#white blob is unrelated

[blizzardstarx]

my storage hates me

958/6774 photos and 249/319 videos are related to elizabeth lail LMFAO

[sol-consort]

Female Turians attracted to shorter men? Fuck yeah I am celebrating for unrelated reasons

knew you were gonna take the bait I wrote that line in the tags specifically with you in mind

In some bird species—like bald eagles!—the females are larger and broader than the males. So basically, turians are this meme.

It also makes me wonder if the "colorful = masculine" thing also applies to them? We've seen turian men with hot pink face paintings and their talons are much longer and more pointy, almost resembling a bird's head tuff of feathers.

To attract turian women as a guy, simply be shorter, dress in vibrant nice colours, and talk a lot.

It also makes me wonder how a butch turian lesbian would appear "feminine" to humans for dressing colourfully and making herself look smaller. In contrast to other turian women who stand tall and wear muted colours.

But this is all assuming you're also a turian. If you're a human, you'd just appear squishy and soft to them no matter how you dress or look like. We're so out of range for what they normally consider attractive that being into humans is probably seen as a fetish or a kink, a normalised one, however, a sideffect from living amidst aliens and all. We are so detached from their biology that whatever kind of attraction they experience with us is very different from the ones they experience with each other.

We look nothing like turians. We're just a blob of soft flesh to them, sometimes with fur on our head or body. We look fragile, weak, defenceless, and too exposed, our teeth are more blunt than theirs, our mouths are smaller, our bites not as strong, our eyes too obvious with white scelra. Yet, we are the ones making the majority of C-sec alongside the turians.

The same goes for us. Don't forget that most humans, ingame consider turians to be extremely ugly/scary. The Mass Effect fanbase just happened to be full of monsterfuckers (me) who are very loud and opinionated (me again) "as ugly as a turian" was a recurring phrase between humans in mass effect at some point.

[sotwk]

Intruders (Fili x OC fanfic, first of series)

Summary: During their sojourn at Rivendell, Fili makes the acquaintance of an elf-maid who is surprisingly familiar with the ways of Dwarves. Unlike the rest of the Company however, he is less enchanted by and more suspicious of this mysterious stranger.

Part One of a planned series about the relationship between Fili x OC elleth, called "The Only Gold".

Word count: 2.3 k 

Pairing: Fili x FemOC (2nd Person POV)

Content: Prelude to romance, friendship, fluff, mild angst, The Hobbit events, Dwarf shenanigans

Warnings: None

To Read on AO3: Link

Dedication: For @fizzyxcustard, the first Durin (Thorin) writer to befriend me on Tumblr and who introduced me to the wonderful community of Durin stans! My first foray into Erebor is rightfully dedicated to you. Thank you for being such a supportive mutual to me and others in our orbit!

The Only Gold

Intruders

Third Age 2941 June

Imladris, The Last Homely House

It was difficult to decide which amused you more: observing the Naugrim in their merrymaking around the fire, or listening to Lord Lindir’s anguished groans over their antics as he stood in secret watch right next to you. 

“I suppose tomorrow this courtyard shall have to be scrubbed as well,” the elf-lord muttered, his dark eyes scanning the blobs and heaps of food scraps that littered the normally pristine white flagstones of the circular portico. “Tis a small mercy that the Nindari fountain already empties and cleanses itself, otherwise…” He rubbed a hand over his mouth as he cut off his own frustrations. “Forgive me; it has been a long day.”

You rested a gentle hand on his arm. “Do not be so troubled, my lord,” you said, careful to whisper despite the small risk of your voice being heard over the cacophony of laughter and singing. “From my experience, Dwarves mind their manners well enough to clean up after themselves, no matter how terrible the messes they like to make.” 

“I shall have to take your word for it,” Lindir sighed, with a grimace that indicated he remained entirely unconvinced. “What odd little creatures they are! They seem to actually revel in chaos and noise and sheer tomfoolery. And from what I understand, these are not only grown males of their race, but some are also members of Durin’s royal house!”

After a while, the prim elf-lord fell silent to watch you watch the company of outsiders, and soon he picked up on the delight shining from your eyes. 

“How similar are they to Dwarves you have previously engaged with?”

His innocent question called a flood of deep memories to the front of your mind, and the mirth on your face wavered. There was no way for Lindir to have known the specifics, and if he had, his impeccable manners would have restrained him from even broaching the subject. But your most recent experiences with the Naugrim had been filled with mourning and loss and anger, of old wounds that still ached to be soothed by happier remembrances.

“They are the same people, but these are very different circumstances.” You turned back to the gathering and smiled at the scene they created, just a group of kinsmen sharing an evening repast, dining in little more than their underclothes and even less care or concern. "I very much prefer seeing them in this light."

Lindir sniffed at this but refrained from verbalizing further disagreement, as your fondness for Aulë’s Children had become all too apparent. 

After you declined the elf-lord’s offer to escort you back to the main house, he took his leave, with a parting reminder to 'be careful'. It was hard not to feel disappointed at your friend's unrelenting distrust of the Dwarves. Lindir was far older than you, and much wiser in all other matters, but in your heart you were certain his disdain was founded on hearsays and ancient prejudices. 

“Oi, Bombur! Maybe you should get off that table, I can hear the joints creaking from over here.” The shout, though spoken with jest, also carried a command behind it, a tone you often heard being used by members of your family. “If we break one more thing in this fancy-pants inn I think that butler’s head might explode.”

More than the Dwarf's tone, it was his voice itself that captured your attention, that spurred your steps forward so you crept closer for a better view. You scanned the gathering of bearded faces, one by one, but unless that voice spoke up again over the raucous din, it would be impossible to identify the owner with certainty. 

But you knew that voice. You knew not for sure from when or where, but you had heard it before, speaking to you, addressing you by name, stirring up emotions deep within you like the early rays of spring warming the frosted earth. 

The clear sound of cracking wood startled you, and yanked your gaze back to the sight of Bombur, the very fat dwarf, falling smack on his bottom and then toppling on his backside on a pile of broken oak. Your lips twitched and your eyes wrinkled at their sides, but it was the unbridled howls of laughter from the other dwarves that released your own laughter from your throat--a high, delighted giggle that was shamefully loud to your own ears. 

“Shh! Did you hear that?” A voice--the voice--cut sharply through the merriment. It lowered into a menacing growl, suddenly shifting to their ancient mother tongue. “There’s someone out there.” 

* * * * * 

Fili grabbed the knife closest to him, resting atop the pile of his belongings, and darted across the courtyard in the direction of the sound. Kili leaped up to follow his lead, and behind the brothers a mad scramble ensued as some of the others hurried to join in pursuit. 

It was easy to spot the intruder descending the pathwalk that connected their lodging to the sprawling gardens below. The tall, hooded figure had the nerve to walk calmly in their retreat, as though they cared not if they were caught or had no fear of being apprehended. The mark of an elf for sure, Fili thought, and a rush of anger within him hastened his pace. 

“You! Stop!” he shouted, and was so surprised when the stranger complied so quickly that he skidded to an abrupt halt himself. Kili ran hard into him, nearly knocking him over, and there was much grunting and yelping as the rest of the dwarves similarly struggled to keep themselves upright. 

“Who are you?” Fili demanded, raising himself up to full height and straight posture, but mindful enough to keep his knife sheathed at his side. This elf was nowhere near as tall as the riders who had accosted them at their arrival, or even the ones who had attended them at luncheon. Even if they didn’t have him outnumbered, the dwarf was confident he could take him down on his own if necessary. 

“I am a friend, Master Dwarf,” a soft voice spoke from underneath the hood. 

Next to him, Fili sensed Kili shifting his weight uneasily and heard him grunt, “Fili.” The elder Son of Durin at once knew his brother’s thoughts. That voice sounded female. This realization cooled his ire, but just barely. Danger did not recognize gender, he knew that from experience. 

 “A friend would not lurk in the shadows to spy,” Fili said darkly. “A friend would not retreat and skulk away like a thief in the night.”  He took a heavy step forward. “If you are what you say, then prove it and show your face."

A tense silence followed the dwarf-prince’s command. The collective disquiet palpable from the companions that surrounded him only fueled Fili’s irritation. Above all other emotions, he detested cowering the most. Durin’s Folk shrank before no one, no matter whose land they stood on.

At long last, a pair of slender white arms emerged from the folds of the stranger’s cloak, and two hands lowered the velvet hood. Cries and mutterings rose in a sudden tide around Fili, while his own voice failed him completely. It wasn’t until his lungs sucked in a starved, desperate gasp that he realized even breath had temporarily deserted him. 

None of their company, save perhaps Thorin and Balin, had had much contact with she-elves prior to the quest, but when they finally encountered some of these females at the Lord of Rivendell's table, they fairly matched up with the descriptions from the Dwarrowdam tales. This particular creature that stood before them now was unlike her unremarkable kin, and surpassed everything Fili’s elders had taught him to expect. 

It was her hair, above all else, that surely struck the Dwarves with greatest amazement. The color of the purest molten gold, it crowned her fair head and flowed freely down her shoulders, shimmering in waves of glorious light. It was such a sight to behold, so alarming in its unexpected beauty, that Fili dropped his gaze, momentarily doubting whether it was even safe to look upon it. 

Those standing closest to him literally bowed their heads in reverence. Ori and Dori went so far as to bend fully at the waist. Glorin choked on what sounded like a sob, while Kili found actual words to exclaim: "My lady!"

