#decided to go with this reply!

[chloesimaginationthings]

I started following you in middle school because jojo is my special interest, and now you're the reason I'm fixated on fnaf in highschool

I think you're funny and I like your art style :D

Anyway, I think they'd be friends

THIS IS SOOO CUTE!! THEY WOULD BE!

[iobartach]

In the course of seeking aid, he remembered a valuable lesson, taught to him by his father; more often than not, first impressions mattered. From the looks of it, he's already botched that crucial step, sowed seeds of mistrust and caution, if this stranger's measured retreat was anything to go by. Living with this fumble, for his own part, he remains stationary, hiding little as he feels the man's gaze study him. Pointing out details that had escaped his own notice.

"...I am?" Voice wavering, an unsettled look takes hold of his visage upon hearing that revelation, palm already in the process of covering his stained mouth as he checks for himself. Sure enough, to his own horror, his hand comes away stained, the stench of iron too prevalent to disregard the redness as anything other than the obvious. "...What?!" The exclamation rockets its way up his throat, a species of disbelief that twists into something raw and appealing as his eyes widen in shock.

"No!!! .... N-no...." Something hidden fractures unseen, enabling panic to claw its way up his chest as he backs away himself. Unable to fathom what course of events had brought him to this point, he pinches his eyes shut with a forced effort, scouring his memories for answers. "I... I was attacked, I think? Not bitten, though! See?!" Tacking on an important clarification, he lets the robe slip free enough to expose a shoulder, free of marks.

Or cuts. Or bruises for that matter. In spite of his words, he fit the billing of hunter rather than prey.

"...Don't call. Not yet." Who knows what that would lead to, even if the stranger's intentions stemmed from a caring place. "How about we find a... a place to rest, first?"

With every step forward the stranger takes, Ethan matches it by a shuffle backwards. Never taking his eyes off him, never letting his guard down, never offering the upper hand. He was almost ashamed of his unwillingness to trust, and yet-- the last time he had.... Uneasy already on a good day, he wasn't exactly ready to leap into more trouble. He'd had enough of that to last fifty lifetimes.

Blinking, however, at the way he moves, talks, Ethan's able to get a decent look. Crimson stains his face, though there's no indication if it's his or someone else's. Injured, or good at faking it. At least willing to talk. Maybe he wasn't a threat at all?

"...You're bleeding."

Said matter-of-factly, almost as if he wasn't sure the stranger had noticed it himself. The blonde squinted, unsure what he should believe. His instincts, telling him to run, forget about it, leave this whole probably-mess in his dust... or stop to help. Ethan could at least tell the guy where they were. He could at least tell him that, though how the man had no clue what city they were in was odd enough. Questions upon questions mounted, and Winters regretted leaving his shotgun at home. Something wasn't right here...

"What-- What happened to you? Do you-- Do you need me to call someone, or..?"

[technically-human]

Hi i'm absolutely in love with the reverse au!!

I want to know, in this verse does edwin still confesses to charles? if so how is it different? i feel if he did he would end it by apologizing, you know, religious guilt and all

There’s a train that goes through Hell.

Its journey starts in Wrath, and it departs already full of souls. It took Charles far too many years to realize that there were separate, more spacious wagons that demons could board. Not that he could understand why anyone, hellborn or not, would want to get into the damned thing. He certainly hadn’t.

Actually, Charles couldn’t recall ever boarding the train. As far as he could tell, he just appeared there one day, and had spent the next tortuous decades trying to get out. It was part of the torture. Getting out was entirely possible. More than that, it was necessary.

The train had no regular schedule that he could discern (not at first, though he had always been good at finding patterns, and was eventually able to crack it) but it would make quite a few stops before finally returning to the Wrath ring. Souls inside the train were already angry and far too close to each other (close, so close not even air could squeeze in) but when they got really violent was when the train made a stop.

Getting out didn’t mean you were free, no matter where you managed it, be it Sloth or Gluttony, Pride or Lust. No, as soon as the train finished its journey, you would appear back inside, in Wrath where you belonged, suffocating once again, getting ready to claw your way out for the millionth time.

Because if you didn’t get out, The Conductor would get you.

If he thought about it calmly, Charles could probably say that he got out of the train more times than not. Still, being caught by The Conductor once was bad enough, as there was no coal in Hell, and something had to serve as combustible. Souls could not burn to death, and the whole journey always felt longer than eternity when he was caught. Once it was over, he would be inside again, and fight with more desperation than before, not caring who stayed inside so long as it wasn’t him.

