#god brick is just such a SOLID name

[hallowcryptidstudio]

This baby? Her name? BRICK! 

God that's good XD

I was lucky enough to get to draw this burd twice!

The first one being when she was just a skrunkly lill baby and the second is after her glow up!

LOOK AT HER!

Brick here belongs to @xxcobaltkillerxx and these commissions were a birthday gift! 

SO HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!

[inkskinned]

the thing about some men is that they want you to remember, at all times, that you are underneath them. that with one word or look or "joke", you will stay beneath them. that even "exceptions" to the rule are not true exceptions - the commonly cited statistic that one in eight men believe they could win against serena williams.

women's gymnastics is often not seen as real gymnastics. whatever the fuck non-euclidian horrors rhythmic gymnasts are capable of, it's often tamped down as being not a sport. some of the most dominant athletes in the world are women. nobody watches women's soccer. despite years of dancing and being built like a fucking brick, men always assume they're faster and stronger than i am. you wouldn't like what happens when they are incorrect. once while drunk at a guy's house i won a held-plank challenge by a solid minute. the party was over after that - he became exceedingly violent.

what i mean is that you can be perfect, and they still think you're ... lacking, somehow. i hope you understand i'm trying to express a neutral statement when i say: taylor swift was the possibly the most patriarchy-palatable, straight-down-the-line woman we could churn out. she is white, conventionally attractive, usually pretty mild in personality. say what you will about her (and you should, she's a billionaire, she can handle it), but a few things seem to be true about her: 1. she can write a damn catchy song, and 2. the eras tour truly was a massive commercial success and was also genuinely an impressive feat of human athleticism and performance.

i don't know if she deserves the title of "woman of the year," i'm not debating that in this post. what i am saying is that she was named Woman of The Year, and then an untalented man got onstage at the golden globes and made fun of her for attending her boyfriend's football games. what i am saying is that this woman altered local economies - and her dating life is still being made into a "harmless" punchline. the camera panned, greedy, over to her downing a full glass of champagne. congratulations taylor! you are woman of the year! but you are a woman. even her.

fuck, man. write better material.

a guy gets onstage at a college graduation and despite the fact like half the crowd is made up of women, he spends a significant proportion of it warning these people - who spent possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars on their education - that they were lied to. that the "real" meaning of femininity is motherhood. that they shouldn't rest on the laurels of that education-they-paid-for but instead throw it away to kneel at a man's heel. imagine that. sweating in your godawful polyester gown (that you also had to pay for!), fresh out of 4 years of pushing yourself ever-harder: and some guy you've never met - who knows nothing about you - he reminds you this "win" is a pyrrhic one at best. you really shouldn't consider yourself that extraordinary. you're still a woman, even after years of study.

god forbid you are not a pretty woman, but if you are pretty, you must be dumb. god forbid you are not ablebodied or white or cis or straight or good at swallowing. you must be beneath a man, or else they are not a man. the equation for masculinity seems to just be: that which is not a woman or womanly (god forbid). anything "feminine" is thereby anathema. to engage in "feminine" things such as therapy, getting a hug from a friend, or crying - it is giving up ones manhood. therefore women need to be put in their place to ensure that masculinity is protected.

this is something i have struggled to explain to terfs - they are not doing the work of feminism, but rather the patriarchy. by asserting that women and men must be (on some secret level) oppositional and in conflict, they also assume that being a woman is akin to being another species. but bigotry does not stem from observational truths or clarity - that is what makes it bigotry. there was nothing in my childhood that made me fundamentally different from my brother. we are treated differently nonetheless. to assert there is some biological drive that enforces my gender role is to assert that women have a gendered role. men do not see women as equal to them not because of biological reality - but instead because the core tenant of the patriarchy is that women aren't full, realized people.

we are told from a very young age to excuse misbehavior as a single man's choice - not all men. it is not all men, just that one guy. all women are gold-digging bitches who belong in the kitchen - but if a man is mean, bigoted, or violent to you, it's just that particular guy, and that means nothing about men-as-a-whole. it is only one guy who got mad when you gently rejected him. it is only one guy who warns her this trophy is heavy, are you sure you can hold it? it is only one guy who smashes her face into the cake. it is only one guy talking into a mic about hating our bodily autonomy.

i have just found that they often wait until the moment we actually seem to be upstaging them. you sit in a meeting where you're presenting your own findings and he says get me a coffee? or you run to the end of the marathon and are about to finish first and he pushes your kids out in front of you. you win the chess game and they make some comment akin to well, you're ugly away. we can be the billionaire and get the dream life and finally fucking do it and yet! still! they have this strange, visceral urge to say well actually, if you think you're so great -

it's not one just one guy. it's one in eight.

[qqueenofhades]

I’ve had this feeling for a while, but the last few weeks have made it stronger: I feel like people are just sick of Trump, even people that are solid Republicans. Even aside from the politics and the threat to democracy that he represents, I’m just tired of hearing about him and all the vitriolic buffoonery that comes out of him. He’s a class clown that’s gone from occasionally funny to just annoying. And I’m sure there’s plenty of Republican voters that resent what an absolute cultish embarrassment he’s made of their party. Even if I had no other reason to vote, I would’ve still voted blue in the desperate hope that I might not have to hear about Trump anymore.

I mean... Yeah.

The other day, we had a whole group of Arizona Republicans (otherwise known as one of the most extreme and cultist state GOP parties in the country) coming out as the leaders of a Republicans for Harris taskforce. Republicans for Harris also immediately hit it big on Twitter. Haley Voters For Biden instantly changed their name to Haley Voters For Harris and told Haley herself to hit the bricks when she laughably threatened them with legal action. There were always a few Never Trump Republicans before, but like. Not many. And many of them have ventured like, one criticism and immediately fallen back into line when Trump posted one mean tweet about them, because they have spines like soufflés.

Now mind you, the entire national/establishment GOP is still completely and cravenly beholden to Trump in ways that defy all logical human understanding, but people who have voted Republican all their lives and did so habitually once or even twice for Trump are increasingly hitting breaking point, and that should be noted. If you want to know how much, the goddamn MORMONS are, allegedly, preparing to quit the GOP this election in larger volumes than they have voted for Democrats in at least 60 years. I don't know how much this will end up panning out, and they have always been at least somewhat skeptical of him in comparison to the completely deranged mainstream evangelical fundies, but. The Mormons. THE MORMONS. Voting for a black female Democrat for president? In my wildest fantasies, this makes me think of Blue Utah 2024 like Blue Indiana 2008 (yes, that happened, along with Blue Florida TWICE).

Trump does have and will always have his ever-dwindling base of diehard cultists, but they have not and will never be numerous enough to win a fair democratic election on their own, which is why the GOP has pulled every dirty trick in the book trying to ensure that they don't have to. But yes: there are many more of us than them, and if we finally pull together and quit arguing about dumb shit, we could get rid of Trump once and for all, and god. GOD. I long for that day so bad and I can finally think it might be coming. So let us NOT fucking screw this up, kay? Kay.

[tenebrous-academic]

Thank you for your lengthy answer! I love it, I might camp in your asks for a while and enjoy your insight if you don't mind.

God there are so many things we could get with them, they're the definition of potential. I hope and pray tommy's staying for long in s8. I could go on for hours just talking about how good and fitting his character is.

I’m lighting a fire for s’mores, camp away ⛺️🔥🍫

Tommy is so fascinating as a character. He’s sweet, considerate, compassionate, has deadpan humour, and he has a full life outside of his romantic interests. He was able to establish a solid friendship with Eddie even before he knew Buck was interested, and he came over to try and smooth tensions when he could have easily dipped out to avoid any conflict.

He’s confident in his actions and likes taking charge, but also has no problem letting Buck take the reins when he wants to. He’s committed to his promises (see attending the bachelor party even while on call, and coming to the hospital to go to a wedding after fighting a fire for the last 15 hours). He showed up dirty, sweaty, and exhausted - but he showed up. And that is so important for someone to do if they’re going to date Buck.

He’s built like a brick shithouse and somehow manages to make Buck look small next to him. Do we realize how insane that is???? But he’s so gentle with Buck too. I think Buck really needs that gentleness after everything he’s been through. Most people look at Buck and see a strong man who doesn’t need any tenderness because they assume he can take it. But Tommy is treating Buck with care. His ���Evan” says everything we need to know about the way he views Buck. Legitimately I can’t get over the tone he uses when he says Evan’s name. It’s so insane and so perfect.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Tommy deserves the Castiel treatment and to be made into a series regular (just without the yeeting into SuperHell after a love confession).

[rainbows-r-nice05]

Frozen Camera

I watched Rise of the Guardians and fell in love with Jack Frost because he is my baby. Anyway here is something I just whipped up and I know it's bad but I needed to so it to ease my mind.

I hate studying, I really do. My mind tries to focus but it drifts into dreamland. Dreaming of the impossible. Fighting dragons, ruling a kingdom….....finding true love. But enough about that. To relax a little, I decided to go read a book outside. Since it was Christmas time, I picked up the story about all the different kinds of Christmas characters. It was night time so I made sure to bring some blankets out. As I stepped outside on my back porch, coldness engulfed me. My porch was spacious with lawn chairs and a brick pillar on the side that leads into the grass. Oh, how beautiful it was. Christmas lights dance around my neighbors backyards across the lake connecting them. Lights from blue and white to red and green. The fountain was still going as the wind danced through it. I sat down in order to enjoy reading a bit into my novel. This section was about the famous Jack Frost to whom I believed in when I was a little kid. But not anymore since I am a junior in high school.   About 10 mins into my book, I absentmindedly start singing a famous Christmas Carol.  

