#last prompt series

[benevolenterrancy]

(Unseen Academicals, Terry Pratchett) I think Shang Qinghua and Ponder Stibbons should have tea and compare notes about somehow accumulating so much behind-the-scenes power by doing menial jobs no one else wants that they could basically run the show if they wanted...

meanwhile we have Shen "meh good enough" Qingqiu

[ethosiab]

agony

[veinsfullofstars]

💋 MetaDede Week 2024 Day 2: First Kiss 💋

(ID: Kirby series fanart of King Dedede and Meta Knight standing on a balcony - the latter on the railing - overlooking a late-evening sky, painted in the gold-pink-purple tones of sunset and speckled with stars high above. Turned to face his knight, DDD boldly takes his hand and plants a small kiss on the back of it, eyes shut and cheeks dusted in pink. MK looks up at his king with soft fondness, a hand over his heart, a blush of his own glowing through his mask. Above them against the starry sky, a low-opacity, sepia-toned memory can be seen. Meta - teenaged and maskless with nearly-grown wings, wearing plain steel pauldrons and white gloves; and DDD - teenaged and acne-plagued, wearing an oversized red-and-orange hoodie and a maroon beanie. In a fit of last-second courage, Meta grabs his friend by the front of his hoodie and yanks him down, shutting his eyes and blushing fiercely as he plants a hasty kiss - their first! - on his cheek. DDD leans over unsteadily on one foot, an arm thrown back for balance, his pimply face bright red, his eyes wide with surprise and touched with heart-shaped shines. END ID.)

Previous Day | Next Day | Prompt List (made by @/mtddweek)

Started 08/05/24, finished 08/10/24. | Childhood Friends AU Masterpost

[ohraicodoll]

 Feral Masterlist

Joel Miller x Feral Reader/OFC

(You’ve all lovingly named this character Feral Reader, but she’s referenced as Starshine or Red sometimes in the stories.)

Warning: Explicit Content, Graphic Violence, Trauma, PTSD

(Put in order of story timeline)

Monsters Two-Shot | (18+ Minors DNI) | 3rd POV | AO3 Part 1 | Part 2 Honey One-Shot | (18+ Minors DNI) | 3rd POV | AO3 The first time there was an excuse, the second time was just about release after a hard day.

Be Still Drabble | 3rd POV | AO3 It takes her a while to notice. Joel is having a panic attack. Bitter Two-Shot | 3rd POV | AO3 Joel makes a decision for all of them when they finally find Tommy in Jackson. Part 1 | Part 2 Violent Delights One-Shot | 3rd POV | AO3 With Joel injured and Ellie captured, she has to make a choice. Violent Ends One-Shot | 3rd POV | AO3 They find the Fireflies and one by one, the lights go out.  Crossword Snippet | 3rd POV | AO3 It’s the first time their group has been split up and Joel definitely isn’t waiting for you at the gates.

Daisies Drabble | 3rd POV | AO3 The women of Jackson have their eyes set on Joel Miller.

Beast One-Shot | 18+ Minors DNI for Graphic Violence | 3rd POV | AO3 All she can see is that he’s hurt and she would tear them apart. Left Behind One-Shot | 3rd POV | AO3 Settling into life in Jackson wasn't going so easily and Joel is hit with the possibility she may not be welcomed to stay. Territorial One-Shot | 3rd POV | AO3 She never paid attention to the newcomers when they joined Jackson until one of them begins to get close to Joel. Dominant One-Shot | 3rd POV | AO3 Jealousy and rationality don’t mix. Hero Worship Drabble | 3rd POV Ellie has a little admirer  Your Bury Me One-Shot | 3rd POV | AO3 A failed trade, a dress, music, and their own form of confession. Mine Drabble | 3rd POV He doesn’t like other’s attention on her

Drabbles:

Reckless: Ellie gets mad at her for being too careless with herself Red’s Personality ***Red Integrating Into Jackson Headcanons ***Red and Joel Headcanons Does Red ever try singing again? ***Tommy x Red Headcanons Tommy after the punch ***Ellie x Red Headcanons ***Joel falling for Red Headcanons Red is Ellie’s Mom Gifts from the Barn Cat The Morning After Bitter Part 2 Joel’s Nightmares ***Moments in Domesticity Headcanons ***Ellie and Red arguement Headcanons

Asks

Where does Red met them in the timeline? TLOU Part 2 Question Sunshine Bestie Red and cheating scenario Romance and Connections Red and Pregnancies Maria and Red’s relationship Ellie’s Adjustment Maria standing up for Red Reds Triggers Red & the baby (More) When Reds Sick Annie’s Birthday Joel Calming Red Down Red’s Trinkets

________________________________ If you would like to be added to a taglist for this series, please reply to this post! Taglist: @alouise20 @faceache111​ @hawsx3 @taxidriversainz @iluvbunnyhops @mrfitzdarcyslover @emlovesya  @agent007knight @spaacerabbit @namgification @wonwoosthetic  @wxnderingthoughts @sagggy @escaping-reality8 @badwolf00593​ @themothersmercy @badwolf00593 @mxtokko @happinessinthebeing​ @taranicristeard  @aroacefanenby @barbellpedro  @maviee​ @sgt-morgan @peppesgirl​ @spideysimpossiblegirl ​ @hreader7​ @jackierose902109

[tunastime]

UM UM UM “staying up until midnight to talk” with SEN or DBHC ethubs or docsuma

Or “pull me closer,” with dbhc docsuma :floshed:

Okay skitters away

staying up until midnight to talk (919 words) (x) (:3c)

Etho’s hands follow a practiced rhythm. He isn’t sure how they wouldn’t, with every wire and mechanism and gear in his body perfectly calibrated to move with precision and within expectation. He certainly fails, and jerks, and stutters, and falls, but base programming, movements that fell perfectly into subroutines he couldn’t even begin to trace, even if Xisuma showed him the exact steps? Of course they were perfect. And of course he never faltered.

