#ooh a new tag

[pinacoladamatata]

blink and you'll miss it moments around skyhold....

[hagstones-and-howling-hills]

It is my writing... enjoy :-)

-----

And the rain bore down with vengeance and stained the dusty windows with streaks of pale light. It assaulted the glass and hammered the frames into place. It stripped the white from their ashen bones and threw each flake of it to the churning black earth. Cold seeped through the single glaze and clenched its icy fingers around our hearth where history went up in flames.

Week-old weak tea sat in chipped china cups congealing on the stone. Ash glazed the surface of each one and sunk slowly to the bottom. Flakes spun dancingly, dizzyingly about the room picking partners in dust motes and continuing their waltzes and gavottes on the cracked leather seats. The flames from which they flew croaked and crackled along to the rickety warble of the wobbling record spinning on the gramophone. With each tear of bow against strings Sebastian tore a fresh page. He fed them into the flames and they reached greedily for red fleshed fingertips.

The sturdy study shelves were half bare. A growing mountain of leather covers, red, green, brown, lay abandoned, violated by the piano. We hadn’t touched her yet.

“The atlas.”

He cast the corpse of Advanced Mathematics aside. The leather wings flapped once, uselessly, and the book lay still on the faded turkish carpet. I took the heavy book from the shelf. Gold lettering glinted in the quiet January sun tangling into the study. A moment’s collection to mourn the beautiful prints contained within and the sacrifice exchanged hands. At the crescendo of the piece a map of normandy found itself engulfed in gold. Ink and paper shrivelled and screamed out smoke, curling and turning and curling and turning before falling apart. Normandy crumbled to ash.

He thrust a flame darkened poker into the ever growing pile of ash and what remained of normandy tumbled across and over the stone of the hearth and drowned our twin china cups. The record skipped, skipped, skipped and stuttered, caught on a lilting tilting verse. I crossed the old turkish carpet and snatched the needle from the scratch. The gaping silence left was filled only by the cracking of the rain and the pattering of the fire.

I sat in one of a pair of cracked brown leather armchairs studded with copper like bullets along the arms and back. The leather creaked and groaned. Paris burned and it was all I could do to watch with my teeth knocking like death and my feet forgotten in the bedroom. The fire stayed quiet, steadfastly refusing to roar. It silently devoured each arrondissement and graced us with not a belch. We had starved it for days. Drowned it in damp kindling and moulding mahogany. The study had been our last bastion, our corner waiting silently in the east wing, ready to be backed into. The library had been lost when the dampness of December crept into our beds and found its home in our bones, lungs, muscles, shaking our cores. We had pulled volumes upon volumes from the shelves, cracked the ribs of sliding ladders to feed the blaze and keep our fire alive. Now the tiled floor lay blackened and cold and we had moved on.

Calais collapsed in on itself.

The walls were growing bare. The flames would soon rise to swallow the piano, bite down upon the instrument and drown the cracking hunger in a cacophony of screaming strings. We’d burned the paintings. We’d burned the harpsichord and the bedframes and the tables and the chairs. We were a fogged breath away from burning the brick buried timber. And where would we be?

The January rain tore at the brick outside. If we hurried we could get to the building's bones before the damp crawled in and settled down to rot. We could rip her apart from the inside until the slates rained down and pierced our skin, until our corpses lay covered in brick dust, red and rusting.

But before then we would destroy the centuries lining the shelves. Before then the leather would crackle in the flames like flaying skin. Before then the piano would go.

