-A woman came in with a skirt made of neckties. Just. Neckties, all strung together to make a skirt. She had leggings on underneath, thank god.
-Been asked for the Mona Lisa
-Been asked for the Sistine Chapel
-Been asked where the dinosaurs are
-Been asked where the animals are
-Been asked for “The Bitch With The Pitcher” (Vermeer’s “Woman with a Water Pitcher,” by the way)
-Been asked for “The Girl With The Pearl Earring”
-Been asked for the Mona Lisa
-Got bored and learned the name of every single one of the Buddhas
-Got bored and learned the name of five Chinese dynasties (long day in Asian Art)
-Chilled in the Buddha room
-Watched someone escorted out for trying to take a nude photo in the Arms and Armor section
-Been asked for the Michelangelo’s, then the Raphael’s, then the Leonardo’s, then the Donatello’s (they were naming ninja turtles)
-Heard curator in Musical Instrument section play Night On Bald Mountain on giant historical pipe organ while laughing maniacally.
-Fielded a day when a filthy counterfit version of the museum program was disseminated among visitors, guiding them to the filthiest art in the museum – such as the painting of Cupid peeing on Venus
-guarded Cupid peeing on Venus
-Been asked for the Mona Lisa
-Been asked if I had seen the First Lady of Mexico (she had gone missing)
-Been asked for that one sculpture of Kronos that is featured in Percy Jackson WHICH DOESN’T EXIST GUYS (directed children to sculptures of Poseidon with trident instead, children were very happy)
-Witnessed two Secret Service Agents get into a swordfight with pieces of packing material.
-been asked by a very polite Fransiscan monk in full brown robes if he had found ‘One of us. He has gone missing.”
-Found missing monk and returned him to the herd
-Coworker was asked for the Ark of the Convenant
-Same coworker was asked for the Baseball Hall of Fame
-stopped about 15,000 people from poking that one lion statue in the nuts
-saw a woman in a banana suit with banana shoes take a picture in front of an Egyptian temple
-Been asked for the Mona Lisas (plural)
I’ve got more but this is what I remember for now.
1. was walking to work (i work at a service seed lab). right outside the building i find this Absolute UNIT of a seed, laying alone on the ground, nothing else like it around it. i look around and see no contenders and i am DYING to know so i bring it inside whilst being pricked by the 954352345 spines on this defensive spike ball
2. the seed lab’s function (understandably) comes to a grinding halt at the presentation of a Strange Seed. it’s even more strange because it looks like it wasn’t even ready to drop- like it’s not ripe yet, whatever it is. my boss, a seed technician trained in Many Seed Ways, thinks it might be a sycamore but it doesn’t quite look right. our plant pathologist asks for me to show him the offending tree.
3. i bring him to the tree under which i located the 🅱️ehemoth and we look around a little bit before confirming that, indeed, there are no trees in the immediate surrounding area that could have heaved this ball of hate from the heavens. people look at us strangely because he’s wearing a lab coat and we’re both tugging on low hanging branches looking for more offending artillery
4. we go back inside and my boss has cut it open and determined from her Extensive Seed Knowledge that it’s not only a fucking chestnut, but a ball consisting of one (1) Very Large fucking chestnut accompanied by two (2) smaller neglected chestnuts. chestnuts. i had no idea that that’s what chestnuts looked like right from the tree like that is VERY threatening, like imagine this roasting over an open fire and shit like…….how is this considered festive? why? (note: technically this is a seed from the chinese chestnut tree, Castanea mollissima. apparently not all species look exactly like this)
5. the mystery deepens as our pathologist recalls that due to the chestnut tree’s susceptibility to various fungal diseases, there is only one (1) chestnut tree on campus. it is not near our building. somehow this Very Ominous Seed teleported across campus and materialized in front of the seed science building like a foreboding omen. my best guess is that it fell on top of somebody’s car and got carried here but holy shit its like….sizable, like this seed was meant to Drop And Stay There
6. it is now in my possession. i was poked like 453254 times getting it into this plastic thingy because i am A Dumbass that cannot take evolution’s copious hints to Not Touch The Seed seriously. i have no idea what im going to do with it but i sure do have it now
(L O O K i know this is not even remotely a response to the prompt of ‘bruce wayne gets railed by huge demon dicks’ but also you are all terrible sinners and this is quite frankly a best-case scenario)
It was easy to follow the path of the ratty brown trenchcoat traveling through tuxedos and gowns.
“Wayne! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Bruce had been watching him stomp his way up the stairs, and had made no effort to meet him, standing and sipping at his champagne. “John!” he greeted, too cheerful to ever be genuine. “Glad to see you got your invitation.”
“Yes, I know I wasn’t — what?” Constantine stopped in his tracks with a frown. “What invitation?”
“Your invitation,” Bruce said, gesturing to all assembled. “To the party. Which I assume you accepted, since you’re here. I knew you’d have to show up to one of them, eventually.”
“I don’t…”
The facts were these:
Bruce Wayne had apparently invited John Constantine to a party despite having no reason to believe it was necessary or desired.