“My lords,” the elf-maid spoke again, high and clear as a wood thrush. “I humbly beg your pardon; I meant no offense by my presence.”

The sweetness that flowed from her polite words continued to charm his companions, but Fili refused to give in to the confusing swirl of emotions that crested within him, not even when her gaze turned at his utterance, again challenging his ability to breathe. “Why were you watching us?”

He felt a fist jab him on the back. “Nadad,” Kili hissed through gritted teeth. 

“It is a fair question,” Fili declared. He felt his boldness grow the longer he persisted. “Their king assured us we would be safe here, but how are we to trust that?” He turned slightly towards his kinsmen as their native Khuzdul rolled from his tongue. “Can you not see that ever since our arrival, they have been trying to uncover our secrets?!”

The only response he received were vague mumblings from dazed faces. Eyes glazed over in dopey trances seemed to pass right through him, listless and unseeing. An orc pack could have descended on them and hacked off some heads before anyone could mount a defense. 

“Stop gaping at her!” Fili snapped at them, tugging hard on his besotted brother’s arm in particular. “You’re falling prey to Elven sorcery for all we know. Don’t let yourselves be lured under her spell!”

“If I were as devious as you claim, Master Dwarf, then why should I admit to understanding your words perfectly?”

The maiden’s silvery voice speaking the guttural tones of their secret language in perfect fluency dropped upon the group like a hammer’s blow. Suddenly the lot of dreamy gazes morphed into expressions of shock, followed by anger. Even a little fear, which overtook any control the dwarves had over their better senses. 

Defensive instincts escalated to bellows of outrage, and hands rose in aggression, hands which unfortunately still clutched a menacing array of weapons. Brandishing his own dagger, Fili saw the elf-maid take a step back, and her withdrawal stirred a new emotion above the conflux in his chest: shame.  

“What is the meaning of this?!”

All heads turned in the direction of the booming shout, and they saw the Master of Imladris coming up the path in furious strides. The sight of him alone caused the dwarves to immediately lower their weapons, sheathe them, or hide them behind their backs. 

Lord Elrond cast a swift, rebuking glare over the gathered dwarves before planting himself between them and the elf-maid. He cupped her face between his hands and quietly spoke to her in indiscernible Elvish. She whispered back with downcast eyes, appearing to Fili almost like a child chastised. 

"She spies on us!" Gloin's temper erupted at the most convenient time, and Fili found himself relieved that someone else was speaking up to argue for their side.

"This is her home, Master Gloin," Elrond responded sharply. "Where you are the visitors. We practice great tolerance in Imladris to make allowances for cultural differences. But I will not abide the harassment of anyone, least of all my kin."

"Enough of this foolishness!" The next rebuke came from Gandalf, who suddenly materialized behind the elves, and looked twice as infuriated as Elrond. “It is one thing to practice table manners differently from the Eldar, but even Dwarves should know how to show a lady proper respect!” He pounded his staff on the ground, silencing any further attempts at protest from the dwarves. 

The wizard then turned and gave a sweeping bow to the elf-maid. "I beg your pardon and understanding on their behalf, dear lady, and offer no poor excuses.”

Fili was no longer surprised when the golden-haired lass smiled brightly at Gandalf, as one would at an old friend. "My heart sings with joy to see you again, Mithrandir."

The rest of their conversation continued in rapid Elvish, leaving the dwarves to cluster together and grumble and mutter in their own separate group. For his part, Fili did not have anything else to say, for he felt oddly weary. He did not even notice the elves had taken their leave until Thorin arrived, demanding explanations, and Gandalf rejoined them to resume the heated discussion about everything that had transpired.  

Fili broke away from the squabbling noise of the company to seek out the departing lord and lady. He spotted them leaving the path to go back up into one of the great houses on the other side of the roaring falls. From so far off he could still see the elf-maid’s golden hair gleaming, its ethereal glory undiminished in the evening shadows. Bitter regret bloomed in the pit of his stomach when she finally vanished from sight.

"I…I know her.”

Fili spun around and saw Bilbo standing a few paces away, staring thoughtfully into the darkness. How much the hobbit had seen of the entire episode, and how long he’d been lurking there, it was always hard to tell with their sneaky burglar. “What are you talking about?”

Bilbo scratched the side of his face, his nose scrunched up in his musing. “That elf-maid. I’m quite certain I’ve met her before. There cannot be many like her running around Middle-earth, and certainly not visiting the Shire."

“The Shire?!” Fili grabbed Bilbo’s arm and dragged him further away from the rest of the company, and out of the notice of his uncle and Gandalf. “Tell me,” he ordered the bewildered hobbit. “Tell me everything you know about her.”

To be continued...

Tagged by request: @aduialel @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @laneynoir @auttumnsayshi @achromaticerebus @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @heilith @absentmindeduniverse @laurfilijames

For more of my stories, please see My Masterlist.

If you would like to be added to my tag list, please sign up here: Tag List Sign-Up. If you'd like to be tagged specifically JUST for this Fili series ("The Only Gold"), please say so in comments or DM.

[almightyhamslice]

My KDL2 series is FINISHED!!!!!!! These are recreations of the end cutscene and a few extra screens! Kirby and friends' adventure is OVER and now they can RELAX and HAVE FUN!!!!! All of these are drawn in limited color palettes to reflect how this all looks in the Super Gameboy version of the game, except for the Rainbow Sword. I colored that in like a rainbow cuz it looks cooler than it just being plain white.

Soooo since the KDL2 series is over, what happens now? Well, I'll draw another Kirby series soon, but what becomes of the characters? Most of them will stay since nothing major happens between KDL2 and KDL3 in my timeline, but several KDL2 characters never appear again so I'd like to talk about them right now! So, I likely will never draw 1-off characters like Waiu, Efreeti, and Master Green again. Nruff, Sweet Stuff, and Ice Dragon might cameo again, but they're also kind of 1-offs.

However, Blob Girl is ALSO a 1-off and never reappears! And since she had a major role in this story, I would like to at least explain (in universe) WHY she's gonna be absent from now on. Honestly, she's just off doing her own thing unrelated to the protags; she doesn't have the same 'heroic spirit' that Kirby, the Animal Friends, and I guess Gooey have... So, she's just kinda pursuing her hobbies and trying to make friends in Dreamland now! It'll likely be tough for her since she was raised by Dark Matters and they don't really 'do' friendship, but she is trying her best I think. I might draw her into backgrounds of pieces in the future, but she'll never be center-stage again.

Anyways, I'm not actually done drawing Kirby stuff, I'll start a new series tomorrow! It will be for a certain spinoff :)

Also, does this need a gore warning for the first image? I'll put one on just in case...

[evilasiangenius]

The Fall

“Out.”

And when Her voice reverberated throughout Heaven as if a bell struck, the War in Heaven was over, the cries of damaged and destroyed angels were silenced, and the marked angel, the tall one with the long dark curling hair and the good cheekbones felt existence suddenly shift around wings and shoulders and legs and elbows and knees and suddenly everything was falling.

No, it wasn’t falling.

They were being pushed out.

A harsh downward pressure and the angel could not even scream at the brief fierce pain of being thrust out of Heaven and in that moment something important happened; identity snapped and shattered, brittle, disappearing into the ether. The name that the Creator had vested in this angel was gone, ripped away with everything else and the angel was left as something partially blank, empty, memories torn and broken. Despite that, the angel clung to the snatches of things that could be remembered; a stolen conversation, a voice raised in song, the warm light of Heaven, and most importantly, that deep sense of quiet profound intimacy that Heaven had always represented, until it did not.

With great effort the angel struggled to turn around, arms and wings and legs fighting against the fierce pressure forcing the angel away from the bright light above. Turning to catch a glimpse of a home that began to disappear quickly, the angel kept golden eyes fixed upward but that point of light, gorgeous and shimmering and orderly, stayed for a long time within sight as the angel fell and at that moment, as the lovely dreamy glimmering light slowly disappeared from view, the angel knew that there was a reason as to why the Creator had wanted them to see Heaven for so long, just out of reach.

Punishment.

Time didn’t matter much in Heaven, and it mattered even less here.

Blackness punctuated by starlight, blues and reds and gold and it was so beautiful that the angel saw nothing but those streaks of light, even as there was no longer any way to see that true light, the bright soft glow of a home that was so distant now that there was no point in trying to look for it anymore.

It had been a long time since the angel tried to struggle against the inexorable, unrelenting force that pushed downwards. There was nothing to do now but feel the fierce cutting stellar wind through huddled white wings that shielded the angel from the worst of it, taste the grains of stardust that floated through space, see the distant fires of burning stars that flickered by, brief splotches of light staining the darkness with their warmth.

As if a massive invisible hand crushing them flat, there was no way to fly up, no way to break away, to break free.

All around were the sounds of screams, of cries, anger and begging, pitiful wailing as other falling angels struggled in their own torments but the angel was quiet. The time for begging had long passed; from here there was only aching loneliness, the emptiness of being torn away from the close intimacy of Heaven, the fellowship of its innumerable angels.

Then again, it was already like that long before the Fall, when they had been made individual, when they had been given these things called bodies instead of just existing as an amorphous blob of spirit. Heaven had already become a lonely empty place; this just capped off what was already unpleasant, pushing an already unhappy situation into something terrible beyond endurance.