[denim-wizard]

My Little... Pirates? ((Aka I succumb to making a One Piece MLP AU)) ( part 1 // part 2 )

It always starts as a style experiment or practice drawing something new of some sort but tbh there is a darkness within me that is steadily brewing anyways HEY Y'ALL WANT. HEADCANONS? (this took me weeks to finally finish and post)

Introducing the pirate captain Monkey Do, first mate Zephyr Roar , and the fighting-cook Blackhoof Sanji (aka Devil Dancer) Coming up with names is Hard. Let's talk about these fools a little bit, with lots of headcanon to spare. Monkey Do ( aka Monkey D. Luffy) is our earth pony protagonist, and is largely unchanged. His cutiemark is a top down view of his iconic straw hat (or... is it? Some might say it looks a bit like a sun...) and his special talent is leadership. Earthponies are known for many things, and Luffy encompasses those qualities wholly-- he's loyal and strong, and has an endless appetite. an appettite that still contains a frankly concerning amount of meat. This little pony is not a harbivore. Zephyr Roar (aka Roronoa Zoro, or just 'Zoro' as Monkey Do calls him) is a pegasus who's special talent is the self invented three-sword-style. Yes he holds the other two with his wings. No he does not fly. Zoro's a real special guy like that. He largerly perfers to face his enemies on the ground, turning that pegasi speed into pure power. He's mean, he's green, and he thinks dust baths constitute as real bathing. Blackhoof, aka Devil Dancer (Sanji) is a unicorn who's special talent is cooking. His magic gives him a serious wallop in battle, and the old fashioned metal shoes let his superheated kicks pack even more of a punch. His natural magic is fire, and his time on Momoiro helped him learn real levitation, two traits that are just as powerful in the kitchen as they are on the battlefield. For all the stereotypes about unicorns that he breaks, Dancer enforces just as many-- he's prissy, wears fancy clothes, and he even shaves the fluffy fetlocks on his front legs to avoid contaimination while cooking. He's also got a taste for sweet things-- if the lollipop stick in his mouth was any indication. (if he still sounds like the godawful 4kids dub is for you to decide)

That's all I've got to say about these guys for now, and I hope you enjoy--I watched mlp as a kid and now that it's making it's resurgence I feel like I have a weird amount of thoughts about it. Headcanon and lore explanations my beloved. my ask box is always open, feel free to tell me who you'd like to see next. commissions open soon, hopefully

[star2stop]

screenshot redraw cuz fbdsjfbskf artblock

[quohotos]

Man, I really feel bad for the Dinotopia guys. They built this whole intricate, creative, enrapturing world, and it was going to be the next big thing. It was gonna be the next franchise. They got George Fucking LUCAS to make a screen adaptation of it. Yeah, the starwars guy. Then midway through production he realizes how much he loves making movies and decides to ditch your project and make the prequels instead. They say there's no bad blood but... man it would fucking kill me to go to the theater and see Naboo and think "Fuck, that coulda been waterfall city"

There still was a franchise. They did eventually make spinoff paperback novels and video games and there were even a couple screen adaptations, but they were done by Lifetime and Hallmark. The lifetime one is actually surprisingly good given its budget. It tells a story that mirrors the structure of the original picture book, two brothers get marooned on Dinotopia, one of them rides a pterosaur and then they have to stop a dude named Krab from stealing a crystal that he needs to make an ancient machine get him off the island... but it's not a reboot or anything, it's the same continuity as the books. I guess guys named Krab really do be stealing crystals every generation or so. It's not really that bad of a series but damn it could have been George Lucas!

I dunno, I just find myself thinking about it. It was a uniquely artistic and non-violent series for its time. All of the dinosaurs and people live in harmony. There used to be a steampunk cyber empire of capitalists who tried to replace dinosaurs with the coolest looking robots you could imagine, but then there was a revolution and they all live in communistic harmony with no real currency. Each according to their need, each to their own ability. All that Jazz.

I'm certainly more normal about it than I am say The Underland Chronicles but I still find myself thinking about those gorgeous communist dinosaur picture books. In another reality, Battleborn won over Overwatch, Galidor never got its budget cut and was actually a smash success, Warner bros actually did something with the TUC film rights, and Kids in the 00s grew up with Dinotopia instead of the Starwars prequels.

[theintelligentfool]

hey i really like minecraft skins i think they're really cool looking so:

this is an appreciation post for CCs who have really cool skins or change into new ones all the time AND for skin artists that design them!!! please post yr fave examples here

[lunarharp]

scrimbly randomzone :)

[m0rguem0th]

goretober day 4 - decadence

"we could have, at the very least, rotted away together"

[supersparxz]

Summary: Then there’s Portgas D. Ace. She had so many questions about him. She hadn’t read everything the press had to say, but he’s one of the most captivating people she’s met in a long time. Why was he so reckless? Where did his spirit for adventure come from? What inspired him to be so kind? Where did he start? Where was he going next? Why inspired him to be a pirate?