The sand beneath him offers a much needed cushioning from the hard, winter dirt, despite the fact that the sun provides little warmth to the air around them in the snow fort. The sky is so blue it makes his eyes strain to look at—and maybe it would hurt, if he knew how it was supposed to feel.

Instead, Etho watches patches of sky blue in the silver-warped reflection of his sword, faint flickers of enchantment pulsing out from the hilt where the hastily carved runes sit. He runs the sharpening stone against the blade’s flat edge, careful not to nick the silicon of his fingers as he scrapes it across, again, and again. Practiced, careful, calculated rhythm. So much so that he doesn’t even register the sounds of shuffling a few paces away until Bdubs’ voice cuts through the silence.

“Etho,” he says, voice all rough around the edges like he were hungry for something more than just company. Etho keeps sharpening, just for a moment, before he chances a glance over.

Bdubs leans at the wooden fence, leaning his weight into the flimsily-set posts. He grins like nothing in the world could bother him. The characteristic dark brown of his eyes flickers with red, with that same hunger. Etho hates it. Which is odd. Because he really doesn’t feel strongly about much of anything, and disgust is an emotion very foreign to him, and he’s beginning to think the slight grinding in his chest is a problem Xisuma might need to diagnose when he gets back. It feels wrong. Because he knows he likes Bdubs just fine. He trusts him just enough. But that look.

Bdubs is still watching him, eyeing the sword in his hand with a gaze he can’t place, let alone read. Better give him an answer.

“Bdubs,” he says calmly, tilting his head to the side.

“You thought anymore about my offer?”

Etho makes a sound like a hum, mimicking the sound of turning the idea over in his head. He stands, setting his whetstone next to the cold embers of last night’s fire. The pot and cups still rest in the dirt, as cold as the rest of their surroundings. The sword stays in his hand.

(In the back of his mind, a memory surfaces. In it, Etho lies in the night-damp grass in clothes that still smell a bit like gunpowder, but not enough to notice unless you got real close. Bdubs is somewhere to his immediate left, still speaking, haloed in the glow of lanterns and lights of a shop. One of them at least. Within the clarity of memory, Etho can pinpoint that it’s Tango’s shop. Bdubs doesn’t live far from here. He isn’t sure when waiting for Tango to restock candles turned into tell Etho all about the extra additions to your base and your journey to find all the perfect horses for the Horse Course that you both just wrapped up, or into tell Bdubs all about how empty the mountain is, and how interesting this new game sounds, and how you hope you both find somewhere cool to base. Because you’ve already told him that you’re teaming up. But it does, and in this same space, the sky is full of bright white stars and a sliver of a moon that's starting to peek into the sky. Bdubs yawns.)

“The one from last night?” Etho asks, coming to with the sword heavy in his hand. He pushes the point into the soft sand until it hits hard earth and starts to give.

“You don’t gotta keep this fence, Etho…” Bdubs sighs, leaning his head into his palm. Etho folds his arms across his chest, splays one hand as he shrugs.

“Seems like the best way to settle this, ‘Dubs.”

“You could join me. Could always still join me,” Bdubs tries. “Just a quick one-two stab! Easy!”

“I can’t do that,” Etho says, shaking his head. “You know that.”

Bdubs sighs again, dramatic, deflating over the fence as Etho’s rejection stands firm. The thirium in his chest feels like it’s been flash frozen and has only started to dethaw, cold in his hands and feet, up his shins and to his elbows. He rolls his shoulders in, cupping each hand around each opposite elbow. There’s a little warmth to be found in the action with no fans kicking on to compensate.

“Well,” Bdubs says, drumming on the wooden beam between the two fence posts. “If you ever change your mind.”

He watches Etho for a moment, that familiar look coming to his eyes, as if it were trying to eclipse the haze of red Bdubs looks at him through, as if it were trying to expand his tunnel vision by just a fraction of an inch. Just as Etho notices, it’s snuffed, and the easy, careful look is replaced by an indifference Etho doesn’t think he enjoys. He still isn’t sure how much he knows for certain. He shrugs, barely a movement at all. Better say something.

“I won’t,” he says.

Bdubs huffs and turns away.

[venomhound]

Hazbin Hotel - Alastor Scenario Dump

One of my friends requested I make more of these, so I guess I'm doing a series. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Like before these are just a bunch of story ideas I've had pop into my head that I have no plans to use. Feel free to use them, just link back/credit me and slap me with a tag because I wanna see what you write!! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Contents/WARNINGS: ANGST; stalking; abuse of Alastor's shadows; heavily implied voyeurism and other creepy shit; (most of these warnings are for the last prompt so if your bothered by any of this, just skip that one) Actual brainrot below the cut; Not beta read we die like men -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Ringing Hollow ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Basic idea is that Alastor ends up caving to Charlie/the hotel and getting a cellphone. Everyone insists he needs it in case there is an "emergency", especially after the whole Exterminator attack on the hotel.

So he relents. As much as Alastor hates to admit it; they are right. But he isnt going to get any of that smartphone crap. Alastor opts to get himself an actual flipphone. (Angel Dust questions how Alastor even managed to find the piece of junk) Its only for emergencies. He should barely be using it, if at all.

