#giggling like a child

[ye-olde-trojan-horse]

Your writing reads like some sort of poetry. The imagery is so vivid. And also all the little references you just threw in there are amazing. My favorite was this line: “Drowning under the salt water staining his cheeks”.

But i also couldn’t help but laugh at the “like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands” line.

tysm, I am always nervous to share my writing but learning to reveal little parts at least 💚

haha okay sooooo the rest of it felt rather sad SO I HAD TO THROW IN THAT LINE… was I giggling the whole time at that, yes - it kept me from crying for the rest of it 😂

[rockstar-burger]

Tfw you have a low self-esteem so you get a haircut and it turns out actually pretty

[lotus-pear]

god i love skk sm i wish gay ppl were real :(

[kissagii]

the newest blue lock chapter got me grinning like a fool :)

[7nuh]

I HC Scarletella is smart enough to figure out MC's language and I'm currently brainrotting over an AU wherein he attempts to adapt a normal, human life. As normal as he can pretend to be, though, while getting closer to you. MC is a completely unassuming person by day and a serial killer by night who is freaked out by this random tall and mute redhead suddenly appearing in the oddest places. Simple coincidence doesn't explain any of it anymore. MC starts seriously considering murdering him too lest he foil their secret hobby, only to realize he may just be as fucked up as them...

[violent138]

I feel like the Robins probably watched horror movies to really up their game, taking notes on the gestures and body language that would creep you out. "Criminals are a superstitious lot", so yeah the guy in full body armour that could beat you up would suck, but a small child, somewhere in the dark, with an echoing laugh all around you as you fire off a hail of bullets, somehow dodging everything and gleefully messing you up. That's psychological warfare.

[hooned]

riki when he saw a child engene in the crowd ⭐

[camzverse]

he does NOT know that hes literally from the Ghosts And Robots franchise

ness had to explain the fnaf lore to him after

[lickthecowhappy]

"In The"

GOetry club prompt

Form: Blackout Poetry Source: The Illustrated Good Omens - Page 1

Weekly GOetry Prompt Repository | Main Poetry List

It was a nice big one. The angel of the Eastern Gate went down on the serpent. 'Oh Yes,' said the serpent. 'It must be bad,' reasoned Aziraphale 'hey,' said the serpent, 'you're actually good.' 'You've got to admit it's a bit long' said Aziraphale.

I apologize for nothing.

This poem is also available on AO3.

Weekly GOetry Prompt Repository | Main Poetry List

@isiaiowin @goodomensafterdark tagging @crowleys-bentley-and-plants for old time's sake

[ovegakart]

Tag what you think they're stopping for

in order from left to right; four, time, wind, twilight, wars.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[stubz]

"Hey Fenrir? What's the protocol on roughhousing?" asks the human looking up at the busy orc. Polishing his newly crafted warhammer.

"Headshots are okay for those older than 10 but no aiming for the eyes. No biting or hairpulling or hits below the belt. Keep the fighting on the field. Stop at first blood or when the other says 'stop' or they give up."

"Got it!"

"If you need anything check the shed!"

.

"Hey Fen, where's Max?"

"He's out training with my siblings and cousins." He looks at the steel, his reflection looking perfectly back at him.

"Training? Like running?"

"No, sparring lessons. He seemed quite excited about it." He leans down to nuzzle the much smaller human.

"Fen."

"Yes love?"

"What exactly did Max tell you he was doing?" the orc looks at her bemused.

"Well, he asked me what the rules were for roughhousing, which I told him, and then he left to go spar with them. Oh and I told him where the sparring weapons are."

"...Fen, roughhousing is play fighting for humans. Not sparring. Just play wrestling. Not actual training with sparring weapons."

"...oh shit."

..

They arrive just in time to watch Max suplexing Fenrir's younger brother to the ground. The teenage orc slams to the ground but is quick to wrestle out of the human's grip.

From opposite sides comes two other teenage orcs. Together they body slam the human while he's still on the ground.

Kim sucks in a breath through her teeth wincing. Fenrir takes a step forward.

The human waves him off though. For he had managed to capture one of the twins upon impact. She was stuck in a headlock and now being used as a meat shield.

From there he managed to stand up with her but was soon overpowered once again.

...

By the end Max was the last one standing although barely. He had just stayed up a second longer than the twins.

Together the human and orcs laid there in the field covered in bruises and dirt. All of them satisfied and rather pleased at a well done sparring session.

"Well it's a good thing they wrestled."

"Are you sure roughhousing doesn't mean the same here as it does on Earth?"

"Eh still no? I mean we do wrestle but don't use weapons."

"Love, Max just used Nyx as a weapon against Echo and Baldur."

"I still don't know you did that." muttered Nyx.

"Yeah but that's normal!" sputtered the red faced Kim.

"He threw my sister at me! Threw her on top of me!"

"We're like the exact same height as him.." Echo was still trying to figure out how a species weaker and smaller than theirs was able to do that.

"In my defense, Kim's family taught me that one."

