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duke-daemon · 3 months

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hazbin hotel redesigns wooooooooo

okay so. i'm gonna discuss my thoughts about them n shit, putting under a readmore bc it's gonna get long and rambley. sorry in advance for the shit formatting, i'm on mobile </3

just some general shit about how i would rewrite it. i think the premise of redeeming sinners is entertaining but is executed horribly. i also am a fan of the "heaven isn't great either" idea but again, executed horribly. i'd make the hierarchy of angels more accurate because it's cool as hell and i have autism about it. the characters from hell would swear still (albeit not as much), but the angels would outright refuse to swear or make vulgar jokes ever. this would be partially to further the gap between heaven and hell and make the differences more stark.

hell would also be more like dante's inferno (again because i think its cool). the ars goetia would get a full redesign and would be more prevalent in demonic society.

now for the characters!

---

VAGGIE VALTIEL:

starting off with vaggie, or Valtiel as i've renamed her because let's be honest her original name sucks. Valtiel (Val for short) was an aspiring power angel who wanted to be an exorcist. she looked up to lute and thought the idea of killing demons was really cool and badass. however when she actually was on the field for the first time she discovered how awful this actually was. she tried to help a few demons but lute figured it out and felled her right then and there. the rest of her story is relatively the same. personality wise she's more stoic and less prone to all-out aggression. she still get angry, sure, but it's in a quieter and more menacing way. you DO NOT want to fuck with Valtiel.

CHARLIE:

next up is charlie! i had two ideas for her. the first one (unsettling drawing) has her as a mannequin/doll type demon. lucifer and/or lilith was unable to conceive and as such they built a kid from scratch. she's overall similar to og charlie personality wise, very kind and cheerful despite her unsettling appearance. she struggles with empathy sometimes but really does mean well. her motive for rehabilitating sinners is so they get to see their family again. being able to see heaven from where they are in hell must make them sad, so she wants to help make them happy again!

the second idea for charlie has her as an angel. specifically i casted her as a dominion angel due to their reputation as holy judges. she was once a demon but has been rehabilitated and has risen into angelhood! she now wants to help her former kin do the same and redeem themselves in heaven's gaze. again, similar cheery personality, but a bit more prudish in this rendition

tangent time!

as a side tangent, valtiel and charlie would have a different relationship in this rewrite. their relationship felt shoehorned in in the original show, like it was just there for the hell of it. we didn't see much development between them and it just felt kinda bland. so in my rewrite, charlie and valtiel are amiable exes. they tried dating when valtiel first fell (when charlie was still a demon in the charlie-angel version) but realized their feelings for each other were much more platonic than romantic. they ended things off on good terms, deciding they were much better as friends. they are still besties to this day! later charlie ends up with emily (or 'ellie' as i plan to rename her)

back to the characters

Alastor:

note: i made alastor mixed-race, which could be seen as bad by some due to vivzie saying he's black. however, as many have pointed out, he has no ethnic features whatsoever and i honestly wouldn't be surprised if she said that just to get away with using voodoo symbols (a closed religion) in his imagery/design. like viv, i am incredibly white and have little to no knowledge of voodoo, and even if i did i would not use it for something like this anyways due to the stigma the religion already has and (again) it being a closed practice. as such i removed it from his concept altogether, but made him mixed race (white passing) because.. why not i guess, i forgor my actual reasoning

with that being said...

alastor is by far my favorite of the redesigns and i'm honestly tempted to turn him into a legally distinct oc. i imagine he's somewhat reserved, along the lines of norman bates albeit a bit more extroverted. during his life he was a serial killer with a day job as a radio announcer. he took pleasure in reporting about his own murders on the radio, but that is eventually what got him caught (ie accidentally letting slip info that wasn't released to the public). as a result he was sentenced to death. upon arriving in hell, he quickly rose through the ranks to borderline overlord status and is a feared presence by demons and sinners alike. why is he bothering to assist in the hotel project? who knows... his motives are a mystery, like the rest of what he does

(he isn't actually alastair crowley i just thought the naming convention was ironic. however he may have also dabbled with satanic magic in lifetime..)

Angel Dust:

TW: brief discussion of SA

this is definitely my second favorite redesign. i loooove insect themes and wanted to do more than just Extra Arms, so he now has fucked up legs and a lot of eyes too! story-wise, angel used to be a criminal mastermind, hated by both the mafia and the feds. he was a gentleman thief, arranging massive heists under the cover of night while also partaking in the occasional drag show. he ended up a cocaine addict later in life, which caused his work to become sloppier. eventually he was killed in a heist gone wrong, specifically shot by the police.

i'm not gonna go too in-depth on the SA part of his story, but he is hypersexual due to being assaulted in both his life and afterlife. it would be something he'd be working on in the rewrite. his reason for coming to the hotel in the first place may have even been for help with this trauma. underneath his sultry exterior is a broken guy who really just needs someone to care about him for who he really is and not for what his body can do.

LUTE:

so lute and adam are some of the characters i have the most gripes about. the biggest one being why viv chose adam as the leader of the exorcists in the first place. if she wants a biblical figure tied to demon killing, Archangel Michael is RIGHT THERE, aka the one destined to kill satan during the events of Revelations. if she wants the first human to die, that would be Abel, not Adam. and i kinda doubt abel would want to do the stuff that HH!adam has been doing. if she wants an angel related to torture, Dumah is her guy! an angel that rules over wicked souls and tortures sinners every day except sabbath. so many better options...

with that out of the way, Lute is still the lieutenant of the exorcist, who are a specially chosen group of powers sent to purge hell once a year. think navy seals. she's pretty much the same as in the show, albeit more muscular and visually different from other exorcists (seriously why do they all look exactly the same?????) she's a very repressed lesbian who hasn't had time to work on that due to her duties

i also redesigned the exorcist uniform/armor because those LED purge masks are fugly as hell and their clothes don't even look remotely like armor.

Adam + Final Thoughts

i did start a redesign of adam but got bored of it. regardless, i think he'd be the head of C.H.E.R.U.B. instead of the exorcists. he doesn't want his children to make the same mistakes he and eve did, so together they started C.H.E.R.U.B. to help lost souls stay out of hell

final thoughts uhhhh i'm tired. show sucks, it had so much potential but viv ruined it by being a shitty writer and an even shittier person. the designs are fine i guess but they all look exactly the same and are in desperate need of variety. the humor is dogshit, saying dick and balls and penis over and over and over again doesn't make it any funnier than the first three times you made that joke. anyways that's it, i hope you liked my inane ramblings. gonna go vanish for another forty years or so, adios

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

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Saturday with the Boys (Rated T)

(Because I needed some general hijinks with Crowley, Adam, and Warlock. XD Inspired by this post.)

“How much do you want for this here picture frame, ma’am?”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, dear. It should be marked.” Wilma pulls her reading glasses down from her white crown and examines the ceramic frame. She actually knows how much she’s asking for it. It says clearly on the front – five pounds. But this man more than likely wants to haggle. So she procrastinates parting with that information, slowly fixing her glasses on the bridge of her nose for show. She’s had 20/20 vision since childhood, and at seventy-seven, that hasn’t changed a whit. But she milks this moment, making herself seem more infirm than she honestly is in the hopes of getting a few pity pounds out of this poor schlub who happened upon her yard sale on this fine Saturday morning.