But things change one day when Alastor gets several messages from an unknown number thinking he is their close friend. Alastor does end up telling them that they have the wrong number, but you know, being Alastor, he has to tease them relentlessly first.

They actually end up talking for a bit. Both of them find the situation incredibly entertaining and surprisingly like each other's sense of humor. The reader ends up asking who they actually texted. Alastor panics a bit. He doesn't want to just tell some stranger that they just messaged the radio demon of all people.

No matter the case, Alastor doesn't want to give his real name. So he wracks his brain for something that wont give him away. He cant just use Al, that's too obvious. Wait... Alastor-Al-A...A... A-nonymous? Anon? Yeah. Anon could work.

(This is Alastor's own line of thinking of how he 'came up' with the name. The boomer has no idea this is actually a common internet pseudonym because I doubt he has ever touched a computer)

Anyway, Alastor ends up telling the reader to call him Anon. The two of them end up talking alot. The rest of the hotel finds it rather comical to see the radio demon on his phone texting someone with a grin on his face.

Alastor actually gets pretty fast at texting with his stupid flipphone. Eventually, under Angel's suggestion, Alastor does end up "upgrading" to one of those phones with the slide out keyboard. He still draws the line at smartphone.

But everyone finds the whole thing rather adorable. Charlie always giggles to Vaggie about how soft his eyes get whenever he sees a new text from the reader. Rosie teases him nonstop about his 'paramour' and ends up suggesting that Alastor try to meet them in person.

At the first thought of it, Alastor's stomach drops. He still hasn't actually told them who he is. But the more he thinks about it, the more Alastor thinks a meeting between them is inevitable. He has never felt this way about anyone before; and he needs to deal with it one way or another.

So Alastor arranges an in person meetup. However, he STILL doesn't actually tell the reader who he is. He plans it as a surprise. The purpose of this is twofold; Alastor thinks this will be a wonderful surprise (he is the fantastic radio demon after all!), and it will serve as a test to see if the reader actually likes him.

The secret third reason is that Alastor is actually scared of what the reader's reaction will be and is avoiding it until the ninth hour when he literally cannot anymore. But he would rather die then admit that.

The reader asks Alastor what he looks like and other, you know, obvious things they should know for when they meet. But Al dodges the questions and tells them that they will know everything and learn who he truly is when they finally meet.

Well the time comes. The reader shows up to the designated meeting place, a semi public location. Then they see him. The Radio Demon.

The reader's eyes meet his and they freeze in terror as he approaches them with a knowing, determined stride. They are mortified when Alastor kisses them on the back of the hand; calling them darling and confessing that he was the one who they had been talking to all along. 

The reader backs off, stuttering an apology and a half hearted excuse to leave before quickly running off. Alastor’s smile never wavers. But it can be seen in his eyes and the way his ears have flattened against his head that he had hoped for a better reaction.

Alastor makes his leave before he can embarrass himself further. When he goes to text an apology, his number has already been blocked. He swears he feels a foreign pain in his chest in that moment.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Mockingbird ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Alastor begins fall in love with the reader. Driven by his strange feelings, he starts to compose little songs that he hums/sings to himself. The songs are inspired by the things he likes about them, things that make him think of the reader, and ways he sees their presence improving the hotel. 

There is even a special one dedicated specifically to their laughter. A tune that he made to resemble how melodic he finds it. 

Charlie and Vaggie start to notice Alastor singing to himself all the time. How his eyes soften and his smile turns wistful as he sings. Its how they realize that, holy shit, the guy has fallen in love.

They think that the songs are how Alastor is choosing to ‘deal’ with his feelings and that he is using them as an outlet. Not realizing he is composing them himself.

So other then like the weird love singing to himself there really aren't signs of Alastor having a crush, especially not one on you. So it kinda becomes like this big mystery that Charlie is determined to solve. Charlie holds a 'top secret meeting' and drags the rest of the hotel into it. Who has Alastor fallen for?? She will find out dangit.

I also have the image of at least one of the songs being composed entirely in French. So like Alastor finds the reader asleep at some point, maybe they fell asleep on him or they fell asleep somewhere out of exhaustion, but either way, Alastor ends up singing the song he composed for them while they sleep.

Alastor gently picks you up and cradles you to his chest. Singing all the while. He takes you to your room and tucks you in, singing the song as if it were a lullaby. The reader half wakes up at some point and hears him, but cant understand the words.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Chasing Shadows ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Basically a really sweet girl checks into the hotel. Maybe she just has that southern belle vibe or reminds Alastor of his mama or whatever; but the point is he has an immediate soft spot for her. 

Anyway Alastor quickly picks up how guarded and almost paranoid she is. Her eyes always seem to be darting around or looking into the distance for something. Although she is quick to help others, she dashes anyone elses attempts to help her. Alastor finds it very odd.

Then Alastor’s shadows start reporting of ‘incidents’ happening around the hotel, mostly around the new guest. Her things going missing, gifts and letters being left outside her door if not outright in her room, and the one that pissed Alastor off the most was one of the shadows saying they even found a small camera had been placed in her room.

Alastor isnt stupid; he knows someone is stalking the poor girl. And he is seething. Part of it is anger and outrage at someone daring and succeeding at breaching his territory of the hotel, and the other half of his anger is at such a disgusting creature thinking that they are entitled to treat a woman this way. 

Alastor quickly puts more shadows around the new guest's room, having every entrance and exit watched for the intruder. Yet the stalker manages to slip by him again, leaving a bouquet of flowers as well as stealing a pair of undergarments. 

