#greyrocks

[opossumpal]

It’s interesting how Victor Fries is often said to be low empathy but there are a lot of moments that directly contradict that

[schizononagesimus]

every time some relative tells me that i shouldnt be gay because god said no and that they "hate the sin love the sinner", a friend will ask if im okay. and the answer is probably no and i'll process it later, but i'll be damned if on the surface correcting these bitches' bible quotes and telling them im not in the business of sainthood aint one of the best feelings on the planet.

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

hey buddy if you're gonna turn the country into a reality show could you get less predictable writers

[howlsofbloodhounds]

You know how i said nightmare can copy the noises of baby animals and stuff

Do you think after he best the fuck out of killers cats and made him get rid of them he sometimes copies their meowing and purrs just to fuck with him

My genuine reaction to reading this.

I can picture him trying to do this, but the second Killer catches on, he stops reacting completely. Goes blank, as if he didn’t hear a thing, and blatantly refuses to give any response or reaction—because that’s what Nightmare’s looking for here.

And he won’t give him that power. It’s actually really easy to stop caring and disengage—eventually Nightmare may find it boring enough to move on to something new or leave him alone temporarily.

So basically: Killer knows how to greyrock, and he does it well. Of course, it’d be a significant struggle to try and do this in Stage 1 and Stage 3 is just more likely to lash out in response to stress or any perceived threat, but if he’s in Stage 2–piece of cake.

{ @brokenramunebottle }

[kittyit]

How do you combat the anger? I know it's not fair but at times i feel angrier towards transwomen than towards non-trans men, just because their infiltration and control feels even more insidious and selfish. I have real compassion for people who transition in part due to homophobia but most of the out trans women I meet in my circle are straight and I can't help but greyrock them. It feels unfair to feel even angrier at a small minority but I guess it's the claustrophobia of it.

there was no need to apologize for this ask in your next one :) you're being quite hard on yourself for your feelings, which is basically convicting yourself of thought crimes. it's not a crime to feel angry. it sounds like you have great insight on where some of this anger might be unreasonable if you applied it to your overall worldview, took actions based on it, or formed opinions that didn't account for the nuances of the actual situation. but the anger itself doesn't need to be combatted. it's okay to be angry, and there's a lot to be angry about. you also don't need to not be angry at agps and i think it's a great instinct to shut them out in an easy and neutral way. it is claustrophobic, they are inherently sexist at baseline, and many of them go much further than just the inherent sexism of a man identifying as a woman in their behavior and treatment of women. so basically you're not doing anything wrong by having feelings, you're not doing anything wrong by withdrawing your energy for men who are inherently disrespecting your personhood and sex as a class, and you don't have to apologize for reaching out when you're feeling bad and wanting a kind word

[complaineys]

i think velrisa greyrock bit people as a kid. like not in the cutesy lilo and stitch playfighting way or in a glamorizing way- i think she lost her first tooth in a fight. and i think she lost that fight, i think she never stood a chance in it- she was a little girl branded a monster and therefore a heretic. and i think when she peeled herself out of the afterforge dirt and came home, she didn’t tell ander who did it, no matter how much he asked. i think she woke up the next morning to the sharp point of a fang growing out of the hole where her incisor once was. i think velrisa greyrock, disowned by the age of five, woke up with a black eye and scraped knees; and i think she must have known her fangs were her goddess saying get up, my champion.

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Meghan pr released that the BRF WOULD tell her happy birthday officially on social media. What happened next? Greyrock..! by u/Ruth_Lily

Meghan pr released that the BRF WOULD tell her happy birthday officially on social media. What happened next? Greyrock……..! Poor Meghan. She only communicates by pr releasing to the tabloids…And the BRF wants nothing to do with her nor Harryhttps://https://ift.tt/Pn5OiCN archivehttps://archive.ph/0g4Bx post link: https://ift.tt/NZafFbw author: Ruth_Lily submitted: August 05, 2024 at 05:43PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[beautysurvives]

heeeeere’s an excerpt from the AU fic I’m working on

approx 2k words, destiel, tw homophobia, tw child abuse and implied SA

Men who worked the front desk in motels were not prison guards, though there was some overlap between the two. This one, at least, was amenable to Dean’s charms.