To be honest, she bought this God awful picture frame on her disaster of a third honeymoon. The whole marriage was ripe for the rubbish heap about four months in and yet she stayed with her darling Henry till the man died of sepsis a year ago – a week before his life insurance policy matured.

This frame is all she has left to remember him by.

Well, this frame, a house, a vacation property in Belize, and a ten million pound inheritance.

If no one buys the stupid thing, she’s going to toss it into the air and shoot it with an air rifle.

“I’m … I’m having a bit of trouble reading this, love,” she says in an appropriately quavering voice, pointing to the tag in the corner. “Does this say five pounds? Or fifteen? It’s been such a long morning out here in the sun. I can’t seem to tell …”

“How about I give you twenty and we call it a day?” the man holding the frame, a soon-to-be-present for his new wife, offers with a smile.

“Oh!” Wilma feigns astonishment while inside her head she pats herself on the back for playing him for a sucker. God, she should have been an actress! She squandered so much of her long life as a common housewife. “That’s so gracious of you! Thank you, my dear!”

“You’re more than wel—“

The end of his sentence gets severed by a vintage car screeching up to the curb and stopping with a jerk. The doors fly open and three people race out – a tall, lanky man with flaming red hair and sunglasses, dressed all in black like an undertaker, accompanied by two young boys around twelve – one with straight black hair, the other a curly dirty blonde. The curly-haired boy hugs a black-and-white terrier to his chest, whispering to it as all three plus dog race over to Wilma, sitting bewildered at her card table beneath a large oak tree.

And they look in a panic.

“Excuse … excuse me,” the curly-haired boy begins, “but we need to see any cursed amulets you may have for sale!”

“Wh—what?” Wilma asks, eyeing the three suspiciously, the dog especially. “What are you going on about?”

“Please!” the dark-haired boy begs. “It’s a matter of life or death!”

The dog barks. The curly-haired boy hugs him.

“It’s all right, Kevin,” he coos. “We’ll get this curse reversed. I promise you.”

“Is this some kind of a joke?” the man buying the frame asks incredulously.

“I can assure you it isn’t,” the tall man says seriously. “We’ve had a bit of a run in with … with … well, uh …” He rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably, looking down and to the side, hard to tell through the dark lenses of his glasses.

“Well, spit it out, mate!” the man says. “A run in with a what?”

“A … a …”

A demon,” the dark-haired boy finishes, a peculiar twist to the corner of his mouth that makes the man with the frame suspect he might be lying.

“Right,” he says, moving in front of Wilma to guard her from these three hooligans trying to pull a horrible prank on this poor old woman.

The dog whines, sounding for all intents and purposes desperate, and the curly-haired boy sighs. “I know it sounds unbelievable, but we’re telling the truth!”

“It won’t be Halloween for ages, young man, so I suggest the three of you climb back in the car you rode in on and get out of here before I phone the authorities!”

“Don’t do that!” the black-haired boy cries. “We’re not trying to cause trouble! Honest!”

“No! No, do!” the tall man says as if the man with the frame just came up with the best solution ever. “Maybe they can help! Do you happen to have the phone number of a local priest perhaps? Maybe a shaman?”

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” frame man scolds, turning on him with venom in his voice. “Encouraging these boys to participate in this reprehensible behavior!”

“Reprehensible!?” the man in the glasses scoffs. “Right! And what do you expect me to tell Kevin’s mum when we bring home a dog instead of her little boy? Hmm? Sorry, ma’am! We could have helped him out, but we didn’t want to disturb the neighbors! They have a right to sell their tacky goods in peace, your son be damned!”

“Are you mad!?”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll be pleased that the wretched animal appears to be potty trained at least. And uni? No need for that! Think of all the money she’ll save!”

“Look, young man,” Wilma interrupts finally, having tried this entire time to figure out if there was anything on her table that she could pass off as a cursed amulet. Unfortunately, the only thing that might have sufficed walked away for seven pounds over an hour ago. The man in front of them, going on about demons and dogs like a nutter, might be insane, but if she’s right, that watch he’s wearing is worth a pretty penny. And driving an antique Bentley in mint condition? He could at least afford a hundred pounds or more for some useless bauble. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but could you please move along? You’re scaring away paying …”

The dog in the boy’s arms growls, long and low, a menacing curdle that stops all conversation dead, everyone within a hundred feet suddenly fearing for their lives.

“Uh … Kevin?” the boy says while everyone but the tall man takes a step back, eyes glued to the animal as if expecting him to explode. And he does in a sense, letting loose with the loudest, angriest bark ever to come from an animal, his mouth opening wide, unhinged, revealing seven rows of razor sharp teeth.

And for a split second, his eyes glow red.

“Saints preserve us!” Wilma mutters, crossing herself with a shaking hand and standing so quickly, her chair topples backwards.

“It’s getting worse!” The boy carrying the terrier looks to the man in the dark glasses for help.

“I was afraid of this,” he says. “Get him back to the car, boys! I don’t think an amulet can save us now! Best to get him away from these God fearin’ people before … you know.”

“Before … before what?” Wilma calls after them, too terrified to follow for an answer.

“You don’t want to know,” the boy with the straight black hair says.

“I recommend you all go inside, find your crosses and your Bibles and start to pray,” the man in the glasses says, holding the door to his car open for the boys and the dog. “I feel … judgement day a’comin’.” He looks skyward, examining the clouds, frowning at something that only he sees. The man clutching the frame and Wilma look up, too, trying to see it, but all they see are clouds. Nothing more threatening than that.

But Wilma in particular, as devout a Christian as her Christmas and Easter attendance can attest, isn’t about to admit that.

“Oh dear Lord! Everyone! Get inside! Quickly!” Crowley hears as he climbs into his Bentley and peels away, trying to restrain his laughter until they’re completely out of earshot. Once they turn the corner and tear up the following block, Warlock and Adam crow.

“Did you see the looks on their faces?” Warlock snickers, putting out a fist for Crowley to bump.

“I know!” Adam giggles, wrapping his arms around Dog’s neck. “That was even better than the last one!”

“How’s about we call it a day and go get some ice cream?” Crowley suggests. “I think that guy with the frame might actually call the police.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Adam says. “I think Dog’s had enough. Or should I say Kevin.”

“Oh, all right,” Warlock agrees, even though he was really hoping they’d hit one more yard sale before the day was up. But ice cream is cool, too. Less of a chance of getting him dragged back to mom and dad by the police.

Of course, that’s never been too big an issue since Nanny is always there to bail him out.

“And remember, darlings,” Crowley says, merging on to the M40, “what’s the most important thing to keep in mind about today’s little adventure?”

“Don’t tell Aziraphale,” both boys say in unison.

Crowley peeks into his rearview, beaming at the two boys with pride. “Brilliant.”