Alastor nearly kills the poor shadow that informs him of this. How could they let someone slip past them again??

You got the gist of how this story goes. Ive had this sitting in my ideas folder forever cause I love it alot but, realistically speaking, Im not going to write it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ So either someone else can use it or you can just brainrot about it with me.

The big twist is the demon that is stalking the new guest has the power to turn into/manipulate cockroaches. That's how they are able to traverse the hotel so easily and undetected. 

Wasn't sure if I wanted to go all in on that and make him an actual roach boy or not. You could also make the demon a Jewel Wasp which is a bug known specifically for mind controlling cockroaches.

Since the stalker is cockroach themed, I also had the idea floating around that Niffty would be the one to finally catch them in the end.

I was picturing the relationship between the new guest and Alastor to be strictly platonic; with like big brother/dad protection vibes. Basically Alastor just wants to protect someone who he sees as a ‘lady’ from a disgusting man. Its his southern trauma kicking in hard

[birrdies]

the ethics of the artifice day 1 of shep's hermitcraft character design event second / lighter version under the cut

[iamamythologicalcreature]

Carry On Countdown, Day 1: Creature

(Quotes from "Wayward Son" and "Any Way the Wind Blows" by @rainbowrowell)

My first ever @carryon-countdown! I immediately saw this image in my mind when I read the prompt for day 1.

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #24

A/N: This contains (fairly vague?) spoilers for season 4

xxx alternate prompt: no-holds-barred beatdown

River doesn't enjoy grocery shopping, especially not at the big chains. There are too many options and too many people, and they always play the same shit songs over the tinny speakers. He's recently gotten the urge to cook a proper meal, though – something he hasn't felt the desire to do since he made the decision to move the OB to the nursing home. Cooking was something he usually did at his granddad's house, for the two of them, and it feels weird to go through the trouble of shopping for and cooking a meal that only he's going to eat. But the last few weeks have been...difficult, and he thinks maybe this'll be good for him. And if it isn't, he can go back to eating takeaway.

He's browsing the pasta aisle when he hears someone shout, "Bertrand!" He glances up from the box of pappardelle he's holding and catches a glimpse of a man stalking down the same aisle he's in. He's huge and he looks pissed. Whoever Bertrand is, River feels bad for the poor bastard. And then he glances up again and realizes that the giant angry man is coming toward him.

"Oh, shit," River says, shoving the pappardelle back onto the shelf right as a fist flies into his face. It connects with his nose with a loud crunch and stars burst across his vision as the back of his head smacks against the shelf behind him. Blood gushes from his nose and his eyes are watering like crazy and he blinks rapidly, raising his hands as the man winds up again.

"Wait-" he begins, but it's like asking a tornado to stop and expecting it to listen.

The next blow is right to the solar plexus. It forces the air out of his lungs and paralyzes his diaphragm. Knowing what's happening, and that it's temporary, doesn't help the panic that comes with being unable to breathe. River's too focused on trying to inhale to offer any resistance when the man grabs him by the arms hard enough to bruise and throws him to the ground. People are starting to take notice, if the noises around him (gasps and murmurs and a loud shriek) are anything to go by.

The man doesn't seem to give a flying fuck.

He's on River in a second, straddling him, so that even when River's body remembers how to breathe again he can't draw a proper breath because of the weight on his torso. He throws his arms up in an attempt to protect his face, but the man grabs River's left arm and shoves it down, pinning it to the ground with his knee. There's a constant stream of angry words coming from the man's mouth, and it takes River a moment to recognize it as profanity-laden French.

French.

Bertrand.

His mind flashes back to the angry mob in Lavande. The men had wanted to kill him – or, had wanted to kill Bertrand, anyway. And now one of those men is here, in a Tesco in London, because of course he is.

Fuck.

River's been punched before, a lot. His balls still ache at the memory of the beating he'd taken at the hands of Duffy and Hobbs. But even in that instance, they'd practiced some restraint.

This man doesn't.

Blow after blow comes. He feels a gash open across his cheekbone, and immediate swelling. His teeth cut the inside of his cheek, filling his mouth with blood. He doesn't want to swallow it so he chokes on it instead, coughs and lets it spill from the corners of his mouth. I'm not him he wants to shout, but he can't. The man won't give him the chance. There's shouting now, and he hears words like stop and police and you're killing him repeated over and over by different voices.

Oh, god.

This man, whoever he is, is killing him.

River going to be beat to death by a Frenchman in the rice and pasta aisle of a Tesco.

And then, a familiar voice.

"What on earth are you doing?!"

The man stops, panting, and looks up at Catherine Standish. No one else has been brave enough to do anything but shout at him from afar, but now here she is, this older woman standing right in front of them in simple floral dress and sensible shoes and looking for all the world like a guardian angel.

"Pardon me, madam," the man says, breathing heavily, "but you do not know what this salaud has done to me. To my family."

"Who, River?"

The man frowns. He blinks. "Who is River?"

"Well, he is!" Catherine says, gesturing at River with the shopping basket in her hand. The man looks down at River, the frown deepening.

"I did try to tell you." The words are garbled by blood, and River forces his head to turn to one side so he can spit some of it out. Even that small movement is dizzying and he closes his eyes with a groan.

"But--" the Frenchman sputters.

"Bertrand is dead," River rasps. "You're welcome."

"Merde," the man swears. He runs his bloody-knuckled hands through his hair and climbs off of River, sitting back heavily. "I thought you were – I'm so sorry. Je suis désolée. I-I can help."

He reaches toward River and River can't help but flinch, wincing as the action sends little bursts of agony stabbing through his head.