He couldn’t understand why anyone, hellborn or not, would want to get into the damned thing. He certainly hadn’t. But as the souls pushed and bit and clawed and punched their way out, Edwin boarded the train. And that wasn’t even the most groundbreaking revelation Charles had that day.

ko-fi

[wigglebox]

Dr. Sexy 😘

[astronicht]

23 or 24 for rosquez 🙏🙏

24. whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin

I wrote a kind of soft one for the thigh-grabbing prompt and this is uh not like that. keeping the universe in balance! sorry in advance i guess. Kind of a companion piece, actually, to this earlier rosquez prompt snippet.

Valentino shakes awake from a dream in which someone is dead. The point at which there is a jolt into wakefulness is unclear. 

Daylight is too bright across the bed, and he can smell his own sweat. He reaches for Marc, but he isn’t used to Marc being here and goes for the wrong side of the bed. Valentino’s hand knocks over a glass of water, and a carton of pills on the side table. They skid onto the tile.

Marc isn’t in bed, exactly. He’s sitting on it, legs crossed, staring down at Valentino from the other side. One hand is braced on the mattress, taking a lot of his weight. He likes to put his weight on his bad arm, over and over. Valentino has seen him do it even when he thinks he is alone.

His good arm is holding a little espresso cup from the ranch kitchen. He is noticing Valentino’s mad scramble, but a little too slowly. His face is blank and far away.

Sometimes Marc goes very distant. It would be better if it were personal, but Valentino thinks it isn’t. He thinks the only person Marc can bear to stay present with, always, is his brother. For Valentino, this is much worse than if he simply couldn’t do it with anyone at all. It feels like penance.

“Vale?” Marc asks, that awful blankness creasing into a frown. The sharp nausea of the dream recedes, though someone is still dead.

Valentino rolls onto his elbows and stomach and rests his forehead on the mattress. He breathes, awful and shaky, but it’s better to get the bad breaths out until he’s running clean again.

“Vale?” Marc says again. His voice is less flat; he’s almost present, now. The smell of the espresso is overpowering.

“Marc,” Valentino says. His voice sounds like shit. His arms and thighs are a little tired, from fucking. “Did you figure out the espresso machine?”

“No,” Marc says slowly. The bed shifts. “No one will touch it. Bezzecchi made me a Turkish coffee.”

He’s lying. Marco doesn’t know how to make Turkish coffee, and if he did he wouldn’t be making one for Marc. It will have been Pecco. Vale is a little surprised. This means Pecco both arrived on time for morning practice and made Marc a coffee.

No one can actually work the espresso machine except for Vale, and previously, Uccio. There is no point mentioning this because Valentino does not say Uccio’s name to Marc.

The shaking is stopping. But like payback, the dropping feeling in his chest is getting worse. Valentino blinks his eyes open: bedding below him. It smells like semen. To his right is Marc, shifting, coming closer from wherever his mind was. There is a dripping sound: the glass Valentino knocked over on the nightstand. It is just water, but now it’s mostly on the floor.

He remembers reaching for Marc, because someone was dead. He had not been reaching for comfort. He had needed Marc or needed to be ill. This has not really changed.

“Is the coffee good?”

“Yeah,” Marc says. “Tell Bezzecchi nice job.”

That would be funny.

“Are you done, then?” Valentino asks.

“Sure,” says Marc.

Valentino grabs the back of his t-shirt and yanks backwards. He’s not delicate about it, and Marc instinctively snatches up the bad arm. He falls backwards onto the bed. He also lied about being done with the Turkish coffee; it splatters across Valentino’s chest and the shirt he fell asleep in sometime around six in the morning. It’s cold; Marc hadn’t even been drinking it. The smell is sweet and strong. The espresso cup hits the mattress and then thumps on the floor, trailing cold coffee grounds. You can read those like a palm or tea leaves, Vale has heard.

Valentino rolls onto Marc’s back. Under him, Marc tries to go up on his elbows— tries to lean on the bad one, lean on the bad one. Valentino grunts and doesn’t let him. It’s worth the effort: Marc groans, and says “Yeah, please—.” 

Vale fists a hand in his hair. Coffee grounds are between Vale’s fingers. His heart is going too fast.

They can’t have fucked that long ago, because they fucked at dawn right before Valentino fell asleep. Marc slept, off and on, cat-napping through Valentino’s long night, occasionally blinking like some nocturnal animal, once crying because Valentino made him come and then put Marc’s dick in his mouth and made him come again. 