#good omens #crowley #adam young #warlock #ineffable idiots #aziraphale #frankie writes

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burlybanner · 5 years

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Syzygy

Notes: New story. Will be putting it in installments, probably once/week. This is more or less to keep me honest with writing it. If I don’t, I won’t finish. I know me far too well. It’s a monster, probably close to NaNoWriMo levels if I’m honest. But it’s a nice monster. Note the tags.

Syzygy

Rating: M (themes/language mostly)

Pairing: Stark Spangled Banner

Special note: an AU of Infundo (post-Infundo Chronicles).

Summary: They’d always been a triad - sun and moon, encircling a heavenly body...

***

The question was so out of the blue, so perplexing, so - fuck no, he must be losing his hearing - insane that Tony dropped the spanner. It bounced and clanged angrily across the lab's cement floor causing one bot - U - to chirp softly and pick it up. U tried returning it to its creator by repeating bumping against his leg, but Tony focused on one thing right now. One person.

"Run that by me again?"

"You heard me." Bruce Banner stared at an oil smudge between their feet. It was twisted in an odd shape, reminiscent of pancake-shaped licorice. "I don't think I need to repeat myself."

"Oh hell, no. No." Tony yanked the spanner from U's grip and tapped his shoulder with it while pacing the floor. "You don't drop a bombshell like that without giving a guy a hint. What brought this on?"

"Honestly?"

"Yeah, honestly."

"It looks comfortably soothing, I’m tired of running, I like who I am...and." He bit down his response, holding it between his teeth, but Tony could see Bruce mentally shifting gears - frustratingly choosing to conceal a portion of truth. A skill Bruce was, unfortunately, still good at doing.

Bruce sighed. "Maybe I'm warming up to full-on pampering from you and Steve. Do I really need to explain myself?"

"All right, fine. I...get it. Sort of." Tony paused mid-pace and gave Bruce the side-eye, but not without sauntering over to his extremely significant other while poking him in his gut (and Tony's finger sunk in a good five inches, before Bruce swatted his hand away).

Like diving into fresh dough, Tony thought wickedly.

“Stop that.”

"Whatever. I'm just saying, you're what. Three-sixty? Three-seventy?"

"Three-ninety."

Tony tutted his tongue against his teeth, his eyes scanning Bruce from head to toe. He'd overlooked how round and jowly Bruce's cheeks had become and how much more his heavy belly wobbled over his belt like an over-inflated water balloon.

Tony slowly scraped his lower lip with his teeth and let his libido drink in Bruce's delicious form. His fat had dissolved all his chiseled edges, smoothing them like candle wax, dimpling him in places Tony never expected to notice. Arms, legs, face, chin, chest, neck - even elbows and fingers Pillsburied up into scrumptious fat. Bruce'd blown up like a county fair attraction and Tony couldn't tell where he'd even put on the extra twenty; Bruce’s fat had settled into all his body’s spare nooks and crannies. All that lovely jiggling Jell-o. Waiting for touches, prods, tickles, and gropes—

"Earth to Tony," Bruce muttered, snapping his fingers in Tony's slackened face.

Tony snorted, pretending Bruce hadn't mesmerized him and turned him so the fuck on. Was he becoming more like Cap these days? Wouldn't doubt it. "ANY-hoo," Tony said, grabbing a rolling chair. He took inventory of Bruce more thoroughly by rolling around the scientist, taking a good 360-look while Bruce stared at his circular pattern.

"Are you trying to orbit me?"

Tony laughed. "No. Although that could be an experiment for another day." Tony poked and prodded Bruce’s flab, freely grabbing fistfuls of his favorite butterball and fluffing his ample butt cheeks.

"Tony," Bruce cautioned.

"Sorry. Couldn't resist."

"What are you plotting?"

"Me, plotting? Perish the thought. I'm planning, Banner. I have ideas, I have a million ideas. But we're gonna have to get Cap involved. He'll want to know."

Bruce fidgeted somewhat, which surprised Tony. Didn't seem like something Bruce would be shy about.

"So soon?"

"Well, yah, the sooner the better." Tony narrowed his eyes at him. "What's bugging you, Care Bear?"

"Nothing," Bruce said, but Tony didn't believe him. He let it slide as he rolled back to his desk.

" 'Nothing' for now, babe, but I'll challenge that declaration later." He did a quick calculation in his head and pulled up Jarvis' keyboard. "J, open a new file for me. Call it, 'Operation Supermax.' "

"Seriously?"

"Don't mock the name, Brucie Bear. It's not like I had time to come up with something better."

"New file created," Jarvis intoned, flooding the room with his soothing AI voice. "Would you like to add to it now, sir?"

Tony grinned at Bruce. "Scan Brucie for me, Jarvis. Put all his current vitals in there. Show us what we're working with."

Jarvis threw up a 3D image of Bruce‘s body and stats. “I will say, I'm quite curious, sirs."

"So‘re we, J. Especially interested in what'll happen after we tell Cap."

Bruce looked less enthused at telling Steve, but whatever. Steve was their partner; not telling him would be ridiculous. "Sure you don't wanna say why you're lookin' grim?"

"I'm not grim," Bruce stated, and Tony waggled his finger at Bruce's lie.

"Not my monkeys, not my circus. But you know Steve'll get it out of you if I can't, Pooh."

"I know."

"Easier to rip off the band-aid."

"I said I knew, didn't I?"

"Fine, fine." Tony toggled a few buttons on his keyboard. "J, call Steve down. We're gonna have a family meeting."

But Steve relayed a message through Jarvis saying he'd meet up after he'd finished his workout. Bruce had grabbed five pounds' worth of snacks and wanted to wait for Steve in the media room, but Tony cajoled and wheedled him until he caved. Which was why he ended up joining Tony in the exercise room instead, ogling Steve's lifting routine. Well, “cajoling and wheedling” wasn’t exactly right, to be fair. Watching Steve work out was a damn privilege.

"I feel like a stalker," Bruce muttered, unwrapping one of his remaining chocolate bars. He wasn't not staring, though.

"He probably knows we're here. He says he doesn't, but I think he does. I'm just obeyin' my thirst."

"Quit watching those dumb commercials." Bruce scarfed down his jumbo Snickers bar with two or three grateful grunts and gulped down his soda. And no, Bruce's Adam's Apple bobbing so deliciously up and down did not mesmerize Tony. Certainly not.

Nope.

"Mmf--and/or, get off social media. Sounds like you’re trying too hard to fit in with the cool kids."

"Heh. You can't tell me Steve doesn't like teasing us right back." Tony pointed his chin at Steve powerlifting weights rivaling Thor's class. "Look at 'im, you can't tell me he's not a thirst trap."

Bruce made a face as he tossed his wrapper and soda can in the trash. "Definitely too much social media."

Tony's eye lingered over Bruce's dwindling dragon hoard of snacks, which teased a lecherous smile from his lips. "You startin' early, or what?"

"Gotta keep up my strength."

"Mhm." Tony went into his head, thinking about how Steve'd go bonkers. In a good way. Probably in a good way. "You know Steve'll have his own ideas. You gonna let him go hog wild?"