God rest ye merry gentlemen

Let nothing you dismay

Remember Christ our Savior

Was born on Christmas Day

I heard distant barking of dogs nearby which was normal. And the rustle of plants that were caused by the wind.  

To save us all from Satan's pow'r

When we were gone astray

Oh tidings of comfort and joy

Comfort and joyI

Oh tidings of comfort and joy

All of a sudden, my ears perk up at this crinkle or a sound of frost covering something. Like a tingling sound of some sort. I looked around and saw one of my security cameras had frost covering the lens. 

“That's weird,” I muttered to myself as I stood up, set my book down and walked toward the camera. Over the lens it looked blueish with little snowflakes covering it. My curiosity got the best of me so I decided to go inside and get a ladder. (The camera was on the ceiling). I got the ladder from the garage and walked back outside. I opened it and climbed all the way to the top. I looked closely at the camera and scratched the frost off of it. Somehow, the frost just would not come off. 

“OH GOS-,” suddenly I lost my balance and was headed toward the ground. 

“Gotcha,” I was caught by someone who was levitating off of the ground and wrapped my arms around this persons neck. It seemed to be a boy around my age who had piercing blue eyes and platinum blond hair. His skin was pale white and freezing for that matter. His dazzling white teeth showed as he smiled lovingly at me. My goodness was he handsome.  

���Woah…” I was too starstruck to even comprehend what was happening. 

“Lost your balance, there sweetheart,” the mysterious man said.

“You-your-you…” 

“Jack Frost is the name,” he said as he lowered me to the ground. 

“Oh my goodness.. It's really you,”

“Of course it's me, alive and in person.” His smile…. Is so…..loving. I finally got a good look at him and he was wearing a blue hoodie with some light brown pants. He was indeed barefoot as he was Jack Frost.  

Oh my gosh.  OH MY GOSH The Jack Frost in front of ME!!!

“And what might your name be pretty girl,” 

Pretty girl…. I flushed deeply at that. I smiled sheepishly as I introduced myself. 

“(Y/N) (L/N) at your service,” as I extended my hand out for him to shake. 

He shook it softly and his hands were beyond freezing. 

“Wait, what are you doing here?” I was so puzzled as to why he was here. It was December right, but it does not even snow over here. 

“Oh.. Well…” he walked around with his staff tapping the bird bath with it and it froze solid. 

“I got quite bored while I was patrolling so I decided to fly across a random area where I found a beautiful singing voice in this very backyard.”

As if I could ever be more redder, my face would be a tomato. 

“What were you doing out here,” he said as he pointed his staff at me. 

I gently pushed his staff out of my face and raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, It is my backyard” I started to walk around him. 

“But if you want to know, I was reading a book.”

“Oh… interesting” 

“Y’know, you have a very nice backyard,” he stated as he walked around and faced the lake. 

“And a very nice show you get to watch.” 

I giggled lightly at that. 

“Oh yes, Christmas is the best time of the year when I get to sit outside in the cold and light a fire. I see all the Christmas lights in their glory.” I smiled at last night's occurrence which was just like how I described. 

“Well, isn’t that nice,” he said as he gazed at me. 

All of a sudden I hear this ringing noise that sounds jolly. Jack takes a small device out of his hand and looks very disappointed. He verbally groans. 

“Wish I could stay, but Santa needs me.”

“You mean North,” I say out of the blue

“Wait how do you-” 

“Jack,” I giggle a little, 

“Might want to go see him” I say as I step in front of him pointing at the device smiling. 

He smiles as he is about to fly away. 

“Wait!” I put a hand up signaling him to not go yet. 

“Will I ever see you again?” 

“I’ll make sure I will see you again, snowflake.” He says as he takes my hand and kisses it with his cold yet soft lips. 

I smile and yet again, I flush at the nickname. 

He then flies away and I am left alone outside. I walk back to the camera and see that the frost has disappeared. I smile as I walk back inside. I gaze back out across the lake where I think of the many events that Jack Frost will show me. 

thinking on a part two maybe or a milti series thing idk yet lol

I have to get back to studying though

[pandoradoesotherstuff]

A Tight Predicament

------------------------------------------

A/N: Of course my first full Baldur's Gate 3 fic is smut! 😂😂 I didn't want to disappoint anyone. 😏😏

Also, let's just pretend for a minute that Astarion hasn't been sexually traumatised and Gale is less self conscious.

So, this is Gale x Astarion x reader/Tav. I've tried to keep it as gender neutral as possible but reader is described (vaguely) as having female parts down below. (Sorry)

Enjoy!❤️

-------------------------------------------

You didn't like separating everyone up. It just made more sense to you to stick together, safety in numbers after all but after clearing out a particularly twisty turny ruin you deemed it safe enough for everyone to do their own thing. Shadowheart backtracked to find a statue of Shar she was sure she had spotted earlier, Gale was one room over checking out some dusty tomes that had been left by the previous occupant and Astarion was behind you working on a particularly tricky lock, murmuring to himself about the want of a skeleton key. Meanwhile, you were sitting on the stone floor trying to wipe the goblin blood off of a new short sword you had found.

It was this particular view that had led you to your current predicament. Out of the corner of your eye, you could have sworn you saw a flash of purple. Curious, and cautious, as to what could have caused such a thing, you get back on your feet and slowly draw back the moth eaten tapestry to reveal a smallish hole in the brickwork. It was the purple robes of Gale you had seen.

"Hey Astarion!" You call softly over your shoulder, signalling for the vampire spawn to join you.

"Mm?" Comes his inquisitive reply, moving to now stand next to you.

"Bet I could reach through and make Gale scream?" The smirk on Astarion's face makes you reconsider your words, quickly interjecting before he could reply. "Not like that!" God's above...I just mean like, you know, a little spook. In general. No other screaming involved." You're looking at anywhere else in the room except at the annoyingly handsome vampire, already feeling your cheeks start to flush red.

"Of course my dear, I'd never dream of suggesting anything else", faux innocence colouring his voice. "But do carry on, I'd love to see that obnoxious wizard cry out for his beloved Mystra". You bristle at the name of Gale's ex-lover but stay silent, instead bending over and bracing yourself on the stone wall.

It was rough on your hands as you carefully pulled yourself through just a little, thankful it was at the perfect height so your feet didn't leave floor.

"Even if you don't succeed in frightening Gale, this view alone is worth it".

You ignore Astarion's flirty comment, shimmying a little further in only to see Gale wasn't quite in your reach just yet. You'd have to move in just a little bit more...

"Merlin's beard!!"

You'd been so busy trying to shuffle further that you hadn't noticed Gale turning around, finally spotting you.

"Hello", you grin sheepishly.

"What in the name of Ao are you doing?!" He asks, pinching the bridge of his nose and snapping the tome shut with the other.

"Isn't it obvious?" Astarion's muffled voice comes through the wall you were currently lodged in. Nervous energy flutters in your stomach as you feel the vampire's hands hold on to your hips lightly. You try to move yourself backwards only to find that you are now completely stuck. You try again, grunting slightly as the jagged solid brick digs into your hips.

"Wait," Astarion begins. Voice barely concealing a laugh as his fingers now begin to creep up under your armoured tunic. "Are you trapped?" He asks incredulously. You cover your face with your hands, a deep blush now settling on your cheeks.

"Yes, okay? Let's not make a big deal out of it". You mumble, trying your best to ignore your occasional lover's adept fingers toying with your belt buckle.

"Are you quite alright?" Gale asks, seemingly genuinely concerned as he leans in slightly for a closer look at the brickwork that had trapped you. Probably already figuring out a magical way to free you.

"I'm fine, despite my...situation. My ego is definitely more bruised than anything." You sigh resignedly.

"Not to worry, between Astarion and myself, I'm sure we'll have you out in a jiffy". Gske smiles reassuringly while crouching down to now be eye level with you.

"Well Gale, let's not be so hasty". Astarion's large hands now squeeze your ass as he talks, you bite your lip trying not to react. "This is a very interesting position our dear fearless leader has found themselves in. It almost seems a waste to not...explore this opportunity to its fullest." Astarion pushes his knee in between your thighs. Gods, this was akin to torture!

"Astarion!" You hiss in warning. Although in warning of what you don't know, it wasn't like you could do much.

"Are you alright? Is he hurting you?" Gale is looking at you so sincerely with those warm brown eyes of his. If this was any other situation, you would have melted. Astarion's laughter snaps you out of your trance, the sound of your belt hitting the floor making you close your eyes in embarrassment.

"You know Gale, it's no secret that you pine after them. We've all seen your lingering stares over the bonfire, bounding after them like an excited little pup. So so eager to please. It's all rather adorable, you know. And to think, Tav here would give you everything if you just asked." Astarion punctuates his words by grinding his knee against your heated core. Gale's eyes noticeably darken as you whimper loudly, hips trying to move against him but finding it impossible. The rogue then continues talking as if nothing was amiss. "They're annoyingly fond of you too. Personally, I don't see it but I am known for my impeccable taste, so make of it what you will I suppose".