Vale doesn’t know if it’s been an hour or if it’s been five since he last fucked Marc. Will he be able to get it up? He’d better. He needs to.

He holds Marc down on the bed with one hand at the back of Marc’s neck and with the other fishes around on the floor for the blister pack of pills. He gets one out with a near-steady hand and swallows it dry. Should work in twenty minutes, but Valentino has always burned through things fast, so it will be less.

Marc sees but ignores this. Valentino gets back on top of him and yanks his boxer-briefs down, nothing else. Marc says, “Ah—shit,” and arches his back. 

Valentino leans up and spreads his ass, spits on his hole. He can already feel himself starting to get hard; the pill wasn’t needed after all. Ah, well. Funny story later. His brain says that loudly over the feeling of sex: Funny story later. And, Someone is dead. He was dreaming. Water dripping. Marc on his bed here in Tavullia, first mask-like, now under him, moaning and twisting when Vale bites the back of his neck. 

Valentino wants to pound into him: ball-slapping, basic porn stuff. It is sort of crazy how he cannot stop thinking about it over and over, all night, not missing a moment. Marc was asleep a lot of the time, so Vale just watched him and wanted it, grinding his teeth, enjoying the wait — and waiting to need a break, to need a minute, a coffee, a nap. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, just knows he did sleep because of the nightmare. Marc under the line of his body bucks and says Valentino’s name.

Valentino rests his chin on Marc’s shoulder, and tries not to show that he’s breathless from holding Marc down the way Marc wants. He says into the shell of Marc’s ear, “Where did you go, hm? Have you been wandering around?”

And Marc laughs — a wheeze under Valentino’s body, as heavy as he can make it for Marc — and moans and says, eyes shut, “You were only asleep for twenty minutes.”

[meamiki]

what to do when you forget your umbrella!

i will not elaborate.

((these drawings are a GSNK rain scene reference ADSAFFASD))

bonus isolated (isalated?) running isa as a treat for his birthday:

[distressed-bird]

it is important that Parkour Civilization 2 is about yaoi and trust instead of classism and systematic oppression because Parkour Civilization 1 can not only be an example of the pitfalls of a rigged meritocracy but also an example of a society that has forgone the need for community, and connection and the sequel thus allows for the rediscovery and reintroduction of community and connection that will lead to a restored-to-sustainability meritocracy

[whumpandothercomfort]

maybe one more thing with masochist whumpee?

Whumpee has, perhaps, ended up with Sadistic Whumper specifically BECAUSE their pain tolerance is so high. Whumper keeps finding it a little too easy to break their toys. A stronger will is required.

Whumper was not specifically looking to purchase a masochist because half the fun of inflicting pain is the fact that it hurts. But they're open to experimentation.

Whumper straps Whumpee down to a table, immobilizing the major joints to make struggling difficult. There are a lot of torture implements hanging on the walls. Like, a lot.

"I'm going to muzzle you."

Whumpee swallows.

Whumper retrieves a fairly standard muzzle -- straps to cover the mouth and hold it closed. Then they pause. "Open up."

"Please-" Whumpee begins.

"Open up."

Whumpee obediently opens their mouth. Whumper slides a small metal plate behind their teeth -- just big enough to dig into the roof and bottom of their mouth, just thin enough to cause pain.

Whumpee is almost silent as Whumper fits the muzzle over their face. They only make a noise when Whumper tightens the straps to force their teeth together, making the metal bite harder. It's a desperate whimper, their muscles twitching spasmodically, their eyes wide.

"Good pet," Whumper murmurs. "It hurts, doesn't it?"

Whumpee closes their eyes, nodding just the tiniest fraction.

Whumper strokes their cheek with a thumb. "It's good, isn't it?"

Whumpee whimpers again.

"Look at me."

Whumpee's eyes open, but their gaze is unfocused. Glazed. Their pupils are huge with helpless, unwanted pleasure.

"Good," Whumper says. "You're nice and obedient like this. I think we'll just have to keep you in a little pain all the time, won't we? Is that what you need?"

Whumpee's soft, muffled protest is undermined by their body's response. Their fingers and toes both curl, their eyes rolling back, breathing heavy.

"It's good you found your way to me, really," Whumper says. "There's no one who can take better care of you than me."

[moodymisty]

after years of trying to tell Konrad that the future isn't set in stone, and how he really does have a chance at a better (less grimdark) life he might just be starting to believe it...