"Oh, hardy-har." Bruce tore into a packet of mini donuts. "Yeah, okay, fine," he grunted. A smattering of donut crumbs sprayed from his full mouth before he put a hand to his lips to stop them. "You figured out why I'm apprehensive. Don't rub it in."

"I'm not tryin' to, Brucie. In fact, I think you're blowing this up way out of proportion." And don't think Tony didn't recognize the pun, even if Bruce didn't. He casually watched Bruce scrape crumbs from his shirt. "Don't you think he cares enough that h--"

"Oh, hey, fellas!"

Steve finally noticed them salivating in front of the spy window. Which was what Tony called it. Really, it was a breezeway with a window to the exercise rooms so folks could check for occupied training floors. But Tony mostly used it to indulge his naturally nosy nature.

Steve grabbed a fresh towel and wrapped it around his neck while Tony bit his tongue. Making lewd comments was tempting and although Steve wouldn't have minded, Bruce would get skittish if he ramped up the tension now. And if Bruce bolted, well...kinda made what he was about to do moot.

"What's up?" Steve dabbed sweat from his forehead and plunked next to Bruce on the thirst trap bench. His cheeks reddened when he noticed the mound of opened goodies. "Is it an emergency? Fury call us in?"

"Oh, nothing like that," Tony said. He propped his feet beneath the breezeway window. "Bruce has something he wants to say."

Bruce wiped powdered sugar off his lips while swallowing thickly. "Well, not...exactly."

"Yeah, ya do, exactly," Tony said, nudging Bruce's shoulder. "Boy Scout," he said, calling to Steve. "D'you think you could steel yourself enough to not act like a kid in a candy store?"

"Tony..."

"Bruce, hon', it's all good. Steve," he started again. Poor guy already looked five kinds of confused. "It's something that'll affect the three of us but unless Bruce explains with his big boy words I'm not gonna help him."

"Traitor," Bruce huffed.

"Only way to kick you out of the nest."

"What," Steve said, finally getting a word in edgewise, "the hell. Are you two talking about?"

Bruce shot Tony a narrow look before turning to Steve. "It's...it's not enough," he began slowly. "I-I mean, we're fine," he stuttered, gesturing to each of them. "We're great. But I want. I want more. And I'm not sure how you'll take it."

"Just know," Tony interrupted, "I'm on board 100% if you are. But I'm looking at this from a scientific perspective more than--"

"I thought you said I should tell him."

"Well, you're taking too long, Banner. Cut to the chase!"

Steve held up a hand, motioning both to shut their traps. "Thank you," he said once they quieted. "Now. Bruce. Muffin." He stroked Bruce's chubby cheek and Bruce melted like butter in his hand. "Gimme the specifics. Let me decide if I'll be okay or not with whatever it is."

But Tony could see the small trembling smile on Cap's features; Steve was noticeably scared. He made a face, hoping Bruce hurried it up before causing irreparable damage.

"I want," Bruce sighed heavily. His glance went back and forth at the men in his life, then to his hands. "I'm not exactly happy at my current weight."

Steve's lips thinned. He looked like someone had taken his favorite toy away, but the expression fled before Bruce caught it.

Tony noticed, though.

"So you want to lose weight," Steve sighed. He kept his voice level but Tony detected his disappointment. "Well, I understand. It's not like we expected it forever and--"

"No," Bruce interrupted, quieter than before. He wrapped his hand around Steve's, stilling the man's jitters. "You've misunderstood. It's...ah. It's the opposite."

Steve's cheeks flared while Tony choked back laughter from Steve's startled expression.

"W-what? You wanna gain more?"

Bruce slowly nodded. "I know you've always been encouraging, and you seemed satisfied when I tapered off. But I really like it when you and Tony feed me." Bruce reached for Tony's hand and rubbed his thumb across their knuckles. "I like breakfasts in bed, lazy nights watching B movies, and eating crappy takeout. I like feeling overstuffed, and the headiness the feeling brings me. I think I've gotten as large as I can on my own. So I'll need help from you and Tony to get...um. Larger."

Steve visibly gulped. "Um. H...how much larger are we talkin'--?"

Bruce glanced Tony's way, and Tony encouraged him with a nod. "Um. To a point where I can stay sedentary. I'm happy at home - I'm happy here. With us. I don't want to run anymore, and I want to feel grounded. Literally. So--"

"He wants to become immobile," Tony explained, butting in again. "Which is no mean feat, with his metabolism. Even with Bed, even with all the snacking and meals he gets, he's probably leveled off. But if we're talkin' immobility, we're probably addin' another three hundred to him, more or less."

Cap let out a shaky sigh. "Whoa..."

Tony shrugged. "Again, more or less. Depends on what 'immobile' means to a guy like Bruce. 'Course you know," Tony said, sobering. "He's wouldn't be totally immobile, not really." His dark eyes roamed Bruce, emphasizing the seriousness of his next words. "The only way that would happen is if we separated him from the Hulk."

"Which I'm not asking for," Bruce quickly piped. "That's not my goal."

"Good. 'Cause that's more than my paygrade. What'dya think, Spangles?" Tony turned to Steve. "You in, or what?"

"I...I'm not even sure." His expression remained pensive before hovering between Tony and Bruce. "I think I want to understand what that means before I agree to it. It'll change our 'rules,' our dynamics, the team--"

"Absolutely," Bruce agreed. "But I guess...I'd like to retire, if that's okay. From the team. I've already spoken with the university--"

"What?"

"You have?"

Bruce motioned for his boyfriends to calm down. "I'm not giving up teaching, I'm just switching to an online format. I'll still be an adjunct but I won't teach in person or in front of a classroom. And besides..." He sighed, but a small smile teased his lips. "I won't be mobile enough for a classroom. At least that's what I'm hoping."

Tony shared a look with Steve who looked both mesmerized and stunned. But then Tony noticed something else a sly, (dare he say it), evil mastermind grin on Steve's face rivaling their greatest enemies.

"Steve. Your bad boy expression is showing," Tony muttered.

"I know, I know," Steve breathed. "But I kinda I wanna know how soon we can start."

Part two: https://burlybanner.tumblr.com/post/185854349769/syzygy-2

#syzygy #bruce banner #tony stark #steve rogers #chubby bruce banner #more warnings to come as story progresses #has some dark elements to it #magnum opus piece #stark spangled banner #infundo #infundo au #chapter 1 #starkspangledbanner syzygy

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bredsticon-blog · 5 years

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title: the alternative

part: one (saint or sinner)

desc: you have died. you weren't an extraordinary person when you were alive--you made a few little sins and a few little good deeds, but it's not enough to land you in heaven nor hell. so the reaper gives you two choices: be in limbo forever, or serve equal years in heaven and hell. well, you choose the latter...

tags: angel!nick & demon!zion love triangle (or not? wink), heaven and hell au (yes ik purgatory exists but it has different purposes for this series), ooc (on purpose, i swear), sfw (as in, no smut), gore, violence (i mean, you're in hell...), cussing, murder, mentions of: rape, abuse, addiction (alcohol, LSD, heroin, uhh everything else), mental issues (depression, suicide), and death in general. gender/sex neutral reader (as always) and humor to lighten the mood

word count: 2k

notes: it isn't nearly as scary as the tags make it seem, i promise. i spent a l o n g time on the promo art for this (which imma post LATER) so uhh please read :'( haha yes i WILL finish writing the fma!austin fic and make the part 2 for ¡quake! & ~the wave~ but my ass is still collecting gifs and cleaning up plot holes sksksk and on the 2.76% chance the boys read this: hi follow me im @/bredsticon on ig, i make quality content and be more active on tumblr please we love you

You don't remember dying.