There was a beat of silence as the wizard before you tries to take in all that had just happened, his dexterous fingers nervously playing with a little piece of the weave.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to Gale." You say quietly, trying your best to ignore Astarion still pressed tightly behind you. The wizard smiles softly at you, large calloused hand coming up to gently cup your cheek.

"Even in the most compromising position you still try to look after foolish wizards like me."

"Someone's gotta."

His lips touch yours hesitantly, warm and soft, pausing as he waits for you to react. You smile into the kiss as you slowly work your lips together. The tadpole begins to niggle in your brain, you can feel Astarion trying to enter your mind. Gale sighs into your mouth before pulling back slightly to speak. "So impatient," he quietly scolds so only you can hear it. "Let him in then, least we never hear the end of it."

You'll never get used to the gnawing wriggling sensation of connecting to another tadpole, not that you want too. The frown on Gale's face tells you that he too, is seeing the same thing.

It's Astarion's view of you, your belt lying on the floor, armoured tunic bunched above your waist, his knee still firmly pressed against your core. You can feel the heat of arousal radiating from yourself, hear the way your pulse races under your skin. Astarion removes his knee, and you can't help the disappointed mewl that slips out. You both watch as he yanks your leather leggings down, your underclothes barely covering you, slick already dampening the thin fabric. Astarion's voice echos in your mind, as though whispering directly in your ear. "Yes yes, lovely heartfelt confessions all round but-" his fingers teasingly trail over your underclothes causing you to whimper again, the material now clinging to you with wetness. "-I think we all know what we're really thinking about".

The tadpole disengages and you gasp as though resurfacing from being underwater. You open your eyes to see Gale gazing at you with a dark lustful stare.

"I don't usually rush into these types of things. I like to pursue someone romantically first. And yet, now that we're here at this very precipice, at a very crucial part in our relationship. I-"

"-Hells below, Gale!! Would you hurry up and kiss them again already?! How much more of a bloody invitation do you need??"

The wizard rolls his eyes before you quickly reach out and grab his robes, pulling him in for a more passionate kiss. You can't help but whine into his mouth as Astarion behind you slowly pulls down your underclothes, velvet swollen head nudging against your dripping core.

"Please...p-please..." You mutter against Gale's lips before your moan gets swallowed by him as your vampire lover finally pushes inside you, deliciously slowly stretching you around him. His chilled fingers stroke your spine soothingly as his girth strokes your walls expertly at a teasing pace.

"My perfect treasure", he murmurs affectionately. Your fingers thread into Gale's hair, tugging on the silly strands as he kisses you with a passion you didn't quite know he was capable of.

"What...hmph...what do you...what do you need? A-anything".

One idea springs to mind.

"Stand up." You pull back, panting a little, teeth biting at your bottom lip as Astarion picks up the pace a little, his hands now gripping your hips tightly.

"Now what?" The wizard's voice was husky with lust, his lips kiss swollen.

You hungrily reach for the snaps that hold back what you so eagerly wanted, making short work of them. There's a pause as you lock eyes, an understanding flits between you.

"Are you sure?" He asks softly. You can only nod, not trusting your voice to do anything but whine and whimper from the rogue's short shallow thrusts behind you.

"As you wish." Gale hesitates, a look of self-consciousness crossing his face for a second before finally freeing himself from the tight confines of his trousers. Your breath catches in your throat, his girth was impressive to say the least.

"Gods Gale!" Comes Astarion's voice from through the wall. "I don't know what the bloody hells you did to them, but keep doing it!"

You feel a blush on your cheeks deepen, from lust or from Astarion's comment you don't know. Gale gently cups your chin, looking more than a little pleased with himself, as he guides his thick hard cock closer towards you. Your mouth waters as you kitten lick his swollen head, precum salty and surprisingly delicious on your tongue. Gale watches you with a dark intensity as you grab his hips and slowly pulled him deeper into your throat a little at a time. He wasn't as long as Astarion but definitely girthier, you focus on swallowing around him, trying hard not to choke. His dexterous fingers tangle in your hair, petting you encouragingly as he begins to move his hips slowly at first. You've never felt so full or satisfied in your life. Two exceedingly handsome men filling you up over and over again. You can only imagine how lewd you must look like that, so different from your usual composed and in control leader role.

Whether it was you, Astarion or Gale you don't know but once again you feel the tadpole connect. It almost felt like it shivered with pleasure

You can feel yourself getting filled up over and over again, taste the salty precum on your tongue, feel the heat and slick of your fluttering walls surround Astarion, feel your own throat swallow around Gale, choking on his thickness.

Both men are caught up in the multihood of sensations flooding their senses, using your body to chase their own pleasure as your thighs shake and your fingers grasp onto the purple robes of Gale tightly. Your moans and whines are muffled around the taller man as you feel the rogue's clever fingers rub at your clit perfectly, urging you closer to the end.

"Cum f-for me, for us! Cum for u-us our b-beloved!"

Pleasure ahoots through your entire body, nerves on fire as stars burst before your eyes and you almost feel light headed. Astarion's quick sharp thrusts stutter behind you into a frenzied arrhythmic pace, groaning low in his throat as he empties himself into you, fingers gripping bruises onto your skin. Gale's hands tangle in your hair, nails scraping your scalp, your name slipping out from between his lips like the sweetest prayer. You bring a shakey hand up to his heavy balls, lightly squeezing and fondling them, urging him to paint your throat white. With a strangled noise from Gale, you feel them draw up tight as the taste of his seed fills your mouth and dribbles out the corner of your lips.

You don't get a second to bask in the glow of your filthy but fun act before Shadowheart's haughty voice yells from a distance.

"I know you said we should 'stick together' but I didn't realise you meant that close! Now if you're all finished, we have a tadpole that needs removing!"

You've never wanted the ground to swallow you up more in your life.

[sunkissedandseraphic]

My Beautiful Boy

Summary: The saviors had attacked Alexandria, and all Rick wanted was to find his family among the flames and know that they were safe. To know his son was safe. (A rewrite of season 8 episode 9 where Carl doesn't die and Rick finds him safely in the sewers with the others, much to his great relief)

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Mentions past character death, mentions past shooting

read on ao3!

With each heavy step, the smell of smoke hit Rick like a sack of bricks. His eyes wandered frantically, watching as fire engulfed each of the Alexandria buildings. His heart was in his stomach; his home, the one he and his family had rebuilt and made stronger to survive, was swallowed by flames. Everything they had created now reduced to a pile of ash. 

His leg was throbbing. Negan’s push out the window had truly done a number on him, but Rick couldn’t stop. He needed to find his family.

His beautiful girlfriend, whom Rick longed to cup her cheek with his calloused hands and kiss until the world melted away. His daughter, whom Rick wanted nothing more than to hold in his arms and press his nose into her bright blonde curls. His son, his beautiful boy, whom Rick would give anything to see smile and tilt that stupid cowboy hat down to cover his bandaged eye. 

He needed to find his family. 

Rick had been stumbling around aimlessly when he first heard the familiar sound of a machete and the woman who wields it. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears when he finally saw Michonne, reaching out and pulling her away from the Savior who was beyond dead now. 

There was so much Rick wanted to say, to tell Michonne, but each word got caught in his throat the moment he opened his mouth. “Where are they?” was all Rick managed to sputter out. He was so desperate to see his people again. His kids. Everyone he had left in this god-forsaken world.

Silently, Michonne led her lover to the sewer, where below, the remaining Alexandrians were awaiting safety and instructions on where to go from his shitstorm.

Michonne descended into the tunnel first, but once both of them had their feet on solid ground, Rick took off ahead of her. He hobbled as quickly as he could until he spotted bodies hunched on the floor against the sewer walls; crying, shaking, whispering. Living, breathing bodies of his friends.

Rick’s eyes scanned over the scene in front of him. He could see the outline of Tara and Rosita sitting beside each other– Rosita’s head leaned back and eyes screwed shut while Tara’s were wide open in horror, tears staining her cheeks as she stared out at nothing. He could see Dwight leaning his arm against the tunnel wall and resting his forehead on it, deeply breathing. He could see Daryl, his brother, bowing his head down as he sat with Judith, who swayed back and forth on her little legs. He could see a figure straight ahead staring at him, one Rick could feel he had seen before but couldn’t place how or why he knew the stranger.

The further forward he staggered, the more Rick made out the faces of those who sat in the sewer. Everyone in their tight-knit group, if not almost everyone in the community, seemed to be accounted for at that moment. 

Everyone except Carl.

“Carl? Carl… wh-where’s Carl?”

Rick felt his heart start to pound, stomach churning at the thought of his son not being in the safety of the sewer. It was getting harder and harder to put weight on his leg, but he pushed through the pain; Carl was more important. 

He felt as if he couldn’t breathe. Tears burned in Rick’s eyes, threatening to spill over any second. He wanted to throw up, punch something, yell his son’s name at the top of his lungs until his throat burned just so Carl could have the chance to find them. 

Maybe Carl was dead already. Maybe Carl had turned and was roaming around the scorched land as a walker. Maybe Carl was lost in the flames. Maybe– 

“Dad?”

Rick knew that voice. 

Rick’s head whipped around almost immediately and took a step forward, his leg threatening to give out underneath him. And then another. And another until Rick was practically dragging his foot behind him in an attempt to run toward the sound of his son’s voice. Running past Tara, past Rosita, past Dwight and Daryl and Judith and the familiar stranger until soon he was face-to-face with the one he had spent the last few minutes completely hell-bent on finding.