.. except he's not doing anything productive with it and is instead peering into potential futures where you two have a kid together and getting all blushy and giggly (in his own creepy way) about it. Yes he's eating you out, but what you cant see in the darkness of the room is that he's also excitedly kicking his feet the entire time

Konrad in his heart is a sad wet little man who only desires someone who actually wants him, but he’s so mentally twisted by his upbringing that he has no idea what that really means, or how to get it.

All he knows is having a teeny tiny pregnant wife is very good and makes him very happy, much to the horror of everyone else.

[total-drama-brainrot]

Total Drama Psycho Noah AU, before Alejandro knew the truth, Noah would sometimes cuddle to the charmer while sleeping... Alejandro was amused and fond by this... But when Alejandro learns about Noah's true crazy colors and the sleeping Noah cuddles into Alejandro again, Alejandro is trying NOT to freak out! 😴

Wait no you're so right. Noah's sleep cuddling habit would've been seen as innocuous throughout the whole series, especially in World Tour when their sleeping arrangements were so cramped. Of course he'd always end up practically gluing himself to the nearest person in his sleep- who would usually ended up being Owen or sometimes Alejandro, as they were the two people Noah tolerated enough to spend most of his time with.

But as soon as everyone on the jet becomes aware that he's not nearly as harmless as he's portrayed himself to be? When he intentionally shows himself to be a threat to their safety/wellbeings?

Well, suddenly his "cute little quirk" has turned into a very volatile situation.

-

What is Alejandro supposed to do when he wakes up in the Economy cabin, not even twenty four hours after the London challenge, and finds everyone's fearful eyes trained on him. How is he supposed to react when he feels the familiar weight of the dangerous, downright vicious person they'd all watched snap someone's arms like uncooked spaghetti, draped over him like a blanket?

Especially when they all know that a Noah who's woken up before he's ready is cranky. And that was the Noah from before, who was apparently keeping a tight leash on his wilder instincts- now that he's given up on holding himself back, who knows how he'd respond to being woken up?

Oh wait. They all know how he'd respond- and it involves a lot of bloodshed.

He's trapped; waking up Noah is a guaranteed death sentence, and any movement could be enough to stir the other from his precarious slumber.

And the others know it too. Tyler and Duncan watch him like a hawk, their faces palid with pity and terror, though they thankfully remain just as muted as Alejandro himself. It's unnerving, being held under the terror-shrunk gazes of the two, but not nearly as unnerving as the soft steady breathing of the deranged bookworm sleeping on top of him.

For a moment, there's a tentative silence that hovers between the three of them like a sheet of ice over a frozen lake.

So of course, Owen's boisterous entrance to the cabin shatters it.

"Hey guys, Chef's serving breakfast in the-! Oh, did I interrupt something?"

Noah stirs from his sleep, and Alejandro's breath becomes an inmate in the prison of his lungs. He'd doomed.

"Wuzza'? Is it ch'llenge time?" The bookworm slurs, one hand wiping at his sleep-crusted eyes as the other finds purchase against Alejandro's shoulder. Noah pulls himself into a sitting position, his body subconsciously curling itself towards the nearest heat source- which just so happens to be Alejandro's terror stilled form- and the Spaniard in question internally prays to whatever God is listening that he'll somehow evade the psycho's inevitable ire when he realises that Alejandro is, in fact, not a pillow.

After a trepid second of inaction, Noah hums inquisitively against the warm mass beneath him, and blinks tired eyes up towards Alejandro's ashen face. A moment of incomprehension passes. Then another. And then realisation flickers over the bookworm's features like a dying ember.

Alejandro is so fucked.

Noah's face solidifies into something blank and unreadable- the complete lack of discernible emotion in is expression is almost eldritch in its uncanniness- and the latino doesn't know if its more or less unnerving than the unhinged, crooked smile he's graced the cast with yesterday. But then, unexpectedly, Noah wordlessly slides himself off of Alejandro's lap.

No broken arms. No stab wounds. Not even a threat against his person.

...What?

"Uh. Sorry for sleeping on you, I guess." The cynic says off-handedly, in his customary sardonic drawl, before he steps over to Owen and calmly asks what the blonde oaf was so excited about.

What?!

"It... is no problem, mi amigo." Alejandro chokes out, displacing the stationary air in his lungs.

Where is the vicious psychopath from last night? Why is Noah acting so... normal? Was his display of instability a fever dream or something?

No, both Tyler and Duncan shoot Alejandro matching looks of bewilderment from their seat on the adjacent bench. What happened last night was real, regardless of Noah's current docility.

