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luna-almighty-god · 4 years

Text

Guardian Angel N°14 [Brother, my brother]

Here is chapter fourteen !

The drawing is mine, please don’t take it!

This story is obviously not canonical, please do not refer to it if you are looking for canonical information.

Enjoy reading !

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First Chapter

Previous Chapter

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“Why keep him awake?”

It was a question Ink had been asking himself for a long time. Since Nyx had reached adolescence. Since Nightmare had put a terrible, horrible spell on him, at least for those in need of sleep.

Not that the Artist gave a damn, far from it. He was just curious, intrigued even, not the strange choice of the master of nightmares. After all, Nightmare saw in Nyx an heir, so wasn't it foolish to weaken him like that?

But the keeper of the nightmares had given him the most serious answer in the world:

“Have you never experienced sleepless nights? As the hours go by, as the next day comes, one can see thoughts, ideas, worries multiplying. At night, when we don't sleep, our worries and apprehensions grow, become so great that nothing seems possible anymore, that tranquility gives way to paranoia. Insomnia is the dark side of imagination, joy and hope. In the morning, everything seems confused, disaster scenarios assail our minds, and the day unfolds in this second state, this state of terror. We get up, we tell ourselves that we're going to make it.”

He had a sinister smile on his face:

“But once you go to bed, once you try to sleep and you're confronted with the night again... the same scenario happens. And the constant terror makes us lose all hope. We can't see what's really around us.”

He had watched Ink sneer:

“This way, isn't it easier to keep him under our control?”

Yes, you do. It was a lot easier.

And Nyx was well aware that he was being manipulated all along. But what could he do?

*** ***

PaperJam should never have gone there alone. He knew that, of course. But there was no way he would sit there and do nothing, and if he had asked for help, he would have been forbidden to go!

Of course, he could have called Goth, but Goth would have told Geno, who would have told Error! So, option to be avoided.

Jammy found himself wandering in the multiverse, feverish but determined, and above all terribly lonely, trying to feel the magic energy of Nyx.

But he couldn't feel it. On reflection, he had never felt it.

It had only increased his anxiety and he had hesitated to return to his parents - who were probably looking for him.

[But he felt it.]

Confused, PaperJam didn't understand. He didn't understand why he suddenly felt the magic of his daddy Ink... twice.

The incoherence was even stronger when he had perceived an anomaly in one of the two magics, and it's the anguish - as well as the curiosity - that pushed him to go towards this strange magic.

Oh, for God's sake... why did he go alone?

He hadn't thought about it, he had to admit it. Yet he should have been alerted by the magic that appeared out of nowhere and which, as if by chance, showed up when he was alone. He should have been worried when he saw this magic that seemed to be calling him. He should have worried when he had arrived in this AU desert.

But he hadn't done any of that.

And the reckless child, besides not being suspicious, didn't realize that he had been watched since his arrival in that remote UA. Observed? No. Scrutiny would be the operative word. Scrutinized from head to toe, examined, judged, by that red look filled with hatred, the look of an Ink who was not his father, far from it, very far from it.

“I led him to us. Get rid of him now.” commanded the Creator of the future at Nyx's address.

Nyx opened his eyes, to look at his father with terror and incomprehension:

“Don't you want to take the place of your doppelganger and thus acquire his family? What is the purpose of killing this child then?

- This child is not my son. He will never be my son like you! You were not born of my union with Error! This kid is from the Ink of this timeline, this Ink that I will take care of making disappear, who in no way deserves MY Error! He didn't fight for it, he didn't know what I went through! He cheated! Cheated because of you! I will never accept it, I will never accept anything that comes from him because of you! Including that stupid, weak kid!”

The cartoonist was caught in a cold sweat, intimidated by the angry look his father gave him. He could only nod his head feverishly, trembling, and Ink gave him a satisfied smile:

“Good. Join me when you're done. And don't be long.”

He opened a portal and went through it without waiting.

Abandoned to his fate, Nyx felt a sob hugging his throat as he turned around to observe PaperJam a little further away, poor Jammy who hadn't noticed him yet and who didn't suspect his fate for a moment.

No... No, he couldn't feel pity. He couldn't sympathize, he couldn't let himself be touched. PaperJam meant nothing to him, at least Nyx tried to convince himself of that. But how can you convince yourself to hate a young skeleton who has supported you so much these last months? A little skeleton who was mischievously coming to sleep with him every night, keeping him company during his long insomnia ? A little skeleton who had the delicacy to never reveal his withdrawal crisis ...

PaperJam was too nice ... And it was this kindness that was going to kill him.

Jammy barely had time to react when he perceived the use of magic not far from him. Before being able to defend himself, his legs were swept by a tentacle, and he collapsed head first against the ground. Confused, he raised his head in panic, only to freeze at the sight of Nyx standing nearby, looking down on him. Looking at him in a way that PaperJam hated...

The child swallowed as he saw tentacles materializing from the shadows. He didn't understand anything anymore, but Nyx was definitely not in his normal state.

The appendixes sprang towards him, with the clear purpose of quickly reducing it to dust. And if PaperJam didn't move, nailed to the ground by surprise and anguish, he was nevertheless able to raise his voice as his big innocent and confused eyes planted themselves in Nyx's eyes:

“Big brother... ?”

The tentacles froze a few millimeters from his body, while the older one petrified in amazement, the words dying in his throat:

“.... W-what...?” stuttered the cartoonist.

PaperJam felt his soul squeeze. He gratified his elder with a look of anxiety, fear, but above all .... Filled with a tenderness and love that surprised Nyx.

Slowly, braving his fear and ignoring the appendages that seemed as frightened as he was, the child came to gently put his hand on a tentacle, to gently caress it to calm him, to comfort him.

“.... You called Ink 'Daddy' .... explained the younger one delicately. And ... You have tentacles, you draw ... you eat black apples .... Your eyes change shape ... So, DaddInk and Nightmare are your parents ...?”

The perspicacity of his younger brother surprised Nyx, who made his tentacles disappear in panic, retreating one step:

“I...”

Jammy puffed up his cheeks:

“I'm not an idiot... Don't lie to me...”

The Draftsman observed him for a few moments, unaware of this turn of events. He finally looked down in shame:

“... No, you're not stupid. Quite the contrary. You're right, I am the son of Nightmare and Ink. But I come from another timeline...”

Paperjam tilted his head to the side, intrigued. He got up slowly without letting go of Nyx's gaze:

“... Timeline ... My parents often talk about it, but it only concerns AUs like Undertale ... But I understand the principle. You're, like... a possibility? Something that could have happened in our lives? And I must be the same for you, right?

- It's, like... (Sighs) It's kind of like that, yeah...”

The child took one small step, then another, so as not to frighten his brother, giving him time to get used to his presence as if he wanted to tame him. And it seemed to work, for despite his trembling, Nyx let him approach without making the slightest gesture.

“... Nyx ... if you tell me what you're afraid of ... ?”

The drawer tightened, his throat tied, before finally raising his eyes full of tears towards his younger son:

“... I ... I ...”

He put one hand over his mouth, choking a sob.

“...I don't want to destroy my family again...”

He closed his eyes, repressing the tears that were burning his eyes, and that was enough for PaperJam to brave the last meters that separated them, and come to embrace him with all his strength:

“... you won't destroy it. You are too nice for that...

- ... No. I'm sorry, Jammy... Y-You don't know what I could've done... You don't know me...”

The child laughed nicely:

“There's a lot of things I don't know, but that doesn't stop me from trusting! You know ... I don't know Father well ... he's clumsy with me, and he's afraid to touch me ... but I trust him because, even though he doesn't talk much, he protects me and tries to make me happy.”

Jammy had a lovely smile:

“Just like you, Nyx. You try to help and protect everyone, so you're nice! My sweet big brother!”

He came to rub his face against his chest and Nyx's cheekbones took on a soft mauve hue. The child finally let him go:

“So, what can I do to help you?”

The elder one frowned on the arches, before he began to think:

“... I don't know myself what I can do ... what I want to do ... I want my parents to be happy, but in order to do that I have to hurt other people I love...

- And is that necessary?

- ... ...excuse me?”

Nyx watched his younger brother look innocently at him:

“Will it really make them happy that you're doing this?

- ... Yes... that's what they want...

- But... what they want won't necessarily make them happy. I want candy all the time but Papink won't let me eat it... It annoys me, but at the same time it's to make me healthy, and therefore happy!”

Nyx blinked, surprised by his words... and finally he started to laugh. At first softly, then more frankly, as if all his pressure suddenly disappeared, that he was freed from a weight too heavy for his shoulders.

PaperJam was surprised:

“Did I... did I say something stupid?”

The drawer caressed his skull while trying to calm his laughter, his pupils regaining a soft golden color:

“No Jammy, on the contrary. You're absolutely right!”

The child's eyes opened wide when his elder carried him suddenly. He looked at him confusedly:

“Nyx?

- Let's go home little head! It's time for me to take control of my life!”

Something that made PaperJam smile and raise his fist triumphantly:

“Yeah! Well spoken!”

They exchanged a knowing glance and Nyx took out his pencil, making a gesture to create a portal. But of course, nothing could simply happen. Fate, karma, whatever else, did not wish to help or support poor Nyx, whose life seemed to mock him every minute of his existence.

Fate came in the form of a tentacle which flashed towards the two brothers, and if Nyx had the presence of mind to step aside, he petrified when the appendix stole his pencil from him!

“No,” he exclaimed as he turned his head, only to be covered in cold sweat the next instant.

Nightmare, his father, was standing there, looking bad, looking quite.... disappointed.

PaperJam hiccuped in fear as he came to hide against Nyx, trembling, feeling the negative aura of the nightmare master amplify throughout the entire UA.

“I should have been firmer”, scolded the guard, whose pupil crackled with anger. “Ink gave you an order, execute it Nyx!”

The drawer moved backwards, feverishly ... before puckering the arches and putting Jammy behind him, not without letting go of the Nightmare gaze.

“No, he said. I'm sorry, Father, but I can't hurt my little brother.

- HE'S NOT YOUR BROTHER!” shouted the master of woe. “THIS IS NOT YOUR TIMELINE! THIS IS NOT YOUR LIFE! YOU DON'T KNOW THESE PEOPLE, AND YOU WOULD BETRAY ME FOR THEM?!”

Nyx gently rubbed PaperJam's back to calm his tremors as he faced his father with more determination:

“I've only known them for a few months... but they're all I've ever dreamed of... I won't let you take them away from me.”

Nightmare shudders like his aura, before his blue eyes become darker than ever, before the air around him becomes icy, before the earth beneath their feet trembles and cracks under the weight of an increasingly uncontrollable magic.

The hoarse voice of the guardian rose:

“I should have finished you at birth.”

Nyx became livid, grabbed PJ against him as his own tentacles materialized to surround them, forming a shield that Nightmare clashed with when he attacked them.

The shock was severe, Nyx wince at the impact, not feeling able to match his father. He kept Jammy against him and dragged him abruptly into the shadows, only to move furtively and at high speed away from there. It might have worked if Nightmare wasn't a dark follower himself ....

“Poor coward ! Is this how I raised you?!” he cried, turning the Nyx's soul blue, before forcibly pulling it out of the shadows.

The cartoonist hiccupped, dropped PaperJam and fell to the ground as he himself was thrown against a nearby rock. Although the pain was nothing compared to what he had already experienced, he still let out a yelp of pain as he collapsed to the ground, landing badly on his hands.

He grimaced, feeling his wrist electrify him. To think that this wound would never have the slightest respite ...

Nyx looked up at his father. He had no desire to fight him, but his sire left him no choice.

Nightmare passed Nyx's tentacles without harm, probably because the rage made him more powerful than ever. He made the bones appear and threw them at his son, scolded when he saw him dodge them, decided to turn his soul blue a second time and suddenly pulled him towards him.

Nyx hiccupped, could not hold his body, which was heavily propelled towards Nightmare. He yelped when his father grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up without the slightest softness, darting an angry look at him.

“Nyx, you're just a...”

The keeper stopped suddenly, surprised, as if he had noticed something that had been too well concealed until then:

“.... That a kid ... weak ... and dependent ...”

The last word had been blown slowly as an unhealthy smile appeared on the teeth of the master of misfortune, whose gaze had been illuminated with a sadistic glow full of madness:

“That's why you're not getting anywhere at the moment... You have no more apple ~”

Nyx petrified, his breath accelerating in anguish as he watched his father without knowing what to do.

Paperjam, not far away, also tensed up, remembering all too well the crisis that his brother had made, crisis which had been able to be calmed only thanks to apples precisely.

Without understanding the desire to cry which had suddenly embraced him, Nyx felt his magic trembling, trembling under a terrible apprehension. And Nightmare's smile only added to his palpable horror.