"I think it'd be best if you left him alone," Catherine says, kneeling next to River, who has never felt more grateful and more embarrassed to see someone in his life. "There's an ambulance on the way, River."

River doesn't want to attempt a nod, so he lets out a small grunt of acknowledgment. "What're you doing here?" His words are starting to run together, and they come out slow and clumsy.

"I was buying some coffee for the office."

All River can think to say is, "Oh."

The office. God, Lamb is going to have a field day with this when he finds out. Roddy, too, and maybe even Shirley as well. Getting his arse kicked was bad enough, but having it saved by Catherine...He sighs, forcing his eyes (eye – the left one is swollen shut) open.

"Thank you, Catherine."

"Hm? Oh, that's alright. No need to thank me, River."

"I mean it," he slurs, and he feels a hand on his own.

"Don't try and speak," Catherine says, patting the back of his hand gently. "Just rest until the paramedics get here. It'll be alright."

The tenderness is almost enough to bring tears to River's eyes.

xxx

[intermundia]

So the reason I love fanfiction is intertextuality. I love allusions to canon woven into a new narrative, and building in my mind the complex web of references that all contextualize each other. It's those links that add depth of meaning to a fanfic, metatextual weight to characters and locations. I think the better the transformative process of fanwork, the more of the original it carries inside, the denser and richer points of reference to the story on the other end. If you think of a canon fact as a color, the more vibrant the fanwork, the bigger thrill I get from it. It lights up more of my brain.

There's this thing I like to do where I will find a media property that I know nothing about but has a sufficient high quality body of work, obikin, geraskier, merthur, etc. I will read thousands of fanfics and build up a mental map of the series in my mind, noticing things referenced by multiple stories in different ways and trying to extrapolate back to an original event in the canon story. The more references to an event, the more specific and real it is, whereas other things referenced by one or two people exist in a quasi real state, smaller nodes in the network as it were. 

Once I've built up a robust mental map of a story, I will watch the series. I will watch the Clone Wars, the Witcher, Merlin, etc., and compare my expectations with the reality of the canon narratives. I will observe the ways in which fandom skewed the story via emphasis, or where it improved the story via giving interiority to characters in traumatic or intimate moments. Once I've finished watching the series, and have canon fixed in my mind, I reread all my favorite stories with a richer mental picture of each one, really savoring the work of the author in engaging with a story I love.

I genuinely think this is a sort of wish fulfillment from my time as a classicist where all we could do was build up a mental map of the extant texts, but there was no way to ‘watch the original’ as it where, no way to check how historians and poets transformed their experience. It's a guilty pleasure to apply the same conceptual mapping skills I learned for antiquity to pop culture, one degree removed from reality, but I enjoy it so much and spend way too much time doing it (when I should be writing). I wonder if other people do this though, it's kind of a tumblr ass hobby lmao

[moomoorare]

A wife to death, rebirth and mutilation. The axe's blade comes down and down again, a nightmare done, gone and then the light throws you on the dirt of a new world, fighting for your life and victor's cup yet again. Will you win?

Reblogs <3 are my best friends

[applepixls]

i noticed something while watching through all the povs of build and seek.. while they're drawing their prompts, just before skizz goes grian says "I'm glad you [scott] are writing these prompts because if i was writing them they'd be a lot more nebulous" and if you watch everyone else's pov he says "it'd be like... dog." but in his own perspective he says "it'd be like... the feeling you get on the last day of school" and the thing is i know exactly what he's done cause in lizzie's episode on the imp & skizz podcast she mentioned that sometimes in editing (for life series) she'll change what she said in an interaction to make it funnier etc which seems to be exactly what grians done here small detail, i wanna know if anyone else has picked up on it :)

Edit: ghdjjmk little bit embarrassed, just realizing grian made the joke about "the feeling you get on the last day of school" later on and most of them just included one clip or the other feeling silly but i love grian and scott being somewhat similar and both organizing and making games (be it larger scale like mcc and life series or smaller scale like build and seek and guess the build) the only difference being scott likes his players and wants them to enjoy, have a fun time and want to play again while grian hates his players and wants them to suffer, cry a lot and be coerced into joining again for the content /lh /j

[veinsfullofstars]

👿 Kirbtober 2024 Day 6: Ancient 👿

(ID: Kirby series fanart of the Aeon Hero (Dark) glaring at the viewer with his dark feathered wings spread wide, holding his shield in one hand and gripping the handle of his lance in the other as he perches against it, the weapon driven diagonally into the ground in a large, spiderwebbing crack. Pinkish streams of liquid-like magic ooze upward from the fissure, lighting up his magenta-and-silver armor from below. Between his long platinum horns, a Heart Spear glows with halo-esque elegance. END ID.)

Previous Day | Next Day | Prompt List (made by @/paintpanic)

Started on 09/04/24, finished on 09/05/24. | Kirbtober 2023 Comp

[ohraicodoll]

Saw the prompt post. And your tags. So I'm dropping this in your lap and leaving the rest to your excellent discretion! Any fandom. Any characters.

“you’re so cool.”

Good luck! Have fun!

Thankuuuuu Cuckoo! (I was totally going to do Sandman and Dream but couldn't stop laughing over what his reaction would be without making it ooc. So more TLOU lol)

Hero Worship Joel Miller x f!Reader (Established Relationship) + Ellie The Last of Us 1k Words

“You pull it straight back until the string is almost kissing your lips,” she guided her, watching as Ellie pulled the bow string back with shaky arms, “Elbow in, not out like a chicken wing. And breathe, you’re fine.” The teen seemed to glare at the small target across the way in the makeshift target practice Jackson had crafted. She took a deep breath, released and flinched.