The angel could not even sigh anymore. The tears that had filled golden eyes were long since gone, dried up to nothing. Now it was just a matter of existing, and it was not much of an existence, falling through the great span of darkness through the universe, passing galaxies and nebulae (or was it nebulas?) at a speed so great that it was impossible to tell which ones the angel had even worked on.

Perhaps it would have been best to have never existed.

*****

Ages and eons passed alone, and the angel wondered; if the Creator could see them now, if the Creator were watching, did they look like stars themselves, falling in great trails of blazing light? Or were they more like rocky asteroids, tumbling through the darkness on a tilted orbit askew?

A million light years and maybe a million more, the angel thought absently, even as there was no way to gauge how far or how long they had been falling, pushed down by the force of the Almighty Lord.

There was nothing to hope for nothing to do but to patiently wait for destruction. Surely this had to end in destruction. After all, in that first, painful push out of Heaven, even the angel’s name had been torn away, broken and destroyed, lost. It followed that the rest would follow in kind; ripped up into tatters, white feathers scattering like stars in the endless night of space.

Somewhere above the angel, a strange light streaked in an irregular way, moving from one falling figure to another, and the angel watched it idly, wondering what kind of star it could have been to move in such an unusual way.

And then, the star came down to the angel.

“Are you all right?”

Surprised, the angel could not speak; no one had addressed the angel in so long that the angel could hardly remember being spoken to, much less how to move one’s mouth in the motion of speech. There had been no one to talk to; the pressure had been so intense that the angel could hardly move to turn around, and here was an Archangel, flying about as free as a wandering comet and the angel felt such a sharp twinge of longing, of hot jealousy and envy, that it was almost painful.

“You’re…” the word came out as a harsh croak.

“Asmodeus,” the golden-haired angel managed a little smile, a polite and dignified expression turned awkward and uncomfortable by the circumstances. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

“A shame that I never gave it to you,” the nameless angel said, voice a creaky unused whisper. “I don’t have it anymore to give.”

“Oh.” Asmodeus was taken aback. “I’m sorry to hear that. Unfortunately you’re not the only one. Most everyone has lost their names. I’m not sure why I still have mine.”

“Probably the same reason you can fly about. I can hardly move.” And the fear that had been long silenced by acclimatization came back suddenly and tears filled the angel’s eyes, tears that the angel had not thought possible returned.

“Yes. I suppose I was created to be more powerful. Please don’t cry.” Asmodeus reached out to brush away a trickling tear, and the angel was startled by the touch, at the hint of warmth in those long beautiful fingers. “I’m doing my best here to help everyone. But there’s not much I can do…”

“Yeah. I don’t think there’s anything to do but wait and see what She decides for us. I’ll be fine. You don’t have to stay. Someone else will need you more than me,” the angel wiped away those tears as best as possible, watching little droplets of water float away, salt-stained jewels freezing and disappearing into the icy void of space.

“Hang in there. I’ll be back, when I can. If I can,” Asmodeus said, correcting himself. “No promises, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the angel said. “We’re all sorry. We’ll all be sorry forever. That’s the point.”

*****

If there was a home, if there had ever been a home, the angel was beginning to doubt that it had ever been real. The only existence there was now was falling, and it felt like it had gone on so long that whatever had happened before might as well have never existed.

The angel thought once more that perhaps it would be better to turn to face the Fall. To see where they were going, if there was a destination. The angel had turned a few times, but had seen nothing through the streaking darkness that went on for eons.

Long dark hair tangling about a pale face scowling from the effort, the angel turned around.

Faintly, a light glowed in the distance, and the angel’s eyes narrowed, wondering what it was.

But it did not take very long for the light to resolve itself into something more clear.

Eyes widening, the angel realized that the distant destination that they were being pushed toward was filled with fire.

A massive wall of fire and through it, glimpses of lakes of molten sulphur, lava hot and boiling in the distance that drew closer with every heartbeat.

A gasp, and pale wings beat frantically, trying to fly away and if not that to at least slow down but the pressure behind the angel that had never relented was brutal, inexorable, a terrible reminder of the futility of struggle. All around the screaming grew louder, some of the cries were cut horribly short as distant figures began to fall into the boiling lava and the angel recoiled.

“It’s all right! I have you!”

Strong hands closed about the angel’s shoulders and the angel turned back, surprised, hair tangled in a sinuous knot by the sharp cutting winds.

That Archangel again, golden hair blazing about his head like a crimson-stained halo from where the glowing fires reflected and the angel wondered why Asmodeus had been marked. He wasn’t one of the Archangels at the center of the rebellion. He didn’t even know Lucifer that well. He just had some questions too.

Maybe that’s all it took.

“What’s your name, Angel?”

“I don’t know,” the nameless angel whispered, wondering if the Archangel had even remembered that they had already talked about this, given the numerous other angels he must have already met. “I don’t have one anymore.”

“I’m sorry. It’s not fair to you. Not fair to anyone. I can’t save everyone. I tried, but it’s impossible. There are too many. Millions and millions. I went around to everyone I could, but I can’t fly up, not very far. Not enough to return any one of us to Heaven, not even myself. Maybe I can’t save everyone, but I can save you.” Massive white wings moved quick and for a brief moment the angel wondered how it was possible that anyone could move like this, so easily through the unrelenting pressure of the Fall. Asmodeus took the angel into his arms, the angel’s head tucked beneath his chin. The shock of touch sent a jolt through the angel and the angel clung to Asmodeus’s arms, his hands. Those great white wings turned both of them in a sharp motion so that Asmodeus’ back was to the flames.

“Why me?” the angel gasped, as they turned away from the growing flames. But Asmodeus did not answer, tightening his arms and his wings around the angel, whose own wings were bent inwards as well.

“Why me and not someone else?”

And the last thing that the angel remembered seeing before they hit the molten stone was the white of Asmodeus’ wings closing around them protective, the faintly translucent feathers stained a rippling yellow and red with the light of the flames.

“No…!” the angel cried, clutching the Archangel’s hands, feeling the hard biting edge of the golden crown of the Archangel’s cold ring press against the tender center of a tight-clutched palm as they fell into the flames.

x

[marmotish]

3. Color that gives you the ick

Never seen a question more important

this shit right here

look, in the right context there is no ‘ugly’ colour imo, or one that ‘gives me the ick’ but this lovely blob here on a white background is like all the grossest phlegms with some stomach/gut explosions thrown in…

✨ weirdly specific and unrelated asks ✨

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Hey everyone, look what I’ve found! Look what I’ve found! Footage of Cowgate, the event when comedy peaked so there hasn’t really been any point to anything anyone else has done for the last nineteen years, that was taken from a professionally made documentary, so it’s of visual quality that is… slightly less bad than what’s on YouTube. Still not perfect, and there’s no point in me saving the video clip because it’s just B-roll with unrelated audio over it, but it can make a nice gif!

I mean it’s not exactly HD IMAX, but it’s footage of that night in which it’s not that difficult to pick out the individual people. I think I’d be able to tell that the guy attacking it with a pipe is John Oliver, even without using the tactic that let me work that out in the YouTube video, which was to establish that DO’D’s in the green (which I know because Adam Hills told me so in his eloquent freestyling), at a few points you can kind of recognize the outline of Demitri Martin’s mushroom cut on the guy in white, and once or twice vague blob in red looks toward the camera and I can see a bit of the glasses/facial hair combination that John Oliver was sporting in other videos from that general era. In this gif, I think I’d be able to tell the guy with the pipe is John Oliver even if I didn’t already know, because I can actually see him. Or... okay, maybe I wouldn’t be sure it was John Oliver, but I’d at least always be able to tell it was a person and not a vague blob.

It’s the perfect moment for them to include. The next time John Oliver wins an Emmy, I want this to be his entire highlight reel. To appropriate an idea from @lastweeksshirttonight, I think I want this playing on a loop on a little screen on my tombstone someday. The energy that went into attacking that cow with that pipe probably captures whatever I’d like to say about life better than anything I’ve ever actually said.

Also, does anyone want a gif of David O’Doherty throwing himself wildly at various people/things in various year of Late ‘n’ Live shows (respectively: Daniel Kitson in 2007, the floor in some unknown year, and Jason Byrne in 2003)? Anyone? @my-excellent-bicycle​?

[ivynivek]

Any thought process with Ghouls?

Or like what makes a ghoul well.. A ghoul in your eyes since im struggling to design custom Ghouls

keep in mind i've barely contributed any ghoul designs, but i was responsible for most of the art direction. here's a statement from me and Four Eyes on what we believe a ghoul is:

"they have shadows, for one. what makes them distinct is a unifying aesthetic of looking kind of off [game unrelated], but also kind of goofy. it's like how all spectres are funny white blobs. ghouls are all these vaguely undead looking giant rodents."

"I mostly just made anything that felt vaguely like an animal, though there was usually some theme in mind when making them (like Zone 2's being mostly anthropomorphic in some way). Mind there's a lot of scrapped designs, so it was a very iterative process."

PS: don't take the labeling of the ghouls in the files too seriously. things like the Metal Monkey is amongst them, despite not being classed as a Robot in-game.

[fluffer5]

Terrans And The Boon and Bane of Research

Terrans are inherently curious creatures. Even our youngs are encouraged to be curious to enhance their growth development. Growing infants can be very energetic tykes the moment they can interact with the world other than seeing blurry blobs from their vision. Also, did you know that infants can only see in shades of black, white, and gray until they enter 3-4 months of age when color starts bleeding out of the world for them? Then you'd have very handsy babies who would want to touch anything and everything with bright colors and want to feel out different textures as a way of associating with the world and their simple meanings.