Just like that, there sat Carl Grimes with his back against the wall, completely unharmed, giving Rick the tiniest crack of a smile. 

Rick couldn’t do anything but laugh at that moment. He felt himself lose all control of his actions as he swiftly dropped to his knees and gathered Carl up in his arms. Rick moved the teenage boy onto his lap and just held him as tightly as his body would allow.

Rick felt like he was the dad he had been a decade ago, long before the dead started roaming the earth. It felt like when Carl was merely five years old again, waking up startled and sobbing from nightmares of a monster under his bed or the Boogeyman chasing him, when he would run into Rick and Lori’s bedroom to seek comfort and safety. 

As he held Carl in his arms, Rick felt every memory of his son rushing back to him.

The day Lori had announced to Rick that she was pregnant, and the utter joy and terror that flooded through him as he processed the fact that he would be a father. Holding Carl for the first time, bursting into tears the instant his son grabbed onto his finger with his chubby little fist. Watching Carl take his first steps, listening to Carl say his first word, Rick’s heart overflowing with love.

Celebrating Carl’s first birthday and his first day of school, wondering how his little boy was growing up so fast. Grinning as Carl came home gushing over his first-grade girlfriend, remembering how he ruffled his hair and called him “a little ladies’ man.” The pang of pain that hit as he realized how fast his little boy was growing up and finding who he was. 

Glenn taking a chance on Rick and leading him back to the camp that just so happened to be the one protecting Lori and Carl, every emotion he could feel rushing through him as he hugged his son. The day that he had carried Carl to Hershel’s farm after being shot by Otis, horrified he would lose him after just getting him back. The memory of Lori’s death, learning Carl had been the one to shoot his own mother. The night Rick had ripped a man’s throat out to protect his son from the monsters and what they threatened to do to him. The night Carl had been shot for a second time, now in the eye, thinking he would never hear his son call him “dad” again. Every day before, after, and in between Rick remembered as a blessing that he had his son with him. 

“Carl…” His voice broke as the tears that he had fought to hold back finally spilled down his cheeks. Rick could feel Carl burying his face into his chest, trembling as he quickly reciprocated his father’s hug. Gently taking off the cowboy hat and placing it to the side, Rick hung his head and pressed his lips to Carl’s hair.

His eyes were shut, trying to savor every ounce of this moment that he could. Rick kissed his son’s head once, then twice, and then after some time he lost count, too focused on the fact that Carl was safe in his arms– all he could ever ask for. 

“My boy…” The words softly escaped Rick’s lips as he somehow managed to hold Carl even tighter in his grasp. He had the world, his world, their future in his embrace, and he never wanted to let go again. “My beautiful boy…”

“I love you so much,”

Of course, Carl knew his father loved him, there was never any doubt of that, but it was so rare now to hear Rick say the words. As his tears began to dampen Rick’s shirt, Carl failed to hold back the sob that ripped through his throat; not one of grief or sorrow, but one of joy and relief. 

“Love you too, dad,”

[chaotic-fandom-writer]

I mean do a Shan yu x child reader where Shan yu finds them in a village and decided to adopt them and become a family plz 🥲 ( that’s what I meant) srry

My god, you scared me 😂😭

--

You cover you eyes and squeeze your eyes shut as the sounds of thousands of bodies rumbles throughout your village like thunder.

You were hidden as far underneath your bed as you could possibly manage. You had no idea where anyone else was. This wasn't even your home, it was a random, empty building you'd fled into once the chaos began.

You watch at the shadows flicker back and forth underneath the door, praying they don't enter.

Suddenly, you see smoke begin to drift into the windows, filling the room at a rapid pace.

You cough, gasping for clean air but your lungs burn with the sting of the soot-filled room.

Finally, you can't take it any longer, and you rush the door, stumbling outside and rolling down the brick steps.

You collapse in a tiny bundle on the ground. You look up and find huge shoes standing before you.

Looking to the source, you find a terrifying looking man staring back at you.

You squeeze your eyes shut and turn away, anticipating the worst.

Instead of feeling any kind of impact, you hear rustling. You decide to take a peek, and find the man kneeling in front of you, his hand stretched out.

"What's your name?"

You don't answer.

He reaches to grab for you, and you bite his hand as hard as you can. He doesn't react the way you intended, laughing and shrugging you off.

"Strong one, eh? You'll be a fine solider one day, little viper."

You fight, kick, and scream as he lifts you effortlessly, but it's no use.

"Don't worry, you don't need to fight anymore. I'll help you become stronger, so that you never have to fear another person again."

You stop fighting for a moment, surprised at his words.

He carries you off, and you allow him to do so.

--

It's been years since that fateful day. You had grown now, and he had trained you to be much stronger, just as he said he would.

You stood upon a mountaintop, gazing out over the sights before you.

"Daughter."

You turn at the voice, and see Shan Yu waiting on you. Glancing behind him, you see his army marching on.

"Are you ready to go?"

You give a fierce nod.

"I'm ready father."

--

I hope you enjoy, thank you for your request 🩷

[mmmichyyy]

a.u.gust 2023 - day 4: teacher(s)

1.5k words of shop teacher!mickey & school nurse!ian @gallavichthings 🖤 posted on ao3 too!

Faculty meetings are–in Mickey’s opinion–the bane of his entire existence. Completely unnecessary, redundant, a total bore. Just send it in an email for god’s sake. Especially when the meetings are scheduled at the ungodly hour of eight on Monday mornings, an entire half an hour before he usually arrives at school. Well, twenty-nine minutes, to be exact - if the first class starts at eight-thirty and it takes him a minute to rush from the parking lot to the shop classroom, then he’ll show up right as the bell rings, not a minute more.

Except the new bright-eyed and bushy-tailed principal went to some new-age educational conference over the summer and came back brimming with ideas of bonding and connecting amongst faculty members. How important it was to foster a community and create an open forum and a safe space for communication–her words, not Mickey’s. 

As if any of the underpaid teachers give a flying fuck about any of that. None of them would've gone to the first meeting and continued to attend week after week without the bribe of free bagels and the not-so-subtle suggestion of possibly taking away the one good vending machine from the teacher’s lounge. The threat of losing easily accessible corn nuts and milk duds really was the reason why every person working at this underfunded Southside high school had to suffer through thirty minutes of mandatory torture every week. 

Mickey worked there for two years and never laid eyes on half the staff at the school or knew anyone’s name until these meetings. He stays in the shop classroom all day, makes sure none of the students drill a hole through their hand or cut themselves on a hacksaw, then goes home. But now, everyone from the basketball coach to the art teacher to even the goddamn janitor had to attend and endure the principal babbling about upcoming school events and ways to improve the school–like time and resources aren’t already limited as it is. 

What a colossal waste of time, Mickey grumbles to himself, as he strolls through the main doors of the school after smashing snooze multiple times on his alarm clock and begrudgingly getting his ass out of bed. 

At least his on-the-fritz coffee machine decided to work today, or else he may be prone to commit murder without caffeine this early in his system. 

But to Mickey’s luck, he doesn’t get two steps into the foyer before slipping on an invisible wet patch on the linoleum floor, crashing forward into what his mind registers for a split-second as a moving wall, which he practically bounces off of, if it's even possible to bounce off a solid surface. The impact causes him to stumble backwards and nearly collide against the glass trophy display case. 

“Fu– watch where you’re going!” 

“Oh shit, are you okay??” 

Mickey rolls his shoulders with a groan. Just as he’s about to unleash hell, he looks up to a pair of worried green eyes staring right at him. Turns out the walls aren’t out to get him - not this time at least - it’s a person. Not just any person, a man who is built like a fucking brick barricade with a firm taut body and fierce red hair that nearly causes Mickey’s jaw to drop in surprise.

“Uh…” Words. What are words? He didn’t hit his head, did he? Why can’t his mind form coherent thoughts?

Unaware of Mickey’s temporary brain daze, the redhead continues to ramble in an apologetic voice, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been blocking the entrance, it’s my first day and I’m a bit lost–”

“It’s fine,” Mickey mumbles, cutting the guy off. Not that he cares if he’s late to the faculty meeting, but he needs to not be here right now. But before he can make a quick exit–

“Do you know where the teacher’s lounge is?” 

Huh. A new teacher. With a body like that? Probably another meathead coach, Mickey thinks. To save his ego from continuing to make a fool of himself, Mickey wordlessly nods towards the east hallway, silently signalling the man to follow him. The man does, a bit too enthusiastically, much to Mickey’s chagrin.

Mickey hopes Clifford the Big Red Dog isn’t a talker. The teacher’s lounge is at the end of the hall around the corner and there’s only so much conversation Mickey can handle early in the morning. Especially after sustaining a possible phantom head injury. Especially after almost falling flat on his face in front of someone who looks like that.

But you know what they say about hope - it breeds eternal misery.

“Never thought I’d be back at high school,” the man chuckles. “But I saw the job posting online and thought, what the hell? Might be fun.”

Fun is definitely not the word Mickey would use to describe working at a high school. The very high school he dropped out from, actually. Life has a twisted sense of humour sometimes, but he’s made his peace with his current reality a long time ago.

“Are you a teacher here?” the man presses on.

Mickey grunts as a response. Quickens his pace, but the man doesn’t take the hint.

“What do you teach?” 

Only a few steps left... 

“Shop class.”