All three of them watched as the arrow hit the target on the edge of the hay bale. Joel chuckled. “That had to be the wind!” Ellie argued, glaring at the older man. “There hasn’t been a single breeze all damn day,” he smirked, looking up to meet her instructor’s eyes over the girl’s head. With an eye roll, she picked up her own bow and took Ellie’s spot to demonstrate, “You keep flinching. If you keep your arms straight how I showed you, the string isn’t going to smack you in the face. Look, just watch.” 

Purposefully, she slowed down her movements and pulled the string back, arrow notched. Joel was right, there was no breeze and the target wasn’t very far away. Much closer than when he’d let the girl practice shooting the rifle. 

Elbows in and stance proper, she released the arrow and watched it sail home to the center of the target. Bullseye. Ellie groaned. “Whatever, you both are show-offs,” she grumbled, glaring at them both now. “Mmmhmm, why don’t you go grab another set of arrows if you’re gonna run your mouth and be a sore loser,” Joel nodded towards the small shack a little bit away where one of the older men kept all the range supplies. With a grumble, they watched as she trudged away, bow practically dragging in her hand. “She’s getting better,” chewing on your lip, she leaned against the wooden fence that acted as a barrier between the shooting area and the danger zone. “Yeah she is, but you know her. Wants to be instantly good,” Joel chuckled and rested his arms beside her, knee raised to brace on the fence, “She’ll get there. Besides, I think she’d rather do this than be at the theater though I do miss the two hours we’d get on our own when she would go.” Raising a brow, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye with a smirk, “Yeah I’m sure you do. Ellie’s trying to persuade me to let her stay in the small house behind the property. She needs her space.” The excuse was almost laughable as only a week ago she had asked to stay in their shared room during a bad storm, blaming her window they had already fixed. His eyes burned into the side of her head, fingers adjusting against the fence until they grazed the skin of her elbow, “Wouldn’t be the worst idea.” She huffed out a full bellied laugh and turned her eyes to him, “Oh please. You’d be at that back window with the binoculars checking on her every second if you let her, Miller. Probably rope Tommy into it too.” He sighed and was the one to roll his eyes this time, “Yeah, yeah. Give it a couple more years of her going full teenager and we’ll see. She drives us nuts enough as is and I’m dreading the day she starts being interested in boys.”

She struggled to fight down a grin, not wanting to break it to him that it wasn’t the boys he was going to have to worry about. With a smirk, they both turned to look at the teen, watching as she talked to the attendant and then catching sight of the young boy very blatantly staring at her not even a foot away. The boy had to be roughly six or seven and stared at her behind large bottle glasses, eyes huge on his tiny face. His mouth hung open slightly, eyes transfixed. Nudging Joel with her elbow, she nodded at the kid and the stars in his eyes. Ellie, her arm full with a new quiver of arrows, turned and almost ran straight into the little boy who hadn’t moved an inch. She looked almost startled, brow furrowed in a way that was too similar to Joel, mouth turned down. It had taken her a bit to not be in full aggressive mode and instantly be on edge with every person that stared at them, but every now and then that tough attitude came out. She didn’t like to be stared at. The kid blinked. The two adults tried not to laugh. “What?” Ellie asked a little harshly, clearly uncomfortable. “You’re so cool,” the boy choked out with a look that was pure admiration. Joel turned his head into her arm and tried not to laugh out loud, pressing his mouth into the fabric of her coat. His shoulders shook with the effort. Ellie almost seemed taken back, unsure of what to do, false bravado gone. But then she grinned and that attitude slid back into place before she leaned towards the kid and seemed to whisper something. They couldn’t hear what she said, but could see her head turn to look at them and nod before pulling back and walking over. The boy’s face stared at all three of them star struck. They tried to act like they hadn’t been watching the interaction and went back to the lesson as normal, didn’t mention Ellie’s little fan or how her shooting got better afterwards as if she only needed a little bit of confidence. It was a moment they didn’t want to intrude on or make her embarrassed about. And a week later when she went to the girl’s room to drop off a newer pair of shoes, she didn’t bring up the kid drawing tucked between some book pages that was obviously from her admirer. All three of them were drawn in crayon, looking larger than life, with the words, “Ellie's family” scribbled at the top.

[jack-doohan]

JENSON BUTTON after the 2023 F1 Academy United States Grand Prix qualifying

MOTORSPORTS GIFCTOBER Week 4: This One is New

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 25 - The Last One

Thomas Never Thought About His Classmates...

Thomas is a tank engine who lives on his own little branchline on the Island of Sodor. He's a cheeky little engine with six small wheels, a short stumpy funnel, a short stumpy boiler and a short stumpy dome. He’s always been that way, no matter how young or old he is – it’s part of his charm!

The little blue tank engine has always lived on Sodor, almost since the day he was built. He doesn’t really remember those early days, down in the South of England. He vaguely remembers meeting a couple shunting engines that taught him the absolute basics, and a couple bigger engines who snorted about the Big Station by the works and ordered him about until he snapped back, but little else. In the back of his smokebox, he knows he has siblings – his first driver called him a ‘modified E2’, and his second driver had once shown him a picture of one of his siblings that he’d taken while down there on holidays.

But Thomas never really thought of them. They existed, sure, but when Thomas thought of siblings or family, he thought of Toby, Gordon, Percy and the other engines on Sodor, especially the early seven.