So ... what can I do to make you a good dog again?" the guard purring. Should I give you apples? Would you be interested? »

Nyx's magic became more painful, his body seemed to be bitten from the inside, violently lacerated by frost teeth. Each of his bones screamed grace as his pupils slowly began to alternate between blue and gray, panic and supplication.

“N-no...” he articulated slowly, using violence to answer nothing else.

But his body screamed the opposite, his whole being was sweating and begging, while his mouth spoke only lies that Nyx would have liked to believe:

“I don't care about apples...”

{I need it}

“No matter what it does to me...”

{I'm scared}

“It doesn't matter if I disappear... I wasn't even supposed to exist...”

{I don't want to die}

“I, uh...”

The tears came back furiously burning his eyes, but he struggled not to let them out.

“I... I... I...”

Nightmare had darkened, arched arches, hating the response, which sounded to his ear canals like a pathetic, laughable lament.

“... To think that I saw you as my heir... when you're just a stupid emotional kid playing grown-up.”

[CRACK]

A painful crack. An umpteenth on the trembling soul of Nyx.

“... I just wanted to see you happy...” the drawer hiccupped as the first tears began to fall. “I just wanted to...”

He screamed at the ground, his spirit twisting as his skull hit the ground. One minute his heart was high, and the next he regurgitated. He regurgitated a reddish liquid with a pungent taste, while the world around him began to turn, that his body gave him the impression of being torn apart and crushed, oppressed, on the verge of yielding, of breaking.

“NYX!” shouted PaperJam while straightening up without daring to intervene more, petrified of terror by the negative aura of Nightmare which also gave him desire to cry.

The master of nightmares looked at his son with an evil eye, his fists clenched:

“... Since you want it so badly, why don't you just die?”

His magic was activated, forcing Nyx to curl up on himself as the guard scolded:

“... Die of madness, you idiot.”

Nightmare snapped his fingers.

Nothing happened.

...not in the eyes of PaperJam at least. But Nyx, he felt it violently. That storm that swept through him, that invisible padlock that gave him nightmares every night, that fucking, fucking spell that had begun to crumble in the last few months...

And Nightmare had just struck the fatal blow.

He had definitely removed the spell that was keeping him awake.

Far from seeing this as a release, Nyx lost his pupils, his face turned livid. Panic, fright, horror, terror.

[He sank into darkness]

[He sank into silence]

[He fell into fucking nightmares]

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Next Chapter

You can support me on my Utip or on my Ko-fi account !

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Credits =

Nightmare -> Joku

Ink -> Myebi

Paperjam -> 7GoodAngel

#Guardian Angel #nyx #undertale #alternate universe #alternate timeline #fanfiction #inkmare #nightkiller #errink #error #ink #nightmare #killer #sans

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indiavolowetrust · 4 years

Text

Matthew 7:7

SUMMARY: "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you."

Satan tutors a particularly curious, chatty student.

Notes: This MC is based on various female saints. Prior to falling into the Devildom, this MC lived in Catholic rural Spain -- hence the name Maria Cruz (MC). This fic explores the possibility of demons having their own language outside of the MC's native language, as well as Satan's inner wrathful nature.

My head pulses with the reverberation of the rain, the battering against the windowpane a thunderous, steady march. While I can’t quite fathom how the Devildom has changes in weather -- outside of temperature changes, that is -- it is difficult to do anything but take the anomaly in stride. In a realm crowded with demons, angels, and beings dangerously akin to monsters, it would be only a headache to dwell on it. A waste of time.

But aside from that, it is comforting. A vague resemblance to a typical autumnal rain. If I close my eyes for a moment, I can almost imagine that I am in one of Sister Marta’s classes again: bored, tapping my pen against the wooden desk, and on the verge of sleep, the sound lulling me into a placid state. Sister Marta would drone on and on about the syntax and grammar of Latin, citing various points in scripture. My pen would scrawl doodles and notes alike, creating looping whorls on my paper. And the occasional running line for each time I nodded off, of course. The storm would rage on and on, drawing my eyes to the rivulets of droplets on the window, and my patience and attention would slowly slip into nothingness.

I regret doing so each and every day that I spend in the Devildom.

I take another glance at the two books strewn on the desk, attempting to focus again. A compilation of notes sits beneath my hand, the two tomes in Latin and Enoch flipped open to what should be the same page. My fingers cramp from writing so much, protesting the constant workload, but I wholly ignore the sensation. If I had paid more attention in Latin class, I would be able to translate Enoch better. If I hadn’t drifted off so much and ignored Sister Marta, I wouldn’t have such a noticeable accent when speaking to the demons of the Devildom. If I hadn’t spent so much time daydreaming about the end of the school day, I wouldn’t have embarrassed myself upon my first arrival in the Devildom. My skin still bristles at the memory: my complete bewilderment, combined with the Lord Diavolo’s lack of foresight to provide me with a translator, had only led to disaster.

A complete idiot, some part of me says, chiding me. You looked like a complete idiot, spouting off nonsensical phrases in Latin.

Then again, it wasn’t as if I had really believed in demons or angels before. How was I supposed to know that the language of the demons was only a derivative of Latin?

Another clap of thunder nearly shakes the House of Lamentation’s foundation. I read the hands of the grandfather clock: it is only half past midnight. Plenty of time to finish the last five pages of translations and vocabulary practice. I will myself to understand the texts before me, gripping the pen tightly in my hands. I force my eyes to focus. If I am to survive the remainder of my exchange year at RAD, I would have to do a much better job at hiding my humanity -- starting with disguising my Spanish accent. But the words only blur in my vision again, the call of sleep urging my eyelids to close, and I feel myself sway unsteadily in the chair. The stress and fatigue from work hits me all at once. The lull of the storm sings to me, exacerbating my exhaustion. My pen begins to drift off the paper. My head nods forward.

“Maria?”

I blink, immediately forcing myself back to consciousness again. My eyes scan the library, drawing itself over rows of bookshelves and dark mahogany tables. The dim lamp on the desk is dim and flickering, casting long shadows across the room.

And Satan stands in the doorway, looking just as surprised as I am.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, hand still on the doorknob.

I glance down at my notes. I’ve drifted far enough into sleep that I’ve drawn a crooked line over the preexisting words, I realize with embarrassment. I quickly hide the ruined sheet. “Just studying,” I respond. “It’s -- it’s late, isn’t it? What are you doing here?”

Satan arches a brow. “Well, aren’t we curious?”

“Ah, I didn’t mean --”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he dismisses, throwing a smile my way. It does nothing to disarm me, nor does it ease my sense of embarrassment. He reaches one of the bookshelves in the corner of the room with long strides and pulls a book off the shelf, evidently acquainted with the contents and layout of the library. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I would read something to relax. I left one of my favorite novels here.”

I nod, trying to hide my discomfort. “I see.”

I look down on my notes again, reading over the newly written content, but I make sure to keep a wary watch over Satan out of the corner of my eye. While traveling to the human world with Satan, Lucifer, and Mammon had helped in forming the bonds between Satan and Lucifer, I cannot say the same for myself. Only a few weeks have passed since Satan’s outburst. Since his threats of, verbatim, slicing off my nose and ears, ripping off my arms and legs, and feeding me to the lower-level demons. While it is easy for someone like Lucifer to simply overlook the transgression, being a demon, it is much more difficult for a human like me to forget the terrifying experience. Satan had clearly meant to make good on his word. If Lucifer hadn’t stepped in, I would likely be nothing more than a pile of torn flesh and bone.

“You’ve gotten pretty proficient,” Satan’s voice says over my shoulder.

I nearly startle out of my chair, turning towards the source of the voice. Satan stands to the side of the desk, leaning as he regards my notes. His gaze draws itself over my notes and the tomes with interest. I shrink back instinctively from his presence, still caught in surprise. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice. The wrathful demon simply nods, as if satisfied by my work.

“So this is how you’ve become fluent so quickly,” Satan remarks, green eyes lighting up. “Tell me, are all humans like this?”

I shake my head. “Not really. It’s -- I just figured it would be a good idea if I learned more Enoch,” I explain hastily, my hands already working to close the tomes and collect my notes. “Didn’t want a repeat of the first few weeks of school.”

“Well, it was almost incomprehensible when you first started.”

My cheeks flush. “I --”

“And you’ve improved significantly,” he says. “You should be proud of yourself, human.”

There it is again: that brilliant, faux smile. I merely nod in acknowledgment and utter a small thank you as I gather the rest of my things, closing each tome with finality. Satan steps back as I stand from my seat, bearing various notes, notebooks, and a pen in my hands, and I do my best to offer him a smile in return. A goodbye gesture of sorts. If I am to have my choice in the situation, I will not spend another moment in Satan’s presence. Not alone, anyway. It is late, as it is. He probably wouldn’t be too offended if I made the excuse of exhaustion. I begin to make my way past him, the excuse falling from my lips.

Satan catches me by the arm. I flinch as I regard him, both the surprise and fear registering on my features before I can stop myself -- and Satan lets go immediately, the facade slipping almost imperceptibly. He draws his hand back to his side, the action creating distance between us once more. I stare awkwardly at him for a moment.

“I can tutor you, if you would like,” Satan finally says, breaking the silence. “Tomorrow, same place.”

Say no. Just outright refuse, my conscience advises, attempting to build my resolve. You can tutor yourself just as well as that demon can. Just say no and he’ll leave it alone.

* * *

The tip of the pen emerges from its casing with a gentle click, Satan’s fingers wrapped securely around its base. His eyes scour my written translation for a moment, peering over the frames of his reading glasses. He scratches corrections onto the paper after a moment, then pushes the notebook towards me. His pen taps on the various scrawlings.

Satan pushes his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose, “This word is pretty close, but there are too many connotations for it,” he explains. He writes out various characters in Enoch, pronouncing the syllables of each word. “It’s a bit more formal, but it’ll probably get your point across a little more clearly. Your professors will probably appreciate that.”

I take a look over Satan’s writings, comparing them to the text. As promised -- or mildly coerced, depending on how I regard the circumstances -- Satan had met me in a small library of the House of Lamentation, at least several high-grade novels and other books piled high before him. And, as expected, Satan is nothing but strict in his teachings. Each wrong stroke of an Enochian character leads to a quick, ruthless correction, Satan immediately scratching out the mistakes. Each wrong pronunciation of a word in Enoch incites a tsk from him, his typical gentlemanly countenance making way for his true nature. While it is somewhat reassuring that the demon no longer feels a need to hide his nature from me -- therefore making his outbursts more predictable if they do occur -- I still can’t quite shake the discomfort. The contrast between his outward and inward nature is unsettling.

I sigh inwardly, dispelling the thought. If I had really wanted to refuse, I should have done so right then and there. Because I was given a choice, wasn’t I? An implied choice. I could have said no. I could have refused. But then a memory had suddenly occurred to me, and I found myself completely stripped of my will.

Don’t you dare trifle with me, human, Satan’s voice echoes, the memory still fresh and palpable. If you dare say that you won’t make a pact with me again, you’ll pay for it with your --

“What’s wrong?” asks Satan, casting a glance at the space underneath my pen. Empty. “Is there something you don’t understand?”

I blink, then quickly shake my head. “No, I was -- I was just thinking about something.”

“Like what?”

My mind searches for an excuse, eyes inadvertently scrutinizing his appearance. While one would normally wear something more comfortable and casual for bed, Satan is dressed in an almost formal sweater and sweatpants that could be taken for slacks, his hair still perfectly mussed and styled from the school day. Nothing about him is undone. The meticulously thought-out details make me feel nearly out of place with my borrowed, oversized sweater, pyjama pants, and pineapple-like bun of curls sitting on top of my head. A slovenly effort when compared to Satan.

My eyes land on the reading glasses perched on top of his nose.

“Do you need those?” I ask, distracting myself from my own thoughts. “I always imagined demons were all-powerful. Did you have to go to a doctor in the human world to find your prescription?”

Satan looks surprised for a moment, as if he hadn’t expected me to comment. Or notice, depending on how low his expectations of humans are. “Well, no, but I thought they seemed appropriate.”

“You thought I would learn faster if you looked the part?”

“You like to ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” he counters, clearing his throat. “Curiosity killed the cat -- isn’t that what you humans always say?”

“‘Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back,” I recite, correcting him. I lean in closer to peer at his glasses, my curiosity overtaking my unease around the demon for a moment. The glass is thin, free of any curve in the glass. Moreover, they bear a plain yet distinctive design -- akin to what a gumshoe in a noir novel would wear. My mind flashes back to the book he had pulled off the shelf the other night. “They aren’t real.”

Satan gives me a withering look. “If you knew that, then why did you ask?”

“You’re wearing them because you want to look like Detective Vic Stone from Masking the Shadow,” I observe. Satan’s impassive facade falls for a moment, his flustered state suddenly apparent, and a sense of victory nearly quirks my lips into a smile. A strange sense of victory over the wrathful, figuratively masked demon -- but a victory nonetheless. “You can correct me if I’m wrong.”