You're dead, and you don't remember dying.

Perhaps, in another life, you once thought that death accompanied a special feeling: life flashing before your eyes, lights out, everything over before your last breath escapes your lungs. But this is... this is slow. So slow. You're still on earth. Floating.. somewhere. Nowhere else. You see the world, all of it. Stars twinkle in the mist. The world around you is gray and dark. You watch your home fall apart. Every crack and shake is in full detail, and, dimly, you watch the sprouting of vines and weeds in its place. The weeds brush heads as they cluster your old house, your old neighborhood, your old country, your old everything.

You're old.

Breathless doesn't begin to describe it. You don't have lungs. You don't have... you don't. You just don't. You are nowhere. You are nothing. You don't exist.

Someone waves inside of you.

What the—

"Hello, Soul One-Hundred Thirty-Three Billion, Seventy-Five Million and Sixty-Five. You're late."

An NYC accent? You're from—

"Now that's a mouthful. I'll just call you Rosebud. See, you were supposed to cross over..." A watch ticks inside your... your form? You? "...millennia ago. Five millennia, in fact."

The voice throws a powder on you. Something blooms inside you, and you fall to the ground.

You gasp—holy shit, you can gasp. You move your head around. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, you have muscles, you have form, you can move. You exist.

The voice has a form, too. He looks like you: human. Flaming blue hair, khaki-colored skin with reddish-pink polka dots and marks. He wears modern clothes: a bright yellow vest and green pants. And glowing. He's like a painting. Human, kinda.

You gape at him. This doesn't exist. This can't exist. You thought you'd be nothing forever. But now you're something and that's something and the world around you is still murky but it's something and oh my God. Oh my fucking God. What happened to you? What happened to your home? Why aren't you dead?

The form smiles at you. "Be careful with mentioning the Master Creator so much. They're listening, y'know. They can tell when you're talking about Them."

He offers you a hand. Shaking, you take it. You wobble so hard you grab his shoulder, and he pats your wrist.

"Relax, Rosebud, we're gonna go up now. Take my hands." Gently, he takes your hand off his shoulder and interlocks your fingers together. You close your eyes as he pulls you close.

Once you open them, you're no longer on Earth.

You're in an office.

Vaguely relaxing piano music plays in the background. The walls gleam "eggshell white" (whatever that means), and copy-and-paste potted plants commiserate in corners, on shelves, and on top of desks. Rows and rows of cubicles line up in front of you, complete with ancient computers, loud clicking, and early morning groans of "I need more coffee, for fu- fun's sake!" A vending machine and a water cooler stand behind you, with banged-up tables interspersed between those.

Someone rises out of a cubicle. His skin is pale, but his hair is dark. "Reaper Honoret Jr.! Is that—oh my goodness, is that the stray? You did it! It took a few millennia, but you did it!"

Honoret Jr. grimaces. "My bad, Dad. The soul blended in so well, it took me a while... my readings showed complete neutrality. It's like there's no one there." The reaper looked back at you. "I only caught a flicker. Right now, I can't—"

His dad chuckles. "Not Dad. It's Reaper Honoret Sr. to you." He winks. "I'm kidding, y'know how they get around here."

He comes forward and wraps his arms around the boy, then unlatches. Without Honoret Jr's support, you fall to the ground, so you watch as he holds his son's shoulders. "Your bad? What do you mean? I'm proud of you. So, so proud. You're the only one who could even—actually, wait."

He turns to face the cubicles. "Reapers of Thanatos & Co., guess who just caught the stray!"

The clicking stops.

Someone coughs. "You're joking, right?"

"Absolutely not. In fact, it's behind me, right now."

Chairs scoot on scratchy carpet as the reapers of Thanatos & Co. nearly jump out of their cubicles to see you. Forty reapers dressed in some manner of business attire speed walk in your direction. One pushes Honoret Jr. out of the way—his dad has to catch him before he falls on his face.

When they see you, they stop. They start staring at the air around you. They sniff like blood hounds.

After a pause, a reaper with large eyebrows turns to another, eyes wide. "I think... I can't... I literally..."

The other nods. "Same here. Reaper Honoret Sr. isn't lying."

The crowd murmurs in agreement.

A reaper with short pink hair raises his hand. When no one calls on him, he puts it down and mutters something about being new. "Wait, if Reaper Honoret Sr. found the stray, shouldn't we tell the Grand Reaper about it first?"

Once more, the crowd murmurs in agreement.

The eyebrow reaper stares at you—no, not at you. Into you. Like you're not even there. "Before that, we need to know who found it. Reaper Honoret Sr., did you find it? We need someone to congratulate."

He grins. "Nope! My son did." He shook his boy's shoulders.

The reaper raises a brow, then gives the blue-haired reaper a look. "Oh. Well, uhm, congratulations."

The crowd weakly claps. Good job... mhm... congratulations, Junior... and then they disperse back into their leather spin chairs.

Honoret Jr. turns to you and makes a face. "Sorry about that. Office drama. Can't escape it, even in this world."

He doesn't look like a reaper to you. No black cloak, no creepy aura, no skeleton fingers. Kind, colorful, couldn't be a reaper. Nope. Impossible. None of this is.

"You're not believing a lot of things, I know. The first few days are the hardest." He gifts you with another smile. "You'll get there, I promise. I'm here to help.

"Name's Edwin, by the way. You've been calling me Honoret Jr. and that just gives me middle school flashbacks. No thanks."

You can't even make a proper facial expression to react to that. You can't formulate words—or even walk without Edwin holding your hand. He's reading your thoughts, at least. You're basically a vegetable.

He shrugs. "Give it a few hours, Rosebud. The vegetable'll wear off. Your body's just adjusting to this plane. No shame."

You can't speak, so you just think of the word: thanks. My name is—

"Oh, I know what your name is. I've been searching for you for five millennia. I'd be a horrible reaper if I didn't know."

He extends a hand. "Speaking of vegetable and horrible reaper, I bet you're hungry. You're also naked. Let's fix that."

Reapers need to eat, surprisingly. Edwin leads you through a myriad of hallways with the exact same paintings and potted plants (this is disgustingly easy to get lost in, you think. Edwin agrees) until you reach the break room. It takes you an hour.

No one's in there except you two. Edwin gave you some of his clothes (kept in another room), so you're wearing a red fit with a black vest and a lime green beanie. He tried to offer his matching ski mask, but you managed to mentally shout "No!" before he put it away. You don't mind wearing his stuff, but you wonder what that could imply. Do reapers...? Actually, you don't wanna think about that.