“Oh cool! I’m the new–” 

“There you are, Mr. Milkovich.” Ms. Tinsley, the principal, peeks her head out of the door to the teacher’s lounge. Looks behind Mickey and beams. “And Mr. Gallagher! I’m glad you’re here, I was starting to worry you might’ve gotten lost.”

Gallagher? Mickey furrows his brows. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but then again - half the Irish population in Chicago probably has the same last name. 

“I was, but then I bumped into Mr. Milkovich here and he led the way.” Gallagher flashes Mickey a grin, and Mickey tries to ignore the somersault flip inside his chest. “Hope I’m not too late.”

Ms. Tinsley shakes her head. “You’re just in time, I was just about to start the meeting.” She turns to Mickey. “Mr. Gallagher here is replacing Mrs. Farris since she’s gone into early retirement. Fell down the stairs and broke her hip, the poor thing. ” 

Retirement? Mickey doesn’t remember seeing any of the sports coaches being geriatric enough to retire. Or maybe he’s not paying enough attention to the stupid faculty meetings.

Seeing the confusion on his face, Ms. Tinsley adds, “Mrs. Farris, the school nurse.” 

A lightbulb clicks in Mickey’s head. Must’ve been the grouchy old woman with the Q-tip head and a permanent scowl on her face he used to see roaming the halls. He just assumed it was someone’s grandma who had gotten loose from the senior home and got her rocks off yelling at anyone in her way. Did the old bat fall down the stairs or was she pushed? The latter seems more plausible.

“Anyway,” Ms. Tinsley continues, “Mr. Gallagher here will be taking over as the new school nurse. I might get him to teach a couple health classes too, god knows these crazy kids need proper sex health education!” Both she and Gallagher laugh while Mickey cringes.

“I’d be glad to,” Gallagher replies with a smile. Glances at Mickey out of the corner of his eye. “Sex education is very important.”

No. Not today. Nope. Mickey slips past the principal through the door and quickly plops down on his usual seat in the back corner, silently praying the heat he feels under his skin isn’t reflective of how red his cheeks are. What the hell has gotten into him? 

And because the universe is fucking with him, the only empty seat left is directly beside him. Mickey stares straight ahead and pointedly avoids Gallagher’s gaze as the principal starts the meeting.

“First thing on the agenda: the school bake sale! Who wants to volunteer?”

“Hey,” Gallagher whispers in a low voice, so only Mickey can hear him above the surrounding chatter, “my first name’s Ian by the way.” Leans in close, hot breath fanning Mickey’s ear, sending a shiver down Mickey’s spine. “Maybe you can show me around sometime?”

Mickey should ignore him. Ian. Pretend to be fascinated by fundraisers or pep rallies or whatever the fuck Ms. Tinsley is droning on about. Definitely not focus on the hopeful tone in his voice. Tell Ian to fuck off and leave him alone, like everyone else in the school has learned to do.

But maybe Mickey woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. Or the right one? Or he’s in an alternate reality? Or maybe someone drugged his coffee this morning? 

Or maybe it’s his lucky day?

Because against his better judgement, Mickey angles his head to the side. Pretends to be nonchalant and shrugs in agreement. Tries to bite down his own smile from seeing the way Ian’s face entirely lights up, all eager and warm and full of light.

Maybe eternal misery isn’t the only outcome to spring from hope.

[tobiasdrake]

Well, we've met the kids. Now we need to figure out where we go from here. Let's plot some mischief.

"Magic seal" here defined as "Big glob of cancerous Dweller flesh". Can we just hit it really hard with moon and sun beams? I have it on good authority that our magic is stronger than this stuff.

...so the answer is yes. Yes, we can just hit it really hard with moon lasers. Don't even need Zale's help to take out this bottom-feeding scrub of a flesh blob.

Though I'm sure the crystal helped. A little.

Gonna go out on a limb and say it concentrates my moon powers into a solid laser of Fuck That Noise?

Concentrates my moon powers into a solid laser of Fuck That Noise.

Are you kids for hire? I mean, I know you work for Aephorul but fuck that guy. I would love to help with your research. If we'd known you existed, your research could potentially have provided another option for solving the problem of Torment.

Even though we've already taken care of that issue, who knows what other secret Unsolveable Dwellers might be lurking out there. Or in other worlds. If your shit can provide new avenues for Resh'an's efforts then that could be game-changing.

Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes

What did I say? What did I fucking say back at the Dweller of Torment? It's almost like uniformity is bad and diversity is good or something.

The biggest weakness of the Solstice Warriors is that we're too insular. There are so many other things out in the world that can benefit us.

I'll be back before you know it.

Alright, team. This is just like Roro's lab.

Plan A: Burglary

Plan B: Civil Negotiation

Plan C: Hostile Negotiation

Plan D: Armed Robbery

We're coming back with that master key. The Watchmaker's level of involvement, willing or otherwise, is going to be up to her.

XD Trying to imitate our time manipulation. These kids are adorable. I want to hire them. The logistics of that would be difficult given their confinement here but I want to.

You know, given that Aephorul himself was responsible for the brickwork, I'm surprised at how much of a shitshow it is. I criticized him before for the fact that he and the Watchmaker didn't understand how each other's stuff works and just did their own thing, but I expected the brickwork to be, at least, good.

That is just a pile of magic bricks. No self-respecting architect worth his salt would leave a pile of enchanted bricks lying around like this and call the structure complete. Have some professional dignity, Fleshmancer.

...okay, she's right there. But I don't think she's noticed us ye--

Holy shit, did you make Wheels!? Is that where I know the name Watchmaker from!? Ma'am, I am a HUGE fan of your game and I--

...am....

...in the middle of robbing you. >.< Shit, Plan A is out.

So. Is that "I will not give you the key because that would be involving myself" taking no part, or "I will not stop you from taking the key because that would be involving myself" taking no part? Centrism can be ambiguous sometimes.

I would remind you that trying to withhold the key from us will involve you in conflict right here in this room, but I think we're still at Plan B so I should hang onto my threats for later.

Okay, it's the latter. No threats necessary. Plan B was a rousing success.

Thank you for the pleasant conversation and nothing else. It has been a pleasure retrieving what we needed from this room while not doing business of any kind with you.

...this might have been too fast for Cael. I hope you'll forgive me if I take a little time to completely fangirl out about your game oh my god I'm such a huge fan.

Can we play a round or two? Please please please please PLEEEEEEASE

._. Okay that's fair.

I would promise to come back later but I'm prophesized to die in like half an hour so I guess this will just have to be a bucket list item never fulfilled.

Yep. Walked in and picked it up off the floor. Piece of cake.

What you got for me? On the scale of "Good" to "Super Good", how loud is this going to make me scream?

Can I see it? I want to see it. I want to know what it does. Tell me tell me teeeell meeeeee.

I want to see it. I wanna seeeeeeee it.

Fine. We'll do this your way, and I can just be surprised. I'm prophesized to die in half an hour so anything other than that is automatically a surprise by default anyway.

[imaginechb]

GUYS. I have come up with the best most detailed pitch for a CHB theme park... hear me out.

the rides...

Soarin' over CHB: like the big HP ride at Universal Studios Hollywood. You'll fly through scenes that depict CHB, CJ, Manhattan, Greece, Rome, etc. and it'll show various significant places in the books.

Pegasus Rides: much like the hippogriff ride from Universal Studios, but like,, longer and more fun.

Tunnel of Love: Water ride just like in the books/show, and similar to Pirates at Disneyland. Big drop, Splash Mountain style.

Sea of Monsters: If you've ever been on Grizzly River Run at Disneyland, it's like that. It's super fun, and you will get wet.

Chariot Races: Something like Autopia at Disneyland but also much much cooler.

Apollo's Archery Practice: much like the web slingers ride or the toy story ride at Disneyland, it's an interactive ride where you like press buttons to shoot arrows at VR monsters and targets. Lester may or may not be involved somehow.

Hippocampus tours: kind of like Jungle Cruise at Disneyland except with Hippocampi and it's much cooler. Less terrible jokes and more Percy-esque sarcasm from the tour guide.

Medusa's Lair: a fast-paced adventure-style roller coaster themed after snakes and stone statues.

The 600th Floor: big ferris wheel that lights up blue at night and always has the pjo soundtrack playing in the cars. Some of the cars swing, some don't.

other stuff...

Every night there's fireworks over a lake in the park which is really more of a pond but it would have canoes and fake monsters in the water and it's safely blocked off so no one can fall in

merchandise would include: chb and cj t-shirts, spqr temporary tattoos, chb necklaces (they come out with a new limited edition bead every year), plastic swords and knives, solid foam armor, etc.

restaurants and eats in the park would include: monster donut, tyson's bakery (they sell blue cookies and blue chocolate brick cupcakes), sweet on america candy store, "the dining pavilion" which is a cafe where you can get all sorts of stuff and it has a big covered outdoor seating area with tables designed after different gods, fadlan's felafel, and all sorts of little food trucks named after different gods and monsters and characters

there's professional cosplayers in character as different riordanverse characters (like the actors at disney)

other workers such as ride operators and vendors all wear either chb or cj t-shirts and armor or dress as different monsters or gods

TELL ME IT WOULDN'T BE THE COOLEST THING EVER. GO ON, TELL ME.

[pixelated-whump]

@ailesswhumptober Day Thirteen - Crushed

TWs: Child death, Minor Whumpee, Kinda graphic violence and stuff, please be careful and don't read if you can't handle this kind of stuff

Contents: Aside from everything up there, broken bones, suffocation, all that jazz, and again, Mabel is a minor and dies in this

Characters are Mabel (Aka M, She/Her, Around 12), Riley (Aka R, She/Her, Around 12), C (It/He/Whisker, Around 15), and F (He/Him, Around 14), all refs can be found here.