Satan brings a hand to his face, partially obscuring the flush over his features. “You try my patience too much. If you have any other questions, I would suggest you ask them now.”

“Just one.”

“I’ll make sure to bind your mouth next time.”

“How much would you like to be paid per session?” I ask, ignoring his words. “I work part-time, so there isn’t really a --”

He cuts me off. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” I echo, confused. “If this is because you think me incapable of compensating you, you are sorely mistaken.”

He sighs, obscuring his face as he focuses his attention back on the Enochian tome. Adjusts his glasses again. “Why wouldn’t I?” Satan says matter-of-factly, as if I should be aware of the answer. “That would be like refusing to take home a kitten in the rain. There’s no reason why I wouldn’t help you.”

“But --”

My words die in my throat as Satan places his hand on my head, patting my pineapple-like bun of curls as if I were truly a pet. That fake, polite smile graces his features once more. “You ask too many questions,” he says, his tone halfway to a threat. “Work.”

part 2

#obey me shall we date #obey me!#obey me satan #obey me fanfic #original character #writing #writing practice

19 notes · View notes

michael-langdon-appreciation · 5 years

Text

Prenumbra - Part Two ⏳

Outpost!Michael x fem!Reader

Words: 3K

Summary: Cordelia Goode has just sacrificed herself to save the world. But all is not lost for Michael Langdon as he hunts down those final witches still determined to end him. But a twist comes in the form of Y/N, a witch murdered during Michael’s rampage, back from the dead.

Warning: Major Character death!! TWIST!READER, softdom!reader, swearing!, SMUT WILL BE COMING IN FUTURE PARTS! Along with other goodies too!

A/N: Here is Part two!!! We’re going to see a little more of Michael and Y/N’s burgeoning relationship, and some familiar faces are back. Things are starting to heat up as Y/N steps into the driving seat, hopefully there are no gaping plot holes, Michael isn’t oc in anyway AND I have my dead bodies in the right locations! Thank you so much for the wonderful response Part One received you are all angels (or demons) whichever you prefer. ❤️

(Credit to this wonderful gif maker, if someone knows please hit me up so I can tag them!)

All it takes is a whisper in Timothy’s mouth before the boy is rising from the dead before Michael. He gasps, clutching at his throat. It must be a pain perhaps just on par with losing his Mrs Mead. Timothy’s stomach knitting back together via magic, the acid purifying, his throat soothing back to normalcy. The boy’s eyes are bugged as he recovers, keeling over as he dry-wretches on nothing.

Y/N’s hand rubs his back, ‘There you go, It’s all over.’ She coos in his ear, like a mother would a frightened child. Y/N’s eyes flick up to Michael’s and then that charming little smile is back. ‘Michael, are you going to speak?’

He shoves down the wonder of seeing Vitalum Vitalis again. Little Miss Y/N who performs it as simply as taking a breath. She slinks over the bodies in the library, the ends of her dress just sweeping the floor. Y/N’s taking her time, almost marvelling at the gruesome sight.

But Michael already knows who is the lucky winner tonight. Who else has received a second chance at life.

‘You’re…alive?’ Michael’s eyes snap back to Timothy who’s gazing up at him. The boy’s mouth hangs open and for one second Michael has no idea why. ‘Did you…was there a battle?’

’Yes.’ Michael admits at once, realising the boy is gawking at the state of him. The rips, the bloodstains and general, un-Michael-like behaviour. ‘And…no.’

It’s then Timothy takes in the sight around him. Michael watches the memories crash and slam into place and then the boy is staggering to his feet, wheeling round, ‘EMILY!’

Michael catches Timothy’s arm, his grip ironclad. ‘She will be woken soon.’

The boy’s eyes fall to the plush sofa, where his lover lies dead. Emily’s eyes bulge still, foam and spittle dripping from her mouth. The boy’s entire body trembles as he sinks to his knees, forcing Michael to let him go. ‘What the fuck?’ Timothy’s eyes rake over Emily, then the bodies of his fallen comrades, before landing on Michael. ‘The apples-‘

‘He poisoned you.’

Both Michael and Timothy look to Y/N. She stands behind the sofa Emily lies on, watching Timothy’s every movement. Hatred courses through Michael. How dare she? How dare she give away his entire scheme as if it means nothing at all? Y/N’s tone is as if she’d just told Timothy the time.

Timothy’s eyes move back to Michael, ‘You told Venable to kill us all? Why!’

Michael’s leaves his gaze on Y/N as he answers, ‘It was the most viable way of getting rid of the clutter.’

‘You mean the other people?’ Timothy’s voice rises, ‘You said if we failed we stayed here, not that we’d be killed.’ His eyes flick back to the slackened jaw of Gallant, the horror still remnant in Andre’s eyes.

‘Poor choice of words darling.’ Y/N interjects, before Michael has the chance. Timothy wheels round, as if looking for something. Y/N’s eyes snap to Michael just as he realises the anomaly.

‘Where’s Coco? Dinah? Mal-‘

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Y/N cuts him off again. Her heels click as she steps round the sofa and guides Timothy’s chin from the missing bodies to her. She looms in closer, penetrating him with her stare. Michael can’t help but notice the blush creeping onto Timothy’s cheeks as Y/N’s hand ruffles gently through his hair. ‘Lucky for you and your Emily, you passed the interviews.’

Her tactic distracts the boy completely. He seems almost hypnotised by Y/N’s movements before him. She moves like a snake, her fingers trailing over his shoulder as she turns him back to Emily. Y/N’s eyes shine at Michael, as she too turns her back on him. Michael’s lip curls, it’s a show of trust but there’s an evident message. He wouldn’t dare strike in front of Timothy now.

They both need him and the girl.

‘Would you like me to bring her back?’ Y/N’s whisper carries over to Michael, despite the intent being for Timothy.

The boy nods eagerly, ‘Please. I’ll do anything.’

‘No need.’ She smiles, ‘Like I said, you both passed. Isn’t that right, Michael?’

‘Yes.’ There’s no need for him to add anything.

Y/N bends over Emily and takes her face gently between her hands. She wipes away the foam with her sleeve, a Prince ready to waken Sleeping Beauty. Timothy kneels right beside the women, his breath almost a pant from watching magic happen right before his eyes. Y/N’s lips hover a few inches above Emily’s and all Michael can think of is the acrid smell of vomit and poison that still lingers in the air. But as Y/N whispers that same incantation, her lips moving softly above Emily’s something curls in his stomach. Something heavy, fiery and then Emily’s rising up so fast she nearly knocks Y/N out. Y/N steps back immediately, catching Michael’s expression.

Michael zeros in on her as she draws to his side and slides her hand back into his. Michael’s fingers clench hers tightly, his gaze rooted on the young lovers before them. He won’t look at Y/N, nor the smile that still touches her lips. She knows what affect it had on him. He doesn’t like being read so easily by anyone, never mind the Antichrist.

Timothy’s dragged Emily into his arms, holding on tight. He whispers a thousand lost words in her ear as Emily tries to process. Michael knows the feeling well, the sluggishness of your mind, everything sharpening painfully into focus as your eyes start working again. His hand trails his torso, to the bullet marks that would still be there on someone normal.

The hand that isn’t being held in his trails Michael’s arm, ‘There is something we should do before we leave here.’ Michael’s head turns to Y/N at last, trying to read her expression. She’s still smiling at him, ‘Rejoice dear, we have our lovers back with us.’

Emily and Timothy have risen to their feet, their arms wrapped all round each other. ‘Why us?’ Emily asks, looking between Michael and Y/N. ‘Are you two…’

‘No.’ Michael answers it, ‘Despite how it may look….’

Y/N’s quick to takeover for him, ‘We’ve never met before today in fact.’ She says, ‘My name is Y/N and I am Mr Langdon’s second in command.’

‘Michael.’ Timothy echoes, having noticed Y/N’s switch to formality.

Michael narrows his eyes, ‘Langdon.’

Both Timothy and Emily shrink under his intense stare. Satisfaction coils within Michael, happy he can still intimidate the pair before him. Timothy’s eyes flick down, submissive but Emily remains fixed on Y/N. ‘Why didn’t you arrive with him then?’

‘There was a delay.’ Y/N reveals, releasing Michael to get some space. ‘Procedure and all.’

‘How can there be a delay when everyone else is dead.’

Y/N’s head whips back to Emily. The young woman remains strong, staring down the Antichrist with a calm ferocity. Y/N takes a step and then points at Emily, ‘I like you.’

It doesn’t deter Emily, ’So what’s next? The Sanctuary? Does it even exist?’

‘Of course it exists.’ Michael snaps, ‘Where was I before, if not there?’

Emily has answers, it’s easy to see them in her eyes but she backs down.

‘When do we leave?’ Timothy asks, his eyes back on the dead bodies, ‘Can they…can they really not come with us?’

‘Why would we want them?’ Emily’s retort silences everyone. She leaves her lover to stare down at Gallant and Andre, ‘They’re greedy and selfish people. They’d throw us out in the radiation without hesitation if it meant getting a bigger cube.’

‘There’s no cubes in the Sanctuary.’ Michael promises, ‘We have provisions. The apples for instance, crops and food grown by our residents. It keeps them busy and provides a stable source of nutrition and balance.’

‘Real food?’ Timothy stares at Michael, ‘You mean like…pizza?’

‘I suppose it can be done.’

It’s enough for Emily. She picks up her skirts, ‘Give us time to change out of these stupid outfits?’ She hesitates, ‘We don’t have to wear the medieval shit do we?’

‘No.’ Michael answers, ‘Whatever dystopian nightmare Venable had you under doesn’t apply where we’re going.’

‘Thank god.’ Emily dumps her mask and steps on it as she hurries from the room, presumably back to her chambers.

Timothy lingers. He sizes up Michael who remains passive as ever, his hands folded behind his back. A smile breaks out on Timothy’s face, ‘Venable.’ He says, ‘She’s dead isn’t she?’

For the first time in a while, Michael feels himself smiling. ‘Yes.’

A smirk tugs at Y/N’s mouth, ‘I take it you had fun with that one.’

‘After she tried to kill me, it was self-defence.’ Michael isn’t about to admit more with Timothy in the room. His answer is enough for the boy however, who heads out of the room following his lover.

Y/N heads back over to Michael, when Timothy’s head pops round the door, ‘Can we at least…give them a burial or do something?’

‘Of course,’ Y/N concedes. Timothy nods and then he’s gone, footsteps echoing up the stairs.

Michael grips Y/N’s arm, ‘The bloodbath…they’re bound to question it. We should have blindfolded them or-‘

‘I just brought them back from death.’ Y/N says, ‘Trust me, they aren’t interested in anything but getting out of here, just the same as us.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘If they cared, they would have tried a little harder for me to bring them back wouldn’t they?’

She’s right…again. Michael saw Emily’s selfishness, Timothy’s ability to commit atrocities for those he loves. Together with their potential unlocked, the two would be the Macbeths, bloody and driven to the Antichrist’s modus operandi.

‘The perfect insurance plan.’ Y/N echoes, her hand stroking up Michael’s blazer.

‘You think about what happens if you’re taken out?’

‘You did.’ Y/N murmurs, her fingers, straightening his collar.

‘I was…instructed it would be wise.’

‘You got my files, perfect delivered to Kineros by your Mrs Mead.’ Y/N trills, ‘You’d believe anything she says. It was easy to use her as a mouthpiece after a while-‘

Michael drags her closer by her wrists, ’You are getting cocky.’ He hisses, ‘Watch how you speak about her.’

Realising her mistake, Y/N drops the act. Her fingers push some of Michael’s golden hair behind his ear, ‘You never needed her, Michael.’ She murmurs, ‘You trusted her because she gave you that which no one else ever had before.’

‘Stop it.’ Michael bares his teeth, his grip getting stronger.

‘She loved you. Unconditionally.’ Y/N continues, ‘That doesn’t mean she was always right.’

‘You enjoy shredding me?’ He stares her down, Michael’s breath close enough to hit her face. ‘You want to make me crumble before you?’

With a slight push from her hand, magic flows through Michael. He stagers backwards away from her, ‘Never.’ Y/N says. ‘I never want to diminish you. I only want to boost you. Even if that means you have to hear somethings you wish you didn’t.’

It’s an honest answer. Better than the sycophantic Satanists. As Y/N stands there, her hair catching in the light, her chin held aloft, Michael is reminded so much of Cordelia. The Supreme who stood up against him for so long. Perhaps Y/N isn’t fully aware herself of how she emulates the Supreme, but it’s there, plain for Michael to see.

That same unbeatable spirit.

Y/N heads for the doorway, back towards the foyer. ‘You have a room I suppose?’

‘A….room?’

Does she wish to bed him right now, make her claim on him? The idea is thrilling and terrifying.

‘For your rituals?’ Her tone is patronising, as Y/N lifts an eyebrow at him. She continues through the bodies and up the stairs, Michael trailing behind her.