.

.

.

The infamous journalist ‘Buddy’ wanted to find an answer to these questions, but was it worth risking everything she’s built for herself; was giving what little she had worth the exchange for the thrilling life she craved?

—

Oops 🙊 loved Ace too much. If you love him too go ahead and take a read at my new story. It’s got THREE, count em, THREE juicy chapters already out. Features Ace two years before the start of one piece.

Here’s a cute excerpt from chapter 3:

“What happened?” Enilah asked, trying to look closer at the leg he held close.

“Something bit me and it hurts too much to even…”

The last of his words left airly as he went still. His eyes widened open at the same time, as if in the night sky he saw the most terrifying thing in his life. To Enilah, it seemed like he had realized something, a paralyzing thought. She would even go as far as to say she knew what it was. It was a familiar expression, the one you got when your mind curses you with the impending feeling of doom as you stared death in the face, as if pushing you to think of a last ditch chance at escape. He slumped, eyes still wide open. His chest stilled. She could hear the last wispy breath that he took.

“Hey. Hey! Did he… hey, wait, don’t get close.”

She said her respects under her breath and ran a palm over his eyes to close them. “He’s dead.”

“Y-Yeah, but aren’t you…”

Enilah didn’t mind Taine as she presumed to rest a hand on the dead man's head.

As if flowing into a lucid dream, his memories began to play vividly at a fast pace, scene by scene, as if they were her own in her mind. The young woman would never get used to the jarring sense of reality, no matter how quick they went by. Being there, conscious, seeing it all from his perspective.

She sifted through older memories, blowing past anything recent. Five months back. Two years back. Three years back. 10 years back. Socializing was never a strong suit of his and he’d find a reason to fight with people, with or without a war. Just a regular thug, no new or interesting info. She was very thankful most of this stuff won’t clog her memory with more detail than blurs of color.

Enilah sped forward the memory scrolling, then back, then forth once again almost yet again going past the memory that caught her eye around one year back. This one was more vivid than the rest. A distinct memory, one where she doesn’t have to waste time trying to piece together. He was getting a tattoo, sat in a leather chair and holding back tears. The coward. Murder, brawls, and wars were fine but needles he drew the line.

She slowed around there, getting frustrated. She couldn’t find what she saw. He had his eyes closed and looked away for the most of it, even when the tattoo artist asked if the placement was fine. His body was trembling as buzzing filled the room and sharp pokes went into his left arm. She couldn’t feel it, but he certainly thought it was the most painful thing in the world.

There was one moment though, just a slight one when he did look. His memories soared too fast to make any distinctions but she was positive there was something about the design he was getting that brought something Taine said back to mind.

“Based on a few stupid tattoos.”

Just some more scrolling–here! It was here. His head slowly began to turn and she could just see the design-

‘Baroque Works?’

Her body jerked away, ripping her vision fully back to the man lying in the sand and her awareness highenting to the chill and darkness of the night.

“Get away! He was stung!”

His hand was off of her before she could shrug it away. She scowled at him, against her better judgment. “Don’t do that so suddenly…” She dropped the scowl immediately and replaced it with a polite expression. “Ahem, please.”

He pointed to the dead man's neck, which was slowly beginning to turn a purplish hue, “his skin is turning purple. That's the mark of a scorpion! It can still be around, we have to get out of this area.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Her chagrin dwindled, but her determination and grit stayed firm. She was so close. “Wait, if I-“

The ground began to rumble, sand trembling. It sounded almost like elephants stomping in unison. Her head turned to where it came from, just beyond the bottom of the dune.

Sand began to rise and no sooner did it click what was causing it. Emerging from the ground was a dark, large, lizard-like beast. Its name, Sandora Dragon, was fitting. The menacing lizard was probably the largest animal that Alabasta had to offer and responsible for most travelers' deaths; its teeth were practically for decoration. You’d be swallowed whole before it could properly bite.