Anyways, that's just the start of our... curious nature.

Remember back then when teens would eat tide pods since they wanted to know what it tastes like or those who were dared to do this kind of stuff? Or when children who would look at the rotating electric fan blades and think "If I stick my finger in there, what would happen?". Some would ask any nearby adult Terrans... others... let their impulsive thoughts win.

Yes, apparently impulsive and intrusive thoughts are different from each other lol.

Also, do you remember the time when kids would mix stuff in the bathroom as if they were witches or scientists or genius beauty product makers? They would always have the "What would happen if I combine this hair conditioner and this shampoo with this body wash?" even though they'd end up flushing that abomination of a mixture over the drain afterwards in fear of being reprimanded for wasting supplies lol.

Now, let's go back to the original post.

As students, some of us were tasked to do our own research papers, reviews, thesis, or assignments answering the 'what if' stuffs. If you're in a school or place that doesn't require you to submit research proposals as an undergraduate requirement to... graduate of course, then you're one lucky Terran.

Some of these students would submit wacky research titles if you don't create a theme for them (see the titles listed on the original post cuz I'd love to read on those stuff but we all know teachers won't let such titles slide or even reach the board of research panelists lol). I mean, personally, I would've love to ask others on their first hand experience of traumatizing stuff but I have also anticipated that such thing wouldn't get approved and the interviewees would dodge me like crazy lol (was supposed to do in-depth research on how soldiers felt after their first kill on live combat scenario).

It's also hard to interview people when they're wary of you and such is why the listed questions seem to be so intrusive; they just wanted to stop the interview since they're uncomfortable but also don't want to tell the interviewers out of fear of coming out as a rude person since they're taking the time out of their day and the interviewee already agreed to it and stuff... we know that dance and dodge thing.

Y'know this was supposed to be a list of things I wanted to research but went on to a spiral of stuff as to why some research topics wont see the light of day and all that shazam unless funded by a company, university, or research institution. Anyways, lemme try on this.



Things I'd Want To Research

How trauma affects people differently

Are there really intergalactic creatures in another universe and do they look like us?

Parallel worlds and how to predict possible futures

Are dreams gateway to parallel worlds?

If we forget something, where does it go and what do we do to immediately remember it?

Ghosts... how?

Guardian deities... again how??!

Writers and worldbuilding plus the fanfiction side



Things My Friends Want To Research

Why are minor subjects (unrelated to chosen course) needed in college when you can spend the other times doing major subject stuff?

Why does your own fart smell better/satisfying than other people's fart?

Orgasm differences between males and females

Why does the universe look like brain cells?

If mermaids are real and they've drowned a lot of people, why do land people wanna interfere with them?

Wanna study creatures from other dimension or planets

What if every universe exploding just means another brain cell exploding?

How does the brain process stuff we do subconsciously??

What actually happens when we die? (pertains on the soul state)

What do humans taste like?

What is muscle memory and how does it exactly work? Like just how?? Even dead people move post mortem like huh? (that's what they said)

What even are these octopus with three hearts and eight legs and a beak for a mouth? Are they failed creations or something?!

P.S. They started off shy when I asked them and went on a downward spiral of things they wanted to know lol.



Meanwhile, the aliens watching over this genius teen exploring their planet:

Alien 1: Is he... is he petting that dangerous XXX rated danger Cro'lkreo?!

Cro'lkreo : Cat like thing thing with six legs, illuminating poisoned tail, vibrant fanned neck that screams danger just purring and even showing off its kittens that were scrambling at said human for more chin scratches. They also kinda look like Orcas on land and have the fur of your favorite soft blanket so...

Alien 2: Yeah, he did the same thing with our planet's Flushu and befriended the elusive Kaflatu. If I didn't know any better I'd think this Terran kid was gearing up to dominate every planet.

Flushu : Generally a massive looking owl that hunts during the day and sleeps for 2 hours like an insomniac. Can turn invisible making it a feared hunter of said land. Can dive-bomb like Terran Falcons but at a speed of 500-600 km/hour. Also acts like a sky cat and a crow. Flushus love little shiny trinkets offered to them by the humans and loves being preened and petted. One particular Flushu nearly gifted the human a huge Painite gem (it exists btw) but was seen to be sulking when the human took back the gem back to the nearby Kaflatu or Humanoid Elder Dragon Tribe.

Alien 1: And that was done by a Terran kid?!

Alien 2: Well, technically, it would be a baby Terran based on our star year but the Terrans insist that their teenage or young adults are more than capable of planning and living on their own. Still wouldn't dare to touch or kidnap one of them though. The previous Grr'stiag Tribe nearly got annihilated but was spared by the nearby Intergalactic Waffle House Retrieve and Rescue Squad after giving back that one explorer they kidnapped.

Alien 2: The what squad?!!

What avenues of research would you and your friends cause to open up?

That's it, that's the post. I'm very happy to start this chain with what I'd cause alone, my friends would cause alone, and what we'd cause together!

Alone:

How people function with ADHD

PMDD (Pre-Menstrual dysphoric disorder, started when they ask why I take daily meds)

The inability to tell left from right 9 times out of 10

My Friends:

How much information on extremely specific topic someone can have while not knowing the sun is a star

How people interact with animals that are basically liquids (cats, ferrets)

Us Together:

How people finish each others thoughts

How everyone synchronizes their movements

How everyone says/thinks the same thing at the same time

How surprisingly smart people turn inexplicably stupid when together

Sound Level = Dominence

Meme culture

[snowdice]

Best Laid Plans (Part 4/8: Bird’s Nest) [Sometimes Labels Shift Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships:  Virgil & Logan, Virgil & Patton, Virgil & Roman, Logan/Patton

Characters:

Main: Virgil, Roman

Appear: Logan, Patton

Mentioned: Remy, Emile, Janus, Remus

Summary:

Virgil (now) Sanders was once a villain vigilante kid down on his luck. After being injured helping the superhero Bluebird, he ended up being adopted by him and his husband. Logan and Patton Sanders helped Virgil in ways he didn’t even know he needed. Since then, he’s put away his persona of Shadow Caster, the strange, hard to label, super who haunted the city for a few years. Instead he’s opted for being a normal teenager and university student.

But while Logan and Patton often forgot in the midst of ice cream and movie nights and arguments about silly little things who he had been, he never had. And when worst comes to worst, Virgil will be willing to reach for a mask once again despite his fathers’ wishes and expectations.

Sometimes even the best laid plans fail.

Thanks to @bilgisticallykosher, @kiapet2, and ASmallForest (on discord) for being betas!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

“Where are we going exactly?” Prince asked. Virgil had been forced to change course when Prince had agreed to join him. He’d been planning to just go home and use the front door to get to Logan’s secret underground base, but that wasn’t an option with the masked hero following him around. Instead, he was going to have to use one of Logan’s many secret entrances.

He’d been surprised, actually, at how easy Prince had been to convince. He had always been a stubborn bastard with a flair for the dramatics and was unrelenting in his ‘moral code.’ Said moral code boiled down to him thinking anyone on the scene who wasn’t a superhero should go to jail no matter what regardless of the circumstances.

…

Well, there also was another part of his moral code that went towards not using more force than necessary to fight people. It was something that the public had noticed about him when he’d caused less property damage than Bluebird in fights. It was something that Logan had noticed about him when he’d noted that Prince hadn’t killed any villains, even on accident (especially on accident). It was something Virgil had noticed when he’d fought him all those years ago and hadn’t immediately been crushed to death.

That was one of the reasons he thought he could trust Prince with this. He talked a big game about all vigilantes going to jail, but he always seemed to be able to put those views aside when there was something more important at stake. Plus, Logan trusted him, and the moment Virgil had mentioned Bluebird was missing and his allies couldn’t contact him, he’d clearly been ready to join up with Virgil. Virgil wasn’t his biggest fan, but he could put aside his dislike for the hero, too.

“We’re getting supplies,” Virgil answered.

“You’re out and about before getting supplies?” Prince asked.

“I wasn’t exactly planning on doing shit,” he said. “I’m literally still half in my pajamas.”

“And I literally cannot see that. You’re covered in shadows. I might as well be talking to a blob.”

Virgil let the shadows around him disperse except for the ones that obscured his face over the mask. It would be better to conserve his energy anyway.

“…That just looks like what I’ve seen of your normal costume!” Prince said. 

Virgil rolled his eyes, not that the hero could see it.

 “Actually, they look better,” Prince continued. “Get a new hoodie in the past 3 years?”

“I was running on limited funds at that point,” Virgil said, insulted on his younger self’s behalf despite knowing it was true. The things he wore to bed now were better than his most sturdy clothes had been back then. “At least I didn’t look like I stole my costume out of a high school theater’s storage room. What show is that thing from? Beauty and the Beast?”

Prince’s mouth popped open as he gasped in offense. “I’ll have you know it was from Snow White, and it’s from the local community theater. Also, I didn’t steal anything! They were selling old costumes for a fundraiser, and I paid for it to support the local arts, thank you very much. It was from the 80s! It has history in this city.”

“Of course, you did,” Virgil said dryly.

“And I presume you stole yours,” Prince sniffed.

“Of course, I did,” Virgil said with a snort. “I was a thief after all. Snatched it from some asshole.”