A different guy from the one who’d checked him in, this man, Dean noticed, had no name tag anywhere on him, and didn’t say much in the way of introductions. But when Dean admitted, sheepishly, that he had no money for food, he said, “Come with me,” and beckoned him to a back room.

Dean’s instincts told him not to trust it, but the gnawing pit in his stomach said otherwise. There were mysteries to solve and plans to make urgently — first and foremost, the plan to get himself to South Dakota — but Dean couldn’t think of much on an empty stomach. The sun was going down, and he hadn’t had so much as a drop of water all day. His head was killing him.

It was a break room, with a tiny kitchen area and a mini fridge. The guy pulled out a bottled water and tossed it to Dean, who mumbled his thanks before gulping it down.

As he finished it off, he watched the blue eyed man grab a paper bag off the counter. He pulled out a foil wrapped something that looked suspiciously like a burger and held it out without a word.

“Oh, wow. Really?” Dean had to ask.

“I picked it up earlier,” he explained, in a low, full voice that Dean was beginning to notice didn’t suit him at all. Too heavy. All his words, deliberate, slow and straining. Like they were trying him on, and he was two sizes too small. “But I’m not so hungry anymore. You go ahead.”

Dean didn’t need to be told twice.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he began once he was down to his last bite, too starved for too long to care what he looked like, or that the man was staring, “but are you gonna get in trouble for, y’know, deserting your post? I don’t wanna—”

“It’s fine.”

Not very talkative. Not very socially graceful either.

But… cute. Harmless looking enough.

Dean was getting soft — he blamed it on the hunger and the newness and the elation of being free.

He laughed nervously, crumpling the wrapper into a ball. “Uh… I guess — not super busy in here today, huh?” He tossed the ball from one hand to another.

There had been cute guys in Greyrock.

Before Greyrock too.

But prison was prison, and life before that was…

Well.

Nothing gold can stay.

At least, that’s how it used to be. Maybe the world had changed in four months. Maybe only Dean.

But this guy was still staring, not answering, and it made Dean feel… queasy. With his hunger quieted, he could hear both his instinct and his rational mind telling him to get away while he still could.

Still, this gesture, sharing food, inviting him into a private room, seemed more than calculated. It was almost naive. Maybe even kind — and not in the way of most people Dean had encountered on the road.

Where was the ulterior motive? Where was the line between useful and exploited?

“You wouldn’t happen to have a phone I could borrow, would you?”

He didn’t. The home phone in the lobby was broken — hence the lack of business — and apparently he didn’t have a cell.

But he did know of a pay phone, no more than a five minute drive from the motel.

“I can take you there,” he said. “In the morning.” It wasn’t an offer. He wasn’t giving Dean a choice.

That night, Dean had vivid dreams. Even while in lockdown, there had been stimulation enough in his waking hours that he could sleep like the dead. When he did sleep, that is.

But here in this motel in Illinois, his subconscious mind was a shifting mass of apocalyptic nightmares: monsters and demons, civilization collapsing in a thousand different ways over and over, all of it converging on a pair of blue eyes and a faded yellow sedan. Hands holding out a meal.

Was that all it took?

*************************************************

“This is you?” Dean asked incredulously.

The man — Dean still hadn’t asked for his name — couldn’t bring himself to — glanced up as he opened the car door. There was something sarcastic in the look that made Dean laugh with triumph. It was the first glimmer of a personality he’d seen — dude might as well have started doing cartwheels in the parking lot. Dean would’ve been just as amazed.

“Uhh… No,” he answered distractedly. “I’m me. This is just my car.”

Dean wanted to roll his eyes, but stopped himself, and instead gave in to his second most impulsive thought. “You got a kid?”

“No.”

But the blanket with the stars on it was still in the trunk, poking its head out at them. Dean even went to the trouble of looking back, to show that he’d seen it. But the man with the blue eyes wasn’t even paying attention. He was fumbling with the key —

“You sure this thing is yours?”