Then, something odd happened. On a crisp, cold February morning, Thomas was on his first run of the day, making his way up the branchline, when he thought he saw something in the corner of his eye. He was passing by the Toryreck Dairy, and a glint of the most unsettlingly familiar umber livery caught him off-guard. He blinked, and looked again – but there was nothing. The closest thing to the umber paint was the reddish-brown of the squat brick building, and even then it was most entirely the wrong colour.

Thomas thought nothing of it and completed his run. The day progressed as usual, and Thomas forgot about it quickly enough, putting it down to sleep still being in his eyes. Months passed, and Thomas completely forgot about the odd umber colour and how it twinged something in the back of his mind.

And then it happened again.

Thomas had been shunting the harbour, pushing trucks into their proper places for the barges to pick up. He cursed out Percy quietly, peeved at how the little green engine had gotten out of this duty in favour of a delivery to the Big Station. As he moved back, he spotted the shape of an engine, shadowed by the bridge that carried the mainline. Thomas stared, confused. “Who’s there?” he called. The engine didn’t look like Percy or Toby – and it wasn’t Duck either. But he couldn’t tell, the shade was making it near impossible to make out the engine’s shape. Thomas puffed back to investigate, when there was a loud bang! Thomas jolted as he bumped into a line of trucks – and when he looked up again, there was nothing there. The brilliant orange of the October leaves just cut a striking contrast to the dark red of the bridge.

“Maybe it was a shadow of a big engine?” Thomas thought aloud. “It could’ve maybe been Donald or Douglas…” But even that sounded wrong. Still, there was nothing there, and none of the others had heard of a new engine on the island. Thomas decided to do his best to forget about it, and keep going.

But then it happened again the next month – one moment, there was a flash of umber in Percy’s berth at the sheds, the next there was nothing. And then it happened in the hot summer of the next year, when Thomas thought he saw a whole tank engine in a deep umber paint scheme shunting trucks around the harbour when he passed over the bridge with his coaches.

No one else saw the engine though, and Thomas was left to believe it was nothing. It had to be nothing… right?

As the boiling summer passed into a cool September, Thomas did his absolute best to forget about the odd umber brown paint and the weird shadows that seemed to stalk him. He took a trip to the Big Station with one of his usual passenger runs, and fussed away into the carriage sidings to look for a suitable spot to park his beloved Annie and Clarabel. As he puffed along one of the sidings, he thought he saw two whole tank engines behind a long row of express coaches, painted that same rich umber livery. Both seemed to be… watching him, even though he couldn’t be sure.

Thomas wasn’t sure what was going on, but it left him feeling very uneasy.

October rolled around, and this time it was a duo of funnels peaking out behind Gordon’s express as he rocketed by. For a brief moment, Thomas thought he saw a weird, wrong version of himself staring back – but when the brake coach cleared the platform, there was absolutely nothing there.

Thomas decided to say nothing about it to the other engines. Percy would laugh at him and Toby would probably believe him but also pity him. And Thomas absolutely refused to be pitied. Pity was for pitiful engines, and Thomas had his own branchline! He had books named after him; Thomas was not pitiful. His pride wouldn’t allow for it.

So Thomas said absolutely nothing, even as the sightings suddenly stopped right as winter set in. The new year rolled in once again, and Thomas was distracted from the weird umber engines by other matters. Stepney had been and gone, Thomas being dazzled by his stories of their former railway and its really useful engines. But neither Stepney nor Thomas mentioned Thomas’ siblings, in some weird twist of fate.

Instead, the little blue tank engine was once again distracted by his own branchline.

And then it was April, 1963. The day started normally enough, Thomas setting out with Annie and Clarabel to do his morning run. But something felt… off. Thomas wasn’t sure how to describe it, but the air felt… electric. As if something big had happened, something he should have been aware of but just wasn’t. It left him on edge as he made his way down to the Junction. As he pulled into the platform, he felt eyes on him from the goods shed, piercing glares boring into his bunker.

“Is something the matter?” asked Annie. Thomas considered, not quite sure what to say.

“Is there anyone in the goods shed?” he eventually asked. Clarabel looked over, and frowned.

“There’s some vans – and maybe a pair of dark brown engines shunting them? I can’t quite tell. They’re – oh, maybe I was wrong.” Clarabel fell silent, trying her best to peer into the gloom of the darkened sheds. Annie and Thomas waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming.

“Clarabel?”

“My eyesight must be going,” complained Clarabel suddenly. “There’re no engines I can see.” Thomas raised an eyebrow, and looking forwards again – and his boiler went cold. There, at the very edge of the horizon where the mainline turned away from the coast and behind a cutting, was him. Only, it wasn’t him. It was maybe one of his siblings? It looked like it – but they had shortened side tanks, and a dark scowl on their face. Thomas went to call out to it, but then it vanished.

“Driver…”

“Yes Thomas?”

“Have you got any news on the other engines of my class?” Thomas’ driver pondered the question, amazed at the unusual request from the tank engine who had never mentioned the other E2 engines. He promised to check in with the Fat Controller when they reached the Big Station. Thomas felt a little better after that.

But his driver had bad news for him after speaking to the Fat Controller. “I’m really sorry Thomas,” sighed his driver. “But… they cut up the last of your siblings yesterday. You’re the last one.”

To his surprise, Thomas didn’t feel anything at that. Perhaps a little sadness, but it was mostly just distantly removed, as if he had just found out a tragedy had occurred in some faraway, distant land he’d never heard of before. It felt a bit wrong, but also just natural. Thomas had had classmates, and now he did not. He had always been unique, and now he was just a little more unique. “Thank you, driver,” Thomas said kindly. “That’s… all I really needed to know.” Thomas’ driver raised a worried eyebrow, but said nothing more.