Owen and Noah's conversation filters off into nothing, and the Archvillain spares a glance towards the pair. Only to find the both of them staring back at him, grinning; Owen's face scrunching up into his usual friendly smile, and Noah's smug smirk rapidly morphing into that same too-wide snarl he'd adorned on the bus- are those fucking fangs?!

"You make a pretty good pillow, Al."

[novella-november]

This isn't going to be another "you hate fanfiction!!" because very obviously you do not, but it is prompted by the discussion of branching out into original work, since it's something I often struggle with when trying to make that jump. Do you or any of your followers have any good resources on beginner worldbuilding? I really struggle with it.

Thank you!

If you check out my post where I made a "Prep Calendar" for Outline October (Which is a November-prep alternative/ supplement to Ominous October, the spooky short story event), I actually made a rather rough calendar outline of how to go about world building in advance for November;

The basic first steps for me are usually just three things:

Who are your characters

What kind of world do they live in (aka setting)

Whats your main plot/conflict?

To start worldbuilding at its lowest level, start with number one and work your way up; figure out what kind of character you'd like to write, where they live, and go from there!

Here is the prep calendar I threw together in MS paint, I definitely reccomend downloading it on desktop to actually zoom in to see what all it says lol.

And as a bonus, I will even make a fun, silly little exercise for anyone who'd like to get some practice in!

If you want to join in, grab a pen and pencil, or open up your favorite note-taking app :D

Here we go....!

Let's start out by saying that my basic concept for a character is *spins mental wheel of random ideas*....... a talking deer! 1) So now that I have decided that I want a talking deer character, now I have to decide: A) do *all*deer talk? B) Do *all* animals? C) Or is it just this one singular deer who is special? 2) If it *is* just this one singular deer who can talk, are they: D) otherwise a perfectly normal deer who just happens to be able to talk? E) Can they talk because they used to be human? F) Can they talk because they used to be an Alien or encountered Alien Tech (scifi) ? G) Can they talk because they used to be a Magical Creature or ran into a Magical Spell (fantasy) ? 3) Now you get to decide, mostly if you chose A or B from #1 but also useful for C : H) Is your story a more personal nature documentary, with realistic interactions between predators and prey? I) Is your story going to be a unique world where deer have built a society with technology and know how to defend themselves from predators? J) Is your story a unique world where all animals can talk and are equally sentient, therefore predators are revered as gods or keepers of the dead, who bring all back to the circle of life and prevent the spread of illness and disease, with older animals proudly going "to the wolves" to give their life to their brethren who consecrate the bones of the dead and keep resources plentiful? K) Or are predators the monsters in the dark, the teeth that bite, the slavering jaws that kill to live and *cannot live any other way*, so has learned not to regret? L) Or even, predators who feed from the already-dead when they can, and eat their fill of berries, nuts and fruits when they cannot, because they do not wish to take the lives of others for their own sake?

*clears throat* ahem. Drama done (can you see why I love worldbuilding) ,

go ahead and pick a letter from each of the above options, and jot them down on your paper or note-taking app.

You now have: A basic character, their backstory, and a basic setting!

From three-ish questions from a basic idea, you can spawn multiple possibilities, each of which can branch off into their own unique iterations!

Here's a few more, if you'd like to continue the exercise as further practice:

What is your deer's name?

What do they look like / what kind of deer are they? (deer of various species are found over almost the entire world, so there is tons of variety! :D )

What kind of world do they live in?

How do they interact with humans?

*are* there humans in your story?

What kind of zany or terrifying adventures would your talking deer and a human go on?

What kind of adventures would your talking deer go on with other deer or other animals?

How does your deer get along with other species?

Do they have friends from other species?

Do they have rivals from other species?

Do they have *sworn enemies* from other species?

Do they have a *love interest* from another species?

etc!

I am hoping this game/exercise is helpful, my brain being both autistic and ADHD means I am, at the drop of a hat, ready to start spouting more and more ideas sparked from a single concept at any given moment!

And yes, if you did this exercise, please feel free to use your deer character in a story, draw art of your deer character, etc!

If this exercise was helpful to you or fun, please feel free to tag any deer creations with "NovellaDeer" , I'd love to see them!

You can easily adapt this exercise to any story concept you need to worldbuild; pick what basic idea you have for a main character, and start asking yourself questions about them and their circumstances, and let yourself come up with multiple, contradicting answers for each question; the more the merrier!

