mjart12699

[mjart12699]

[mjart12699]

we need to make using chatgpt embarrassing bc sorry it really is. what do you mean you can’t write an email

[mjart12699]

walkable cities also means sittable cities send tweet

[mjart12699]

[mjart12699]

[mjart12699]

tiktok refugees i believe you are few but it is VITAL that you know on tumblr you can speak freely. kill. die. sex. fuck. you can say things here

[mjart12699]

[mjart12699]

WAIT, idea time, what if everyone did th heare put cake challenge, that would be extremely funny

The Arcana HCs: The "Hear Me Out" Cake

~ inspired by you, anon friend, and written for @vesuviaweekly's prompt "spilling tea". Hope you enjoy the messy crackfic friend! ~

Julian

Puts you on the cake with 0 shame, promptly gets sprayed in the face by Portia because "that's not a 'hear me out' answer"

Did bring a stick with Asra's face on it. Ditched it on second thought before putting it on the cake

Did bring sticks with Muriel, Nadia, and Lucio on them and place them on the cake. Muriel refused to sit next to him afterwards. The whole group stared at him in disbelief when he revealed Lucio's face. Nadia said she was better than a "hear me out"

Julian's last faces were Nazali and Barth. It was increasingly clear by the end that he didn't fully understand the concept of a "hear me out" cake and that he had just gone with all the people he knew and found somewhat attractive

Asra

Half of the items they place on the cake aren't images, they're items representing concepts/beings with no faces

Most notable was a small slip with the words "The Patriarchy" on it. When pressed for an explanation, he explains that he "always has time to f*** the patriarchy." Portia is impressed

Others include all kinds of political and social norms they just wanted an excuse to make sassy, cutting remarks about

The other half of his items are intelligent beings whose existence were either rumored or up to debate entirely

This includes merpeople, goblins, dragons, spirits, and of course, several patrons including The Magician themself. You don't know how they feel about that one but Asra claims to have told them

Nadia

Doesn't have a lot of "hear me out"s to contribute, mainly because she got into her own head about listing anybody she might have a power dynamic over as the Countess

Does list Selasi and refuses to elaborate, regardless of how many comments everyone has to make on that one

Also not totally sure how the concept of a "hear me out" cake works, so most of her items aren't people - they're situations

Specifically intimate situations

Cue everyone in the room turning more and more red as she graphically describes every creative scene she could think of

Lucio's jaw drops further the longer she speaks and complains at one point about not getting any of this when they were married

Muriel

Didn't have any "hear me out"s so he brought a list of "I will not hear this out"s instead

It starts with obvious categories, at first - animals, anything or anyone unable to fully consent, family members -

And then continues with oddly specific descriptions clearly aimed at all the other people in the room. Exes, age gaps, reckless marriages to leave family/gain more power, transactional situationships to enable concerning behavior, saying "I love you" on the first date, saying "oopsie" instead of "I'm sorry" ...

His final item is a quickly-done (read: stick figure) doodle of himself with a big red X over it, which he makes on the fly after seeing his own face added to the cake

Portia

The whole thing was her idea and she is way too excited/invested in seeing what everybody brings

Has equipped herself with a little spray bottle that she uses on anybody whose answers are not satisfactory to her

Talks up her own items only for most of them to be fictional characters that nobody else in the group has heard of. Cue frantic lore dumping as she explains 1) why this character is usually considered a bad choice and 2) why she'd do them anyways

Is the person who made and brought the cake and gets particular (with Julian specifically) about adding items without ruining it

Adds Valerius, acts surprised when Lucio mentions sleeping with him, and uses it as an opening to interrogate him for juicy details

Lucio

Proudly adds all his exes to the cake and then all of the members of your group. Promptly gets into a loud back-and-forth with Portia while Nadia looks disapproving and Asra looks disgusted. Julian is too surprised to comment. Muriel begins work on his final item

Continues to add controversial figures to the cake, including all of the courtiers, the Devil, and his rendition of the slimy worm horrors known to lurk around Vlastomil's estate

Clearly enjoys every shocked/outraged/concerned reaction way more than he should because he's getting so much attention

Does go out of his way at the end of the gathering to clearly established that the vast majority of his items were jokes

Asks to cut the cake afterwards so he can secure a huge piece

[mjart12699]

Muriel Reacts

Got this idea from a TikTok of a Westie copying it’s owner’s way of speaking [kinda like that Italian husky]

Muriel Reacts to: A Dog Trying To Talk Like You

Sometimes you come across wholesome gossip about animals that bark or meow like their owners. Hell, there are birds that mimic speech entirely, down to the soft ‘tch’ of breath when one ends a sentence with a ‘t’.