It rumbled to life. As the man pulled his right hand back from the ignition, Dean noticed, again, the hand resting on the steering wheel. The untanned skin on his left ring finger. He’d first seen it over breakfast — Dean had come straight down after showering, and found an omelet and a bowl of cereal waiting for him — but didn’t want to say anything. Mentioning it was too much like learning the guy’s name. It would have made things personal, which would have made it harder to run.

“I am.”

This time, Dean did roll his eyes. Clearly, the guy didn’t want to talk to him.

So what, Dean wondered again, staring out the window at the other cars (which he was beginning to suspect had no drivers), could he possibly want from me? If it was just about sex — if the guy was even interested in men — then he didn’t have to do all of this to get it. Dean thought about offering, just to make it less awkward, but that would have been too painful.

In prison, there was a script for that sort of thing. In the real world too. Things that couldn’t be said out loud didn’t have to be.

Anyway, most people had always just assumed that Dean wanted it.

A lot of the time, they were right.

Dean almost said something. But then the man added, uncomfortably, as though the extra effort it took was causing him physical pain, “I don’t do a lot of driving myself. I usually am the one getting, uh, driven.”

“Oh,” Dean was taken aback. Not that it was weird — it reminded him of Sam — but it made the whole situation make even less sense. He had so confidently offered before, like it was the most natural, easy thing in the world, and nowhere near an inconvenience.

But now here he was, endearingly frightened at the prospect of movement.

“Well… uh… I like to drive?”

It took only a few moments of silence for the guy to agree. When he did, it was with a single nod. Then he was out the door, walking around to open Dean’s for him. It was almost gentlemanly, and Dean almost said so as they passed each other by.

He seemed comfortable in the passenger seat, giving directions, which automatically made Dean more at ease. Now the silence was companionable, the radio tuned to the classic rock station, playing in the background but not intruding.

“A lot of trust you’re putting in me, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Letting me drive your car. Being so nice to me. Again not complaining… Well, I guess I am. I just don’t get it, man. I mean, I could be anybody.”

“Well, I already know who you are.”

What?

“Oh really?” He tried to keep the strain out of his voice. “And who’s that?”

“Dean Winchester.”

He hoped the guy didn’t notice his gasp. Tried to convince himself that he hadn’t noticed it either. “That supposed to impress me? I gave my name when I–”

“John Winchester’s son.”

*************************************************

There were only two people to call. Richie from

Brooklyn was dead. Lee was probably dead. Deacon, nice as he was, couldn’t be trusted. Lisa didn’t deserve it. And Cassie was better off believing Dean was still in jail.

Sam’s number had been disconnected. So Dean gave the machine another one of blue eyes’ coins.

“Yeah?” Bobby picked up on the second ring.

“Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

God. It was good to hear his voice. “It’s me.”

“Who’s ‘me’?”

Did Dean really sound so different after just four months?

“Dean.”

The old man answered with a single click.

Alright, fair.

Dean glanced over guiltily at the blue eyed man, who apparently didn’t mind wasting his money along with his time. He was resting on the hood of the car, looking like it was yet another thing he was just trying out. Hunched, and as eerily still as he always was.

This time, Bobby was even quicker. Dean could picture him, picking up the landline like he was drawing a pistol. “Who is this?” Like it was a duel.

“Bobby, listen to me–”

“This ain't funny. Call again, I'll kill ya.”

*************************************************

“So our names are in the papers?” Dean more assumed than asked, as he sauntered back to the car, to the man he was suddenly determined to fuck.

He shook his head, looking at the clouds. “Internet. You know what that is don’t you?”

Dean scoffed. “I was locked up for four months, not forty years.” Still don’t know why I’m here, but that’s a story for another time, in another state, with someone who isn’t you.

“You and your family aren’t famous, if that’s what you’re wondering. Only to people who take an interest.”

“Oh. Is that your way of saying you’re interested in me?”

His eyes narrowed just a bit. Maybe he was finally catching up. Maybe the thought of being hit on made him angry. Maybe he’d hit Dean. Then Dean would hit him back. Then he wouldn’t have to ask for the car.

“I suppose. I can’t think of many people who wouldn’t find you interesting.”

Oh. “What is it that you’re looking for, hm?” Dean was leaning on one arm, intentionally invading his space. “You’re not some kind of killer who kills killers, are you?” Dean was. “Like Dexter?”