The break room curves up into a sparkling, plastic chandelier. The rest of the room accommodates a fridge plastered in posters, a microwave, and a dirty coffee maker paired with beige countertops. A pile of paper plates and utensils decorates the left countertop, while a sink occupies the right end. Island tables take up the rest of the center, leaving room for vending machines in the back.

Edwin scrunches his nose. "Who's bummy ass forgot to wash the coffee pot? Ew." He examines it, then starts washing the dishes.

He looks back at you. "You can go raid the fridge. Just don't touch the lunch boxes or uh—bento boxes, I think. Those are Reaper Porter's, and he will get very mad if you touch his bento. I did that once, so he threw a fork at me then said I messed with his feng shui."

Edwin mutters something about unseasoned chicken as he continues scrubbing coffee stains.

You stand up. Your walk is wobbly at best, and you feel like a pile of jello—you're weak in the knees, like jello. But you're getting there. Its better than before. At some point in your hour-long journey to the break room, poor Edwin had to carry you. You felt bad, but at least he's strong. Maybe it's a reaper thing.

You stumble to the fridge. Posters and dates and schedules cover the surface, but you brush past them to find what truly matters: the food.

Reaper office food tastes just as bland as human office food. How sad.

You find that your body works just like it used to. You're hungry, you can feel pain, and you're starting to move. It's like you never died. And now you're in a huge office full of slightly-glowy people who call themselves Reapers and also can't sense you, which is a concept you still don't understand. Or maybe you didn't die? Maybe someone stirred some LSD in your drink? And this is all... a major... acid... trip...

You blink, then pinch yourself. Nope. You're 'swell.

Edwin pulls out a chair. "Now that we're done with the basics, Rosebud, we need to get you registered. You're a bit of a weird case, but you're not too too special. Just uncommon."

He pauses. "Well, actually, you might be a little more special than that. Just a tad."

You give him a look. Something builds in your throat.

"What the fuck?"

He giggles. "Those are your first words on this plane? I—"

"No, seriously. What. The. Fuck." You sound like a cheese grater but you don't care. "I literally have no idea what's going on. I died, I think, then I watched mankind die too as the Earth turned into dandelions, then you went inside of me and threw some pixie dust to make me come back again, suddenly I'm in a 90s sitcom office and I'm naked which literally no one told me about until everyone else saw me as bare as the day I was born and—"

Edwin pats your hand. "All right, all right, let it out, let it out. I'll explain everything. It's just really long." He rubs the back of his neck. "And we're kinda on a time crunch here."

"A time crunch. When it took us an hour just to get a snack."

"Yes, a time crunch. We have about two more hours to get you registered before you become tied to this plane. Then you'll have to become a reaper, like me, and you don't wanna become a reaper." He bites deeply into his peanut butter and banana sandwich. "Shit's hard."

"I can't even—"

"Mhm." He says through a mouthful of peanut butter. "I'm rellay sorreh you're goineh frough thif. I geh how you feel. Eferyone dehs."

He swallows. "We all started out alive. No one's been here since the beginning. Except for some of the seraphim, I guess. But the rest of us? We just humans the Master Creator decided to gift. You're not alone in this. I went through the same bullshit as you. I get it."

You bow your head down. Your thoughts are too jumbled to feel actual anger. "Thanks, Edwin."

"You honestly deserve better, but no problem." He stands up and wipes his hands on a napkin. "Imma clean up after myself, so you can get a head start. We do only have two hours." He yanks you out of the chair. Still chewing, you watch as Edwin shoves you out the break room.

"Wait—hold up—wh—I don't know where I'm supposed to—"

He grins. "You will! Your senses will guide you."

"What— more vague shi—" and the door slams.

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amidalogicdive · 6 years

Text

The Misadventures of a Prince and His Glaive

CHAPTER 11: ALONE (PART2)

Ao3 LINK READ THE CHAPTER HERE

Rating: Mature Relationship: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Nyx Ulric Characters: Noctis Lucis Caelum, Nyx Ulric, Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia Additional Tags: Microfic, Prompt Fic, NyxNoct Monthly Challenge, Stupidity, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Lovers, Established Relationship, Misadventures, Bad Luck, Betrayal, Halloween, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Hung Over, Drinking, Hangover, Road Trips, Nightmares, Dreams and Nightmares, Devotion, Acceptance, Sex, Anal Sex, Sex in a Car, Angst, Injury, Major Character Injury, Hospitals, Memories, Feelings Realization, Past Memories

Summary: Nyx remains in the hospital as Noctis continues to examine his feelings for the glaive, and waits for him to awaken.

Excuse me while I interrupt your normal crack fluff for this angsty interlude!

Part 2 of 4

Six days.

It could have been six months for all that Noctis was concerned. He hadn’t left the hospital in that time, had barely left the room more than a handful of times when he’d literally had no choice. Most had been for examinations, the doctors running him out to conduct tests and check Nyx status. He’d stopped hoping to hear the words he’d been waiting for that Nyx could be woken up from the coma he’d been put in. For the good of his health, those were the words they had told him too many times as they’d exited the room.

For his health, Nyx must sleep. For his health, Nyx had to linger in this sterile room. For his health, Noctis had to suffer without his calming and reassuring presence…

...and Noctis had started losing hope.

He had been forced to wait, alone, in a precarious balance that messed with his head. Stuck in some odd, indescribable holding pattern, not knowing if Nyx would live or die. A man that was a Hero among glaives and admired by many. Someone that Noctis had been pulled too without thought, never considering where their relationship was heading. It had been fun, an escape… something that he’d made for himself. Now that it was gone? Noctis recognized his emotions for Nyx went far deeper than he’d ever intended for them to go.

Noctis had found himself asking the same question time and time again as he sat in the small, quiet room where Nyx laid. Curled up in the stiff and uncomfortable chair that was provided to guests, he’d decided it was time to analyze his own feelings. Why did his loss hurt so much? Where did his feelings for the glaive end? How could he keep going if Nyx wasn’t there at his side with his sarcastic remarks and tender touches? The deeper he dug, analyzed, and prodded at his thoughts like an open wound; the more he knew there was only one cause. It played on repeat inside his head as he observed the gentle rise and fall of Nyx chest.

I love him. I love him. I love him.

But, it wasn’t a love of a brother. A friend. Not even a companion. It was an all-consuming, deep and traitorous love that could strengthen or utterly destroy him. At that moment, as Noctis stood there observing the shadows that played across the pulled curtain; he knew if Nyx died it would inevitably shatter him into a million pieces. Knew he would never be able to put himself back together again. So he stood there, his hands clasped together as he chewed on his bottom lip. Noctis waited for those doors to open, sending a silent prayer to Etro. Asking only one thing of her as those words continued over and over in his head, and weary eyes fell closed.

I love him. I love him. I love him. Please, just keep him at my side… because I love him.

“Noct? Highness?”