After you've decided which starting answers you like the most, you can work your way down the list, asking follow-up questions, and before you know it you will have your very own original character :D

And do not feel like you need to keep your character exactly the way they start out as; characters evolve over time, and you may find yourself changing their "base" character to suit your story or to suit your tastes as you get more experienced with writing and world building!

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

(context for watcher/listener!sausage can be found in the “videos” tag on my blog if you want it, but this ficlet can be read without said context)

- - -

“Y’know, of all the Hermits I was expecting to be pulling me into a dark corner tonight, I did not expect you to be first, Grian! I love the initiative!”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Grian says in a voice near a hiss. He’s got Sausage by the wrist, leading him into a small area of the upper floor of the tavern in Sanctaury that does look like it was built for the exact purpose Sausage is implying. Grian decides to ignore that as well.

“What are you doing here?” Grian’s straight to the point. He always has to be, with these Things, if he doesn’t want to get trapped in a loop of slant rhyming pleasantries.

“What do you mean?” Sausage asks, shaking his wrist out of Grian’s tight grip and leaning comfortably against the wall. “This is where I live. It’s my home. If anything, I should be asking you mysterious strangers what you’re doing here, but I’m sure you’ve heard that question enough for one day.”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Grian crosses his arms and tries his best not to look petulant, but he sure feels like it. “I thought They’d given up on trying to snatch me back, so why would They send you of all people? What’s your game?”

Sausage laughs, honest to god laughs, like he can’t believe Grian’s even asking him such a question. Grian thinks it’s a reasonable question, in this scenario, but what he thinks and what’s reasonable rarely seems to matter with these things.

“They didn’t send me,” Sausage looks him up and down in that way that makes Grian have to physically stop himself from curling inwards. This is why he never talks to Them. “Nobody sends me anywhere, they don’t tell me what to do and I like it that way! I just do my own thing. Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“No you’re not! You’re not- you can’t be! That’s not how this works!” Grian begins to notice that he’s no longer whisper-shouting and starting to just-normal-shout and takes a deep breath, trying not to draw the attention of his friends enjoying themselves on the floor below. And, realistically, in the other dark corners Sausage seems to have built into this place.

“That’s exactly how this works. You didn’t think you were the only person who’d left, did you?”

Grian opens his mouth, closes it, and thinks. In hindsight… yeah, he had kind of assumed he’d been the only person who’d left. Not for lack of trying, probably- but They’d tried for so long to get him back, kept him closely surveilled even when They’d accepted he was gone- surely some people had caved to that pressure eventually. When there was no sign They’d ever let up, ever let you go… he could understand eventually letting it overtake you.

“Did- did you leave, too?” Grian doesn’t remember the last time he saw Sausage’s face. He didn’t know him back then, of course. He probably would’ve connected the man with the person Pearl so often spoke about sooner. But he knows it’s been a long time, maybe even longer than the last time Grian had gone There. He doesn’t think Sausage had been There, that day. This might explain why.

“Eh, not quite?”

“What-“ Grian flails, both mentally and with his arms a bit. “What do you mean not quite?”

“Exactly what I said! I was never- it’s complicated, y’know?”

“Explain. Now.”

“Well, uh,” Sausage seems to flounder for the first time since this conversation started, which Grian is choosing to take as a victory. “Look, I wasn’t- they didn’t pick me. For this, or for anything, ever. Sometimes things just happen and you get yourself into a place you shouldn’t have and then… they can’t get rid of me, I can’t get rid of them, it is what it is.”

Grian stares at him for a long moment. Really stares at him, in the same way Sausage had looked him over earlier, in the same way that makes you feel like you’re under a microscope. Judging by the sudden nerves in his eyes, Grian can assume he feels it too. Grian remembers his face. That had been the first thing he’d noticed, when the Hermits had arrived. It had been a long time since they’d seen each other, but Grian knew his face. And now that Grian was studying him, really trying to remember… he’s not sure he quite likes what memories he’s dredging up.

“What are you?”

“Grian!” Sausage’s voice drips with mock offense as he puts his hand up to partially cover his mouth. “We only just met, do you think that’s polite?”

“Answer the question,” Grian sighs. How Pearl deals with this man on the regular, he doesn’t know.

“Well, if you insist.” Sausage sighs, somehow even more exaggerated than his previous movements. “It’s just… if you’ll believe it, it’s somehow even harder to answer the first question.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Grian says. “They’re two very different People, you know.”

“But they’re the same species, when it all comes down to it. Like, you might be very different than a chicken, but you’re both birds in the long run.”