‘One of them, eventually’ suggested that he had invited John to many such parties.
A party was often the easiest time to find and corner Bruce Wayne, when he couldn’t go handcuffing anyone to anything with ridiculous bat-shaped handcuffs.
John never expected or waited for invitations to parties.
Bruce could not possibly have been monitoring John’s activities closely enough to know when he ought to invite him to a party.
Therefore:
Bruce Wayne had been sending John Constantine invitations to every party he had thrown in the last six years, for the express purpose of ensuring that John could never have the satisfaction of crashing a posh party uninvited.
The pull at the corner of Bruce’s mouth suggested that he knew that John knew what Bruce had done, and this knowledge of his knowledge pleased him inordinately. He sipped at his champagne.
“Do you know who it is that you were just flirting with?” Constantine asked, returning to his original reason for talking to the man at all.
Bruce’s eyebrow only barely moved higher than the other. “I don’t know that I would say that I was flirting, necessarily,” Bruce said.
“Oh, I know what you look like when you’re flirting,” John reminded him, and Bruce’s eyes flitted away back over the crowd. “You were flirting.” Bruce shrugged. “Did you even catch his name?”
The corners of Bruce’s mouth turned ever-so-slightly downward, a twitch in his brow that wasn’t a furrow. His champagne flute drifted away from his mouth. “I don’t think I did,” he said, and this admission of his oversight was said with the awestruck manner that most people reserved for a glimpse of the divine.
Appropriately enough.
“You’ve been flirting with the Devil,” Constantine informed him, in as blunt of terms as he could manage.
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Bruce said. “I haven’t seen Talia in months.”
John huffed, grabbing Bruce by the arm and pulling him toward the railing overlooking the ballroom. “Not the metaphorical devil,” he said. “I mean Lucifer, the Fallen, Prince of Lies, the Dark Lord Satan. You have been flirting with the King of Hell.” He gestured with both arms toward the circle of besotted partygoers surrounding the man to whom Bruce had been speaking.
Bruce scoffed. The man in question looked up from the dance floor. His eyes were all the colors of a sunset, and cherubic golden curls formed a halo around his head. He saw Bruce, and he smiled.
Bruce almost smiled back. It was the beginnings of a smile, a beginning that spoke of an ignoble end, asymmetrical and soft and small.
He stopped. He turned his head away, and his face went a familiar blank shape. He glanced back toward the angelic figure out of the corner of his eye, as if to confirm the effect, before looking away again. He set his empty champagne flute down on the rail.
“That is the Devil,” he repeated for confirmation.
“Yes.”
“King of Hell.”
“Technically retired.”
“What?”
“He just sort of putters around these days,” Constantine admitted.
“He seemed nice,” said Bruce, who now seemed wary of looking toward the party.
“He does tend to.”
Bruce’s gaze drifted back toward Lucifer.
“Wayne. No.”
“Hm?”
“You’re thinking about it. I can tell you’re thinking about it. Theology or philosophy or Stones lyrics. Stop it.”
“I just wish I’d known sooner,” Bruce said. He was watching those blonde curls intently. “I might have had some questions.”
“No. No.” John took Bruce by the shoulders. “That’s how it starts, just an innocent conversation, and then what? Look. I know we’ve had this little rivalry, you and me, over who can stick their dick in the least advisable place, but that is literally, actually Satan. You cannot fuck him. I don’t just mean you shouldn’t, I mean physically, it’s not possible. And even if you could — God knows, if anyone could find a way — it’s still literal, actual Satan we’re talking about here. There are very few things in this world I’m willing to state are absolutely and categorically bad, and one of them is fucking literal, actual Satan.”
Bruce grabbed a champagne flute off the tray of a passing waiter. “Despite what you seem to think, Mr. Constantine,” he said, “I have not yet sunk so far as to need lectures on ethics from you of all people.”
“So that’s the literal, actual, Biblical Devil,” Flash asked.
“You know, I didn’t have you pegged for the slow one,” Constantine said, “but way to buck stereotypes.” He took another drag on his cigarette.
“I just mean, shouldn’t we… be fighting him?”
“You want to try fighting the Devil, you be my guest,” John said, “but I’ve met people who make that their full-time job, and I can’t say I usually get along with them.” He exhaled smoke out his nose. “‘Course, they usually aren’t real good at their jobs, either.”
“We fight bad guys,” Flash said, looking to Wonder Woman for support. “He’s the ultimate, baddest guy, right?”
“Within the Christian faith,” Wonder Woman said, “Satan is considered a personified shorthand for the philosophical concept of evil, yes?” She had a thoughtful hand on her chin.
“Yes,” Flash said.
“If you’re simple, sure,” Constantine said. Wonder Woman looked down at him. “Not that I’m saying you are,” he added. She looked pointedly at his cigarette. He put it out on the sole of his shoe.
“He seems… masculine,” Wonder Woman said.
“I’ve seen worse,” Constantine said.
“And pale.”
“Don’t tell me you’re surprised, love.”
