My Only Tactic For Playing Pokemon Is To Be 20lvls Higher Than The Opponent.

In the graveyard, Book Omens, the oldest piece of media featuring a demon named Crowley, passed a dogend back to TV Omens, the younger and the more accomplished queerbaiter.

“I can see a light,” he said. “Here he comes now, the flash bastard.”

“What’s that he’s drivin’?” said TV Omens.

“It’s 1967 Chevy Impala,” explained Book Omens. “I expect it’s a newer black car than you were expecting.”

“Dunt see why you’d drive a big black car made after the Interwar Period,” said TV Omens.

“They’ve come on a bit since then, I reckon.”

“What’s this Supernatural like?” said TV Omens.

Book Omens spat. “He’s been on television too long,” he said. “Right from the Livejournal days. Gone native, if you ask me. Drives a car he didn’t have to miracle a tape deck into.”

TV Omens pondered this. Like most media containing demons named Crowley, he had a very limited grasp of how normal cars worked, and so he was just about to say something like, I bet it actually needs petrol and he calls it ‘gasoline,’ when the Impala rolled to a halt at the cemetery gate.

“And he wears denim,” sneered Hastur, “even when he dunt need to.” He raised his voice. “Fuck gay rights,” he said.

“Fuck gay rights” TV Omens echoed.

“Hi,” said Supernatural, giving them a little wave. “Sorry I’m late, but you know how it is trying to film during COVID, getting the cast all back to Vancouver and all that, and you can’t imagine the trouble I went to getting Jensen Ackles to make eye contact with other men and then—”

“Now we art all here,” said Book Omens meaningfully, “we must recount the Deeds of the Day.”

“Yeah. Deeds,” said Supernatural, with the slightly guilty look of one who is attending church for the first time in years and has forgotten which bits you stand up for.

Book Omens cleared his throat.

“I have queer coded an angel,” he said. “As he performed magic tricks at a birthday party, children shouted homophobic slurs at him. Then, to contradict this, I placed a line in the narration explicitly stating that as a sexless being he cannot be gay unless he really wants to make the effort, all while refusing to confirm whether he has made that effort. For thirty years both authors have openly expressed discomfort with seeing shipping content, and yet I remain a cult classic among bookish queer people.”

“Nice one,” said Supernatural, helpfully.

“I have created an uncanny valley of queerbait,” said TV Omens. “I had all sorts of dialogue and film language hinting at some sort of ‘love story,’ but the surviving author refuses to confirm what sort of ‘love story’ it is either in canon or via Word of God. Meanwhile, young people desperate for queer representation lavish him with praise for something he never did and the fandom is plagued with discourse.”

They both looked expectantly at Supernatural, who gave them a big smile.

“You’ll like this,” he said.

His smile became even wider and more conspiratorial.

“I let the gay angel tell Dean he loves him and immediately killed him and sent him to Super Hell,” he said.

There was silence, except for the distant swishing of cars.

“Yes?” said Book Omens. “And then what?”

“Look, it wasn’t easy,” said Supernatural.

“That’s all?” said TV Omens.

“Look, people—”

“And exactly what has that done to bait queer people into becoming invested in you?” said Book Omens. “You made half of the ship canonically queer and then buried him! They’ll never watch again!”

Supernatural pulled himself together. What could he tell them? That thousands of Tumblr blogs that hadn’t touched the show since 2013 went absolutely feral? That in the middle of one of the most contentious presidential elections in recent memory, exacerbated by a global pandemic and widespread unrest in the wake of economic collapse, “Destiel” trended on Twitter and dragged “Putin” up with it? It was the most social media engagement he’d gotten in years, and he’d hardly had to make Jensen act.

But you couldn’t tell that to media featuring demons named Crowley like Book Omens and TV Omens. Twentieth-century minds, the both of them. Spending years picking away at a bunch of people who still read, or months tossing out empty statements that look like straight allyship if you squint hard enough. Admittedly it was craftsmanship, but you had to think differently these days. Not big, but wide. With seven billion people in the world you couldn’t pick away at people’s sanity that slowly; you had to be bold. But media containing demons named Crowley like Book Omens and TV Omens wouldn’t understand. They’d never have thought up fridging a lesbian in the same episode as you killed half of the most popular ship, for example. Or canonical nods to Wincest. Or demon deals being sealed with a kiss regardless of gender. He’d been particularly pleased with demon deals being sealed with a kiss regardless of gender.

I don't give a shit as long as those in need benefit

milfs…,, milves,

"I'm not lazy, I'm just tired. and I don't mean because I've been working hard. Not at all. I'm tired from forcing myself to get out of bed everyday. I'm tired of distracting myself from the thoughts in my brain. I'm tired because all my energy is put to surviving and people don't understand that because all they see is how unproductive you are."

— depression is a disease and it's tiring

"There's millions of Tumblr users" to you. To me There's only about 12 and we all reblog the same five posts from each other

I don’t understand the concept of hating “like spamming” or “reblog spamming”. As someone with ADHD and hyperfocus, if you go onto my blog and get lost in the sauce enough to practically reblog the last 5 days worth of stuff I reblogged then good on you my dude my friend my bean, please keep it up I’m glad you like it have a cookie fam, you deserve it cause we have the same taste and I feel like my blog is a public library of stuff I find entertaining so enjoy the browse.

Willing sacrifice~

two Edwardian women fencing 1908

Heaven-versus-hell type tabletop RPG where the lore is written in such away as to leave the reader almost, but not quite, certain that the author intended to use the word "seraphic" to describe the militarised forces of heaven, and that it's probably just a weirdly reliable autocorrect error that the actual text consistently says "sapphic".