of the two of them on the windowsill, as her sloppy handwritten grocery list hung from the fridge with a heart shaped magnet. Despite the lingering feeling of her presence, Rebecca, Claire’s home, was not here, and Claire was getting sick with yearning.

Claire sighed, finally picking up her phone. She told herself she wouldn’t do this today, but to hell with it. She was missing her girlfriend more and more by the day, and she was growing sick of wanting. She flipped open her phone and went into her contacts. To hell with international cell phone charges too.

Of course Becky picked up, because it was Claire who was calling her. Claire half-expected her significant other to lecture her first about being unable to go a day without talking to her, but that never came. She simply answered the phone with a smile apparent in her voice. She called Claire “darling” as she always did, in that sing-song way she was so fond of that made Claire’s heart melt a little bit.

Bashfully, as if they were teenagers, Claire admitted to Becky why she had called. It was probably a given to both women, but Becky “awww”ed like it was the first time she’d heard Claire say the words “I miss you.”

They made idle chit chat. How was Philosophy University? It was good. How was work at home? It was boring. Have you heard from Chris lately? No, have you? No. Watch anything good recently? Not really, you? Not really. Tried out a new recipe for eggs. Oh how was it? I think I added too much oregano. Oh well, maybe next time. Maybe I’ll make it for you. Sounds perfect.

“I really miss you,” Claire blurted out. She dropped her spoon in her mostly-empty bowl of cereal, making a satisfying clang as it fell.

“I really miss you too,” Rebecca said automatically. “I wish I didn’t have to be out here so long, but-”

“Becky, you don’t have to explain anything. It’s work, I get it,” Claire said with a huff. “I just wish work didn’t separate you from me for so long.”

“Well, that’s what these phone calls are for, isn’t it?” She was trying to be gentle, Claire could tell.

“I know, I know,” Claire groaned. “Gd, I’m so clingy. I don’t know how you aren’t sick of me.”

Rebecca just laughed. “Darling, you know I could never get sick of you.” She made a little kiss noise through the phone. “I love you too much.”

They’d been saying those words for years, but sometimes they’d catch Claire off guard and fill her with youthful giddiness. “Yeah, I know.”

“You should distract yourself more when I’m not there.” Ah, Becky. Always a problem-solver. “Go out and do stuff with your other friends.”

Claire snorted. “What other friends? The ones that are as busy as we are?”

“Work friends, then.”

“Is this your polite way of telling me to fuck off and stop calling you, my dear?” Claire teased. Rebecca scoffed.

“I’m trying to help my lovely wife come up with some things to do in her spare time,” Rebecca said monotonously, clearly not even realizing her verbal blunder. Claire did, though, and straightened up to attention.

“Wife?” she blurted out. Rebecca was silent for a minute. “Hun?”

“…Listen,” Rebecca started, and Claire just burst out laughing.

“Oh, hun, you can’t just call me that and expect me to stop missing you!”

“I think of you like that sometimes, okay? We live together, we’ve been dating for a while, I…some of my students have asked if I have a boyfriend, and…”

“Becky, you are so cute,” Claire teased. “It’s fine. That was adorable.”

Rebecca sighed. “Can I hang up now or will you hate me forever? I’m supposed to be meeting with the university director in a few.”

Claire snickered. “Go on, my wife, go do your school things. I’ll just be here thinking about it for the rest of the day.”

Rebecca sputtered, and Claire could picture the woman’s cute blushing face. “I love you. Bye.”

“Bye, my wife!” Claire called giddily as she hung up.

The sharp pang of homesickness in Claire’s heart had faded, replaced by the soft, warm embrace of love.