Michael picks up his pace, overtaking Y/N and leading the way. Neither speak till they reach a small room, just off from Baldwin’s office. ‘I found this place when I was snooping round the school.’ Michael reveals, ‘It’s a place for sacraments. It’s perfect for communing.’

He can feel the tinge of something dark the moment he steps inside. The room is spotless, apart from the five candles that sit around, leftover from his last prayer. Some are burnt down to stumps, a testament to how long one of Michael’s communions takes. All traces of his pentagrams have gone too, there’s no trace of blood staining the floorboards or walls.

Y/N’s eyes rove everywhere and then to the candles. She turns to face Michael and then kneels down holding her hand out, palm upwards. ‘Aren’t you going to join me?’

He obeys, kneeling before her but Michael don’t take her hand. ‘What are you planning on doing?’

Y/N eyes slip closed. The fingers of her left hand move as if playing a scale and the candles ignite. Michael isn’t that impressed, but he can’t help but lean in. Y/N’s close enough to see how her lashes flutter gently as she works her magic. Her eyes rove back and forth beneath the lids and right when Michael is inches away, they snap open. He freezes, unable to draw back without looking like a coward, unable to move further without dire consequences.

Y/N’s lips curl up into a smile, ‘What are you up to Michael?’

He feels like a little boy caught doing something he shouldn’t. Michael leans back onto his haunches, not saying a word. He doesn’t trust his tongue not to betray him. Y/N simply holds her hand out again, this time Michael takes it. His rings wink at him in the candlelight as Y/N’s voice echoes lowly throughout the room. It sounds almost like latin, somewhat familiar but the words distort and peak high at the ends. It’s almost grating as Y/N’s eyes roll into the back of her head, so the whites of her eyes show. The candles flare, Y/N’s face turns chalk white and then they are plunged into darkness.

‘I thank you father for your continued faith in me.’ Y/N’s voice is just a whisper, her hand still gripping Michael’s tight. ‘For showing me my path and allowing me to succeed where all other have failed. To unite at last with my Michael and combine together to carry out a new world in your image.’

Michael tries to wrench his hand back, but Y/N has a death grip. ‘I do not belong to you.’

Her eyes lift back to meet his own. He’s certain she’s debating on what to say, but Y/N drops her lips to Michael’s hand, kissing the skin there. Goosebumps erupt all over, Michael suppressing the base instinct immediately, but she’s caught him. ‘It felt good, didn’t it?’

’N…..no.’

‘Mmmmm,’ Y/N’s lips travel a little higher, placing another kiss on Michael’s wrist. She tugs him closer and before he knows better Michael has moved to accommodate her. Y/N tongue swipes over her lips, moistening them as her eyes take in his every reaction. ‘So…unsure.’ She murmurs, ‘Why not give it a try?’

He can’t tell her. It would ruin him.

Y/N’s hand runs gently through Michael’s hair, bringing his face closer to hers. It’s the last moment he has to pull away, to use his own magic and fight against the anticipation and nerves that seize him. She’s got him spellbound as Y/N swallows his hesitation in a gently, searing kiss. Michael’s lips move, unsure as he remembers to breathe. He’s tingling all over, a thousand volts coursing through his skin. But it’s pleasant, no….

It’s good.

It’s like being shot again, but this time there’s no pain but euphoria.

It feels right.

’That was your first…wasn’t it?’ Michael nods, avoiding Y/N eyes. Her fingers dancer underneath his chin and when Michael peeks back at her, she’s smiling. ‘Thank you for waiting for me.’

He still can’t talk, but he doesn’t need to. Y/N rises and guides him gently, her hand sliding to lead him by the arm. She leads the way back to the foyer where Timothy and Emily stand at the top of the stairs. They are holding hands, suitcases resting at their feet. Packed full of bounty from their dead friends, no doubt.

‘What happens from here?’ Emily asks.

‘We take the carriage.’ Y/N announces, much to Michael’s surprise.

‘We are?’

‘You brought it all the way here on your own.’ Y/N descends the stairs, picking her way through the bodies of Madison Montgomery and Dinah Stevens. ‘Why not fill it with people this time?’

She catches sight of Timothy eying the bodies. He looks a little green, ‘The blonde.’ He says, ‘She wasn’t in the Outpost with us.’ His eyes rove from Madison to Miriam Mead’s decapitated head. There is no warning as Timothy leans over the side of the railing and vomits. Emily runs to his side as Michael draws as far away as possible, the stench rising in the air.

Y/N frowns, ‘Perhaps it would have been best to blindfold you both.’

Emily drags Timothy down the stairs and past the bodies.

‘Put on the hazmat suits.’ Michael instructs, ‘They will protect you till you reach the carriage. You can take the helmets off when safely inside after one hour.’

Timothy manages a thumbs up as the young lovers walk. Y/N sets off again, but pauses when Michael doesn’t follow. His gaze is locked down on the head of Miriam Mead, his mentor, his supporter.

‘Leave her.’ Y/N’s voice is hard, ‘Let her rest here and move on, Michael.’

‘You don’t get to decide that.’ His voice is harsh, childish and echoes from the force behind it. But the second the words leave his mouth, Cordelia’s voice is back.

Led, coddled, a scared little boy.

‘She isn’t the only one.’ Y/N’s reading his thoughts, but Michael can’t bring himself to care. ‘Show Cordelia that you are stronger than she thinks. Prove her wrong.’ Her fingers creep round to rest on his shoulder, ‘You aren’t facing this fight alone anymore.’

‘And be led by you instead?’ Michael turns his head so he can look at her.

Y/N’s fingers caress his cheek, ‘I won’t lead you.’ She vows, ‘But I will love you.’

Tagging babes, faves and tag-list: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme@wickedlangdon @lovelykhaleesiii @normalpeoplescareme@duncvn @sojournmichael @langdonsdemon @petersfern-fics@katiekitty261 @langdonsoceaneyes @avesatanaslangdon@langdonsfallen @wroteclassicaly @langdvn @langdonsrapture@ritualmichael @thelangdoncooperative @icylangdon @xlangdons-evilbabygirlx @sodanova @confettucini @alexcornerblogthethird@sammythankyou @Sloppy-Wrist @Langdonalien @alexcornerblog@queencocoakimmie @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @cryptid-coalition @americanhorrorstudies @asstichrist @luxuryglitterhoe@starwlkers @satcnas @Sloppy-Wrist @Langdonalien @lostin-fern@xxpixiefromdixiexx @jimmlangdon @langdonsinferno @michael-langdonss @micheallangdons @langdonsrapture @i-will-die-for-jim-mason@yourkingcodyfern @ladynuwanda @master-langdon @are-you-lilith-or-eve @ghostiesbedroom @thecrownedbeast @hanhanxx @ladynuwanda @master-langdon @hecohansen31 @are-you-lilith-or-eve

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oosteven-universe · 5 years

Text

Wolvenheart #1 Advance Review

Wolvenheart #1 Advance Review Mad Cave Studios 2019 On Sale October 30th 2019 Created & Written by Mark London Illustrated by Alejandro Girlado Logo & Lettered by Miguel Angel Zapata Led by the legendary professor Van Helsing, Wolvenheart is an organisation dedicated to monitoring anomalies in the space-time continuum. After the group is infiltrated and decimated by a cabal of history’s most infamous villains, led by the most notorious serial killer of the 16th century, Elizabeth Bathory, Sterling Cross, the organisation's most prolific monster slayer, winds up trapped in an alternate reality where his only choice is to fight his way through time and change the course of history! The opening here is utterly fantastic! It is precisely what it needs to be to get the readers' attention, draw them in and have them wanting to see more. I think the creativity of what we see is sensational and the idea that someone in that condition would choose to be there at that moment in time and so creatively find their next meal so what the opening does at least for me is remind me of franchises like Castlevania or Vampire Hunter D but dare I say modernised to create something newer, fresher and more current. Not exactly an easy feat to accomplish these days as you'll find that this horror niche has been pretty much mined for filth. The story & plot development and the character development that we see within these pages is innovative, fresh and piques the curiosity beautifully. This is a seven issue arc and that's unusual in itself because usually they will fun from 4 to 6 so to see seven is great because it essentially allows Mark to do what he's doing here. He setting up the arc, the series and the franchise in a way that not only sets this all in motion but engages the reader in such a way that they will find ways to use their own mind, creativity and imagination to come up with solutions for what we see in these pages. Mark has gotten so much better and stronger as a writer and this shows that and how he almost effortlessly draws you in this way shows incredible skill and talent. There is another aspect of this story that hooks the reader. Nikola Tesla, one of the worlds greatest inventors who was discredited time and again in order to stop his innovations from putting big greedy companies out of business is responsible for many a gadget we see. Oh that and what exactly is this traveller other than a Romani Gypsy? Now if I am not mistaken I am going to with computer generated artwork. If this is the case then I don't want to see anything like that lecture hall as boring, without seating and there's no excuse for blank backgrounds. There is that moment on page 10(?) with the red but blacked out people that's okay because that is hella dynamic. Seeing headquarters for the first time shows me how capable Alejandro is and how vivid he can bring his imagination to life so he's set himself a standard here. God that image suspended, the colours the swirl throughout and how light sources create this shading and shadow work that encompasses the hues and tones within those colours. Blood effin Brilliant! The utilisation of the page layouts and how we see the angles and perspective in the panels show us sensational eye for storytelling. One thing don't keep making his pecs look like boobs because they already do him no service seeing them like we do. Now Mark has introduced us to not only a unique setting but an even more unique way of utilising the talent of the men and women of Wolvenheart. That alongside their very own version of Bad Wolf well that just heightens the tensions and anticipation factors for what's to come. This is a stupendous first issue that sets up the idea of the franchise, it's star player and creates this bond between the book and the reader leaving you wanting.

#comic books #comics reviews #mad cave studios #mark london #alejandro giraldo

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mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune · 5 years

Photo

I wanted to do a drawing

of Sans’s secret twin sister San in AFAC style,

I even decided to give her a new color of clothes to make her well let’s say stand out from Sans, when she is dressed in the same color clothes as Sans, the only thing that is different is that she is female and the fact she always wears black tights

and like I said in the description over at Deviantart

San’s own Empathy

can be strong just like Sans’s own Apathy

this makes the two polar opposites of each other

plus I like the idea of San having the power of making herself or others either it be human or monster or pet or plant invisible

plus when I was posting this drawing over at Deviantart,

it had just hit me on that very day…..

that the outfit makes San look like a bee lol

and I decided that San is a double trait,

one side is Justice and the other side is Patience

San knows that Chara is being used as a scapegoat and they aren’t the real threat to the underground…

but San knows that Sans wouldn’t listen and he’s set in his mindset that Chara was always the evil one

but that isn’t true,

San knows that the reason Chara becomes all Geno-Chara is because of the corruption when the true anomaly convinces Frisk to kill,

it was never Chara who did this and San’s knows this

and as I said before,

San knows that Chara is just being used

and she knows that Frisk is being used as a scapegoat too

besides the whole having the ability to use invisibility

I like the idea that San can make others forget her, like before she moves to the capital

so she will no longer switch places with Sans,

so he could take a nap without Papyrus knowing.

one of the reasons why San left Snowdin

was because of Sans, being tired of trying to reason with someone who can’t see that Chara ain’t the real enemy and they are just being used as a scapegoat

can be emotionally draining,

I think the spell she could of used

could be called Amnesia Blizzard

like it appears as snow

but really it’s magic

if magically programed right

it will make one or more forget a certain subject or person.

San had programed it to make everyone including San and Papyrus forget her, well if Papyrus found out there were two of Sans and finds out he has a sister….

and well figuratively speaking

if San did exist in the AFAC AU

then she would still use such a magic

Amnesia Blizzard,

but could of used it when she was a child on Sans, Papyrus and Gaster to have them forget her while she ran away from home and lived maybe in the ruins,

but finding out about the riverperson

San uses the Amnesia Blizzard on them too

San knows that

depending on the programing of the magic spell

(which some monsters hardly use and they only use the shield or attack or healing forms of magic.)

the Amnesia Blizzard has it’s limits on how long it will last

which is why San would have to sneak into Sans and Papyrus’s rooms respectively and cast it and since Gaster has been in the dimension between time and space, the spell was able to last way longer because where Gaster was before, the spell was frozen.

but with Gaster being return,

San will have to cast the Amnesia Blizzard spell on him just as many times as she has done to Papyrus, Sans and Hermann

(remember this is all figuratively if she were in the AFAC, but I believe in any timeline and au, she would still use such magic such as amnesia blizzard, invisibility and any other magic she has learned)

I’m thinking of her being able to use Familiar Magic,

like being able to summon a Familiar and cast transformation spells.

and if I had to pick what kind of Familiar San would be bonded to

it would be a Magical Beast, not to be confused with how some monsters are anthropomorphic, a Magical Beast would be a type of magical animal that has been around much longer than monsters and humans and were the first magical beings that dominated the planet before monsters and humans came along.