Also posted on Ao3!

Final warning, I rated this as Mature on Ao3 for a reason, please proceed with caution.

There’s a creak above Mabel’s head. She looks up nervously, gently tapping her sister’s shoulder. “Riley, we really shouldn’t be here-”

“It’s fine!” Riley huffs, tossing something to the side. “I’m almost done, anyways. Like I said, we’ll be in and out in no time at all.”

It takes a few more minutes for the fox hybrid to get done gathering supplies, flinging the front door of the abandoned house open and walking out. Mabel pauses for a moment, and hears the sound of wood cracking. Oh no.

Before she can even get her limbs to move, the wooden supports of the building collapse in on themselves, and wood and brick comes crashing down onto her. Mabel vaguely hears the panicked voice of her sister, but it’s overshadowed by the painful pressure on her entire body, minus one arm. She screams as there’s a sickening crunch of various bones.

The cat hybrid screeches as the debris shifts slightly, ending up with more burying her. She can barely breathe, hyperventilating uncontrollably and sobbing.

A hand grabs her own exposed one, trying to pull her out. Mabel screams again, panic washing over her in waves as her breathing gets shallower.

“Mabel!” Riley sobs somewhere in front of her, pressing Mabel’s hand to her face. “Oh my god, Mabel!”

In one brief moment of clarity, Mabel realizes that this is it. She’s dying, and there’s nothing she can do about it. Tears slip down her cheeks, only able to hear the sounds of her sister’s sobs and her own shallow breaths.

She closes her eyes and waits to die.

---

“-ello? ...Hello?”

A voice makes its way to Mabel’s ears. It doesn’t sound like Riley, not at all. She lets out a groan, opening her eyes and lifting her head.

There’s a black- no, very dark blue cat looking down at her. She’s in a plain white area, though the ground underneath her is solid. The cat smiles in relief. “It’s been so long since we’ve gotten a new... visitor to the Void.”

He reaches out his paw and she takes it, stumbling as she stands up. “Who... Who are you? Where are we?”

“I’m C. You’re in the Void, although...” He pauses, pursing his lips. “Do you remember anything?”

“I thought I died,” She says, gasping and looking around. “Riley? Riley?!”

C rests his paw on her shoulder. “Easy, your body is still recovering.”

Mabel stares at him with wide eyes. “I need to find my sister!”

“She’s not here, as far as I know,” C explains, voice gentle. “Can you tell me your name?”

She falls silent for a moment. She doesn’t even know where she is. “It’s- It’s M-Mable.”

“We usually take one-letter names around here,” C says, gesturing for her to follow him. “How’s M sound to you?”

“It’s... fine, I guess.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” C reassures her, though it doesn’t really work. “It took me a hell of a long time to get used to it, too.”

“How did you find me?” M asks, tail swishing behind her.

“Well, normally I’d find you while doing my daily rounds, but...”

“Why hello there, my good friend Copycat!” A creature interrupts him, someone with sharp teeth and seemingly no eyes, but with a closer look, it seems they’re just hidden.

C sighs. “Hello, F. I’m showing our new friend around, if you’ll kindly buzz off for a bit.”

F hums, floating around M and almost examining her. “Oh, now I remember!” He exclaims. “You’re that cute butterfly-cat-human-thing I found.”

“...Butterfly?” She asks, head tilted. As if on command, wings on her back flutter.

“Yeah, the Void tends to corrupt its residents,” C explains, giving her a pitying smile. “It’ll take some time to get used to. C’mon, let’s go finish the rest of our tour.”

And M follows, because... she has nowhere else to go now.

M, Mabel, Mercy, was now a resident of the void.

And as selfish as it sounds, she hopes her sister will join her.

[andr0medafallen]

Green Tea Lemonade

A/N: Republishing my old fics

Pairing: Michael Perry x reader

Warnings: Playful existentialism, hipster coffee shops, fluff, judgmental baristas, overenthusiastic pretty boy Michael Perry, Michael Perry's fat ass, light swearing

Description: Hipster Coffee shops are fun, in their own way. Still, you wouldn’t mind if a handsome music teacher came and saved you from the exposed brick and judgemental baristas.

Word Count: 1.4k

You sat in the small, hipster-ish cafe as you waited for your drink. You figured that that was the sort vibe that the exposed brick and edison light bulbs nodded to. You had ordered the barista’s suggestion when you arrived, a green iced tea lemonade because ‘if you’re gonna get an upside down caramel macchiato, at that point just get a latte, dude.’ So when you asked for suggestions because clearly you didn’t know the ins and outs of overly pretentious coffee, you had quickly agreed to the barista's first suggestion.

You were a little hesitant to be going out so soon after moving to Pittsburgh, but you figure that that’s how you make friends, right? So when you saw the flyer for the open mic night at this cafe, you figured, why not? The boxes of your belongings could wait; it was a sunny Friday afternoon and you didn’t even start your new job until Monday.

You had scribbled your name onto the list of acts at the front of the room, and had even made time to find your guitar amongst the piles of your packed belongings before you left for this thing. It felt good to be out of the house, being independent in that spontaneous ‘I do whatever I want’ kind of way, but a part of you still felt like a bit of an outsider in a new city. Which, even rationally, you were.

You sat at the table which you had claimed for yourself. Strangely, the oak table was covered in graffiti. Cartoon flowers and existentialism covered the cluttered surface of the table, but it seemed encouraged by the owners of the establishment; A cup of multicolored sharpies was sitting tantalizingly at the table. You read some of the different messages which surrounded the cool condensation of your drink. ‘I am a cage, in search of a bird. 888-447-5594.’ Kafka. Interesting choice for table graffiti. You wondered how desperate you would have to be to start using a cafe table as your own personal tinder. On a scale of ‘Mary Wollstonecraft is my favorite philosopher’ to ‘that guy in college who put sticky notes on every door in my four story apartment building with his number on them’, you would probably put it at a solid seven.

You choked a bit on your tea (lemonade) when your name was announced on the speaker system at the front of the room. Not a gross amount, just a perfectly reasonable, ‘Mary Wollstonecraft is my favorite philosopher’ amount. Probably. Was in not she who said, ‘Those who are bold enough to perform in front of a very small crowd in a cafe…must learn to brave the possibility of choking on green tea lemonade’? Still, you got your sputtering under control in record time and made your way to the front of the room, guitar in hand.

You sat on the stool at the front of the room, forgoing an introduction in what you hoped was a blasé, couldn’t give two shits type of way. In reality, it was more of a, ‘God, why did I come here again? I should not have watched Pitch Perfect on the plane’ type of way. Not that you ever thought you were better than any one or cooler than anyone or any sort of embodiment of Anna Kendrick’s performance as Beca, but you were really tired. Honestly, you didn’t even feel like you had any moral superiority over Beca from Pitch Perfect. Hell, she would probably love this venue.

You finger-picked out the first few notes of your song before finding your way into a steady strum pattern and beginning to sing the lyrics and melody. You had listened to and learned to play lots of different songs at open mic night and karaoke bars, but this one was your favorite. You’d been told that it was sad and depressing and all of those lovely adjectives in the past, but it made you feel seen. And you figured that if this was the sort of venue where people quoted Kafka in an attempt to get bitches then mildly depressing music was perfectly acceptable.

It wasn’t until you had strummed out your last note that you really gauged your pseudo-audiences reaction. For the most part it was about the same as for anyone else, which was the preferred reaction in your book. Tame applause before returning to conversations. Except for this one curly-haired son-of-a-bitch who, for reasons unknown was freaking the fuck out. We’re talking those loud finger-in-mouth whistles that Dads do at little league baseball games, rapid-fire clapping, all of the above. Which, really, was flattering, sure, but who the fuck did he think you were, Taylor Swift?

You gave the man a hesitant placating smile before packing up your Martin and returning to your seat. It was an effort to avoid unnecessary eye-contact with anyone, but a worthy cause, in your opinion. That is, until Mr. Curl-of-Hair Fat-of-Ass made his way to your table. You looked up at him over your plastic cup of cheap tea, probably fake lemons, and artificial sweetener.

“I liked your song a lot,” He told you, stupid little smirk on his face, which was somehow safely on the genuine side of the line.

You chuckled. “Yeah, clearly,” you teased. You didn’t really know why, but you nodded towards the chair across from you, giving him an opening to take a seat. That’s what this was about though, right? Making friends. Your #1 fan accepted your offer, turning the chair around and sitting on it backwards, arms resting on the backrest.

“Seriously, you’re super good! I was going to play something, but how am I supposed to follow that up?” He exclaimed, running a hand through his curls. You laughed, shaking your head. He reached out his hand to shake yours. “I’m Michael, by the way.”

Taking his hand, you offered your own name.

“I do appreciate it, the compliment,” you admitted to him. “I’m kind of the new kid in town.” You chuckled a bit, blushing at your own childish phrasing. “So I guess even ridiculously boisterous applause and enthusiasm is appreciated.”

“Can I buy you a coffee?” He asked, a bold departure from the original source material. His cheeky grin when his eyes met your still mostly full drink told you everything and nothing about his personality. Somehow he kept managing to do what you would have considered the most cocky shit on any other man without seeming one bit an arrogant asshole.