She smiled. John smiled back. She didn’t rebuke him for the term of endearment. “I’m not,” she said. “I just wanted to be sure that everyone noticed.”
Lucifer Morningstar descended from the sky on wings of light. His suit wasn’t even rumpled. It was difficult to look directly at him; he smelled not of smoke but of heat, of lightning, of ozone.
“Consider the matter settled,” he said, his voice soft because he did not need to raise it. It was addressed to everyone, but his eyes were on Batman.
Even the Lightbringer couldn’t touch the impossible black of his cape. He was a figure of void in the light of a sun.
“Do not be so foolish as to think that you can depend on me in the future,” Lucifer added, stepping closer to the Dark Knight with feet that never touched the ground. “Your affairs are your own, and I prefer not to meddle — whatever else you may have been told.” His wings folded, dissipated. They remained as echoes, burnt into mortal vision. “This,” he said, standing too close to an unmoving and silent Batman, “was a rare exception.”
The Flash was by Superman’s side, where he had not been a half-second earlier. “Supes,” he said, speaking faster than ordinary ears could hear, “I need you to be totally honest with me right now.”
Superman had a very good poker face.
“Has Batman been a demon this whole time?”
“Thank you,” Batman said. “We appreciate it.”
“Hmm.” Lucifer cocked his head to the side, looked Batman over, as if there was anything to see through the impenetrable cape draped over the whole of him. “You know how to reach me,” he said finally, before turning on his heel. He didn’t fly away, or disappear; just walked away, hands in his pockets, whistling.
“Supes,” Flash said, “you’re not saying he’s not a demon.”
“I told you not to ask me about his secret identity,” Superman said.
“I feel like you could tell me he wasn’t a demon without it narrowing things down that much,” Flash said.
Zatanna sidled up to Batman. “Spoops.”
“Don’t call me that.”
She rested her elbow on his arm, leaning on him. “I have to ask.”
“No you don’t.”
“I need you to be completely honest with me.”
“No you don’t.”
“Did you lay down such high-quality pipe that the Devil himself felt like he owed you one?”
“I’m not dignifying that with a response.” At the edge of where his mask ended, he was turning faintly pink.
“Did he call you daddy? Did he say ‘oh my god’? Are those like the same thing for him?”
“Why would I answer that.”
“I get that a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, so if you’ve had infernal dick in your mouth in the last twenty-four hours, just stand there and look stoic.”
“I’m leaving now.”
“That’s not a no!” she called after him.
“Superman,” Flash said, trying to shake him by the shoulder. “Kal. Please. If Batman has been Zee’s demonic familiar this whole time, you have to tell me.”
“Batman,” Superman said, addressing the man in question, “Flash wants to know if you’re a demon.”
Flash squeaked as Batman glowered at him, stopping in the process of storming by to lean closer. “What do you think?”
Constantine shook his head. “And that works?” he asked Wonder Woman, gesturing to the scene.
“Usually,” she said.
“What a bunch of morons. Present company excluded.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Did you lay down such high-quality pipe that the Devil himself felt like he owed you one?”
A male Therizinosaurus wards off something whilst the female; although nervous stays with her eggs, ready to charge and back up the male if it gets too dicey.
Kind did more speculation. Snow geese nest in the arctic in the summer due to it providing a safer habitat for their huge creches with the only real predators they have to deal with are snowy owls and arctic foxes.
Here I thought the same, but desert. Once the eggs hatch they don’t linger and migrate further to find food, water and shelter, all guided by their over-protective parents.
here’s a picture of a baby cedar waxwing begging for food from a robin. neither of these species are nest parasites, so it’s not possible the cedar waxwing was ‘adopted’. this is essentially the bird version of tapping a random person on the shoulder at the grocery store and going “MOM”
Rogue One died, to a man (or woman, or other gendered individual). That is a fact. This is also a fact: the corridors of every rebellion ship echoes with their names. Hushed whispers I heard they live in the transmission. I heard the Force protected them. I heard no one saw the bodies, no one confirmed as if anyone gets to say goodbye in a war.
This is also a fact: Cassian Andor, protect me in this mission. I shall fear no evil, for Chirrut Îmwe walks with me. Baze Malbus, bless my gun bless my aim let me blow this motherfucker down. Bodhi Rook, guide me as I fly. K-2SO, we remember we remember we remember. Jyn Erso, bring my mother my brother my father my sister to the truth do not let them remain blind show them the way forward.
okay im going through the rules and stuff on matsodon rn and
sexworkers are good here as long as what they post is tagged. the gore thing is :// but like the person said sexworkers are supported here.
all of this. all of this is hot as hell.
they actually have specific rules disallowing pedophiles and nazis+the terfs from the last screenshot.
dogpiling and harrassment and stalking is listed as a no go thank fucking god??
there is not one specific staff account as each member of staff has their own thing so it’d be most likely easier to get in touch with them
and the best part
a peek at the list of blocked domains?
ive legit been on this site for ten minutes and i feel safer on this site than ive ever been on tumblr. again im not like, leaving tumblr but this place is nice as hell.
BettSplendens Tumblr Evac 