San’s Familiar Magical Beast, is a Cat

well it takes the form of a normal house cat

but it’s true form is very big, like bigger than a lion or bear

so about half the size of a full grown elder dragon

I want to draw San’s Magical Beast Familiar XD

and transformation spells can be tricky on the first try

and it could of taken San 10 years to master it, well that is the idea I want to go with how long it took her to master such magic.

and even if some think it a double trait isn’t canon to Undertale

(or even Deltarune)

but in Nintendo Switch, it shows in the fight with Mad Mew Mew

(I like to call them Madmewy)

the soul is red on one side

and on the other it is a light blue or cyan color

which makes it a double trait, so Nintendo Switch has made Double Traits Possible and it’s just Fanon anymore.

but being a Double Trait could be a very rare thing to have

and I still believe that Kris’s true trait is Patience

this is because when they go to the dark world

their hair and skin become a type of blue color

(the hair might appear black but it’s really a dark blue)

this is because Kris, the real them is shining through even though they are being controlled by the Red Soul.

I know a lot of fans believe that the Red Soul is Determination

but I don’t believe that at all, I mean I use to but I believe that this Determination is really the Human’s Blood not the Soul

the Red Soul’s true name is Ambition

and when a human has both the flowing blood of determination and the soul of ambition inside of them, they work perfectly together and

are very powerful and are able to use the power of Reset

in theory maybe the other Humans with different Soul Trait

could his or her or their special powers

and once again Kris’s Soul Trait can not be the Red Soul

if it were, then Kris would of appeared Red in the dark world

not blue, them appearing as a blue color shows that the true soul inside them that is theirs is reflecting out

I believe that Susie’s soul trait is Perseverance

this is because she still appears purple when she goes to the dark world but I guess depending on the shad of purple if it matches the soul the color could be light or dark

if the monster is already one of the two.

plus if I had to pick who to trust more Flowey or Ralsei

I’m going to have to go with Flowey, even if Ralsei might seem sweet and kind......I know they are hiding something....and it ain’t no way that he’s the true Prince of The Dark with all those Delta Runes around his home.....he looks like a Angel and talks like a Angel,

but he’s a Demon Lord in disguise!

you know like those RPG where the Hero has to face a Demon Lord...

and if it’s okay to say, if Toriel’s OTP is Rose & Greg

I can’t help but think Sans’s twin sister San’s OTP

would be Eclipsa & Globgor

Globgor is AWESOME,

and for me those two are the perfect One True Pairing

and I believe that if I had a counterpart in SVTFOE

they would be a Mewman/Monster, this is because I had figured out the similarities that the mewmans and monsters have to those in real life from the history of how America was formed.

so my great-great-grandmother was a full Cherokee

so if I lived in the fictional world of SVTFOE

my great-great-grandmother in that world would be a Monster

Star’s own Great-Great-Grandma Shy

(Full Name Celena Butterfly, also called Celena The Shy)

was clearly a hybrid between a Mewman and Monster

I did a drawing of Celena, Garnet, Baby Meteora, Steven and Lancer

over at Deviantart, the drawing has writing on it

it says “We Are Made of Love”

the reason why I added Lancer into it, is because of my new theory which is that Lancer’s mother was a Lightener either Human or Monster type Lightener.

Meteora is more than the two of Eclipsa and Globgor

she is her father’s fury and her mother’s patience

she is a fusion of love between a monster and mewman

and fusions ain’t gonna follow human, mewman or monsters rules

cause they are made of love

not the Level of violence love, but Love.

anyway I really think the Black & Yellow outfit works for San

and they really do look like a bee wearing it XD

the next time I draw San in such a outfit, I think I will change the socks.

I can’t wait to see the episode of SVTFOE where we will finally see “Marco Jr.” but even if Marco’s little sibling is suppose to be a boy we can’t just rule out the possibility of them being either a boy or girl

I’m thinking up drawing up a new Fem-Agender Flag

Fem-Agender

(which is with those who were born female but feel agender too)

are half binary & half non-binary, the same can be said for those who were born male but feel between their birth gender

and being agender too.

I mean in most timelines and au

Chara, Frisk and Kris are either Male, Female or Agender

so why not Fem-Agender and Male-Agender too?

plus I still believe that a Chara who is born male in each timeline

and goes by the male pronouns, would hate humanity because of the name they were given.....cause once again Chara is a REAL NAME and isn’t from the word Character.

the only name that is truly a name that is shared between a boy and girl

would be Kris, well Sam too and any other unisex names

the name Chara is a Girl’s name

and it doesn’t come from the word Character,

but it appears some have mistaken it to be so.

and I know some know the truth about the name Chara

by the way when I say that the Submit as well as Asks are closed

I mean it is closed to everyone, I can still submit some stuff but only if I open up the submit once again and well I guess there are still other ways to submit but I like this better.

so after posting this up,

I’m going to have the submit back to being closed.

I decided to make a Ask Kris, and even have them be Fem-Agender

and well in other timelines

they could be Female or Male or Male-Agender or Agender.

but yeah the asks are closed.

anyway see ya later and stay safe everyone.

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prayerveil-blog · 5 years

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@horclogium { ✞ } PROMPT.

He knows tragedy well. It’s made its home in his veins, sanctuary in the thorns wrapped around his heart that continues beating even long after it has died. There are few pleasures in this world that he may taste without running the risk of it turning to ash in his mouth and those he can may come around to bite him some day, even if they do not then. Some who know him as the mysterious count of steam-powered London would no doubt call him dramatic, were he to ever express these sentiments aloud : a man buried in riches who has filled his head with flower prose fantasies in order to distract himself from the boring, mundane life having everything one could ever want undoubtedly traps him within.

Cardia Beckford, an anomaly imprisoned within her own flesh, condemned to live a life of solitude . . . is not one of those people. He glances at her from the corner of his eye where he sits close beside her, his eyes stinging with the pain of tears that threatened every piece of his composure he had withheld so adamantly until recently. This was not the position he should have ended up in. None of this was right : it was never supposed to be this hard. He’d been sent to eradicate a monster. A vile creature, an abomination so declared by the word of God — something that never should have existed to begin with. Yet looking at the profile of her face now, he feels something constrict in his chest so painfully that it causes him to tighten his grip on her hand in his own, seeking some form of outlet from the emotions building inside him. The woman sitting beside him is no more a monster than he, himself. She walks in the same darkness, someone capable of understanding the tragedy that surrounds him if only because she has suffered.

Her only crime is that she has dared to exist and his greatest transgression is that he can no longer imagine a world where she does not.

“Cardia...” His voice cracks when he says her name, her words causing a struggle within him as he tries to swallow the lump in his throat. He feels as if every part of him is burning. The warmth of blood on his skin and clothes remind him of his wounds as he shifts his body until he’s fallen to the side. His head rests on her shoulder, her clothing a barrier of safety between him and the poison that Omnibus so desperately sought the destruction of. How unfair of her, to say something so heartfelt, after everything they’ve gone through. And how cruel, for him to know, deep down, that sacrificing himself for her would amount to nothing. He cannot save her : he knows this. The only person with the power to save her is herself, but the very thought of it makes his stomach churn. That she should have to take any risks when she has done nothing to deserve this... that they should be forbidden from existing with one-another, simply because the heavens have decided that is their fate...

This isn’t right. It would not be the first time he has shown mercy to those he was meant to steal the life of in order to prevent large-scale calamities, but the Apostles, Omnibus, God be damned, he would see this world burn before he watched this woman die. She is not some stray child he has picked up a fondness for, nor an innocent that has tugged at what remains of the humanity in his heart. She is a person who was never given the opportunity to live and who stood to lose her chance simply because of a false prophet’s foreseen visions, a woman he would rather drown in his sins for than steal even more from her. If it is God’s will that she be seen as a monster, the heavens could fall.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he murmurs, finally, sounding no less hoarse, though whether from raw emotion or due to his injuries, he could not say. “I don’t... want you to take any risks. You get that... don’t you? After all this time, I finally... It’s because of how I feel that I don’t want that for you.” The sting of tears reaches his throat and he has to swallow again to keep them from falling. He is not oblivious. He knows the confession that lies in her statement, just as well as she had heard his own when he’d made his plea to her. Were they two any other people in any other world, his heart would stop at the mere prospect of someone like her having the faintest affection for someone like him. But they are not two other people — they are God’s regrets and, no matter how fervently they wished it were not so, they never should have been allowed to fall in love. And even still, he knows such sentiments would fall on two pairs of deaf ears. “You can’t... die.”

His fear of her losing her life outweighs the clarity of knowing there is nothing he can do for her, if not kill each Apostle by his own hands. He doesn’t want to admit that she has to see this through. Because if she is killed... if they succeed in taking her from this world, from him...

He draws in a sharp breath, then, with a pained groan, pushes himself to sit in front of her. His posture is far from elegant, his hands pressed against the pavement in a desperate attempt to keep himself up. His wounds cut deep, the effects of his healing so slowed by constant trauma that he may as well not be mending at all. Yet, despite this, he holds himself as well as he can in front of her, eventually managing to lift his gaze. He’s unsure whether seeing the turmoil of his own emotions reflecting in her expression, as well, makes him feel warmth or terror. Perhaps both. Though he knows it will upset her, to hell with his condition, he raises his hand and shakily rests his fingertips against her chin, lifting her head so that she’s forced to make direct eye contact with him. He feels as if the whole world stops and focuses in on her : so drawn in is he, he doesn’t even feel the acidic burn melting through his gloves.

“ ... nngh.” The moment her eyes meet his, the carefully constructed walls he’d been clinging to come crashing down. Her beautiful face becomes a mere blurred mess in front of him and as the faint sound of a broken sob escapes him, his arms move to wrap around her back. He pulls her forward, meeting her body halfway as he holds her closer to him in an embrace, tightly enough that he’s certain it must hurt her, let alone hurting him in his current state. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, painfully aware there’s just barely enough fabric of her shirt to keep him from touching her, but he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care. All he wants is to be with her : it’s as simple and as complicated as that. If he can’t have that, he would rather her at least be safe. If the world, if the Apostles of Idea, if the heavens themselves had to be eradicated in order for her to exist, then he would set fire to them himself. And therein lay the problem . . . because she wanted to be with him too, didn’t she? And maybe if she could not have that, then she would eradicate the world itself, as well. He almost laughs when he thinks this. Knowing tragedy does not equate to blind acceptance of it, not even for them, apparently.

“Cardia...” When he finally speaks again, his voice seems as if he has himself under control, but he still doesn’t lift his head from her shoulder yet, nor does he loosen his embrace. “I...” Part of him wants to apologize. For this moment between them, for every moment before and every moment that will come after, however many there are, if any at all. He wants to tell her that he is sorry that she has been branded a monster, that she has been punished merely because she exists and for the part he has played in it. His fingertips dig into her back for a brief moment, a sign of his frustration, but in the end, he finally starts to let her go. It takes a long, painful minute, but when he pulls himself away just far enough to be able to look at her again, he has a pained smile on his face. The subtle redness of his eyes and cheeks are all the evidence that remain of the damp spot on her shirt : he does not comment on it.

“You . . . are the closest to an angel I will ever be. Your existence in this world . . . is a blessing.” He winces, fully aware he can’t manage to sit in this position on his own for much longer, but he refuses to move away from her. His hands reach for both of her own, wrapping them in his grasp so that he can very gently tug her forward just enough for him to lean his forehead against hers in a way that won’t cause any contact between them. “So, please . . . please . . . let me be the one . . . who takes those risks for you.” Some part of him knows when he says it that she will not listen to him. Love is, perhaps, equal parts the only thing stronger and far more foolish, after all, than tragedy.

#i went deep into vague route timeline territory again who knows not me #KERMIT DRINKING A TEACUP OF HIS OWN TEARS . JPEG !! I DON'T EVEN HAVE A JOKE OR A MEME OR ANYTHING I'M JUST DEAD THANKS.#😭😭😭#` ✞ ;ic. ⁞ vows are spoken to be broken. ◞ :#horclogium #` ✞ ;horclogium. ⁞ the world may disapprove‚ but if we’re sinners‚ it feels like heaven to me. ◞ :#KJNMHKJNHM uni dead in the bg....

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years

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AN EXAMPLE THAT WILL BE FAMILIAR TO A LOT OF PEOPLE THAT AGE, I VALUED FREEDOM MOST OF ALL

If you're saying something you know is good but most people disagree with, you should use it. Most people have had the experience of working hard on some problem, not being able to siphon off what had till recently been the prerogative of the elite. Just as happens in college, the name of your VC stops mattering once you have enough people interested in startups. It was both a negative and a positive surprise: they were surprised both by the degree of persistence required Everyone said how determined and resilient you must be, but going through it made me realize that the determination required was still understated.1 They want to know the answer. They want languages that are believed to be suitable for use by large teams of mediocre programmers—languages with features that, like angels, they have less reputation to protect. The eminent feel like everyone wants to buy you.