“Honestly,” you looked into those warm brown eyes, leaning forward so that your gazes were level right above the wooden table and its sharpied Kafka quote, “I don’t want to be here right now.” You whispered it to him like it was a guarded secret. Like some part of it affected the fate of the world.

He matched your gaze, pausing for a moment as if considering or analyzing you. As if making sure that it was the place, and that he wasn’t making you uncomfortable in any way. “I think we can remedy that.”

You gasped, pressing a hand against your chest as if scandalized. “I don’t know what you’re implying but–”

Michael laughed, interrupting you with, “You are crazy, you know that?” You only smiled at him. Of course you were the crazy one. Shaking his head, he suggested, “Here’s a proposal, we leave, I show you the city that you clearly don’t understand the awesomeness levels of, and I finish that tea that you don’t look like you wanted.” He got out of his seat and came around to your side of the table, offering you his hand should you agree to his plan. “It’s a win-win situation.”

You took his hand, rising to his level. “Fine. But the tea is mine.” You doinked the plastic cup against his surprisingly solid arm in a joking cheers and downed the rest of the…What would be the prestigious way to put it? Citrusy blend of organic green tea, highlighted with an ethically sourced lemonade, and made more palatable with a house-made simple syrup.

He laughed at you, leading you out of the building, hands still connected, guitar scars on your hand meeting the guitar scars on his. “Deal.”

You could faintly hear the barista say “Thank God,” as you left, and knew that it was definitely directed at the fact that the two of you were no longer in her lovely establishment.

[olddustorange]

By 1990 the physicist Petr Beckmann of the University of Colorado had already begun going after Einstein. He greatly admired Einstein for his famous equation of matter and energy, E=mc2, but called his theory of relativity mostly absurd and grotesquely untestable. Beckmann died in 1993. His Fool Killer's cudgel has been taken up by Howard Hayden of the University of Connecticut, who has many admirers among the upcoming generation of Ultimately Skeptical young physicists. The scorn the new breed heaps upon quantum mechanics ("has no real-world applications"..."depends entirely on fairies sprinkling goofball equations in your eyes"), Unified Field Theory ("Nobel worm bait"), and the Big Bang Theory ("creationism for nerds") has become withering. If only Nietzsche were alive! He would have relished every minute of it!

Recently I happened to be talking to a prominent California geologist, and she told me: "When I first went into geology, we all thought that in science you create a solid layer of findings, through experiment and careful investigation, and then you add a second layer, like a second layer of bricks, all very carefully, and so on. Occasionally some adventurous scientist stacks the bricks up in towers, and these towers turn out to be insubstantial and they get torn down, and you proceed again with the careful layers. But we now realize that the very first layers aren't even resting on solid ground. They are balanced on bubbles, on concepts that are full of air, and those bubbles are being burst today, one after the other."

I suddenly had a picture of the entire astonishing edifice collapsing and modern man plunging headlong back into the primordial ooze. He's floundering, sloshing about, gulping for air, frantically treading ooze, when he feels something huge and smooth swim beneath him and boost him up, like some almighty dolphin. He can't see it, but he's much impressed. He names it God.

From "SORRY, BUT YOUR SOUL JUST DIED."

[margridarnauds]

Unrelated to the writing asks, have you ever thought about bringing 1789 to broadway? Who would you cast? Any specific staging ideas?

God, I've thought about it so much over the years.

From this post from 2019, here was my dreamcast at the time:

After hearing Reeve Carney in Hadestown, I’m actually curious about what his Ronan would sound like, even though I think that I would never be fully over “OH MY GOD, RONAN’S SPIDERMAN.” But Reeve Carney has the chaotic twink vibes that I feel like Ronan needs. I still feel like he needs more GREMLIN, but I can’t think of anyone who could really give me the gremlin vibes I NEED. I don’t know, I don’t follow Broadway all that much these days since I switched to Toho/Zuka/French musicals. Lazare (1) For a Toho-esque Lazare, I really, really like Norm Lewis as a possibility. I think that he could NAIL Lazare, and he’s already played Chauvelin and Javert, so it’s like…the Trio must be completed. He has the voice, he HAS the stage presence, and he does a PHENOMENAL job at playing authoritarian assholes who nonetheless remain nuanced. Any racists who want to argue about plausibility can and will have a brick-length biography on the Chevalier Saint Georges *delicately* applied to the back of the head. (2) Ramin Karimloo, for a more Carnot-esque bent. Look…I KNOW, I KNOW that he tends to be in everyone’s Top 10 Fancasts For Everything, but…I DO think that he has the voice for Lazare, he has the stage presence, and he has the fanbase. My only concern is whether or not he’d bend my son a little too much towards the dark side. (3), which is obviously dead serious, Patti Lupone. Because she would be TERRIFYING. Marie Antoinette - SPEAKING OF EVERYONE’S MOST OVERUSED OPTIONS, I genuinely do think that Sierra Boggess could do a good job. Look, her enunciation sometimes bugs me and I’m not going to pretend that she’s my ULTIMATE FAVORITE CHRISTINE EVER, but she has a fun, sparky attitude, with the range to also do Antoinette’s more somber moments, she has a high enough range that I wouldn’t be TERRIFIED of her high notes (not to name names, but…you know who), and I just genuinely think she would have a fun time in the role. Olympe - Eva Noblezada Solène -Mandy Gonzales. Artois - Josh Young

And I'll add, since I've thought about this more over the years:

Camille Desmoulins - Derek Klena

Lucile - Philippa Soo

Artois - Tam Mutu

Danton - Josh Young

Robespierre - Aaron Tveit

I would follow the Toho production more than the French -- We want something that feels contemporary and modern, but that isn't too abstract, with a solid 2 act structure. French musicals can be a tough sell to American audiences and I refuse to explain the apocalyptic furry tea party sex nightmare. I honestly think that this would be the perfect time for 1789, just because a lot of things that it was doing 10 years ago are now popular courtesy of Hamilton. I've seen a lot of people, even in French reviews of it, call Molière l'Opera Urbain "French Hamilton" and I'm here like "Okay, clearly they did take inspiration, you can see that from the logo, I'm not saying they didn't, but also, French musical theatre did Hamilton before Hamilton. We're seeing American influences strengthening a pre-existing French framework."

The dancing can stay the same, the overall style can say the same, I would probably borrow and refresh the costuming ideas from the French, making a style that keeps the silhouettes from the time period while also modernizing them and giving them a sleek, luxurious feel. Silks and satins for Olympe and Marie Antoinette, Robespierre can keep his black velvet coat and his red and black color scheme.

We're living in the age of projectors in musicals -- I think we could do more with that. I'd love to see a creative combination of physical staging and projectors to really highlight the extreme highs and lows of France at the edge of Revolution.

My gold standard doesn't actually come from either France, Japan, or America, but from Russia, with the staging of the Anna Karenina musical. (The entire musical just. Looks like this. Legitimately one of the most gorgeous stages and blocking I've ever seen in a musical *anywhere*)

We know that in my ideal world, I would pay Attia and Chouet a hundred million dollars or something so I could totally rewrite 1789 and make Peyronan canon, but since I CAN'T do that, there are a couple of things I would fiddle around with lightly, such as emphasizing the close relationship that Ronan and Solène had before everything went to shit and giving Solène and Olympe the stage together during Pour la Peine. Something that was done really well in a bootleg Japanese production I have was that they did have Lazare getting wounded during the Storming of the Bastille, with Ronan giving Solène the choice on whether to kill him or not. I would cut out the plotline to both Japanese productions on Solène becoming a Respectable Woman and let her stay as a sex worker.

Something potentially controversial, and that I'm not even sold about, is minimizing the historical figures -- it isn't that I don't like them, it's that (1) They create a lot of clutter and (2) They will not mean as much to an American audience. To a Japanese audience who are used to Rose of Versailles (and to an audience of Japanese musical theatre fans, who might have watched the Takarazuka Robespierre musical, Azure Moment, the Scarlet Pimpernel, The Poem of Love and Revolution, and Marie Antoinette) they are already familiar with Robespierre, Danton, and Desmoulins. They are Standard French Revolution Figures, we expect to see them.

...for an American audience? It isn't like I think that they're DUMB, but I'm saying that 1789 would face the same issues that Elisabeth would face on an American stage -- trying to make this part of history that Americans do not know all that much about, that isn't really part of our national identity, and to make it appealing and fun. That's a tall order. There's a reason I always said Rebecca had the best chance of being adapted of all the Kunze and Levay musicals (though maybe Lady Bess, especially on the West End), and it's because it's an adaptation of a book that is required reading for a lot of students. (It also isn't lost on me that it feels like this is only an issue. With American audiences.)

...I don't want to cut any of the three of them, not really. I love Au Palais Royal, I love A Quoi Tu Dans, I love the original staging for Ca Ira Mon Amour, but I feel like Danton is kind of the most expendable of the main cast. He can be cut, while Papa du Puget's role can be slightly emphasized more, both to emphasize Olympe's family life and to shed a little light on what the politics of the Bastille were like, since he was a very interesting man who was involved in a lot. Make Necker a ghost character who's mentioned but not seen. Cut Antoinette's love affair with Fersen, possibly give "Le Temps s'en Va" back to Ronan and Olympe, making it a sort of love at first sight situation before shit hits the fan. Tie the show's two villains, Lazare and Artois, closer together so it doesn't feel like two messy plots.