But you’ve always admired that one simple huff from Inanna could mean an entire sentence to Muriel. A lick of her chops could mean she disagrees with the way he cooked dinner that night. Or a yawn could mean that she’s stressed out a squirrel hiding in a nearby tree.

And Muriel loves telling you all about her inner thoughts. Most of the time, when she’s not berating him about something or he didn’t just blame her for a stray fart.

You marvel at the magnitude of thought that Inanna can say in one gesture. And you wish you could understand what she’s saying most of the time. After all, Muriel isn’t always around to play translator. You get the feeling that Inanna is just as frustrated when she bores into your soul with her golden eyes, hoping that you’d just understood what she had just been trying to tell you. But alas, the day you finally understand her has yet to come

But, as time flies by, you meet a new fluffy friend. Another dog temporarily under your care sometimes, and you spoil them to bits in the same way you do with Inanna.

And, like most close fluffy friends, your new dog friend now copies the way you speak. It’s learned that ‘no’ is the exact sound they need to make with their mouth when they don’t like what you’re doing. Or ‘hello’ when you’re happy to see them. Sometimes they just copy the way you talk back to them outright, because human speech is silly and copying you is fun

And that happened once, with Muriel in the room.

You were babysitting this dog again and you were approaching the door to check something outside.

Their ears perk up and rotate to your direction. Was this the sign of a walk? They’re not sure, but they jump from Muriel’s feet and race towards you.

Aww, how cute.

“You wanna go on a walk?” you coo in sing-song.

“Rarra rakk?” the dog barks, copying your last few words.

You laugh. Muriel slowly rises, watching you both with confusion pinching his brows but amused smile tugs his lips.

“Sure we can go for a walk later.”

“Ra ra rakk! Ra ra rakk!”

Your fluffy friend goes into tail-swishing overdrive, mimicking what you said in repeated, smiling barks as they twirl in place and jump on your leg.

You and Muriel both laugh. “What’s he saying?” you ask.

Muriel is still laughing, but this time he doubles over. As if the whole affair tickles him so much.

“He’s not— He’s not saying anything!” he says in between laughs.

“He’s just copying you. Probably so he can go outside.”

“Ah.” you say

Though you’re still smiling, you’re a little disappointed. Somehow, this is funnier to Muriel, who’s trying to calm down from from his high of laughs. He clears his throat, bites his lip at your disappointed face to contain the new laugh bubbling in his throat, and spares you a sympathetic look with a pat on your back.

“I-It’s okay.” he says, with all but a small smile breaking through his serious face, “Guess they just really likes you. Most of the time they’re just thinking of food, or you.”

He probably means the thoughts they have in the span of you babysitting them.

“Yeah.” you smile at your doggy friend, “I guess, I just wanted to understand what they were saying. Them and Inanna.”

Muriel softens at you. Perhaps he had always thought translating their thoughts was enough. He had no idea about that.

“Hm. A person and their familiar will have a different bond than you and a normal animal. But…”

He’s quiet for a silent beat. Then, he lights up as an idea dawns on him.

“Here—”

He carefully picks up the dog, and they allow him to carry their tiny body in his arms without protest.

“Sometimes, the way they look at you is enough.”

He presents your fluffy friend to you.

“Oh, it’s fine. I guess I just—”

“It’s okay. Trust me.”

This furball slides from his arms and their liquid body pours into your arms. Their bones are so relaxed, moving them around is like swirling wine in a glass. And their tail remains wagging this whole time. Their dark eyes shine at you earnestly. You look back at your friend, feeling the complex pool of quiet excitement, joy, and affection swimming behind their tiny brown orbs.

Then they lick your nose.

And now you’re a laughing mess as they continue to lick your face and unsuccessfully roll over in your arms to expose their belly. You’re holding them like a cradled baby. Then, with a decisive sigh, they close their eyes.