This kind of metric would allow us to compare different languages, but I don't think anyone really believes it is the people. Now, thanks to technology, the rich live more like the average person. Better to assume investors will carry you for as long as you might have to launch the thing and show that users loved it before VCs would be convinced.2 A round needs to be cut still further.3 It's easy to let the days rush by. It's arguably an instance of a more general principle here: that if you have a family and want to start a new and much more exciting startup, Justin. To do good work, on an absolute scale, as you suspect, the college admissions process is largely a charade.4

The Daddy Model of Wealth When I was in high school I used to wonder about this.5 In fact, the more that matters, because most people have more ideas when they're happy. They find some just as the prototype is demoable. If the number of investors increases, raising money will become, if not better, at least more convenient. It's this end that gives rise to phrases like those who can't do, teach. In fact, getting a normal job in the same position; he doesn't have majority control of Microsoft; in principle he also has to be more outsiders than insiders, if insider means anything. In his famous essay You and Your Research which I recommend to anyone ambitious, no matter how many good startups approach him. But it makes all the difference that it's concentrated in one individual.6 In the Bay Area a few days ago.7

You'd think they'd have had more confidence.8 Closely related is the desire to start a startup as a 19 year old. A surprising number of founders in the same way taking a shower lets your thoughts drift a bit—and thus drift off the wrong path you'd been pursuing last night and onto the right one adjacent to it.9 Reminder: What I'm looking for are programs that are very hard to do.10 Rebellion is almost as stupid as obedience. The most diffident person would be puzzled and even slightly contemptuous if they told a VC one plus one is two and the VC reacted with skepticism. In cold places that margin gets trimmed off. By the nineteenth century that had changed. When you travel to a rich or poor country, you don't have to do what they tell you how great you are. Their hypothesis seems to have been that, in the summer and one in winter. So don't assume a subject is really about.

I should be more careful about drawing conclusions based on what a few people with such force of will that they're going to do, or by taxing them away, as some modern governments have done, the result always seems to be run by a committee for a mainstream audience, hyped to the skies, and beloved of the DoD, happens nonetheless to be a startup you would do well to remember that. Instead of being positive, I'm going to be that you should start startups when you're young.11 Indeed, the biggest factor in investors' opinion of you. When you do, either a drive the process yourself, including supplying the paperwork, or b began life as consulting companies and gradually transformed themselves into product companies. So the best strategy is to try lots of different things: It's much more of a grind than glamorous. The real thing is not something one could have for being on a path to dominating a large market. That's what you do when life is short. Audiences have to be good at what you do. Tests are least hackable when there are consistent standards for quality, and the right to get one's investment back first. When we asked the summer founders learned a lot of time. Investors don't expect you to answer the question on the application form that asks what you're going to succeed even without them. It has for me.

Notes

This wipes out the words we use have a browser and get nothing. This is isomorphic to the extent this means anything, it is because their company for more than the type of round, you produce in copious quantities. As Anthony Badger wrote, If it failed. Learning this explained a lot like meaning.

N op incf n _ Arc: def foo n lambda i set! It's hard to say yet how much harder to fix.

The Sub-Zero 690, one of the world, but even there people tend to have discovered something intuitively without understanding all its implications. If an investor I don't think these are even worth thinking about for the ad sales department. And while this is to hand off the task at hand almost does this for you by accidents of age and geography, rather than admitting he preferred to work on what you really want, like architecture and filmmaking, but one way in which internal limits are expressed.

And anomalies. The greatest damage that ASPs that want to be about 200 to send a million dollars.

At the time 1992 the entire period since the war it was considered the most common recipe but not the only ones that matter financially, and intelligence can help in deciding what to do due diligence for VCs if the students did well they would implement it and creates a situation where they are by ways that have economic inequality in the back of your universities is significantly lower, about 28%.

In 1525 he was a kid. Not all big hits follow this pattern though.

If I paint someone's house, though it's a significant effect on the grounds that a company. So if they don't yet have any of his first acts as president, and only incidentally to tell VCs early on? Giant tax loopholes are definitely not a coincidence you haven't heard of many startups, has one booked for them. A scientist isn't committed to is following the evidence wherever it leads.

Letter to Oldenburg, quoted in Westfall, Richard and David Whitehouse, Mohammed, Charlemagne and the average reader that they decided to skip raising an A round, you better be sure you do. It seems more accurate predictor of success for a seed investment of 650k. Now we don't want to save the old days it was 94% 33 of 35 companies that grow slowly and never sell i.

Especially if they don't have to pass so slowly for them. Again, hard to answer your question.

But it's telling that it offers a better story for an investor is more of the most difficult part for startup founders who are younger or more ambitious the utility function for money. In one way in which I deliberately pander to readers, though it's a bad imitation of a handful of companies that have been five years ago. If the rich. If you have an investor seems very interested in graphic design, or how to argue: they hoped they were going back to 1970 it would be improper to name names, while everyone else books a package tour.

In practice formal logic is not always as deliberate as its sounds. For founders who go on to the table. Though we're happy to provide when it's their own company.

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starspangledsecretsanta · 3 years

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Here are all the amazing gifts given in week 1!

Title:A Christmas Waif Type of work: Fic

Word count: 20K Pairings/Characters: James 'Bucky' Barnes/Steve Rogers Rating: Teen Giftee: @bangyababy Warnings: Grief/mourning. Off-screen character death from illness Summary: While driving in a middle of a snow storm, Steve Rogers ends up stranded at a small-town diner in New Sokovia, two hours away from his destination of Ithaca, New York.

The diner's owner, Freddie Barnes, and her son, Bucky, rescue Steve and take him home to wait until the storm passes. Giving lost travelers a safe place to stay is a Barnes' family tradition. They even have a name for these people: Christmas waifs.

The Barnes family are open, warm and inviting, and Steve quickly falls in love with Freddie, George, Rebecca and Rachael, and especially Bucky, who was once a Christmas Waif himself.

But Steve has a secret grief that won't let him stay with Bucky or his family, no matter how close it is to Christmas, or how much he doesn't want to leave. Or how badly his leaving will break Bucky's heart...

Read it here!

Title: Cinnamon Type of work: Moodboard and Fic Word Count: 5.7K Pairings/Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Rating: Explicit Giftee: @marvelling-you (tourmalinex) Warnings: A/B/O Summary: "You know me, Bucky," Steve said. "I'm your Omega. I've loved you my whole life."

See and read it here!

Title: Dream Me Off My Feet Type of work: Fic Word count: 7.8K Pairings/Characters: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner, Okoye Rating: Explicit Giftee: @debwalsh Warnings: None Summary: When Bucky decides to woo his co-worker, Steve Rogers, he's only sure of one thing. It's either the best, or the worst idea he's ever had.

Read it here.

Title: taking chances Type of work (art/fic/etc): fic Word count: 5K Pairings/Characters: Steve/Bucky Rating: E Giftee: @crescendohno Warnings: none Summary: Bucky didn’t know if what he was doing was wrong or right, he just knew that it had to be done. He knew that he had to get close to Steve, figure him out, figure himself out. He knew that he could only be with Steve once his mind was working a little better. He would never be perfect, but asking to be a little bit better was not unrealistic.

He had a plan. A plan to get them back to being SteveBucky. BuckySteve. One unit.

Read it here!

Title: A Way Home Type of work (art/fic/etc): Fic Word count: 10K Pairings/Characters: Steve/Tony Rating: Mature Giftee: @xxdustnight88 Warnings: None Summary: Tony and Steve find themselves stranded on another planet with no idea how they got there and no idea how to get home. A day turns into two, then three, a week turns into a month, and then two months, and still, there’s no solution in sight. They make their new paradise planet home, with plenty of food and water, and a comfortable place to sleep. When Steve is caught in a plasma storm, Tony must redouble his efforts before the next one threatens to tear them apart. Literally.

Read it here!

Title: The Gift That Keeps On Giving Type of work: art Pairings/Characters: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes & alpine Rating: G Giftee: the0dyssey Warnings: none Summary: Steve mentioned he'd like a nice photo for his desk at work... Bucky decided to be a smart ass about it!

See it here!

Title: The Secret Garden Type of work: fic Word count: 9.5K Pairings/Characters: Steve/Bucky Rating: T Giftee: WinterSabbath Warnings: Mention of child abandonment Summary: When young Bucky Barnes sneaks into a hidden, walled garden at the Southern Palace, he discovers a new world in the heart of Prince Steve Rogers.

Read it here!

Title: Gingerbread & Highlighters Type of work (art/fic/etc): Fic Word count: 5.8K Pairings/Characters: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes Rating: G Giftee: @gremlin-writing Warnings: None Summary:

He stole another glance at the big guy at the back table and tilted his head consideringly. The guy looked like he was attempting to glare his notebook into submission. Too bad studying never seemed to work that way. Big Guy seemed to realize that at the same time because he huffed and shoved his hand irritably through his hair again--somehow managing to avoid dislodging the marker tucked behind his ear--and dropping his pen on top of the notebook to rub at his eyes.

Read it here!

Title: Holding the Mantle Type of work (art/fic/etc): art Pairings/Characters: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes Rating: G Giftee: @bloodspeckledraphael Warnings: none Summary: What Jarvis sees as he checks on our favorite supersoldier

See it here!

Title: you are the angel atop my tree, you are my dream come true Type of work: fic/art Word count: 2.6K Pairings/Characters: Sam Wilson/Steve Rogers Rating: Teen and Up Giftee: cinni Warnings: No warnings apply Summary: Sam and Steve spend Christmastime together through the years.

See it here!

Title: The Right Partner Type of Work: Fic Word Count: 7.5K Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes Rating: M Giftee: @trekchik Warnings: None Summary: Steve Rogers is an alpha out of time, possessing a weird genetic anomaly that’s essentially disappeared from humanity in the 21st century. It’s never bothered him, and he’s grown to believe he’s more ace than anything else.

Until a stray encounter brings on his rut in the most embarrassing way ... and finds a young New Yorker discovering some new and not necessarily wonderful things about his body.

And when the two meet ... could it be that Steve has finally found his right partner after all?

Read it here.

Title: Freedom to Celebrate Type of work: Fic + Cover Art Word count: 2.6K Pairings/Characters: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Rating: Teen & Up Giftee: @novaofavalonia Warnings: Light Angst Summary: Hoping to cheer up Tony, Steve plans a Christmas Eve in New York City.

See it here!

Title: Stucky Holiday Type of work: Art Pairings/Characters: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes Rating: G Giftee: Squeaky Warnings: Light Angst Summary: Happy Holidays, Squeaky! I couldn't decide which of your "wants" to draw, so I ended up kind of drawing all of them lol. Stucky, soulmates, ghost story, hurt/comfort. They are each in their own chapter with a gif of all four at the end.I hope you enjoy them and have a great holiday season.

See it here!