"Yeah but I never thought you'd actually do it! It's made for short people against tall people, not humans against orc children!"

[w0lp3rtinger]

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 Thank you again, @lambpaca - so much for doing this. Every time I look at it I burst out laughing all over again.

[karabell]

Oh my god????

MY HEADCANNONS HAVE MADE IT TO FANFICS?????

AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

This fic is “All the Reasons Not to Kiss Him (and All the Reasons to Do So) by Jane_Dorocak on Ao3! Please go read this it’s honestly so gut-wrenchingly beautiful!!!

(As my thanks I will be making a fanart of the fic because WOW)

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

10,000 Leagues Under Fontaine

Synopsis: The life of a guard of the Fortress of Meropide is mostly dull and structured, until a chance encounter with an otherworldly beast gives you a reason to smile again.

Foul Legacy x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Angst Warnings: Mentions of drowning, acid, burning, very slight mentions of blood

~ * ~ The Fortress of Meropide is always cold. Cold, but never quiet; the underwater complex is unmistakably alive despite being made of metal sheets and grates, the sound of machinery weaving with the chatter of both inmates and guards, sharing their days and gossiping here and there as good citizens of Fontaine always do- rumors spread fast in the Fortress, and there’s not a moment that isn’t exciting or entertaining in some way. Or so you like to imagine. Being one of the top guards of Meropide has its benefits- getting to choose your days off, occasional trips to the surface, even the Duke’s personal trust in your abilities. But with trust comes difficult, often tedious tasks, ones that Administrator Wriothesley only assigns to the most capable workers, and so you find yourself patrolling the space between the main prison and the ocean gates. The room is an odd mixture of metal and screws and a gradual incline towards the sea floor, a shallow puddle transitioning into a passage filled with water that someone could swim in. You keep wondering when Wriothesley will properly fix the gate at the end, and he simply responds that he’ll get around to it at some point. For now, keep watch- it’s almost a straight shot to the ocean, and we wouldn’t want inmates attempting to escape, now would we? And you just nodded, expression steady as stone and twice as unmoving; no prisoners would sneak in on your watch.

Not that they often do. Life at the Fortress is a new start for many and even a step up in comfort for most. Besides, the passage is much too long for anyone without a Vision to swim through without the danger of drowning- you’ve had to haul a few corpses out in the past, and that was enough to dissuade most of the other prisoners, it seems. Good for security, but boring for you, as there’s little else to do but watch water drip from the ceiling and skirt around the jagged bits and edges of metal left on the walls and floor. Occasionally a gardemek going through its initial testing will join you, and you’ll idly teach it to play rock paper scissors- so far, you’ve kept up a 50% win rate against the robotic soldiers- but nothing more. At least it smells of rain here instead of smoke and fire. You’re alone on the day that the noises begin, sitting on a crate and mistaking them for distant ocean waves and the clanging of hammers against metal. They’re simple at first- vague splashes and a faint scratching sound- but as you listen they morph into something else, like echoing cries, or perhaps a song through the sea. Something beautiful, for once, one corner of your mouth twitching up ever so slightly- what few friends you have call this expression your “almost-smile”, and know it’s as pleased as you’ll get. Something close.

Your almost-smile vanishes as your ears pick up the distinct sound of something swimming through water, the water that flows through this small passage, scrambling to your feet and snatching your weapon from its spot on the floor as whatever-it-is turns the corner, the water’s surface rippling. You really should’ve taken up on His Grace’s offer to get you a rifle. You’re expecting the aquatic thing to burst forth from the sea, attacking you first and asking questions once you’re dead, but instead you’re greeted with the sight of two crimson horns poking out into the air, the water stilling if not for slight movements. Slowly, steadily, your gaze follows the horns down as a head rises out of the water, a single crystalline eye blinking curiously and settling on your form. There’s a moment of silence, and then the creature chirps. You can only freeze in place, brows furrowed in deep confusion as the beast- Archons, it’s big- hauls itself onto shore, tilting its head this way and that as it cautiously approaches. The hand holding your weapon tightens, your heartbeat almost painful, and the monster’s eye widens as it pauses, glancing nervously from you to your weapon and back again.

With slow, deliberate movements, you watch as the beast lowers its head to your height, letting out a soft trill. It almost sounds apologetic, hunching its shoulders inward shamefully, and something in your heart, the one you molded and fixed into being cold and quiet, cracks. You lower your weapon, eyes narrowed, and you swear you hear the creature purr. Legacy is its name, his name- Foul Legacy, a monster from beneath your world. But he’s a monster only in appearance, you’ve learned, navigating the ocean with boundless curiosity and a demeanor sweeter than any Fontainian dessert or cake that you’ve ever eaten. Tell me everything, he begs, scratching his claws through the dirt in a language you only vaguely remember from an old book. Tell me anything and everything- about this world, about here, about there, about you. He likes you, you’re kind and caring and gentle, so unlike the countless stars he’s seen before. You try to protest. You’re not caring, or gentle, or kind- you’re a guard of Fontaine’s prison, someone who was stabbed through your spine and constructed walls around your fragile heart, watching the Fortress to make sure that no one could ever be hurt like that again. You’re not soft or loving, you’re not. But Foul Legacy merely chitters, fluttering those sparkling wings that you swore used to be fins and staring at you so sincerely that you’d think he adored you.