Muriel shares the excitement in your eyes as a silent gasp escapes you. They’ve never done this before. They’re sleeping like said baby in your arms.

Pride beams from your smile as you watch this pup sleep. Muriel returns your smile with his eyes softening at you.

Maybe Muriel is right.

This is enough. For now.

(Eventually you do take him for a walk. And a slightly jealous Inanna is not too far behind. [this is instantly quelled with a few treats and some affection])

[mjart12699]

like i'm sorry but we as a fandom have to stay firm on our anti-AI values. we cannot suddenly start giving AI a pass when it's something we "want to see" like destiel kisses. it's not suddenly fine. we're not going to start using AI to make fanfic scenes come to life or audio AI to make characters "say" stuff we want to hear. you have GOT to be firm on your anti-AI stance. if you start making exceptions then suddenly anything will fly. fandom is for real art and creations made by real people. no AI fanfics. no AI art. no AI rendered "bonus" scenes. no AI audio. none of it has a place here.

[mjart12699]

If you are currently sitting or laying down this moment ask yourself if you are resting or rotting. Change your behavior accordingly

[mjart12699]

I will NEVER see a prehistoric dinosaur

[mjart12699]

[mjart12699]

AHHHH I JUST FINISHED HIS ROUTE AJFILASKDFJ;ALS

I'm not playing his bad ending I'm not playing his bad ending ajfklaskjdfaasjdflak

[mjart12699]

[mjart12699]

Ugh I’m not great at just randomly posting without like planning and structuring the fic beforehand but I NEED to talk about him. To soothe my soul really.

Just—Muriel. Muriel and sitting not on his lap, but between his thighs, thick and meaty, bracketing your own hips as he leans his chest against your back and head. Maybe he’s settled down behind you to read what you’re reading. Maybe he’s opted to sit like this while e carves rather than sitting back-to-back. Either way, the habit starts as many do with warmth radiating from Muriel’s cheeks, but maybe less so than usual, less so than before, because he’s been with you long enough—long enough to be comfortable like this at least. To just… bracket you—blanket you. Lean atop your shoulders and wrapped around you like a child hugging their favourite plush. Maybe you’ve done that to him before, while you sit on the bed and he sits on the floor, or perhaps while he’s in a seat while you’re standing, just leaning over his shoulders. And maybe this is him returning the gesture.

Either way, as many cozy cuddly things do, this becomes habit. Ritual even. That if you ever sit down on the floor or on the bed in Muriel’s proximity, he’ll drape himself over and around you to cuddle as you work or read or whatever really.

He talks to you like that sometimes. Mundane things really. Like how he enjoyed his day with you, or how it’s really important for you to drink water—please stop forgetting, no coffee doesn't count. And sometimes he rests with his chin atop your head, and other times he leans in to say the things to your cheek, or even whisper it in your ear. He doesn’t mean anything by it most of the time, just whispering because he doesn't want to so harshly break the comfortable silence around you, but sometimes, just sometimes, he does like watching you squirm.

It sends something electric to his chest. Makes his face grow warm from the combination of shame and delight. Shame that he’s trying so selfishly to poke and prod at you like this to make you embarrassed just for his own enjoyment, that he’s still so anxious that he feels the need to test and see if you have the same reaction as he does to your mere presence. And of course delight every time it’s conformed—every time you squirm against his chest almost making him grin at the notion that for once he’s embarrassing you by doing nothing but cuddling a little. He’s still red faced when he does it, still averts his eyes trying not to be too happy at tormenting you, but so long as you don’t turn it back on him—don’t call out his obvious delight, he won’t pout.

Then again, even if you do he’ll smile eventually anyways, your own affectionate glee too infectious not to.

But like I can’t help but imagine how one day you might just be sitting between his legs like that, him draped over and around you while you chat. He interjects occasionally giving input when in short sparse bursts and the occasional thorough explanation, but at some point the conversation comes to a lull, a soft cozy silence that isn’t loathed in such comfortable company, but you still choose to break it regardless, not even trying to turn when you speak to him.