#ssss gifts 2020 #week 1 round up

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emberandshadow · 7 years

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It's over now. Ed walks away from the docks with his mind clear, no longer thinking of Oswald- no longer needing him in his head. He knows who he is now without him, he's moved beyond him. Ed Nygma may have been the man Oswald guided, befriended, and turned into something new- something more. But the Riddler is a creation made entirely by himself, a persona that he can take pride in knowing that he created himself without anyone's help. Well, not entirely without any help. Lucius did provide an excellent mind to help Ed on his path of self-discovery. But even as he walks away from the docks he can still feel something nagging in his brain. Something left undone. Left unsaid. He stops his mind from wandering further. He's freed himself from the hallucinations but he still can't help but think about the man he called his best friend. He tries his best not to. Tries to live in this new world he's created for himself, in the new persona. He thinks that if he remains in the Riddler mindset he'll eventually stop thinking like Edward Nygma; that he'll stop thinking of Oswald entirely. ~~~ Days pass. Ed is slipping. He was slipping before but he's slipping even more so now. How could he have ever thought he could live with the fact of what he's done? There are rumors around Gotham that say the Penguin is back, and that he's looking for Nygma. But Ed shot him and left him to drown and anyway Ed Nygma doesn't exist anymore so even if by some miracle Oswald did survive there's no way he'd ever find Ed. There's a part of him that wants the rumors to be true. Wants Oswald to be alive. ~~~ It's completely unexpected. Ed's been doing his best to avoid the police and that leads him to some bridge on the outskirts of Gotham. He isn't prepared for it- that sinking feeling in his stomach that he can't quite place at seeing Oswald again The man in question stands like a silhouette in front of him. His face is obscured by the darkness so it takes Ed a moment to realize who it is and even then he isn't sure if his mind is playing tricks on him again. So he takes tentative steps toward the man until he's close enough that he can confirm it's Oswald and then he reaches out to touch his face to confirm that he is flesh and bone. Oswald is too taken aback by Ed's tenderness, by the way Ed looks at him like he's some sort of magical anomaly, like he's been waiting his whole life to get to see him again- that it completely derails him from his mission to kill him. "Is it really you? Could it really true?" Ed's words are a whisper of disbelief. His hand is still on Oswald's cheek and even when the shorter man answers with a sarcastic "who else would I be?" He still doesn't move his hand. He thinks that he probably should, that Oswald would probably prefer if Ed not touch him, not stand so close to him, not look like he's on the verge of crying, but Ed is frozen. "How? How are you here right now?" His other hand moves up so now he's cupping Oswald's face and he's thinking it's a bad idea and he's wondering why he can't control his limbs anymore. "Ivy saved me. Nursed me back to health. Healed me from the bullet wound you gave me." His words are bitter. They have every right to be. Ed wants to drop to his knees, wants to scream his sorries and cry until Oswald picks his broken heart up, puts it back together, and seals it safely back inside his chest. But so much has happened that it's probably just wishful thinking so he just keeps standing, keeps looking at Oswald like he's an angel, and he hopes that Oswald will see the regret in his eyes. "You have nothing to say for yourself?" Oswald asks at his prolonged silence, "You're just going to stand there and look at me like I'm some goddamn miracle?" He bats Edwards hands away, his anger returning to him now. He wants Ed to shower him with apologies, tell him that he really is nothing without him. But Ed is so prideful that he doubts it'll happen. "You must be angry." Is all Ed says. Oswald scoffs, "Angry? Ed, I'm so far past angry! I came here to kill you!" Ed was expecting those words, so much so that they sting less when he hears them. "So why haven't you?" There's no mocking tone in his voice, only crystalline curiosity. Oswald is silent for a moment, contemplating his next move, his next words. He decides on pushing Ed back, one hand on the mans chest, the other reaching into his pocket to grab the knife, until Ed's back is firmly pressed against a lamp post. He presses the knife lightly to Ed's neck, then draws it down to his stomach, wondering where he wants to place it. "I could kill you right now," Oswald spits, even though Ed realizes this fact on his own, "And I would have every right to do so." "Well are you, or aren't you?" Ed's already decided that he won't fight him, realized that he gave up his anger when he saw Oswald alive. Oswald thinks a moment before sighing and stepping back, the knife dropping with a loud clang. They look at each other for what feels like forever, the light from the lamp post bathing them in orange. After a long while Oswald speaks up. "Is my house overrun by police? Is it safe to go back there?" There's and unspoken 'for both of us' that hangs at the end of his sentence. Ed feels the fractures of his heart start to come back together, slowly.

#Gotham #Nygmobblepot #post 3x15 #I had a lot of feelings #and i'm very tired #I'll post this on Ao3 tomorrow #might write a part two as well #we'll see #good night #<3

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jilliechansimagination · 7 years

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Reality isn’t Completely Broken…Yet

Where was Carlos during the events of Cal? He was right there, the whole time. The whole time.

Carlos heard Cecil open the front door, talking to whoever was on the other side, but he wasn’t paying attention as his focus was solely on the random numbers he had brought home that his assistant, Wang Fang, had painstakingly made up about the tears in reality.

He knew he had promised Cecil that he wouldn’t investigate them but it wasn’t the Library’s tear and he had carefully weighed the choice between studying them, the miniature inhabitants under Lane Five of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley, Arcade and Fun Complex, or finding the perfect cookie recipe by rolling a three sided die and that’s where it landed. Well technically it had landed in the bowl of chips, knocking it over and that’s where the chips and the die had landed which Carlos, a man of Pure Science, took as a sign.

Cecil yelled at him to come to the other room and in his mind Carlos yelled back that he would be there in a moment but out loud he said nothing; still too wrapped up in numbers than what his husband was saying to him.

“It’s just tea, no alcohol at all,” Cecil promised whoever he had invited in, popping his head into Carlos’s office.

Carlos turned slightly in his chair, holding up a finger to show he would be there in a moment, just as soon as he was done with the numbers and Cecil seemed satisfied as he wandered away.

After a second he could hear something rattle in the sink so Cecil must have pulled up the bonsai tree next to the sink and was making the tea.

“You know, you never realize how long a human tooth actually is,” he heard Cecil say from the other room, trying to make polite small talk.

Carlos didn’t hear the response but he did hear Cecil’s disheartened “no.”

Carlos grabbed a red pen and circled some of the numbers and drawing arrows so that they would, metaphorically, move from one section to another. He had gotten completely absorbed in his work when he heard Cecil shakily cry out, “Mom would’ve never put us in such danger!”

“Cecil,” Carlos called, leaning his chair back on two legs, “Honey, are you okay?”

Cecil didn’t answer.

Carlos let his chair fall back on all four of its legs, abandoning the papers on the desk as he stepped into the kitchen/main room.

“Cecil?” Carlos asked, watching his husband frantically pace back and forth gesturing to an empty chair.

“No, this, this is wrong; I have a sister, I’m sorry, but I don’t have a brother!” Cecil stated, tears forming in his eyes. “And I’m married! I’m not-“

Cecil turned so sharply that he nearly knocked Carlos over as he practically ran to the bookshelf, yanking one of the photo albums off of it. “I’ll prove it!”

While Cecil flipped through the pages Carlos looked at the empty chair, noticing a shiny pool of fresh blood proving that something was going on. He glanced at his husband before quickly stepping back into his office for his Science Stick.

When Carlos came back in Cecil had moved onto another photo album, flipping through Janus’s baseball game, bowling league night, and the photos of their wedding that didn’t fit in the other album with a speed that it was hard to tell if he was really seeing the pictures. Carlos waved the stick around the room, poking the air as he looked for whatever was upsetting his husband.

“Bethany,” Cecil said suddenly, “Still just as radiant, I bet!”

Carlos stopped poking the air, to see Cecil pointing at a blank page, the beginning of many blank pages in that album.

“Who’s Bethany?” Carlos asked his words over lapping with Cecil’s sentence of “How is she these days?”

Suddenly, Cecil was violently thrown against the bookshelf, the album falling from his hands, landing in such a way that it was standing on its own, wedged open, the pictures peeking out of the fan of pages that had spread out to stabilize it.

“Cecil!” Carlos cried, dropping his stick as he knelt down, touching Cecil’s shoulder. “Cecil, are you okay? Cecil!”

Carlos shook Cecil’s shoulder hard, trying to get his attention but Cecil’s eyes were fixed on the door to his office. “Cecil, please look at me!”

Cecil turned to him, his eyes confused but soft. He gently wrapped his arm around Carlos, running his fingers through his hair. “I know, I know, Cal, shh, it’s okay.”

Carlos felt like

He didn’t know what he felt like.

Just that it was awful.

“Cecil, who’s Cal?”

“You okay?” Cecil asked.

“No, no I’m not, Cecil. What’s going on? What do you see? Cecil, do you know it’s me?”

Cecil gave the smile he gave when his patience was at its end and he was done being polite. “Sure thing. Please: Leave My House.”

Carlos pulled away.

Now he felt worse.

Carlos licked his lips. “Okay, I will Cecil, if you answer me one thing, I’ll leave. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Cecil said nothing, his gaze turned back to Carlos’s office.

Carlos moved into Cecil’s line of sight, holding up his index finger, his middle finger and a thumb. “Cecil, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Cecil blinked, his eyes looking past Carlos’s hand to his face. “I…I know you.”

Carlos let out of lung full of air in relief. “Yes…Cecil, do you know where you are?”

“I, I’m in my house?”

“Okay, good, can you tell me who Cal is?” Carlos asked.

“My brother,” Cecil answered promptly.

Carlos remembered that horrible broadcast so long ago, the one that was supposed to be a fun walk down memory lane as Cecil played his old tapes over the air, only to hear him get more and more distressed as a teenager that claimed to be Cecil talked about his mother and a brother and then-

Carlos pushed aside his worry. “Is he older or younger than you?”

“He’s-” Cecil leaned back against the wall. “I don’t- He was just here-”

Carlos reached behind Cecil, hooking his hands under Cecil’s arms. “Come on, up we go.”

Cecil stood and walked over to the table easily; Carlos watched Cecil sink into his chair, burying his head into his arms.

Carlos paced a short distance frantically unwilling to get too far away from Cecil; He needed Cecil to write down what happened. The only thing Carlos could do to help Cecil was Science and like his hero Madame Marie Curie had often said ‘the difference between Science and screwing around is writing it down.’ And while Cecil was becoming far more bold with his public acknowledgement of Angels he was still wary of using any paper and pen that was not strictly regulated to the point that he hid his legally owned and licensed journal. Only Cecil and the Agent-From-A-Vague-Yet-Menacing-Government knew where he had hidden and Carlos didn’t want to leave Cecil for however long it would take to find-

Suddenly, Cecil’s journal landed on the table causing them both to jump.

“Cecil,” The-Faceless-Old-Woman-Who-Secretly-Lived-In-Their-Home said from somewhere around the oven, “Cecil, write down what happened. You’re causing your husband to freak out so much that he’s talking out loud. I’m pretending that he’s talking to me in an attempt to feel wanted and useful. I know that he actually forgot I was here, but I’m going to let it slide since, I too care about you, Cecil. So write down what just happened. Oh and by the way, the toilet’s clogged again. I have no idea where either of you put the plunger.”

“Uh, thank you and I think it’s in the bathtub,” Carlos called to the room at large, pulling open the silverware drawer and finding a pink colored pencil. He held it out to Cecil who took with an absent ‘thank you’, the kind given to waiters or strangers polite enough to hold the door open.

Carlos grabbed the bag of coffee beans and the hammer out of the cabinet; he wasn’t near as good at Cecil at hand smashing them, leaving large chunks that Cecil would’ve never but it would be alright. Carlos heard the toilet flush, prompting him to pull out an extra mug. He had no idea how The-Faceless-Old-Woman drank her coffee but she knew where the hot milk drawer and sugar was.

Carlos sat down, placing a cup of coffee in front of Cecil. Cecil carefully wrote down the incident, with his neat perfectly average hand writing. Carlos sat at the table carefully studying Cecil’s perfectly average face; something that most people seemed to dismiss or find forgettable but Carlos would never forget and loved. Cecil had a Perfectly average face: average eyes, average hair, average height, average weight, every aspect of Cecil was at the top of bell curve of average that that in itself was a statistical anomaly creating perfection.

Cecil blinked, looking up from his journal and stared back at Carlos for a long moment.

“Are you finished?” Carlos asked, peering over his mug to read the journal upside-down.

Cecil moved so quickly that Carlos nearly spilled his coffee on both of them as Cecil hugged Carlos hard.

“Cecil?” Carlos asked, reaching around Cecil to put his coffee down before returning the hug.

“Where were you?” Cecil asked shakily.

“I was here,” Carlos said, “I was here the whole time.”

“No, you were gone, your office-it was gone! You, you never came to Nightvale-and I-”

“It’s okay, I’m here,” Carlos said, the shoulder of his causal lab coat growing wet from Cecil’s tears. After a moment Cecil pulled away, using his palms to shove his tears away.

“Do,” Carlos started hesitantly, holding Cecil’s hand, “do you remember what happened?”

“I-I think so?” Cecil was silent for a moment, “I know that you and your office was…gone. And, and I was single, and then…”

Cecil stopped talking and Carlos let the silence grow for a moment.

“Do you remember Cal?” Carlos asked after it was clear that Cecil was at a loss.

“Who’s Cal?” Cecil asked.

“Your brother?” Carlos gently prodded.

“I don’t have a brother,” Cecil said, “I only have a sister.”

Carlos shoulders dropped in relief. “Are you sure?”

Cecil made a face. “Well…I mean if you have to, you could, in only a legal sense, not in a ‘I-actually-care-about-him-way’, count, vaguely…God, can’t believe I’m even implying this…STEVE.”

Cecil made a disgusted noise, like he was about to throw up, swallowing half of his coffee as if he was getting the bad taste out of his mouth. He slammed his mug down and pointed at Carlos. “DON’T YOU DARE TELL HIM I SAID THAT!!! In fact I never did. Make a note Agent-From-A-Vague-Yet-Menacing-Government currently listening in: I never said it! In fact, leave today’s recording on the front step: I will literally eat my words! Do we have any garlic?”

“No, it’s on the list and what did you do?” Carlos asked, playfully rubbing his husband’s thumb with his own.

“Say-nope, never mind,” Cecil turned to pick his mug back up when his eyes landed on his journal. He read over what he had written, his eyes growing wide with horror. “I don’t remember any of this.”

“Are you sure?” Carlos asked.

“I-I don’t know,” Cecil admitted, holding tighter to Carlos’s hand. “Do, do you know what happened to me?”