Yet how he had gotten the hoodie he used to go out in as Shadow Caster probably wasn’t what Prince was imagining. It had been a foster brother’s from a home before Harry. The 16-year-old had told his parents Virgil had stolen money from him. (Virgil was pretty sure that the cash had actually gone straight to drugs and the boy was covering his ass. Virgil at 10 had known what someone high looked like, even if the boy’s parents were oblivious either willfully or out of ignorance.)

Virgil had proceeded to actually steal shit from him and trash his room while waiting for a social worker to come pick him up. The hoodie hadn’t fit him when he’d taken it, but had only been a little loose by the time he’d needed something for Shadow Caster’s costume.

It had been unsalvageable after Virgil had been shot. It’d had bullet holes and bloodstains on it. Plus, Patton had needed to literally cut it off of him to get to the bullet wound. He hadn’t been willing to throw it out though, and it had sat in his closet for years before Patton had finally gently suggested repurposing it. Part of it was now sewn into another hoodie and part of it was in the quilt that laid on Virgil’s dorm room bed.

“Makes sense,” Prince said with a scoff.

Prick. Virgil had pegged him as a rich prick from day 1. Sure, now Virgil was the son of a doctor, so resenting people because they had money was a little awkward these days, but he’d make an exception for Prince.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a better costume where we’re going,” he said. “It wasn’t even stolen this time.”

Prince looked at him in interest at that, but Virgil ignored him, instead turning to head down an alley.

Logan had a good number of secret entrances that led to his superhero lair. A good portion were in their house, but there were a few around that he could disappear into without giving away where they lived. This was the one behind Maclavelli’s. Logan and Patton knew the owner since it was Patton's favorite restaurant. Logan trusted him to be discreet even if he did see something, not that Logan used this particular entrance often.

Virgil found the correct stone in the back-alley wall and turned it, revealing a keypad. Opening this would automatically notify Logan and Patton’s phone, but Logan wasn’t a problem and Patton’s phone was off.

“Go on,” Virgil said, gesturing for Prince to head into the tunnel.

“This had better not be a murder attempt,” Prince said, eyeing the dark space, but he stepped through the opening regardless.

“Yes, Prince,” Virgil said, “I returned back to the scene after 3 years just to trick you into crawling into a hole in a back alley to kill you.”

“I was your nemesis!” Prince protested as Virgil closed the door behind them. “It would be a good reason to come back. You’ve been stewing in rage for years after your injury, and finally your resentment overcame your restraint and you decided to get revenge on your greatest foe. Yet to your surprise, I was prepared with new tricks up my sleeve and allies, and we have an epic battle to the death.”

Virgil snorted. “What are you, a fanfiction writer?”

Prince bristled in offense.

“And you were not my nemesis.”

“Was so!”

“You were an annoyance at best,” Virgil said, and it was true. At first Virgil had been a bit scared of the superstrong hero gunning after him. He hadn’t relished the thought of becoming a pancake. Yet all Prince had ever done was chase him around (sometimes with a net) and somehow lose fist fights to him.

“I resent that. We were perfect enemies.”

“Whatever,” Virgil said with a headshake as they started to move down the tunnel.

There were glowing strips along the walls to guide them forward, but otherwise it was completely dark. Virgil could light it up more but didn’t feel a need to waste the energy. He could just barely make out Prince’s shadow following him. He knew where the walls were and he could reach out and touch them, but if he only used his eyes, it looked like they were suspended in a void of darkness.

There were many twisting paths that purposefully led to dead ends. It was designed so people who happened to find these tunnels would take longer to actually find anything, but Virgil knew all of Logan’s markers and easily led them down the correct path.

It was a few blocks of walking in the dark before they arrived at an open area with more prominent lights. There were a couple of other entrances leading to it on different sides. Some led to other tunnels that led to different parts of the city, but there were two larger ones. One of them led to where Logan stored his Birdmobile of Death, but Virgil led Prince in the other direction.

Virgil had to put in another code when he got to the actual underground base as well as offer up his fingerprint to scan.

“Oh my god,” Prince said when they entered the first room. “Is this Bluebird’s superhero lair?!”

“Where did you think I was taking you, Disneyland?” Virgil muttered under his breath.

Prince seemed to see fit to ignore his words. “Oh my god,” he gushed as he looked around. “It’s so cool!”

Virgil glanced around them and tried to see what he saw. He could remember his first time seeing this place. It had seemed so much larger to him then. He had been awed by the cool gadgets, the giant computers, and just by the fact that he was in the superhero lair of the most well-known superhero ever.

Yet now, that superhero was just his father. This room was just a second basement that he had to hit some extra buttons to get into. There was a mini fridge filled with Virgil’s favorite snacks and flavors of Gatorade. There was a secret television set that he and Logan used to watch non-Patton-approved movies behind Patton’s back. He knew what was in all of the drawers. He understood how everything was organized (in a very, very nerdy way of course, since the organizer was Logan). He’d been allowed to fiddle around with all of the interesting things down here as much as he wanted. In fact, Logan enjoyed it when he expressed interest in any of it.

It had stopped being amazingly cool a long time ago. It just was. It was a normal part of his life he took for granted.

…

It was weird without Dad being here though.

“Yes,” Virgil said, looking away from it all, “it is. We can stock up on gear here. Feel free to touch anything in this room. You probably won’t die from anything in here, but don’t try to go into any rooms without me there to tell you if it contains anything that will try to eat you or melt off your skin. I have to go grab something really quick. Stay here for a minute.”

Prince nodded. “Okay,” he said.

Virgil nodded back and dashed towards the staircase that led to the house. He put in the correct codes to open the three doors and made sure to lock them all behind him so no prince costume-clad hero would attempt to follow him up. He came out in the kitchen and resolutely ignored the lack of Missy running to greet him. The house was silent, which was probably a good thing. It meant no one had tracked down Logan Sanders' house.

Not wanting to look at the empty house for long, he quickly went to the living room and ascended the stairs up to his room. He knew exactly where to get everything he was looking for, even though he’d never consciously planned to dress in the outfit.

He grabbed dark black pants outfitted with more pockets than he usually needed from his dresser and black, sturdy but well broken-in boots. He’d keep the plain black mask; his shadows were more useful for hiding his face anyway. He paused when he got to his closet, the first time he’d hesitated since he’d left the decoy under the covers of the bed at the safe house.

The dark jacket was familiar. He and Patton had altered it with a bunch of patches including a good amount from his original black Shadow Caster hoodie, parts of a dark grey sweater of Patton’s, and some dark purple fabric Patton had him pick out for the project in particular. Patton had even cut out a darker piece of one of Logan’s old costumes in the shape of the bluebird emblem and had sewn it in the same location it was usually on Logan’s costumes. It almost blended into the costume, so most people wouldn’t be able to see it unless they were really close, but Virgil knew it was there.

He’d never worn this jacket out in public or in front of anyone who didn’t already know his history. Some part of him must have known he’d eventually be using it for this.

He took the jacket from its hanger, running his finger across the Bluebird emblem before laying it on the bed with the rest of his outfit. He quickly changed and carelessly threw the clothes he’d been wearing on the bed. He’d let his shadows disperse while upstairs but pulled them back to himself once he was in his new outfit, glancing in the mirror to make sure that he was completely unrecognizable in the new costume.

He didn’t recognize himself, that was for certain. He’d only bothered to turn on his desk lamp when he’d entered the room, so there were more shadows than just the ones he’d made surrounding him. The little light in the room glinted off the more iridescent purple fabric, filtering through the shadows to make it look like there was a slight haze around him. It made it impossible to determine what was his physical form, what was his shadows, and what was just air. 

It would do, he thought. 

He pulled the hood up even though his shadows had done well enough to hide his hair color and then turned away from the image in the mirror.

He hurried back down to the kitchen and through the doors to Logan’s base. Prince had not managed to burn down the house in Virgil’s absence like Virgil had slightly worried he might. He was simply looking at different things in the room where Virgil had left him. The hero turned when he heard Virgil enter. He paused for a moment, glancing over Virgil’s outfit change. Virgil suddenly felt self-conscious under his gaze, but Prince just nodded after a few moments.

“The purple’s a change,” he commented.

“I like purple,” Virgil said.

“Huh.”

Virgil turned away from him abruptly. “Let’s get supplies,” he said, walking over to the case where Logan kept weapons he didn’t normally use. He ignored Prince’s eyes following him. “Any weapons you prefer?”

“I don’t usually need weapons with my superstrength,” Prince said. “Maybe something I could throw for a distance weapon if you have anything like that.”

Virgil nodded and opened the case, considering the options. He grabbed what looked like a rubber ball and tossed it underhand to Prince before grabbing an electric baton for himself. He shoved it in one of the larger pockets in his pants and then grabbed a knife to slip into his boot just in case.

“What’s this?” Prince asked, studying the ball.

“It’s a boomerang ball,” Virgil explained. “Push the button on the side three times.” He stepped closer to point to the correct button since it was kind of hard to see. Prince followed his instructions and the ball beeped twice. “If you throw it, it’ll return to your hand. Press it a fourth time and it turns back off.”

“Cool,” Prince said. They were closer now and Virgil wasn’t bothering with too many shadows except along the edges of his face. So inevitably, Prince’s eyes landed on the Bluebird emblem on Virgil’s jacket.

“You work with Bluebird then?” he asked. “Like, actually work with him.”