“No.” He took too long to answer. “And I don’t know who that is.”

“So what? You got a name?”

He didn’t answer. Dean wanted his next question to be, Are you married?

“Do you even really work at that motel?”

He looked at the clouds.

“So what are you really? A badge? CIA, NSA, FBI? Or just some whacked out journalist looking for your big break?” Dean’s last girlfriend had been a journalist. Always digging for the truth. Never happy once she got it. Especially not when it was given freely.

But this guy had barely any curiosity in him. Acted like he already knew everything he needed to know.

“…Are you the reason I’m out?”

“If I was, do you think I’d be allowed to tell you?”

So he was. That changed everything.

“Did they arrest my brother?” Dean asked.

Now, those eyes were locked on him. “Your brother is fine.”

Fine. Not free. “Well people like me don’t just get pulled out at random. I know there’s a catch. What’s the plan, huh? Let me stew, let the not knowing drive me crazy so you can swoop in and—”

“Don’t ask so many questions, Dean. You should enjoy your freedom.”

“While it lasts?”

He went back to his quiet, eerie self.

Dean missed the guy who was scared of driving.

“So you’re married.”

“No,” he answered too quickly.

Dean smirked. “So what’s with this?” He took his hand — the guy let him take his hand — and ran his finger along the mark.

“What are you doing?” Now, he looked terrified. Eyes wide. Apparently in awe at the way Dean played with his fingers, laced them through his own.

“Dean,” he warned. “I’m not even supposed to be talking to you right now.”

“Fine. Don’t talk to me. Just… I need to get to my family. I need to let them know I’m okay.”

*************************************************

Seducing monsters was easy. Dean knew the game by heart.

The first time John ever took him out on a hunt came shortly after that woman broke in and tried to take Sam. Dean would never forget the way he froze, his finger turned to stone over the trigger. The shotgun in his arms felt just like holding Sam when he cried; it made him think of his mother.

John arrived home just in time to see him like that, about to let his youngest son be taken.

He ripped the gun from Dean’s arms and shot the old lady dead.

Which meant no paycheck for John, and that they’d have to run again.

The truck stop hunt was just a month later. Pastor Jim promised to watch Sam for the week.

John made Dean wait outside a bar while he interviewed some locals, and when he came out he found Dean with a tall, beautiful blonde woman, who was handing him a Snickers, telling him her name, saying she’d keep him company until his dad returned.

In the car on the way to the truck stop, John asked him if he knew what it was he’d just spoken to. Asked him if he knew what a faggot was (all Dean knew was it was about the worst thing you could call someone). Told him things like that were the reason his mother couldn’t be with them.

Dean said, “You said monsters took her.”

“They did.”

John asked him if he was a faggot. Told him if he was, it meant he’d become one of the things they hunted. Told him that meant he’d either end up in prison or face down in a ditch. Told him a fag can turn you into one if you ain’t one already, and the only way to inoculate yourself is by being strong.

Most people weren’t, which was why most people needed sheltering. It was why there were gated communities and cul de sacs and houses like the one they used to have, where you waited thirty minutes for the firemen to arrive and save your mother, who by then was already long gone.

John said it was understandable that Dean had slipped and trusted someone he shouldn't have. He was, after all, just a kid. But he couldn’t afford to be. Sammy couldn’t afford it — because without Dean around, who would take care of him when John was gone?

John said, “The thing we’re hunting today likes little boys who look a lot like you.”

John thought seeing firsthand how bad they were would make Dean pick a side.

John hoped Dean would choose humanity.

*************************************************

Castiel couldn’t look at him. Anyone with eyes could see where Dean was trying to lead them.

So Castiel didn’t look.

“I’m not about to… trade this car for your body, Dean.”

“Why not?”