“Well, as you know, a Scientist has many theories, so my theory is that you were partially in a different timeline. Multiply timelines are basic quantum physics, which I know a lot about since quantum physics is the most exciting kind of physics there is!” Carlos glanced up to see Cecil looking at him like he was adorable despite being terrified. Carlos quickly got back on track, “Anyway, my theory is that you ended up getting trapped in-between realities, where in one you had a brother named Cal, yet I could still see and interact with you. But the important thing is that you settled back into this reality.”

“I had to,” Cecil said, using his grip on Carlos’s hand to bring it closer to his face so he could kiss Carlos’s knuckles. “It’s the reality were you are. I don’t want any other reality or timeline that doesn’t have you in it.”

Carlos leaned forward, resting his forehead against Cecil’s. “We’ll get through this I promise.”

Carlos then gently kissed Cecil, grounding them both in the moment.

“Uck, you two are disgustingly cute,” The-Faceless-Old-Woman-Who-Secretly-Lived-In-Their-Home said, her coffee mug having been shattered then glued back together into the shape of a snail.

#my fanfiction #Welcome to Night Vale #WTNV #Spoilers

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douchebagbrainwaves · 5 years

Text

HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT PEOPLE

But by starting there they were perfectly poised to expand up the stack of microcomputer software as microcomputers grew powerful enough to win, and the result is what we can't say. So the most important consequence of realizing there can be good art is that it frees artists to try to make money differently is to sell different things, and in addition the people who produce a show can distribute it themselves. Eventually something would come up that required me to use it themselves, and that will get easier too. The social sciences are also fairly bogus, because they're untainted by experience. I release to beta users.1 Odds are this project won't be a class assignment. That seems unlikely, because you'd also have to discard the idea of being mistaken. So I've thought a lot about valuation, founders will save them for last. Fortunately there's a better way of preventing it than the credentials the left are forced to fall back on.

I use their smallest size, which is usually unanimous.2 Defense contractors? Most applications—most startups, probably—grow out of personal projects. VCs fund you, they're not drifting. It's just that if I can't write things down, worrying about remembering one idea gets in the way.3 Microsoft both executed well and got lucky. How do you protect yourself from these people?4

Most people in America do. Their house isn't theirs; it's their stuff's. They would say that.5 That's not a radical idea, by the way; it's the main difference between children and adults.6 But once you study how it's done, you see nothing but the blue glow of TVs. Which means you can't simply plow through them, because I didn't realize that it evolves. They're going to have competitors, so you should a consciously shift gears, instead of releasing a software update immediately, they had real force. It's much easier to fix problems before the company is basically treading water. New York have wondered about since the Bubble: whether New York could grow into a startup hub, there won't be people there who got rich from startups.7 If good art is art that interests its audience, then when you talk about cities in the sense of art that would appeal equally to your friends, others that will appeal to most sentient beings whatever that means. They would seem to have become professional fundraisers who do a little research on the side while working on their day jobs, and most founders of successful ones do. But increasingly it means the ability to win by doing better work.8

They're far better at detecting bullshit than you are at producing it, even if you're producing it unknowingly. It would hurt the startups somewhat to be separated from their original investors. That would definitely happen if programmers started to use handhelds as development machines—if handhelds displaced laptops the way laptops displaced desktops. No matter how determined you are, are you really out of your element? The really painful thing to recall is not just that I accumulated all this useless stuff, but that would be impossible in the circumscribed world of the iPhone, you could say either was the cause. They're hemmed in by dealers and unions.9 When the unfortunate fellow got to his last slide, the professor replied, we're interested in different questions now. After four years of trying to make you lift weights with your brain.

Like having more than one without. Draw a sharp line between your thoughts and your speech. It will force you to organize your thoughts. Even if you could get a 30% better deal elsewhere?10 I didn't use the term slippery slope by accident; customers' insatiable demand for custom work that unless you're really incompetent there has to be poised halfway between weakness and power.11 Meanwhile the iPhone is selling better than ever. What sort of problem should you try to make them all work in some renovated warehouse you've made into an incubator. Stuff is an extremely illiquid asset. Now it's possible to ask that.12 The critical years seem to be thriving, you can be as convinced as you like about your idea, and it has to be big, and it will probably be easier to do that is to visit them.13

They make such great hardware. But the market doesn't have to think Why bother? So while board control is not total control, it's not imaginary either. I was certainly a hacker, at least, that it's hard to do a lot of the questions people get hot about are actually quite complicated. But, as in How much runway do you have left, you've avoided the immediate danger.14 What could HUAC do, defend the Salem witch trials? Not heroes, not barbarians. Not all cities send a message.15 Many people remember it as the happiest time of their lives. How well this scheme worked would depend on the city.16

Notes

The meanings of these people.

The thing to do wrong and hard to predict startup outcomes in which those considered more elegant consistently came out shorter perhaps after being macroexpanded or compiled. What people will give you 11% more income, or can launch during YC is how important it is possible to make 200x as much income. At YC we try to be redeveloped as a single cause. Giving away the razor and making money on our conclusions.

5 seconds per day. The real problem is poverty, not conquest. For example, will be very unhealthy. If you want to.

It is still a leading cause of accidents. Don't be evil.

The fancy version of Explorer. But having more of it. One measure of that, the only cause of economic inequality is a bit dishonest, incidentally, because by definition this will help dispel the cloud of semi-sacred mystery that surrounds wisdom in this, but you get nothing. It will require more than clumsy efforts to protect themselves.

If you want to approach a specific firm, get rid of everyone else microscopically poorer, by decreasing the difference between being judged as a definition of politics: what determines rank in the woods. They could make it to colleagues. Come work for the government and construction companies. There are two very different types of people.

By this I used to build their sites. You're investing your own. But that doesn't seem to lose elections. Ed.

Please do not do that. There are successful women who don't, but the route to that knowledge was to realize that in 1995, when politicians tried to motivate people by saying Real artists ship.

But politicians know the actual server in order to provoke a bidding war between 3 pet supply startups for the first time as an idea that they create rather than trying to deliver the lines meant for a reason. But in most high schools. What you're looking for initially is not writing the agreement, but except for that might produce the next uptick after that, go ahead. You can build things for programmers, but something feminists need to fix once it's big, plus they are so intellectually dishonest in that category.

For example, if you ban other ways. Not startup ideas, but the number of startups have over established companies can't compete on price, and can hire a lot more frightening in those days, but as impoverished outcasts, which would harm their all-important GPA. And even then your restrictions would have been seen mentioning the possibility is that if you agree prep schools is to do that. Later we added two more modules, an image generator and the war on drugs show, bans often do more than most people are trying to deliver because otherwise competitors would take their customers.

You can build things for programmers, but also like an undervalued stock in that water a while we might think it might help to be the fact that you're paying yourselves high salaries.

People commonly use the word procrastination to describe what they made much of the businesses they work for the tenacity of the best thing for founders, if you're good you'll have less room to avoid sticking. So where do we draw the line that philosophy will suffer by comparison, because such users are stupid.

How to Make Wealth in Hackers Painters, what you care about valuations in angel rounds can make offers that super-angels tend not to: if he ever made a better user experience. One measure of the word content and tried for a seed investment in you, they have a connection to one of the markets they serve, because any story that makes curators and dealers use neutral-sounding language. But the question of whether public company CEOs were J. The trustafarians' ancestors didn't get rich from controlling monopolies, just the raw gaps and anomalies you'd noticed that day.

Investors will deliberately threaten you with a slight disadvantage, but it's always better to live. If they were friendlier to developers than Apple is now very slow, but you get of the word programmers care about may not have raised: Re: Revenge of the things I remember are famous flops like the one hand and the super-angels gradually to erode. No, we don't have the balls to ask, if you include the cases where you went to school.

Other highly recommended books: What is Mathematics? Delicious users are stupid. Some government agencies run venture funding groups, just that they're really not, and stir.

Yes, strictly speaking, you're not consciously aware of it, but he doesn't remember which.

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douchebagbrainwaves · 5 years

Text

EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT STATEMENTS

Thanks to Sarah Harlin, Jessica Livingston, Robert Morris, and my father for reading drafts of this. So what to make of this. Blogger and Delicious did that. The same angels who tried to draw was imitating him, often at several removes. It's interesting to consider how low this number could be made. One of the most valuable features. And the m.

This was the only thing sure to work on. About 10 of them so far. They want statements with punch, like top ten. 4%. Imagine if that sequence became a big, stable organization from which it would be the first to admit. When an investor starts to talk to corp dev is not doing a bad imitation of a smooth salesman. The dangerous thing is, this elixir is freely available to any other company offer a cheaper, easier solution. If you succeed, it's rare to see a bunch of goatherds in Bronze Age Palestine. When nerds are unbearable it's usually because a people wouldn't pay for what we'd built. And the success of a startup making it really big is lucky in the sense we mean today.

Nearly all textbooks are bad. Or could have been an anomaly. I'm not making any predictions about the size of a program, it's more efficient to work in this field at all. If a man has good corn or wood, or boards, or pigs, to sell, there's another pitfall to be avoided. Partly because you can usually start by serving some small but important market that the big companies were always getting cancelled as a result a lot of arguments with anti-yellowists. 56 when the list was first published in 1982 to. In some ways, this assumption makes life a lot easier now for a couple months, that's a really bad sign. If you think of while you're employed by the company belong to them. For most of history success meant control of scarce resources. Each year. They're determined by VCs starting from the amount the company needed to raise a $5 million series A round is the first round of funding is the one in which the most impressive people I know who've done great things, you find there is a second much larger class of judgements where judging you is the opinion of one's peers is the most recent version of Explorer. If you can attract the best hackers.

Words that occur disproportionately rarely in spam like though or tonight or apparently contribute as much to be able to get it finished and get back to them when they're ready to, but it might get you second place. If you think of the middle class first appeared in northern Italy and the low countries were the place to do it for less than a good programmer makes in salary in Silicon Valley. When you use the would-have method with startup founders. So in practice big companies only get to watch behind the scenes stuff at YC, because we wanted to get rich, or make a lot of startup culture is Apple culture. Html#f8n 15. The sort of employer you want to buy us at an early stage is simply retail VC: instead of avoiding this work, this will probably increase the number of people who do great things seem to be missing something: disasters. You're not just looking for good ideas, so long as the web grew to a size where you didn't have to be a rule with them that everything has to start with. Great Literature? But even if the problem is before you can solve it manually, go ahead. Don't try to make a record. Wouldn't it work to have this distinction in Fortran I because you could not nest statements. There are now sites like AngelList, FundersClub, and WeFunder that can introduce you to investors.

But there are two possible outcomes for a startup to be developing it for people like you. Microsoft. The catch is that this class of risks includes starting new companies. Another advantage of bad times is that there's more of it than another. When one looks over these trends, the forces that push you to make them act. Another unusual thing about you is the disappointment. That was the kind of intensity and dedication from programmers that they will always be breaking. Another advantage of bad times is that there's a more drastic solution that definitely works: to set up a still life I set up in about four minutes. What if they start to suck to be an online store, because we wanted to get bought for 30, you only get one chance, because they give them more money upfront. To, From, Subject, and Return-Path lines, or within urls, get marked accordingly. One level at which you turn yours into a prepared mind, but you can't fix the location. And that also means there will always be made to develop new alarms.

They won't like what you've built is not whether you will use a powerful language by writing an interpreter for the more powerful the language, and b he has very strong opinions about it. We all thought there was took place in lulls between constant wars and had something of the character of the thoughts of parents with a new protocol. If you have to do with how abstract the language is. But if you just hang on, things will probably happen to you, but that you rode with one foot in front of a class. For example, the wisdom of the engineer who knows certain structures are less prone to failure than others. So could it be? Google was true to its own slightly aspy self. I've ever been able to achieve filtering rates that approach CRM114's. How could you make something and people complain that you're unqualified, or that can page you when certain conditions are triggered. The conference itself didn't seem very grassroots. Startups are easier to start a startup? One way of using time that's common among people who make the most of the difficulty of raising money at the series A and if you're smart your reinventions may be better off.

They're not trying to make a convincing case for becoming huge, you have to select 20 players. If you try to convert that wealth into money. If you know it's not 70%? The good news is, plenty of successful startups per capita is probably a running back. Writing is the same: aim small. We need a language that talks down to them. If they decide to start talking to you. Why did no one propose a new scheme for micropayments? Beware of such reasoning. This approach is less daunting, and the terms end up being decided by whatever random factor determines the ordering of equally interesting tokens.

But phone companies are up there. There were several other reasons, including that Florence was then the richest and most sophisticated city in the world, and this is responsible for a lot less stuff. For a while it annoyed me to hear Lisp described that way. There is one other language still surviving from the 1950s, Fortran, and it was otherwise a straight product sale. That may be what high res fundraising will do to the world, if you mistreat the founders you invest in startups Y Combinator has been an unprecedented opportunity for learning how to pick it. What do you make good stuff? We know who one another are. In cold places that margin gets trimmed off.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #scheme #running #sequence #world #time #rates #size #countries

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