They're painful changes to make, I'm not sold on them (except for cutting Fersen), but I think they might create a slightly stronger show. In the absence of the audience being really familiar with the show, we have to settle for creating sympathetic, likeable leads and a strong love plot. If we don't have that, the show flops.

[voraciousvore]

Boarding School for Giants (13/25)

------ Chapter 13 ------

The kitchen was noisy, hot, and chaotic. The waitress took all the dirty dishes she had brought and dumped them in a giant sink full of soapy water. I was plunged underwater and flailed to reach air, banging my limbs on silverware as I swam. I breached the surface, gasping for breath, and tried to climb out of the sink, but the metal walls were too high and slippery. Nobody could hear my sputtering cries for help among the clattering of pots and pans and other normal loud kitchen sounds. I treaded water over to a stack of wet plates and struggled to climb up, but kept sliding down the slick surfaces. My eyes were stinging from the soap and syrup. 

Finally, after a whole lot of effort and trouble, I made it high enough up the stack to reach the edge of the sink. I crawled out of the sink and stumbled away from the edge, wary of falling in again. My eyes were inflamed with soap, so I rubbed my eyes with my forearm, but I only succeeded in blinding myself with more soap. I stepped forward, unable to see, trying to clear my vision and coughing up sudsy sink water. I tripped over something, a solid protrusion of some sort, and fell onto a cold, hard surface with a clatter. Before I could get up, something soft but hot and heavy collapsed on top of me. 

For a second, I thought I had been crushed, but whatever it was didn’t kill me. I couldn’t lift it, however. I could barely breathe or move with the heavy mass pressing me down. I pushed up against the spongy surface. It was unpleasantly hot. I could smell pancakes. Pancakes? The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I was trapped under a stack of giant pancakes. The cold surface underneath me was a plate. Oh God, I was in someone’s breakfast.

“Order up!” a giant voice called out. The plate was lifted high into the air. I could feel the rhythm of the waitress’s long strides as she hustled over to a customer’s table. I had to stop her, somehow. 

“Stop! Help! I’m in here!” I rasped. Besides the fact that my lungs were being squished, my pleas for aid were muffled by the fluffy pancakes weighing me down. I tried to move, but I was stuck in place, like a fly in a spiderweb. 

“Here you go,” the waitress said, placing the plate on a table. My stomach did a flip. 

“Thanks,” a deep giant voice replied, sounding uncomfortably close. My heart was pounding hard. I heard the metallic scraping of a monstrous fork on the plate. From far away, among the usual sounds of the diner, I heard Joey calling my name, searching for me. He sounded concerned. 

“Joey!” I cried pathetically. “Joey!” It would be impossible for him to hear my plaintive wails from so far away, or for anyone else to hear me for that matter. I started to panic, my breath coming out in ragged gasps. I struggled harder against the weight holding me down, but my limbs were pinned. The scraping of the fork was getting closer. I saw its huge metal splines slice down through the pancake around me, just missing my left arm. One wrong move and it could tear me into pieces. The fork cut through the pancake in front of my face, by some miracle just missing me again. The mass pressing me down was getting lighter as chunks of the pancake disappeared off the plate. 

My legs were still stuck, but I could move my arms a bit, if I exerted considerable effort. With as much force as I could muster, I tried to drag myself out. I made some progress, managing to free one of my hands. My grip on the plate slipped as I became sticky with fresh syrup. I could see light, and strained to reach it, my head emerging from the doughy mass. My hopes were dashed when, to my horror, the fork slid underneath my body and I was raised into the air, still buried under a mound of food and unable to escape. 

Oh no. Oh no! If I didn’t do something fast, I was going to get eaten again, and there was no saving me this time. My worst nightmare was unfolding into reality. The giant holding the fork raised me up to his mouth, and his lips parted, revealing the deep, dark, wet cave within. The fork moved inside, the rows of ivory teeth advancing open to receive me. It was now or never. 

“JOEY!! HELP ME!!” I screamed as loud as I possibly could, my voice a shrill shriek echoing in the fleshy darkness around me. The fork halted. The massive jaws, which had started to close around me, sprung open, and the meaty tongue retreated further inside as if stung. I reemerged from certain death back into the light. A pair of giant, narrowed eyes regarded the fork for a moment, trying to see what the hell had made such a racket. 

“Waitress!” the giant bellowed in disgust. “There’s a human in my food!” He dropped the fork with indignation onto his plate, causing my ribcage to bang against the metal teeth of the fork. The bite of pancake holding me down was dislodged, and I collapsed onto the plate, panting heavily. The waitress and a few others rushed over, and before I knew it the table was encompassed by giants. I was too stunned to move. 

A pair of hands snatched me up before I could react. “Sorry about that!” a familiar voice yelled, vibrating through the flesh against my body. I realized that Joey had grabbed me and was clutching me defensively against his chest. His enormous heart was beating as rapidly as mine. He moved fast, carrying me off somewhere secluded. I heard a door swing open and closed, and the uproar in the diner was cut off, leaving us in a much quieter space, which I recognized as a bathroom. Joey’s hands parted, and I found myself sitting in his cupped palm, staring at his gargantuan face distorted into frantic concern. 

“Are you alright? I’m so sorry for leaving you alone like that, I didn’t anticipate any problems…” he sputtered out, clearly stressed. 

“I’m okay, it’s okay Joey,” I answered shakily. I was still severely unsettled by what had transpired. I was quivering intensely, my eyes leaking tears I hadn’t realized were there until I felt them rolling down my cheeks. “I can’t believe that just happened,” I stated, more to myself than to Joey. 

“I know! That was insane! You were almost eaten!” Joey exclaimed. “I was so worried, I came back from the bathroom and you were gone, and I didn’t know where you went, I was looking everywhere…” He started to tear up a bit as he kept regurgitating words. “…And then I heard you screaming, I thought something horrible happened to you…” He trailed off. “Thank goodness you’re okay.” He pulled me into a hug, tucking me against his chest again, not caring that I was sticky with syrup. I hugged him back, letting out a sigh of relief that I was alive. 

“How did you end up way over there on another table?” he asked. I told him the whole story, not sparing any details. “How dreadful,” he murmured. “Here, let me wash off some of that syrup.” He helped clean me off as best he could in the bathroom sink, then dried me off in the automatic hand dryer, which was extremely loud and hurt my ears. At least I was cleaner and less sticky than before, and my eyes weren’t as irritated. 

“Thank you for everything, Joey,” I said quietly. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.” He coiled his fingers around me protectively, and I curled up in his hand, feeling much safer with him around. 

We exited the bathroom, and made our way to the front door of the diner. However, we were intercepted by the restaurant manager, a large portly fellow with a receding hairline and a bushy mustache. He was fuming, his face ruddy and sweaty as he jabbed a fat stubby finger into Joey’s chest. 

“I had to comp that meal that you and your filthy little human ruined! I don’t want to see you bringing in another human here ever again! They’re a waste of space, those revolting slimy little worms!” he ranted angrily, froth gathering at the edges of his rubbery lips. I shrank back in Joey’s hand, hiding behind the wall of his fingers from the furious giant. 

What happened next was hardly what I expected. I figured Joey—a shy, sweet, unassuming, nerdy boy—would attempt to avoid a confrontation, mutter some sort of apology, and sidestep the manager to get out without making a scene. Instead, he bristled and stood his ground. 

“What happened wasn’t her fault!” he yelled back in my defense. I looked up at him in shock at his outburst. His brows were folded down in anger and he gritted his teeth. “She’s a customer like any other and deserves to be treated with basic respect and dignity! What happened to her was unacceptable! Your employees should have been more careful and considerate of her safety!” The manager was taken aback by his vigorous response; apparently, he was not expecting any pushback either. Several customers stared at us as we disrupted the atmosphere of the diner, which did not go unnoticed by the manager. 

“I won’t be coming back to this shoddy establishment!” he continued. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he directed to me in a far gentler tone. He stormed out of the diner, slamming the glass door behind him, and marched down the street. 

I had to admit, I was both bewildered and impressed. I looked up at Joey again. His eyes, usually soft like melted chocolate behind his glasses, were hardened with righteous wrath, and his jaw was stiff. 

“Where did that come from?” I asked him. 

“I just… hate people like that, who beat down people who can’t defend themselves,” Joey stated with passion. “It’s all too common in this world, and I refuse to stand by and do nothing when I see it.” I had to admire his resolve. I didn’t really know what to say next, so I stayed quiet, reflecting on his words. 

His eyes softened as he looked down at me sitting in his hand. “I guess you probably want to go home now, huh?” I sighed. Yes, I wanted to go home. Not back to the human dorm at the boarding school, but my real home. On the human side of the wall, with my mother, even if she didn’t always want me around. Thinking of her reminded me of the plan I had brewing in my mind. 

“Not yet,” I replied with determination. “There’s something I need to get first, but I’ll need your help. I don’t have any giant money to buy anything.” 

“I don’t mind spotting you, as long as it’s nothing too expensive,” Joey said with a grin. “But in exchange, you’ll have to go out with me again. Sound good?” 

“Of course!” I replied enthusiastically. 

“So what is it you need?” 

“Is there a place around here that sells fishing gear?”

Next chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/voraciousvore/731606078214848512/boarding-school-for-giants-1425?source=share

1st chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/voraciousvore/731600430392639488/boarding-school-for-giants-125?source=share