[pdrrook]

What if during ROs love confessions to MC, MC just sort of greyrocked them? Like 'Mmhh...anyways-' and went back to talking to whatever they were before? And later it turns out that MC thought they were being mean-spirited and asking them out as a joke, which is why they reacted like that? Maybe MC just has been burnt like this in the past many times 🤷‍♀️

Jewel would take it as a rejection and would never bring it up again, even if she had an inkling that MC didn’t mean it. She’d think about it all the time, though, entertaining all the reasons as to why MC did what they did

Reed, since they know each other like forever, would know if MC had a situation like this in the past, but he’s also stupid when his feelings are concerned so he’d take it as a ‘no,’ too, and he’d be glad to see MC is acting normal afterward, bc at least they can return to the status quo and act like they did before (he also thinks MC already knows he’s into them, so nothing much would change)

Laurent would be so confused, but he’d assume he misunderstood something and his confession must have inconvenienced MC in some way, so he’d keep it to himself from there on out

Nino would ignore & avoid MC afterwards, bc it’d cost her a LOT to be/act vulnerable, and if MC just brushed it off, she’d be super ashamed and super gutted

Flavio’d be like ‘fair enough,’ bc he knowssss it’s a stupid idea to confess so just it serves him right for taking the plunge

Alan, kinda depends on the confession and circumstances, bc he could be just pikatchu face and try again, or he’d be hurt like Nino, and react similarly to her

[sha-brytols]

it's crazy how racist the da fandom is cause davrin engages with rook from the get go if you flirt with him, he's so charming and responsive and yet he's ignored while lucanis who barely reacts to the romance dialogue for like 70% of the game is the fandom fave? aight lmao

I'M SAYING LIKE 😭 ARE YOU KIDDING THIS IS ONE OF MAYBE LIKE 2 CHARACTERS MAX THAT DOESNT JUST GREYROCK YOU EVERYTIME YOU HIT ON HIM HE'S THE ONLY ONE WHO ACTIVELY SHOWS INTEREST IN THE LOCK-IN SCENES HIS PICKUP LINES ARE LIKE 60% TASTEFULLY COY INNUENDOS I THOUGHT YALL WANTED SPICE‼️

[changelingsandothernonsense]

.

Ramblings about mental health. Feel free to skip.

It's insane how little I allow myself to talk about myself and my interests irl. I think it's because I've always been made to feel bad/evil/selfish/sociopathic for wanting to share the things that bring me joy.

I love music and concerts but people in my life legitimately think I don’t listen to music. I love painting but most people are surprised I can draw. I never under any circumstances talk about my love of history with people irl because the second I do, I get the most negative reaction imaginable.

I've gotten so good at hiding myself that no one in my life can name a single thing I like. When asked what I do like, I greyrock and parrot their own interests back to them. This satisfies most people because they love hearing about themselves, and it means they stop paying attention to me. It gives them less of a reason to hurt me.

Hiding myself full-time is exhausting, and is why I'm so severely burnt out, but I know deep down it's just not safe to be myself around others. I just can't trust others with who I am at all. This is not from paranoia, this is from severe physical, sexual and psychological abuse that has shaped how I interact with others.

I use tumblr because it's pretty much the only place where I'm not being made to feel guilty about breathing everyone else's oxygen. Yet I'm still anxious every time I think about posting stuff to do with my fic because who tf wants to hear about that? Truly? Idk I'm barely human at this point anyway.

[sahara-solaris-solace]

Analysis ( Spin off Rookie Season Epsiode 11: Iron Tanker ) RANT!!!!!!

This is ONE of the reason I consider the rookie season is bunkers!

Twisting Tiger, North Shaw and Big Bo are total assholes!!!!

Now, I am not the type of person that expects someone to be a ‘holier than thou’ attitude. Even I will be cringe out but damn, they made these three so damn unlikable!!

Twisting Tiger is supposed to be wiser! Yes, he made a valid point not to show aggression by not bringing up the spy episode but he supposed to know Skarra screams red flag instead of blaming Shakes for luring him to the tank!

Big Bo with his pretentious noble attitude. He guilt trip Shakes and gaslight him from the Hydra episode ( Still Rookie Episode ) about letting go and treat Shakes like he’s the damn instigator!!!

I hate how they make it as thought Shakes was a sinner by him recalling Big Bo��s gaslights ( not advice ) about his hatred for Skarra!

North Shaw, yeah, he’s kind of an asshole at times so I didn’t expect him that much but still he’s a Supa Strikas, who preached about brotherhood but now, yeah, look sus.