Grian pauses, fanning his wings out a bit behind him as he considers. “I don’t think that metaphor’s quite landing the way you want it to.”

“No, me neither. Anyways, let me continue.

When they don’t pick you, things go a little differently! You don’t get sorted onto one side or the other since, well, you’re not really supposed to be there? So I’m… whatever I want to be, really. I think I’m feeling like more of a Listener, today, but we’ll see how the mood shifts.”

Grian flinches at the Name, on instinct. He doesn’t know how to feel about that, so he files it away to be dealt with at a later date. As for the rest of what Sausage said-

“What?”

“You heard me.” Sausage shrugs. He’s so nonchalant, Grian thinks he might strangle him, if not for the worry that that’s exactly what he wants out of this, somehow.

“Did I? Did I hear you?” Grian wants to pace, but that requires leaving the security of the corner, so he forces his feet to root themselves to the floor. “I thought- I thought you had to- if you wanted to change sides, I thought you had to-“

Grian closes one eye and takes his thumb to it, twisting the finger into his eyelid. The gesture seems to get the point across.

“Well, that’s the funny thing about this, actually.” From the way he’s been talking, Grian assumed Sausage thought this whole thing was funny. He restrains himself from saying that out loud if only so Sausage will finish his explanation.

Sausage reaches up to his left eye, pulls his eye lid back a bit, and unceremoniously pops out his prosthetic eye.

“All these processes and rituals actually have a lot of loopholes.”

Grian doesn’t know what face he’s making, but it’s enough to make Sausage giggle while he pops the eye back in. Because of course he does. Because this how his day is going, apparently. Walk through a weird portal in his basement and wake up in a world filled with his friends who don’t recognize him and also a guy he only ever saw There, who he was never supposed to see again. Sure. Of course he’s laughing about it. Grian thinks if he was a slightly different person, he’d be laughing too. It is, undeniably, absurd.

“Well, I think we’re done here then!” Grian would probably object if he weren’t so shocked about the loopholes. As it is, he just stands there a bit stupidly.

Sausage turns away to return to the party before turn around again for just a moment, reaching over, and ruffling Grian’s hair. That shocks him enough to shake him out of his stupor and swat Sausage’s hand away, though not before his hair is suitably messed up.

“What was that for?!”

Sausage smiles as he reaches up to rough up his own hair as well. “I assumed you didn’t want your friends asking questions about why you were dragging me into a dark corner, you know?” Sausage even goes far enough to pull his shirt a bit out of where it’s tucked into his pants, because of course he does. Grian tries not to cringe, but Sausage is right about this one thing. It is the easiest way to dodge any questions about where he’d gone off to- at the expense of the many knowing looks and teasing remarks he’ll be getting from the other Hermits instead.

“Have a good night, Grian!” Sausage calls over his shoulder as he turns to leave for real this time. “And remember, drinks are on me for all you guests tonight! You look like you need it.”

[ingravinoveritas]

So anna posted this picture just after the trailer the assembly got released abit it fairly obvious after the trailer showed the 1st question so is she trying to show ppl that michael happy in this photo like he smile like he happy or been made to look happy for the family photo

What ur thoughts on Al post

Ask from @kime11e, who also included a screenshot of the above comments:

(Grouping all of these together for ease of answering.)

So...whew. Of course this all had to happen on Wednesday as I was at one speaking engagement and traveling on the way to another one today. Let me just make sure I have the order of events down... - The trailer for The Assembly came out earlier in the day; - Anna then shared the above photos from the trip to Disneyland Paris; - An hour or so after that, she shared the trailer as an Insta story; - ...And then a few hours later we see that she's replied to the comment in the screenshot above.

Wow. It feels like an entire week (or month's) worth of content somehow happened in the space of a day. I will say that for me, again what this all comes down to is timing and/or PR. The trailer was released and soon all of social media was abuzz over that one particular question (It was rude! It was totally fine! Let's use this as another excuse to attack Michael! and so on...). Bear in mind that we (as of now) have no idea what Michael's answer is to that question, but that did not stop the almighty furor from the fans assuming that he must have been offended/uncomfortable/upset and so on, and this set off a wave of fresh speculation and discussion about Michael and AL's relationship.

...And just when all of this chatter is happening, AL posts the family photos. The reasons for this could be numerous, from damage control (again, without us knowing how he even responded to the question) to trying to (again) push the "happy family" image, to who knows what. Whatever the case may be, I really don't feel like the timing was a coincidence. Also again, I am baffled by her choice of caption: "We dragged him" immediately followed by the tag #itwashisidea. Two things that seem to contradict each other, leaving it unclear what the truth actually is. Was it actually Anna's idea, insisting on them going away on Michael's three days off, and using that tag as a deflection?