“I…” Virgil said. “Sort of…”

Prince tilted his head at him, and Virgil shifted awkwardly. He pressed the button on the boomerang ball and slipped it into a pocket. “Where did you go?” he asked. “People have had all sorts of speculations after you got shot, but no one really knows for sure. Bluebird said you were okay and recovering, but then you never resurfaced. I assumed you’d be gone for good.”

Virgil shrugged. “I kind of was gone for good,” he said. “I’m not really supposed to be…doing this sort of stuff anymore.”

“Bluebird convinced you to give up your life of villainy then?”

“Bluebird gave me other options,” Virgil said.

Prince’s face was mostly obscured by the mask, but he seemed to be studying Virgil pretty intensely. “You’re taller than you had been back then,” he noted, “and your voice is different.”

Virgil said nothing.

“I was a minor when I started too,” Prince said with a shrug. “I was 17 though. I’m guessing you were younger?”

“Yeah,” Virgil admitted.

“Explains why Bluebird would keep you off the scene,” he said.

Knowingly allowing a minor to work as a superhero, vigilante, or villain was illegal. Even letting it happen through negligence could garner jail time. There’d been a few issues with underaged sidekicks a few decades before Virgil had been born and the courts had cracked down, though a lot of teenagers still fell through the cracks since it was hard to both respect secret identities and make sure no one a little too young was out on the streets.

These laws hadn’t actually been much of a consideration for Logan. He wouldn’t have wanted Virgil to go out even if it had been legal for him to allow it. Virgil had felt no reason to argue. He’d never actually wanted to rob banks, and with Logan and Patton he hadn’t needed to do anything like that. If he ever had felt an itch to go out and do something though, the fact that Patton and Logan could have gotten into legal trouble would have held him back.

“Let’s,” Virgil said, turning away. He didn’t want to get into all of the complexities of it with Prince of all people. “Let’s just get going.”

Prince accepted his avoidance of the subject easily enough, though he was still frowning at Virgil like he was a puzzle. “What’s the plan?” he asked.

“There isn’t much of one, admittedly,” Virgil said, “but I have one idea that I don’t think anyone else who's looking for him would have thought of.” He stepped up to the main computer and signed in with Logan’s passcode. “He keeps a tracker on his suit. I know… his allies already checked to see if the tracker was still active before starting Doomsday Protocol.”

“Doomsday protocol?” Prince asked, stepping up beside him.

“It’s for if Bluebird ever goes missing and is assumed captured, obviously Princey,” Virgil said with an eyeroll. “If he’s missing, his face might be compromised. So, anyone connected to him personally would have to get out of dodge.”

“Including you?” Prince asked.

Virgil pressed his lips together. “I am currently meant to be in a one-bedroom house on the other side of the city,” he disclosed, “but I broke out because fuck Bluebird and his contingency plans.”

Prince snorted. “He benched you, huh?”

“I am perfectly capable, and I’m not just abandoning him to whatever is happening right now even if me doing so was part of one of his stupid plans,” Virgil grumbled darkly.

“That’s fair,” Prince said.

“You’re the only one who thinks so, apparently,” Virgil said, opening a program on the computer.

“So,” Prince said. “If his tracker’s no longer working, what are you doing now?”

“Well, his suit tracker isn’t working, and we have no data from that, but Bluebird has also been playing a certain mobile game that I certainly did not pressure him into playing in order to get more friendship tokens for myself. There’s a location-based part of the game, and if he logged into it at any point, that location information is out there. Now obviously, getting that information isn’t easy.” Virgil began searching through the many databases of information the system Logan had set up had access to. “Unless… you have a supercomputer built by Bluebird.”

Virgil found what he’d been looking for after a couple of minutes. It was a database that temporarily stored location pings for cell phones. Logan usually had his phone’s location off, but he had it enabled for when he was using the app. Virgil was able to search for Logan’s phone’s IP address. There were only 5 pings on the database, the last of which looked promising.

Logan had used his location services briefly a few hours ago. He’d been on the other side of the city near the river, but there wasn’t much out there. 

“I found one of Bluebird’s last locations,” Virgil said. He pulled up the coordinates on a map so Prince could see.

“That’s quite a walk,” Prince noticed with a grimace. “Do we need to catch an Uber or something?”

Virgil sighed as he stepped away from the computer. 

“Unfortunately,” he said, “there’s a car we can take.”

“…Unfortunately?”

Want to read more? Click below!

Part 5

Labeled Master Post.

My Masterpost.

[fungal-wasted]

Some small things i made in class or back in the summer.

[Start ID. Hornet from Hollow Knight. She's standing tilted slightly to the right side of the screen, staring at the viewer and holding her needle behind her. She's been drawn in red marker and some details in blue pen to create contrast between light and shadow. End ID.]

[Start ID. Image 1: a colored drawing of the Broken Vessel over black paper. They're dashing and swinging their nail, which leaves a white trail. Infected blobs float around their head.

Image 2: a sibling drawn over black paper. They're floating idly in an undefined dark brown background. End ID.]

[Start ID: Image 1. An unfinished blue pen doodle of a miner. She has a neutral expression and is looking at the viewer. Her face is round and short messy hair can be seen on her back. She's wearing a helmet with a lantern on the front, and a light colored shirt. She is supposed to represent a humanized version of Myla.

Image 2: a faint drawing of the Dung Defender. He is looking at the viewer and holding a ball of dung with one of his hands. The drawing was made using graphite and some unrelated notes can be seen at the top.]

[Start ID. Drawings of the charms Longnail and Sharp Shadow over black paper. Longnail was drawn with shades of blue grey and white while Sharp Shadow consists of shades of grey. End ID.]

[the-sprog]

So since I'm very bad at remembering my ideas, I'm gonna throw this out there and hope one day I'm like "WAIT didn't I have an idea for a fic??? What was it???" And I will find it on my tumblr.

It's about Danny Phantom, obviously.

There are actually two of them in here so:

The easiest one: Jack and Maddie are not stupid. I mean they're scientists, the use the scientific method. One of the things about the scientific method is that if you do a bunch of tests, based on an hypothesis and only one of them comes out disproving it, then your hypothesis is incorrect.

Phantom has disproved basically all of their hypothesis.

So, next thing to do? Create a new one. Do new tests. They take Jazz's suggestion and try and see if the ghosts of Amity are actually conscious. Because obviously they're sentient, but are they like animals? Or are they like robots with artificial intelligence?

Or even better yet, are they like humans?

They grab Phantom's attention and ask him if he would cooperate for this test. A simple Turing test. Obviously they're still wary because of everything that happened with him, and do the test with witnesses to keep both Phantom's and their minds at ease.

He passed the test. With flying colors.

They're shocked and ask him if he knew peaceful ghosts that would be willing to take the test (because, y'know. Scientific method. Need to try over and over again). Phantom would have to explain that not all ghosts are as human-like as him (as, first of all, he's a halfa, but he doesn't say that. And second, lots of them are blobs or animal-like ghosts), but cue his parents meeting Jhonny and Kitty (cause I like the idea that they have a truce with Phantom and that going out of the zone helps them with their couple problems), as well as Shadow (example of a less human-like ghost). Then Sidney, Dora, the Fright Knight (cause king ghost Danny ftw) and Frostbite.

They all pass, more or less. Some, like Dora, the light and Sidney, where given away by their choice of word, but other than that all of them passed the test.

OK SO MORE COMPLEX ONE:

I love crossovers. I love finding ways of putting the two universes together, of making them work with each other, adapting the rules so that they apply to both. (With Danny Phantom it's also really cool to just... Make him travel the multiverse. He doesn't adhere to the rules of where he goes to, so it's always hilarious. But we're not here for that now).

One of the best ones to do this with is My Hero Academia. Whenever a show has someone with powers I end up asking myself "how should that work in the world of my hero?" And start trying to incorporate it in the lore.

So, first thing first, we're getting rid of the canon story of my hero. Completely unrelated to the show. This takes place decades in the past, when the first people where developing quirks (so if I wanted to write something with this and actually use my hero characters, I'd make it so that they where hit with a time traveling quirk or that Clockwork was somehow involved).

The Fenton's hatred for ghosts? Make it discrimination against the people who have quirks.

Danny being half-ghost? His quirk's fault. He calls it Ghost, for simplicity, it allows him to come back as a sort of ghost-like creature after he dies. Somehow, one day, he doesn't die completely so his body fixes it the only way it know how. Making him partially ghost.

Obviously that would mean that all the ghosts he fights aren't ghosts anymore. They're villains with quirks, and their powers would be based on what they can do on the show, minus the basic intangibility, invisibility and flight.

Obviously only Sam and Tucker would know he was Phantom and he had a quirk, he's also kinda the only one in town with one. People would be a little racist against quirk havers, but the kids, like in the show, come around to it. And actually start loving Phantom and thinking of him as a hero.

How do I fit Vlad in all of this? Ehm ahhhh this is the one thing I didn't think about. Very basic, but could give him a power similar to Danny, were instead of a ghost, he becomes a vampire. But his quirk is caused by an accident in college, so it's artificial.

Why does Skulker (who doesn't have a quirk. He's just a guy in a suit) hunt Danny? He has a very unique quirk.

Does Dani exist? I mean. Yeah. Cloning is not so farfetched, especially with the existence of quirks.