Wanna know something?? I expect these reactions from Cool Joe and El Matador! But from the last few episodes, they treat Shakes much tamer and formed much healthier bond with Shakes!

Automatic, yeahhh screw him. Sure it sucks that Supa Strikas Higher Ups considered replacing him but he treat like Shakes have a say in it. He’s a total asshole but I will greyrock him because we ALL EXPECT him to treat Shakes like shit but not these three!

I gotta say, Shakes is much forgiving than I will give credit but if it were to really happen to any complex and flaw individual, they will reconsider rejoining next season or just straight out analyzing who you like or you least like.

[dexalyys]

Hey! anon who kept asking about the askpsf blog now back with a actual lore question!!!😎

Since Willows been described as violate and would probably fight ya if ya said anything remotely hinting at a possibility that she isnt as good as he claims to be- would she ever actually get aggressive with sharkie if they said anything like that to her face or would he just like.. Ignore them or smth like that???🤔

oooohhhohohoo good question! i’ve actually thought about this scenario before—considering they do have an argument in the planned script—and i figured there’s actually a lot of different ways that it could go:

A) will brushes off the claim entirely and makes it out like sharkie is overreacting or saying things just to upset her and that they’re in the wrong for doing that

B) she becomes paranoid that they’re going to hurt her and either physically cowers by making herself look smaller than them (if in public) or stands on her tiptoes to tower over them with her shoulders raised like a cat fluffing itself up. she does this to other people too and it looks really fucking funny in a pathetic way from a distance. she yells back a lot but doesn’t act physically

C) if sharkie threw a punch, he would probably only scratch them or pull their hair/clothes in defence. he can’t bring himself to do anything more than that. this isn’t a sharkie-specific thing either, will is just a coward

D) greyrocking. lune just doesn’t react to them other than to insinuate that they’re making themself look crazy until they give up

tldr; she’d most likely ignore them, but otherwise she’s too much of a pussy to retaliate. he’s a more verbal kind of guy anyway. lots of yelling and empty threats

[the-smallest-star]

@avispatr continued x

Patch's tail flicked as he listened, it did sound like a difficult task... but Gritt had chosen his brother for a reason. Patch didn't roll over. "I maaaaay have insulted someone's coat saying they should get a refund, after they called me a beast and dirty, and said the coat was worth several of my generations lives. I'll try greyrocking in future."

"Guess... I have at least one Goetia whos willing to work with me." Paimon, while an ass given their previous conversations... was giving him a shot. "I'm gonna be honest, I don't know what to make of you. But you care about Lucifer, and his family. You also care about keeping Hell safe... we might not see eye to eye on a lot of stuff, but I'm going to need yours and Lucifer's help to make some of my ideas workable. And alongside Lucifer, it was your idea too to give me this position."

Vine did ask him to be careful though, and he'd keep that in mind. "Gritt always said I was the more likeable of the two of us, I'll see what I can do. If... I need more advice, am I alright on coming to you?"

[brushingmyhair]

some of my open tabs right now: jeweler’s academy youtube page with detailed videos on making gold and silver jewelry, random website with harps for sale, ceramics studio website, glass chain link earrings from Etsy, 15 strategies for overcoming procrastination (an article I’ve had open for months and never read), “true grapefruit” webpage for these grapefruit flavoring packets made with grapefruit juice and oils that you can just add to any drink, three knitting patterns, website selling wool wash, Mrs meters tomato vine hand soap bundle on their website, master of library science page for San Jose state school, blacksmithing for beginners class info, baggu socks, info on greyrocking to help me improve my relationship with my mom, website for the worlds largest kaleidoscope in the Catskills because I’m planning a trip there with a friend, info on local pottery classes. Please share some of yours with me too!

[radarchives]

The plan: convince diavolo to make therapy part of the exchange program and that the brothers also need to do it so the exchange students don't feel singled out

option one: lucifer greyrocks the therapist for the entire session. he is participating in therapy, just not talking. he wins.

option two: therapy turns into his bitching hour. nobody's safe. the poor therapist has to do mental cartwheels, acrobatics and contortions to get lucifer back on track.

option three: family therapy or: how to break a therapist in thirteen easy steps