It becomes even more interesting when you realize that David and Georgia are currently in Disneyland as well (albeit in California, rather than Paris). Not long after AL posted the pictures, the discourse on social media immediately shifted to "Omg, are Michael and David and their families are on vacation together?" And just like that, the focus yet again shifted away from AL and back to Michael and David (as it always seems to do).

One other thing that is interesting about the caption is that one of my followers sent me the below screenshot via DM, which is of a tweet Michael wrote in 2020 for Lyra's birthday, and the similarities are quite striking:

The cadence of AL's caption and Michael's tweet could be a complete coincidence, but it's hard not to think that there is some PR aspect to this/that someone went to the trouble of echoing a previous tweet about the kids to reinforce a particular narrative.

In any case, I do think it is lovely to see Michael smiling, which he always does when the kids are there (in contrast, notably, to when we are talking about a picture of just him and AL). But what really struck me about all of this is the comment shown above, and Anna's response to it. The commenter added another response that is not shown, so I will include a screenshot of it now:

What's so interesting is that the commenter asked exactly the same question that Michael was asked in The Assembly trailer...and AL set a very specific tone in her response to that (and to this commenter).

I've been surprised to see people characterize her response as "chill," when there is really nothing chill about this at all. It's her typical passive-aggressive style, which we're all used to at this point, but it also reeks of insecurity. I have a hard time seeing how this makes her a "queen," as someone who is "unbothered" would not respond in the way that she did. Regardless of whether the commenter was asking sincerely or meant it as a dig, someone who genuinely felt confident and secure in their relationship wouldn't even respond to this comment at all. I'm also not sure what people expected her to say. Do we think she would be fully honest about her feelings or admit to any cracks in their relationship? Most people (famous and otherwise) would not, and certainly not on social media, either.

My feeling is that Anna was very bothered by this, and (again) tried to copy Georgia's snarky/quippy way of responding to comments, and likely did not at all expect that person to throw it right back at her. So why, then, bother responding at all? Why not just block the person, or ignore the comment entirely? Because from my perspective, it seems like all AL did was draw attention to it, and to the fact that it struck a nerve in her, which just does not seem to be a good look from any angle. And all of this coupled with the timing of the post directly after the release of the trailer really makes me wonder what, exactly, Michael said in his interview. We'll find out soon enough, though, since the show airs tomorrow.

That is my take on AL's post and all of the events of the past few days. As always, this is only my perspective, but I am glad to hear from my followers with your thoughts, whether you agree or disagree. Thanks for writing in! x

[dragon-spaghetti]

applejack x rarity?

This is dedicated to both you and my bestie's gf

[thevioletcaptain]

For the 5 sentence game:

Dean/Cas

How long had it been since he’d seen sunlight?

How long had it been since he'd seen sunlight?

Pressing his hands to the ground where he landed, Castiel takes a moment to appreciate the warmth of day-baked earth; the golden-green dapple of shadows cast through the leaves of a sprawling sycamore; the dusty-sweet scent of hay that carries from the nearby barn where Dean is waiting.

Dean is waiting.

He's been waiting for weeks, months, years -- Castiel doesn't know for certain -- but he's felt each instant of Dean's longing as it grew and grew and grew, until finally it was strong enough to pierce the fabric of the empty without him even trying, like a fallen ember burning through black velvet.

Rising to his feet, Castiel makes for the barn with a single thought at the forefront of his mind -- the sun can wait. He has Dean's love to bask in.

[for this askbox game if anyone else wants to send me a prompt]

[electricate]

look i'm sorry that i've been reblogging a lot of american politics on main but like

we really, really can't afford to ignore the impact america has on the rest of the world

i would absolutely LOVE to stop concerning myself with another country's bullshit political system, but seeing as the president of the united fucking states is seen as arguably the most powerful person in the world, it's pretty hard to not be concerned when one of the candidates is the next step above a loose cannon

and since i'm not american myself, there's literally jack shit i can do to prevent that from happening aside from reblogging stuff to get actual americans to use their fucking voting privilege while they still have it

yeah, privilege, not right. remember that next time you think about not voting

there are a hell of a lot of people out there who would love to have that privilege back in their own country; consider yourself lucky that you have the collective power to stop unsuitable people from getting into power