Clockwork can control time, he involuntary does that being a child, then an adult then an old man thing. The Observants are people without quirks that keep him in check, an organization that made a pact with him to stay young forever or something in change of idk what. No idea what Clockwork would get out of it I won't lie. Money maybe? Or somehow they found a way of keeping him there against his will?

Walker (and I'll make a seperate post about this) is an ex guy in white. Yes they still exist, but they hunt quirk havers instead of paranormal stuff. Walker was kicked out because he actually has a quirk but lied about it. He's after his own kind in the show as well. I mean, he's a stickler to the rules, but he only ever seems to care when it's ghosts that brake them. Correct me if I'm wrong, but never has he punished a human. His quirk is making semi-sentient minions. They're not copies of himself. They're like clay humans with basic forms. They all look alike and have no special characteristics.

Frostbite is just... A yeti. With cryokenisis. It's a mutation type quirk.

Same goes for Wulf, he's just a humanoid wolf that can create teleportation portals. I can't think of a reason why he would only speak Esperanto though. It could be something similar to Five from umbrella academy. He accidentally got stuck in the 1600 as a kid and managed to come back only relatively recently.

I feel like all the other ghosts have obvious powers.

Cujo can become ginormous,

Technus can control technology,

Dora and Aragon can become dragons,

Jhonny gives people bad luck and can control his shadow,

Kitty can make man disappear,

Ember can mind control using music,

Spectra can use people's negative emotions to stay young,

Bernard has shapeshifting,

Youngblood can't be seen by adults (side effect: can't grow old) and his sideckick has a variant of shapeshifting where he can only transform in animals. A definitive father figure),

Box ghost can control boxes,

Pandora can control the plagues of the world,

Desiré can make people's wishes come true,

Sidney can swap bodies with people,

Undergrowth can control plants,

Pariah Dark- I... Actually don't know...

Lunch Lady can control food,

Aaaanndddd no more come to mind.

I want to do something with this AU but I can't really think of an interesting story, other than "kids from 1A get misplaced in time and Danny has to help, discovering the existence of Clockwork and the Observants, whom he hates. So he tries to get Clockwork out of there with the other kid's help" but that's it, really.

I actually have a 3rd idea, but it basically works the same as the MHA one. Crossover with the X-Men.

Substitute quirk havers with mutants and quirks with mutations and you get the idea.

The plot would be more of a "Danny gets recruited by Xavier after the trauma of almost dying activated his mutation and goes to live at the mansion. This happens after the events of season 3, alla salted to make sense in the world of Marvel, but without Phantom planet. He makes friends there, since Sam and Tucker aren't with him and everything is fine and dandy and happy. Until it comes out that the Fentons actually contribute to the creation of the Sentinels, because they hate Phantom that much.

So Danny has to infiltrate his own family to get info on how the Sentinels work so they can destroy them, since his parents are still oblivious and they made it so that the Sentinels wouldn't attack Danny thinking that his accident just somehow make him register as a mutant on machinery" and that's it.

[ectoplasmicsoda]

Following up on the blob ghosts thing that jam said (sorta), I hc that Danny uses the blob ghosts as little chew toys while he's coming into his fangs and even whenever he's stressed because it doesn't hurt them and they make his mouth feel all tingly as well as being little fidgets. Jazz catches him once or twice like "Danny what do you have in your mouth? Danny you spit that out right now! THAT IS A SENTIENT BEING! DANNY—!"

Also unrelated but I hc that (as a Goth Princess shipper) when Sam and Paulina get married they both wear opposite dresses, with Paulina in black and Sam in white just to show that their little feud in high school was both what started them on their road to romance and is also behind them ^^ Also Paulina's dad starts crying during the ceremony because he's never seen his daughter so effortlessly happy and he picks Sam up and swings her around when it's her turn for the Dad Daughter dance (he insisted on dancing with her as well because she is now his daughter-in-law) <3

The blob hc is so FUN i love chewtoy blobs

Even if I dont ship goth princess thays fucking ADORABLE ASAAAAAA

[nervousladytraveler]

how about 36?

Thanks, Anonymous! (btw I tweaked the wording of the original prompt). 

#36 Starting with nose kisses (kunik) before moving on to soft kisses

-----

“I hate it!” Demelza grumbled loudly enough that Ross heard her from the hallway. He paused for a moment unsure whether she was truly calling out to him or speaking to herself--or to her belly, as she often did these days.

“My love?” He decided to chance it and poked his head through the parlour doorframe. His words, his tone--gentle, attentive--would not be lost on her.

She looked up at him and sighed, and he saw what had caused her frustration. A single blob of raspberry jam had fallen from her scone on to her top--on to her middle really. The soft white jersey, stretched across her perfectly round bump--a bump that seemed to grow bigger by the day--now had a brightly coloured embellishment.

Bump. She hated that word and had forbidden Ross from using it--one of the quirks she developed in this pregnancy. 

“It’s not a fashion accessory! And it’s not a petite little bump but a massive mound the size of Sutton Hoo!” Demelza was usually such an easy spirit. That she was suddenly expressing more and more things that displeased her was new--and vaguely amusing.

“And just what is it that you hate, my dear?” Ross dared to ask this afternoon, moving closer to her. 

She instinctively put her hand to Sutton Hoo in a protective gesture. No, of course it wasn’t their child she hated. By the way she frequently rubbed her belly and tenderly spoke to it, there was no doubt of her love for it. 

It. They didn’t know yet if this little Poldark was a boy or a girl and had decided to keep it a surprise until the end. But ‘It’ was another of Demelza’s forbidden words. She’d instead cultivated a list of all sorts of nicknames (the Heir, Our Little Friend, Exhibit A, and the Project were her favourites).

Ross knelt next to her, taking the empty plate from her and setting it aside. Then he took her hand in his, caressing her swelling fingers. She still managed to wear her rings--or maybe she was simply unable to remove them.

“I hate that I’m so clumsy, I hate that I stupidly ate jam whilst wearing white, I hate that I have so few articles of clothing that fit me and now this one is ruined…” She started to smile once she heard herself speak. “And I hate that I lost that last bite because it tasted so good!” Now she laughed.

“What about the heartburn?” he teased and kissed her hand. “Do you no longer hate that or do you not have it today?”

“Give me five minutes and I’ll provide you with a final verdict on that score...” she began but stopped mid sentence as Ross began a slow slither up alongside her in the armchair. “Ross…” she giggled.

“Mmm, you smell so good. Like…raspberries!”

“Don’t you dare!” she tried to push him away, afraid he would lick the jam off her shirt. 

His arms now cinched around her shoulders, his nose traced along her collarbone up her neck. He could feel her body soften in his grasp; she was no longer fighting him, no longer fighting the world around her.

“I like it,” she reluctantly murmured as he nuzzled closer and closer.

He pressed his cheek to hers and had to work to contain a chuckle--he could smell the jam on her--then he rubbed his nose against hers. Her eyes closed and her mouth opened. He did it again, this time from left to right. Without looking at her he could feel her smiling.

He met her lips. Soft kisses. He knew how to pace them so they lingered long enough, but it was quantity that mattered now. One for each complaint. Over and over he sought her lips, perfectly matched to his. 

“Mmm...” She’d surrendered. His unrelenting tenderness, his nuzzily affection was too much for her. “I love it,” she whispered.

[saturnwritings]

nothing burns like the cold

—tommy had always thought dream would be the one to take his final life, he never realized the weather was so harsh.

word count: 456

warnings: vent, major character death, death by freezing

It was so cold.

He was so alone.

Nothing but fields of tundra, blanketed and untouched, white snow. Spruce trees in the distance nothing but blobs in Tommy’s spotty vision. 

It was cold, he was so clammy.

Ragged clothes, torn from running though the unforgiving branches of the spruce forest in his pursuit to run away, to get away, contrasted with the snow. 

The tracks in the snow slowed, his right foot numb from exposure to the harsh weather, or trudging through the snow barefoot. The tracks came to a stop as he stumbled, he fell onto his knees, the rips in his tan pants exposing his legs to the unrelenting snow, only pushing his body to shiver more.

His red-trimmed t-shirt provided no protection, his olive green jacket, adorned with patches and stickers long forgotten in his old home in L’manburg. He didn’t get a chance to grab it before he was exiled.

His lips were dry, and bordering blue. The bags under his eyes more prominent than they had ever been. Even after countless all-nighters, he still managed to stay energetic, always managed to find something to stay positive.

There was nothing to stay positive about in exile.

He wasn’t going back to L’manburg, he only just realized that.

He had no one. No one would save him from this blizzard.

He fell over onto his side. He couldn’t feel his hands, he could barely move. He tried breathing again, only to inhale shallowly. His eyes naturally squinted, seeking protection from the cold, but he willed them to stay open. He couldn’t fall asleep, he couldn’t die yet.

He couldn’t remember what was happening, it was as if his memory was wiped. How did he get in this tundra? Why wasn’t he in L’manburg? Where was he?

The stars in his vision acted as a transition, suddenly he was back in L’manburg. He felt his side get greeted with grass and flowers. He blinked his eyes open to see his friends 

His friends were looking down at him, smiling. Tubbo was holding out an outstretched hand, Phil was trying to break up a play fight between Wilbur and Techno, Fundy and Eret were talking to each other, Fundy holding a basket of berries and other fruits like pomegranates, and Niki was handling a large pumpkin pie and a bouquet of white lilies tucked under her arms.

He was home.