And maybe it’s a confession of love for the umpteenth time (though he'd never tire from it), maybe it’s a worm of some tender insecurity rearing it’s head, or maybe it’s Muriel, who’s had a bad day or a bad week, feeling shitty and horrible and loathing himself in that silent way he sometimes does, and you tell him that you can see him. That you know that it’s hard, that it’s awful, but you see that he’s trying too, and you’re so proud of him. So proud that he’s trying. That he cares for himself enough to try instead of shutting down and letting the hurt just consume him, and that you're always around if he needs some help, that he needn't shoulder the burden all by himself, no matter how much his broad shoulders can carry.

And either way the reaction is the same. He pulls away just for a moment, struck by your words—either appalled that you think so lowly of yourself or awed at such a blatant and earnest display of your love for him—before he presses a kiss to your neck. Once, maybe twice. Three times or even more if he's feeling particularly greedy, or if it seems to make you happy (so often three or more times lmao) And it's not just rapid little fluttery kisses, though it often devolves into that. But he'll start slowly, lovingly. Devoting his kisses to some tender spot along your neck that he's long since memorized, perhaps the ridge of your spine, or the soft column of tissue between your neck and your collarbone, or the tender patches of skin just behind your ear. And each kiss he gives with such reverence, such adoration and love—the same way he loves to do when he presses his lips to yours.

And at some point he curls against you, brushes his lips to your ear, and with that low rumbling voice, that you can feel as you rest your back against his chest, he'll say, "Thank you" if your words had been loving, or "I disagree." if it was something cruel to yourself. Either way, he's squeezing you tighter between his arms and legs, like he's worried you might leave him somehow. That you might try to squirm from his grasp even as you make your delight so blatantly clear. And while there is a thread of that thought that ties itself round his chest, it's more that he needs you to stay in place. So long as you stay where you are—so long as you you don't turn around, so long as you don't call him out for how red his face is, how embarrassing it is that he's so affected by you, so delighted when you show how much you love him, how upset he feels when he hears you don't view yourself the same way he sees you... so long as you don't look at him it's easier to tell you. Not to mention, it's so much easier to be honest when no one is watching him, when he isn't worried that he'd disappoint you somehow or make a fool of himself.

Most importantly though, it keeps him from getting distracted. Because it is. Distracting, that is. So very distracting to watch you watch him, eyes narrowing in on all those spots on him that he once might have hated, but now appreciates if only because you so vehemently adore. His chest and stomach for one; once markers of how large he was—how large he is—have become a point you often like to stare at. Eyes trailing down when his shirt is off, igniting in him that familiar, embarrassed, delight. And in the same way coals still able to start a fire anew with the right kindling, the thoughts set his mind alight with thoughts of what you'd so eagerly love to do to him if he let you. What he'd so eagerly let you do if you were willing.

The mere memory of your kisses all over his stomach and chest—and the one bite you pressed to his chest, right atop his heart, like you were trying to swallow what was already yours—oh it made his mind swirl, made his face grow beet red at even the vaguest memory.

So as long as you couldn't so easily reciprocate. So long as your back was to him. He finally would get to give back to you. To litter loving longing, dizzying kisses of his own against your skin. Against wherever he could reach, against whatever you would expose for him. Make you shiver and squirm in the way he often did for you. Make you keen or gasp or whine when he bit you, teasingly perhaps, or longingly, when the urge to carve a place for himself beneath your skin—safely tucked beside your heart—grows far too fierce. Never enough to hurt of course, every bite always followed with more kisses to your skin like an apology for even leaving the imprint of his teeth on your flesh.

Ah, but as much as he wants to keep you from watching him, to keep you from distracting him with your loving wandering eyes, he still will always crave the chance to kiss you, to feel you kiss him. To press his lips against your own, and cling to you like you were the very air that would fill his lungs with life. And whether that happen when you finally turn to peer at him, or when he tilts your head back guiding you with a warm hand against your cheek, he all to eagerly slots himself in the slight part between your lips, all too eager to just kiss.

Just for a second perhaps, or however many minutes it takes for you to loose your breaths, he doesn't care how long it lasts, so long as he gets to hold you after, so long as you let him bask in the glory of getting to love you, of getting feeling what it's like to be adored from the bottom of your heart.

Just stay here, with his arms wrapped greedily around you, and his thighs bracketing your hips. A full body embrace.

Ah, a Bear hug really.

[mjart12699]

is this anything?