Thomas continued on, this new information being quietly tucked away to the back of his smokebox where it festered for only a few minutes before being washed away by every other thought in Thomas’ mind. Percy was due for an overhaul soon, and Thomas would  need to cover for him; Gordon had been getting uppity again recently, and he would probably need to knock the big blue idiot down a few pegs again. Thoughts of Mrs Kyndley and the farmers and Terence complaining about roots in his field all pushed the news of his classmates’ death down deep to the back of Thomas’ mind and eventually he stopped thinking about it.

“It’s so odd,” his driver muttered to the fireman. “I just told him all his siblings have been cut up, and he’s more interested in what Mrs Kyndley is having for tea!”

In the shadows, eyes glared at the oblivious blue engine; furious eyes, emotions swelling as rage and anger overtook everything.

Thomas finished his last train of the day, parked Annie and Clarabel away, and settled in the sheds beside Percy. The little green engine was already exhausted, having spent all day shifting stone for a major project on the mainland – and he was not interested in conversation. Toby was equally tired, and with no reason to stay awake chatting, all three were quickly closing their eyes, yawns stifling their last few words as they said “good night”.

Thomas fell asleep, and thought nothing more of his day.

He awoke to the hiss of steam, of metal scraping against metal. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, as if Thomas had been dragged into the deepest pits of a scrapyard while he slept.

Thomas opened a sleepy eye, and screamed in terror.

“You!” snarled the engine standing buffer-to-buffer with Thomas. “You forgot about us!” Thomas looked around – there were ten engines surrounding him on all sides; Percy was gone.

“Where—where’s Percy?” demanded Thomas, his fear replaced instantly by worry. The engines all hissed at him, their blood-red eyes boring into him.

“We’re your classmates, and you’re more worried about someone else? We DIED!”  Thomas felt a bump from behind, and suddenly he was moving forwards.

“Hey! Stop that! Let me go!” he snarled, trying in vain to struggle against the force propelling him slowly forwards.

“You got all the glory, all the love!” they accused, all rushing forwards to bash into him and leave him lurching violently. Thomas winced and gasped in pain, feeling his buffers bend under the strain. “You never thought of us! You never loved us! Where were you, when we were being scrapped?”

They began to pick up speed, Thomas yelping in terror as he was forcibly shoved out of the yard, his wheels screaming on the points. He felt yet another slam against his bunker, his entire frame shuddering violently as it was assaulted from all sides.

“Failure! Traitor! You took all the glory and never looked back!” Thomas’ siderods were a blur as he was forced down the branchline as frightening speeds, his frame groaning as he felt the curves send jolts of searing pain along his axles.

“No! Stop! Please!” begged Thomas, as his entire frame shuddered again. It felt like it was going to snap. Thomas could feel the cracks beginning to tear their way along the metal, putting even more stress on every inch of his body. His wheels screeched in agony as he rounded another bend. The tunnel loomed ahead. Thomas screamed as his sidetanks scraped along the sides, scratches and deep cuts left behind by the brick.

“We’ll show you the pain we suffered,” snarled the engines. “We’ll make you feel it! Make you feel worse! You will regret forgetting us, Thomas!” Thomas couldn’t take it – his axles were overheating rapidly, the burn already beginning to settle in and leaving him gasping for air as the pain overtook him—

“Thomas?”

Everything stopped.

Terence stared at the little blue tank engine from in his field, standing in wait while his owner went to drag out seeds for planting. Thomas was in tears – everything hurt, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to move. “Oh Terence!” blubbered the little blue tank engine. Something clanged deep inside him, and then there was silence.

“Are you alright?” asked Terence slowly. He looked around, trying to see where Thomas’ crew had gotten to.

“No,” admitted Thomas quietly. “Everything hurts. I… I don’t know how I made it this far. Please call a breakdown train.” Terence was stunned silent, immediately agreeing. Thomas never spoke like that. He never sounded so… hurt. Small. Scared. It was wrong, and Terence feared whatever had left Thomas in such a state.

The breakdown train came up from the Junction, headed by a quiet Edward. The kindly old engine stopped short of the tank engine, and looked around. He thought for a moment that he could see red eyes glaring from within the tunnel, and scowled at it.

“It’s alright Thomas, we’re here now,” Edward said kindly. “Let’s get you checked over.” The men looked all over the blue tank engine – but there was no signs of anything being wrong. The brakes were on, his motion was perfectly fine – there wasn’t even a hint as to what had sent Thomas flying down his branchline. His frames were fine too, when Thomas finally worked up the courage to ask. There weren’t even any signs that he’d left his berth at all.

But here Thomas was.

Edward moved to buffer up to the blue tank engine, when Thomas flinched. Edward’s eyes widened, and he paused short. “Ok Thomas, I’m going to buffer up now. Nice and slowly, keep your eyes on me.” Edward very carefully helped his old friend back to his shed, finding both Percy and Toby deep asleep. Edward parked Thomas in his berth, then shunted away the works coach and took up guard on the line in front of the little blue tank engine. Thomas shot him a grateful look, but still neither got any sleep.

The next day, Thomas quietly asked his crew to erect a memorial to his classmates at the back of the sheds. Confused, but happy that their engine was finally showing an emotion about his siblings that was more than vague sadness, his crew obliged. Edward watched them put it together, then looked over to Thomas.

“Hopefully, it will be enough,” he murmured. Thomas didn’t reply, but Edward already knew enough.

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