And he does adore you, loves you, even. Ah, if only he spoke your language, the language of mortals that his tongue can’t seem to wrap around, if only he could say three simple words and hug you close, showering you in affection. But he can’t touch you. The last time he tried you had clamped your teeth down on your tongue, a drop of blood falling from your mouth as your skin burned like acid, a sickly heat creeping up before you had jolted away, gasping for air. Legacy whined in concern, trying to nudge your seemingly-unblemished hand, but you’d simply shaken your head and stepped away, slightly feverish. Every person in Fontaine is born with sin. No matter how the Nation of Justice holds trial after trial, this sin cannot be absolved. He didn’t touch you after that, merely curling his body carefully around yours during your visits, hanging on to your every rambling word and always parting with the same question- Tomorrow? Yes. You’d return tomorrow, despite your chilly expression and flat words and tone. You always return tomorrow.

The Fortress has been buzzing with energy- not that it isn’t always- but the arrival of a certain golden Traveler has kept everyone on their toes, the dread and anticipation of something happening seeping into your bones, because it’s always something whenever that Traveler and their tiny, floating companion are around. You almost prefer your monotonous routine from before, but a small smile blooms slowly on your face when you watch Foul Legacy happily splash around in the water, shaking his head and cooing as the droplets rain down around him. He chirps at you curiously, your quiet, fond expression reflected back in his sapphire eye, and you just let out a small laugh and wave your hand as he stares at this new facet of you in awe. With a soft plink, a bead of water falls and lands on your cheek, a hiss of annoyance escaping you as you quickly swipe it away, settling between your nail and finger. It burns, and your throat closes up in horror. Not a minute later, Wriothesley’s voice rings out through the building. “All residents, evacuate immediately.” There’s a crackling pop and a split second of silence, before the alarm blares and your ears ring with pain. Until one day, the water levels in Fontaine will rise, and the sinful people will slowly be drowned.

Your hands slam against the barred door, tearing desperately at the metal that mercilessly rips into your fingers and closes off the room you always guard so carefully from the rest of the Fortress- they forgot you. They forgot you. They forgot you and left you here to drown and rot, and your eyes burn with repressed tears, fear enveloping your senses like a sticky, jagged web. No no no- you swore you’d never be this afraid again, that you’d never surrender so easily again, that you’d never cry ever ever again. A soft, concerned whimper snaps your head around, Foul Legacy standing behind you. His wings droop at your damp eyes, claws twitching and curling from the urge to hold and hug and comfort you as is right and proper, banish the panic away because it scares him to see you, normally so composed and quiet, this terrified; instead he shakes his head and trills, hastily beckoning for you to follow him, boots splashing in the water stretching into a long passage. Out. It leads out. It leads out to the sea and the surface, where you can breathe and cry and admire the sun, and your feet move forward before you can even think. You want to live- yes, finally you want to live. You want to live and be able to smile and laugh again, keeping the warmth that this strange, otherworldly monster brought to your life and never let go.

With a deep breath, you plunge into the water, kicking your feet and pushing yourself in the general direction of the path. Foul Legacy guides you with his chirps, now turned to eerie, song-like notes under the waves. His tail and fins- weren’t those just wings?- propel him faster than you could ever dream, yet still he slows his pace and stays behind with you, and your heart feels like it's joining in on his melody. The water swirls around you like oil, lungs burning as a few stray bubbles trickle out of your mouth and you taste salt on your lips. What little you can see in your murky vision flickers black, and Legacy lets out a sudden, terrified shriek. In the end, the people will all be dissolved into the waters, and only the Hydro Archon will remain, weeping on her throne.

It’s just salt in your mouth now, the taste coating your tongue in a horridly thick layer. Your fingers twitch as they burn, pushing through the water with arms heavy as lead. Foul Legacy whimpers and sobs in despair, grasping his claws around your wrist to try to pull you out, get you to the surface away from this sickened water only for the ocean itself to sink its teeth in and hold fast. What’re you trying to do, again? You’re having trouble remembering where you are, what you are, who you are, scrubbing your eyes again and again and swallowing gulps of salty seawater. This is where you’re supposed to be. This feels safe, comforting- you’re going home after all this time, see, somewhere less confining and fleeting. Finally, you’ll be where you belong, free from the bindings that hold all of Fontaine in their grasp. There’s a vague sense that someone has wrapped their arms around you, faint, anguished wails echoing through the depths, and when you finally open your eyes again you see stars dancing across ripples and tides. You return to the Primordial Sea, and Foul Legacy’s talons close on only foam and bubbles. Only then will the sins of the people of Fontaine be washed away.

[soupmanspeaks]

You know what

In celebration of a common CC W

Here's some rare Soup art of the boy