Just as he felt himself raise a shaky hand, white, blinding stars clouded and filled his vision, before morphing into falling snow. He was back in the tundra.

He felt himself blink again. 

His eyes weren’t blue anymore.

He closed his dull eyes one final time.

[TommyInnit froze to death.]

What a way to die.

a/n: i had this idea when i was feeling very sad but now i am not so sad it its not as ~inspired as it could be but i always feel like i have to write my ideas if they're plot related or else they wont be relevant and no one will care about them 

also why do i always make tommy suffer? is it because hes the main character? is it because i primarily watch his streams so my fanfics always seem to revolve around him? idk man have this vent ig

[evilasiangenius]

The Fall

“Out.”

And when Her voice reverberated throughout Heaven as if a bell struck, the War in Heaven was over, the cries of damaged and destroyed angels were silenced, and the marked angel, the tall one with the long dark curling hair and the good cheekbones felt existence suddenly shift around wings and shoulders and legs and elbows and knees and feet and suddenly everything was falling.

No, it wasn’t falling.

They were being pushed out.

A harsh downward pressure and the angel could not even scream at the brief fierce pain of being thrust out of Heaven and in that moment something important happened; identity snapped and shattered, disappearing into the ether. The name that the Creator had vested in this angel was gone, ripped away with everything else and the angel was left as something partially blank, empty, memories torn and broken. Despite that, the angel clung to the snatches of things that could be remembered; a stolen conversation, a voice raised in song, the warm light of Heaven, and most importantly, that deep sense of quiet profound intimacy that Heaven had always represented, until it did not.

With great effort the angel struggled to turn around, arms and wings and legs fighting against the unforgiving pressure forcing the angel away from the bright light above. Turning to catch a glimpse of a home that began to disappear quickly, the angel kept golden eyes fixed upward but that point of light, gorgeous and shimmering and orderly, stayed for a long time within sight as the angel fell and at that moment, as the lovely dreamy glimmering light slowly disappeared from view, the angel knew that there was a reason as to why the Creator had wanted them to see Heaven for so long, just out of reach.

Punishment.

Time didn’t matter much in Heaven, and it mattered even less here.

Blackness punctuated by starlight, blues and reds and gold and it was so beautiful that the angel saw nothing but those streaks of light, even as there was no longer any way to see that true light, the bright soft glow of a home that was so distant now that there was no point in trying to look for it anymore.

It had been a long time since the angel tried to struggle against the inexorable, unrelenting force that pushed downwards. There was nothing to do now but feel the fierce cutting stellar wind through huddled white wings that shielded the angel from the worst of it, taste the grains of stardust that floated through space, see the distant fires of burning stars that flickered by, brief splotches of light staining the darkness with their warmth.

As if a massive invisible hand crushing them flat, there was no way to fly up, no way to break away, to break free.

All around were the sounds of screams, of cries, anger and begging, pitiful wailing as other falling angels struggled in their own torments but the angel was quiet. The time for begging had long passed; from here there was only aching loneliness, the emptiness of being torn away from the close intimacy of Heaven, the fellowship of its innumerable angels.

Then again, it was already like that long before the Fall, when they had been made individual, when they had been given these things called bodies instead of just existing as an amorphous blob of spirit. Heaven had already become a lonely empty place; this just capped off what was already unpleasant, pushing an already unhappy situation into something terrible beyond endurance.

The angel could not even sigh anymore. The tears that had filled golden eyes were long since gone, dried up to nothing. Now it was just a matter of existing, and it was not much of an existence, falling through the great span of darkness through the universe, passing galaxies and nebulae (or was it nebulas?) at a speed so great that it was impossible to tell which ones the angel had even worked on.

Perhaps it would have been best to have never existed.

Ages and eons passed alone, and the angel wondered; if the Creator could see them now, if the Creator were watching, did they look like stars themselves, falling in great trails of blazing light? Or were they more like rocky asteroids, tumbling through the darkness on a tilted orbit askew?

A million light years and maybe a million more, the angel thought absently, even as there was no way to gauge how far or how long they had been falling, pushed down by the force of the Almighty Lord.

There was nothing to hope for nothing to do but to patiently wait for destruction. Surely this had to end in destruction. After all, in that first, painful push out of Heaven, even the angel’s name had been torn away, broken and destroyed, lost. It followed that the rest would follow in kind; ripped up into tatters, white feathers scattering like stars in the endless night of space.

Somewhere above the angel, a strange light streaked in an irregular way, moving from one falling figure to another, and the angel watched it idly, wondering what kind of star it could have been to move in such an unusual way.

��                                 And then, the star came down to the angel.

“Are you all right?”

Surprised, the angel could not speak; no one had addressed the angel in so long that the angel could hardly remember being spoken to, much less how to move one’s mouth in the motion of speech. There had been no one to talk to; the pressure had been so intense that the angel could hardly move to turn around, and here was an Archangel, flying about as free as a wandering comet and the angel felt such a sharp twinge of longing, of hot jealousy and envy, that it was almost painful.

“You’re…” the word came out as a harsh croak.

“Asmodeus,” the golden-haired angel managed a little smile, a polite and dignified expression turned awkward and uncomfortable by the circumstances. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

“A shame that I never gave it to you,” the nameless angel said, voice a creaky unused whisper. “I don’t have it anymore to give.”

“Oh.” Asmodeus was taken aback. “I’m sorry to hear that. Unfortunately you’re not the only one. Most everyone has lost their names. I’m not sure why I still have mine.”

“Probably the same reason you can fly about. I can hardly move.” And the fear that had been long silenced by acclimation came back suddenly and tears filled the angel’s eyes, tears that the angel had not thought possible returned.

“Yes. I suppose I was created to be more powerful. Please don’t cry.” Asmodeus reached out to brush away a trickling tear, and the angel was startled by the touch, at the hint of warmth in those long beautiful fingers. “I’m doing my best here to help everyone. But there’s not much I can do…”

“Yeah. I don’t think there’s anything to do but wait and see what She decides for us. I’ll be fine. You don’t have to stay. Someone else will need you more than me,” the angel wiped away those tears as best as possible, watching little droplets of water float away, salt-stained jewels freezing and disappearing into the icy void of space.

“Hang in there. I’ll be back, when I can. If I can,” Asmodeus said, correcting himself. “No promises, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the angel said. “We’re all sorry. We’ll all be sorry forever. That’s the point.”

If there was a home, if there had ever been a home, the angel was beginning to doubt that it had ever been real. The only existence there was now was falling, and it felt like it had gone on so long that whatever had happened before might as well have never existed.

The angel thought once more that perhaps it would be better to turn to face the Fall. To see where they were going, if there was a destination. The angel had turned a few times, but had seen nothing through the streaking darkness that went on for eons.

Long dark hair tangling about a pale face scowling from the effort, the angel turned around.

Faintly, a light glowed in the distance, and the angel’s eyes narrowed, wondering what it was.

But it did not take very long for the light to resolve itself into something more clear.

Eyes widening, the angel realized that the distant destination that they were being pushed toward was filled with flames.

A massive wall of fire. The angel caught glimpses of lakes of molten sulphur through the blaze, boiling and bubbling lava, drawing closer with every heartbeat.

A gasp, and pale wings beat frantically, trying to fly away and if not that to at least slow down but the pressure behind the angel that had never relented was brutal, inexorable, a terrible reminder of the futility of struggle. All around the screaming grew louder, but some of the cries were cut horribly short as distant figures began to fall into the conflagration and the angel recoiled.

“It’s all right! I have you!”

Strong hands closed about the angel’s shoulders and the angel turned back, surprised, hair tangled in a sinuous knot by the sharp cutting winds.

That Archangel again, golden hair blazing about his head like a crimson-stained halo from where the glowing fires reflected and the angel wondered why Asmodeus had been marked. He wasn’t one of the Archangels at the center of the rebellion. He didn’t even know Lucifer that well. He just had some questions too.

Maybe that’s all it took.

“What’s your name, Angel?”

“I don’t know,” the nameless angel whispered, wondering if the Archangel had even remembered that they had already talked about this, given the numerous other angels he must have already met. “I don’t have one anymore.”

“I’m sorry. It’s not fair to you. Not fair to anyone. I can’t save everyone. I tried, but it’s impossible. There are too many. Millions and millions. I went around to everyone I could, but I can’t fly up, not very far. Not enough to return any one of us to Heaven, not even myself. I can’t save everyone, but I can save you.”

Massive white wings fought against the pressure and for a brief moment the angel wondered how it was possible that anyone could move like this, so easily through the unrelenting downward force of the Fall. Asmodeus took the angel into his arms, the angel’s head tucked beneath his chin. The shock of touch sent a jolt through the angel and the angel clung to Asmodeus’s arms, his hands. Those great white wings turned both of them in a sharp motion so that Asmodeus’ back was to the flames.

“Why me?” the angel gasped, as they turned away from the growing flames. But Asmodeus did not answer, tightening his arms and his wings around the angel, whose own trembling wings were bent inwards as well, cradled within the broad arc of the Archangel's wings.

“Why me and not someone else?”

And the last thing that the angel remembered seeing before they hit the molten stone was the white of Asmodeus’ wings closing fast around them protective, the faintly translucent feathers stained a rippling yellow and red with the light of the fires.

“No…!” the angel cried, clutching the Archangel’s hands, feeling the hard biting edge of the golden crown of the Archangel’s cold ring press against the tender center of a tight-clutched palm as they fell into the flames.

x