#I forget if that’s been explained

[gray-doestheart]

Excuse that this is lettered badly and sketchy but I was thinking of Jancy and her potential feelings about ghosts

[corpsentry]

pick your battles

[egophiliac]

still absolutely losing my mind over Lilia

[seasideoranges]

y'all i gotta be honest for a sec, the "atla wouldnt change much if aang wasnt there, in fact it might be better" and "the atla finale wouldnt change much if aang wasnt there to fight ozai" debates is the funniest thing ive seen come out of this fandom

[solargeist]

Oh oh if we're feeding Grian, I'd like to offer him a White Person Taco. (Don't want it to he too spicy for him!!!)

-Lunar (a white person who also can't handle spice)

omg right he's british he cannot handle spice ADJGKADJGK

i imagine Watchers can spawn food bc they know how it's made, like, every single component, i think if they offered him a taco he'd be genuinely impressed, like, its so much to remember.

he's also a bit iffy about the meat.

[eightdoctor]

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i think i hauve covid

[deservedgrace]

i appreciate the curiosity and desire to understand when people ask me what growing up religious/in a cult was like, how religion and religious trauma impacts me, why i'm so against christianity, but i kind of dread those questions now because it's so... impossible to explain it properly. i don't know how to explain to people that don't have that experience that it's everything and it's a million little things.

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

I think one of the reasons why the theory that Arya will go away at the end of the story because she’s too far gone to assimilate back into society is so unconvincing is because she literally spends the latest two books (AFFC and ADWD) doing that very thing! Like her training hasn’t been about her being a reclusive murderous hermit. She literally spends the two books talking to people, making friends, integrating into new cultures. She’s around people all the damn time! And even if we bring up her ACOK and ASOS arcs which were rather dark in nature, she’s still around people interacting with them, still being a part of society (even if she’s quite low on the totem pole in those books).

Arya is a character who feels so strongly and whose arc is often dictated by how she interacts with the people around her. So to take that away from her is not only a bad understanding of her character arc (not to be condescending or anything), but it’s also not very satisfying as far as character/narrative progression goes. Because if the narrative has proven so far that even in her darkest moments, Arya can laugh and love and be such a passionate member of society, how then does it make sense for her to go away and be on her own?? How does that make sense when AFFC and ADWD prove that she still loves being around people?

[motherforthefamicom]

redrew an oc thing from last year :3

[ebonytails]

sorry my post is just to complain but guys i literally hate adobe after effects. i can not explain to you the mental torture and how LOW it has brought my mental health because I *need* to use it for my post production class because it's "industry standard". ADOBE After Effects has made me write off the entire film and video production industry as a turn off and I never want to do it ever again.

The amount of times this has crashed on me where I lost everything? 5+ hours of work? 8+ hours of work? It's my fault for not saving sometimes but I also have auto-save on. it didn't save anything so im just left with nothing.

You want a trip to burn out town really quick? Use adobe after effects in an academic setting where you have no choice but to use this program.

I have never in my life TOUCHED a program SO TERRIBLE that it made me never want to do anything about that form of art/media EVER AGAIN

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

ok but,, why DO they call it spoons??

[kiwisandpearls]

I’m not fully awake right now so I’ll just leave what i wanna say at this and maybe come back to it later:

It genuinely peeves me when people tag their art as ‘character x reader’ or ‘character x you’ or ‘character x y/n’ and then the way the ‘you/reader/y/n’ in question is drawn clearly shows their just an OC. Like at that point just tag it as character x oc.

[whollyjoly]

for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise. 

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone. 

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert. 

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury. 

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

~~

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides. 

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope. 

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat. 

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth. 

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal. 

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

[toasteaa]

I love how I'm playing around with this sovereign of the seas au/folklore au (though I still hesitate to call it a folklore au) and like, the majority of the thoughts are lore heavy or romantic or the entire story/au I'd like to write from beginning to end, but then its like

The hurried and messy bits of dialogue + action that pop up when I'm at my computer/near my phone:

[konfizry]

no because you see actually the fact that zelos hates kratos' guts is by far my favorite aspect of zelos. like like the whole betrayal thing and whatnot, honestly, can't relate man, sorry about what happened to you i guess buddy but personally i dont care i just dont

but then back when i found out through finally playing his route + watching tof2 tls that the guy will diss kratos at any given occasion i was taken with renewed appreciation for him. its just too good. (and actually, there are signs of it even before that. like when you run into kratos in sybak and supposedly zelos doesnt know him at all but he still takes a moment to loudly go "omg fuck this guyyyyy" once kratos has left the scene and it's just ertghrteguhireg. zelos actually makes a couple more efforts to have lloyd trust kratos as little as possible. meanwhile theres that character skit in the flanoir area where kratos warns lloyd that there may be "someone in his group with ill intentions be careful no i won't elaborate bye" or whatever. all while k and z are presumably routinely in voice chat arguing over kratos' ridiculous grocery list. what a mess. both of them.) i unironically love it fr. i think it both makes perfect sense from a character perspective, and is hilarious. also it's nice to have one dude be openly hostile towards kratos. what can i say, i live for drama.

so anyway im glad we can all agree that the iselia ranch is a missed opportunity for an absolute train wreck of a skit that should have have happened but didnt.

[mellotronmkll]

Like I genuinely feel like a lot of fans of like late 70s/early 80s new wave and post-punk especially the 'weirder' and more artsy and high concept stuff would love early they might be giants Like can you not get enough of elements of the avant-garde in pop music do you love when music is sarcastic and irreverent and witty and surreal and absurd and DARK do you like when music sounds a bit scary and challenges and unsettles you do you like when its been made with DIY production on the cheapest crunchiest instruments and is performed in gritty underground clubs and presented to audiences in novel ways do you like when artists seek to play with and redefine the relationship between artist and audience or do you also just like when frontmen get down autistic silly and sensitive style and freak everyone out with the way they incorporate performance art into their live shows like just. please contact me so we can listen to the 1983 demo tape while holding hands and I tell you all about it and then I play you a bunch of hissy staticy recordings that were ripped off of an answering machine 40 years ago and you will be changed