“Iggy?” Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he glanced at his advisor. Noctis knew how he looked, pale and harried from too many sleepless nights. Too much stress, and too little fresh air. “I’m sorry, I was lost in thought.”

Ignis acknowledged his words, motioning towards the doctor that stood before them. “The medical staff have completed the examination. It will take a few hours for the effects of the medication to wear off, but they have concluded he can be awakened at this time.”

Noctis was quick to look from Ignis to the doctor, a questioning in his eyes. Needing to hear this man say those same words, and it seemed he understood this. “As your advisor has said, Your Highness. His vitals has remained stable for the last forty-eight hours, and all injuries that we felt were life-threatening, seem to be healing sufficiently.” There was a paused, glancing at the watch around his wrist, before speaking again. “His waking will take time.”

“Hours?” He asked.

“Possibly days, Your Highness. With the injuries that he sustained, I’ve seen patients take up to seventy-two hours, or more to finally come too.” Bowing deeply, their eyes met as he righted himself. “We must be contented he will wake, Your Highness.”

Giving a curt nod, he thanked him and then Noctis walked back into the room and to Nyx side. Many of the machines had been removed, and it was easier to pretend that he was simply sleeping like this. “Dusha,” Being careful of the bandages, Noctis ran thin fingers through ashen hair. The words that the doctors had told him days before ran through his head. It was a miracle that he was even alive. Under normal circumstances, anyone who’d sustained such damage would have normally succumbed to their injuries.

Ignis reentered, contemplating the scene for a moment. “Noct, if I may?” Noctis let out a hum, his focus solely on Nyx. “While his ongoing recovering is pleasing to hear, what will Sir Ulric think when he observes you in such a state?” That made the prince look up. “If I may be blunt, you haven't taken proper care over the last week. Knowing that he will not waken within the next forty-eight hours. I must insist you return to your apartment, have a wholesome meal and sleep in a proper bed.”

While Noctis was against the idea, he had done as asked, returning to his home. But only after Gladio and Ignis promised that one of them would remain with Nyx at all times. He would be contacted the moment the glaive demonstrated the slightest indication that he might be waking, and Gladio had taken the first watch. This left Ignis free to take the prince home. Thus assuring that he'd taken a long hot shower, had a proper meal, and slept in his own bed. Noctis had slept most of the day away by the time Gladio had roused him with yet another meal.

He'd also come with news.

Both men had decided Noctis would be banned from the hospital for the rest of the day unless called for. Most of it was spent playing video games and trying to distract himself. Ignis returned that evening, cooking dinner for the prince, before sending him off to bed once again. A few days of proper rest and food had made Noctis feel human again, and still, he waited for any information in regards to Nyx. By the third day, he couldn’t just sit around in his apartment any longer and talked Gladio into taking him back to the hospital. While Ignis wasn’t pleased to see him return, he could appreciate why Noctis felt he should be there.

The two had left, promising to return by morning and once again Noctis was left in the quiet of that tiny room. Nyx sleeping form was his only company as the prince played with his phone, dark eyes straying to the glaves still form. Except he wasn’t still, his eyes fluttered and Noctis jumped up from his seat to cover the insignificant space that stood between them. He reached down to caress Nyx jaw, his thumb brushing tenderly across his cheek. “Dusha, ty menya slyshish'?” There was a sigh, his eyes opening slowly as he blinked a few times. “Nyx?”

It was evident the glaive was still affected by the drugs that ran through his system, along with the lengthy period of sleep. Nyx looked confused for a moment as if he were trying to focus on the face before him. Soon his confusion turned to recognition as he smiled up at Noctis. “Moya lyubov', moya dusha… is it you?”

He couldn’t stop the laugh that left him, a rush of joy and relief flowing through him as tears filled his eyes. “Yes, Nyx. It’s me.” His thumb continued brushing his cheek, and Nyx smiled when Noctis placed a brief kiss on his forehead.

“Hey there, pretty boy. How'd you get here?” At this point drug-hazed eyes had started to wander around, taking in his surroundings. Noctis could see the moment that it clicked, he wasn’t where he thought he should be. “Noct?”

“Stay calm and I'll explain. You have been wounded. Injured during the last attack and Drautos had you rushed back to Insomnia. We are at the hospital near the Citadel, and you’ve been here for about a week and a half.” Needing to know he was actually awake, Noctis leaned over and kissed him. When he felt it returned, he let out a sigh of relief. Pulling apart, he laid his forehead against Nyx' carefully and closed his eyes, despite the fact that tears continued to gather. “I was so frightened. I believed I’d lost you.”

“No, Noct. No. I wouldn't leave you alone.” Raising his arm, Nyx let out a hiss of pain that caused Noctis to pull away. “Oh... fuck, that hurt.”

“Careful!” Noctis laughed, brushing away the tears that streamed down his cheeks. “You haven't even been awake five minutes and you’re already pushing yourself too far.” Kissing him again, the prince placed little pecks to his lips until Nyx was smiling again. “Just relax. How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been trampled by a behemoth?”

“Well, you were…” One brow arched, giving his young lover a look that told him in no uncertain terms that he should continue. “I wasn’t there, all I know is what I heard. Luche was the one who saw it.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took the glaives hand with the utmost care and held it. “He told me a few behemoths were causing trouble, and your group had broken off to take them down.”

“I remember that much. There were three near the wall where Crowe and the mages were.”

“Do you remember what happened next?” He shook his head, and Noctis couldn't hold back a frown. “Luche said you came out of a warp, at the same time a behemoth turned to attack. It knocked you away, and you hit the ground at the same time Pelna had attacked. They said you wound up pinned, and then the creature struggled and ended up rolling over you before attacking again.” He watched Nyx closely, hoping to see some form of recognition in his eyes, but there was nothing.

“I don’t know. It's all a blank, but I trust Luche." He noted the mirid of bandages and smirked. "So, how bad am I hurt so I can figure out how much trouble I'm in with you?”

“Glad you're finding humor in this, ass." He huffed, "When I arrived the doctor had already rushed you into an emergency surgery.” Noct's eyes fell, rubbing the hand that held his. “I was so scared, Nyx. They had to keep you in a coma, because of some contusion or damage to your head. The left shoulder was dislocated and your wrist on that arm broke. Your leg was… damn it Nyx, you could have died!”

“I didn’t, I’m still here. I'm lucky.”

"This time."

"You can't think that way." Nyx entwined in fingers with Noct's, squeezing lightly. "You know what I am, what I do."

“I know,” Leaning closer, Noctis kissed him once again. Raising his free hand to Nyx jawline, pale fingers ran through the coarse beard that had grown out a bit since he’d been in the hospital. “I just, I need you to stay alive.” He murmured, meeting the glaives tired gaze. “When it comes to you, permit me to be a little selfish? I can’t lose you, Nyx.”

He could see the joy mixed with pain in the prince's eyes, and it hurt to know he was the reason for that. “All right.” Brushing his lips against Noct's own, he smiled. “I’m yours; you won’t lose me. Not today.”

"Not ever, if I have any say in the matter."

"Brat." But Noct had stood by him through a lot, and that was a hell of a lot more than he'd expected. Feelings he'd long tried to bury flowed to the surface. "My brat."

#logicdive writes #nyxnoct #nyx ulric #Noctis Lucis Caelum #ffxv #final fantasy xv #ffxv fic #ffxv fanfiction #ffxv fanfic #final fantasy xv fic #final fantasy xv fanfiction #final fantasy xv fanfic #gladiolus amicitia #ignis scientia #my fic #The Misadventures of a Prince and his Glaive

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wellhalesbells · 7 years

Note

Can I ask what makes you more likely to follow someone / follow someone back?

sure! (why you want to ask though, i mean…. ahem.) if it’s a random follow then i’ve usually found it through whatever content i’m looking for at that moment, meaning: searching tumblr, seeing gorgeous edits, and following the source back to their blog.

for some unnecessary (and uninteresting to anyone but me, and even i’m occasionally looking out the window and sighing loudly as i drone on) statistics: at the current moment, i’m following eighty-six blogs.

seventy-three of them are mutuals and i would die for them. i do not unfollow mutuals. ever. once i’m in this, man, i’m in it for life. (the second you unfollow me though, i will gunslinga-unfollow right back because i like to pretend that was a mutual decision too. [sobs]) five are content-specific blogs, and eight of them are just pretty and have a random smattering of stuff that matches up well to the random smattering of stuff i enjoy.

the only ones that are subject to change are the content (like i’m betting the american gods blog i follow will slow down in the near future here and i’ll unfollow it then) and floaters and i usually don’t like to up the count - i will, but i don’t like to so pretty much always adding also means subtracting. content is obviously dictated by whatever i’m into and whatever’s active right then and the random ones generally have a few similarities aside from the obvious of IT POSTS STUFF I LIKE, like:

no infinite scroll. i hate infinite scroll. [eye twitches] if i land on your page, i want to then also be able to get off your page. i’m a person who likes an end point, i like to know how long movies are, i need to know how many episodes are in a season beforehand, i look to see what page the chapter’s going to end on or how many words are in a fic. i’m that person. and that means i want to keep scrolling until the end. i want to i want to i want to and it wastes so much of my time doing it until i can finally tear myself away. infinite scroll fucks with my VERY DELICATE psyche and i will not abide it from anyone but a mutual.

a wide enough scrollbar that you can actually use it, rather than so tiny that it’s a mocking suggestion of what a scrollbar should be. because i will consistently assume that it is actually useful even after knowing it is not - because WHY WOULDN’T IT BE, and get frustrated over and over again.

a tagging system. i need organization; it soothes my soul. also, if i’m there randomly then i’m there to stalk a specific thing. if it’s not tagged, well then what’s even the point of my hanging around?

honestly? it’s gotta be a pretty. obviously, that’s an utterly subjective term. i, personally, like things that look clean and minimalist, usually with either pastel or neon colors, while keeping to the much needed basics: text big enough to read, notes/reblog buttons easy to find, FOLLOW button easy to find, and posts that aren’t a ridiculously tiny size.

fairly consistent. i’ve unfollowed people who change their url way too often multiple times. i don’t care if you change it, i’ll learn who you are again on my dash no probs, i do care if you change it every week.

there aren’t a lot of personal posts. i don’t know you, random stranger, and i am not here to know you either. mutuals, YES PLEASE. floaters, no thank you. we probably do not share a main fandom if that’s what you’re posting about so that is of zero interest to me, posting 18000 selfies? please, no. i am not stalking you or creating a collage of your face so i’m not sure what i’m supposed to do with those and i feel awkward about your eyes staring at me so much, a million posts about how depressed you are? well now i feel bad that you feel bad and i don’t need that, i’m just trying to sunday-scroll for some happy times, sis, or just consistently posting about the same topic: like a trip you’re on or a boy/girl you like. listen, my attention span is not great and i can really only care about my real life friend’s issues and adventures, sorry ‘bout it.

apologies for this one: but if the age is listed and they’re still in high school? nope! that’s only because this one is almost always tied to the former and i prefer to get out before any of that can occur.

none of that is to say that people shouldn’t do any one of those things!!! oh my god, no, make your blog exactly everything you want it to be and fuck anyone who tries to tell you how to run it - it’s yours. they’re visiting; you built it, keep it running and meticulously choose the decoration. you get to do whatever the hell you want however the hell you want as long as you’re not breaking any laws. this is just what i’m particularly attracted or not-attracted to and i doubt anyone out there is trying to run a blog to please me. (even if someone were, talk about a losing battle. i would not recommend it, i can hardly handle the rapidity with which my interests shift, i wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy - which is this yowl-y cat and he doesn’t even have opposable thumbs so it would be especially cruel in that case.)

as for what makes me follow back? usually it’s just a rapport. we’ve talked a lot, i know your handle, you’ve made me grin and i wanna be buuuuuddies. [loud-damp-hot-breathes on your neck] i don’t care what your blog looks like or if it hits any of those bullet points - i’m gonna be honest, i’ve never, not once, even looked once i decided: i like this person! i’m gonna keep ‘em! it’s about you, the individual, and the rest is just dumb dressing that doesn’t matter in any real way. if we haven’t had a convo like that and we’re mutuals? then you followed me, i recognized your handle because i know you from fandom/edits/somehow, and i followed you back asap because WHOA, YOU’RE COOL WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING HERE I DON’T GET IT BUT IF I CAN TRAP YOU BY FOLLOWING YOU BACK THEN YESSSSS and we have never spoken and i would fight in any army you commanded anyway because we’re MUTUALS, and that is a bond stronger than bro-hood.

anyway, hopefully that, um, long-windedly answers your question?

#i mean my follow and unfollow game is 100% capricious #unless you're a mutual #and then i'm a barnacle :)#also i KNOW there are probably people in my follower count that i 100% WOULD follow back if i'd been paying attention when they followed #(sometimes i just walk away from tumblr for a week and delete all their emails without looking at them #because i'm busy either doing something or doing nothing)#or if they had names that resembled their ao3/twitter names so i knew i knew them #sometimes i just fucking suck #there's nothing more embarrassing than finally talking to someone i adore (meaning they reached out or an intermediary friend did #i do nooooot talk to strangers i admire because NOPE i don't have the fortitude for that HAHAHAHA)#and saying: OMG YEAH I LOVE YOU I'VE READ EVERYTHING YOU'VE EVER DONE AND YOU'RE A DIVINE GENIUS SO THERE'S THAT #WHAT'S YOUR TUMBLR I'LL FOLLOW YOU AND YOU CAN FOLLOW ME BACK #and then there's a beat and they go: i already do follow you #and a tiny part of me wants to die because they are 8000% cooler than me and i have just been acting like i was cooler than them #AND NOW WHAT IF THEY THINK I THINK THAT WHEN I DON'T. I DOOOOON'T.#I'M NOT AS COOL AS YOU I SWEAR I'M JUST REALLY HESITANT TO FOLLOW ANYONE IN FANDOM BECAUSE I'M SO AWKWARD #!ask #Anonymous

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