Not even fully out of the sand, she could see its slitted, slowly opening eyes, glowing like radiated yellow disks trained solely on them.

Yet, Enilah stayed put, rapidly switching her gaze between the rising lizard and the still body. Could she just roll up his sleeve? Oh, to hell with seeing the tattoo! She didn’t mind taking the gamble and just plunging in if it meant gaining extremely pertinent information. There is at least one minute or so before it reached them, she could risk–

Enilah once more was yanked, but didn’t resist it as much. “That thing will kill us both just as quick, we can’t stay!”

He was right. She allowed his grip to stay on her as they dashed up the sand hill. Once over it, he let go of her. She ran in whatever direction that was away from the camp. She knew it would do her no good. She could hear it closing in, its stomp like crawling rupturing the sand beneath her own feet.

Enilah pumped her legs faster and glanced around the area, almost staggering once she noticed Taine was gone. She didn’t even notice they split up. She hoped for his safety but cursed her luck.

“Why does it still have to be chasing me!?”

She craned her neck around and analyzed the charging beast, its sharp, white teeth the clearest to see as it gaped its disgusting, wide mouth open eagerly.

[un-monstre]

All this product placement for soup. It's like the writers were paid off by Big Soup

[celerydays]

might mess around and make an occasional 🔞 mdni 🔞 nsfw 🔞 post on the rare blue moon 👀

happy blue moon month 🌝

[caruliaa]

just bc im a lesbian doesnt mean tht i wont at times become deeply entranced with the beauty of male actor or character. it just means i wld rather be locked in a room with a man with a knife than do anything romantic or sexual with one

[creativesplat]

ok... so Lambert x Eve...

Eve and the two Blaiddyds

Lambert and the two Fierenes

The step-siblings

@blaiddydbrokeit and I were talking, and they have now sent me down the wonderful rabbit hole that is Eve and Lambert getting married and looking after their children.

[qcomicsy]

Going insane about how silly comics for young men from the sixties are on point on criticizing biased journalism. Stan Lee, Stan Lee I wanna sit down and have a chat with him. It's such a good critique. Such a good critique.

[fanfictiongreenirises]

thank you @theehighwarlock for the tag!! (you changed your name!! i love it!!)

rules: put your repeat playlist on shuffle and let your followers choose which song they like best

tagging two friends who i know use spotify: @dottie-wan-kenobi @they-reap-what-we-sow <3 and anyone else who wants to do this!!

[autistic-cat-with-a-book]

I was prompted to make this for @permanently-stressed (I had fun, thanks for the suggestion!)

It's called Too Far to Reach =) enjoy!

Jolie knocked on Brant’s door, noting the singular light shining through the bedroom window. “Brant? Are you home?”

The door opened a moment later and his handsome face peered out. He smiled when he saw her. “Jolie? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at Foxfire?”

“I snuck out to see you!” Jolie said joyfully. 

Jolie remembered she still had her Black Swan monocle pendant on as soon as he reached to touch it. “This is new,” he said– and was that…suspicion in his voice?

“Oh!” Jolie laughed, but internally she was scrambling to come up with a lie. The Black Swan was an illegal rebellion. Probably best that Brant didn’t know she was a member. “My friend found it in Atlantis and gave it to me.”

“I see….”

“So, um, do you want to eat some dinner?” she asked.

“Sure, love. But can we talk first?” Jolie nodded as Brant led her inside. His singular couch stood alone in the living room, but there was a glorious view of the ocean through the floor-to-ceiling windows. They sat, and he turned to face her. 

“I need to tell you something. Have you ever heard of the Neverseen?”

Jolie's breath quickened. She was undercover in the Neverseen, posing as a member while reporting back to the Black Swan. This couldn’t end well.

“No, never. What is it?” She lied.

Brant narrowed his eyes. “I think you have…”

“Okay, fine. They’ve reached out to me before, I think. I keep hearing voices in the shadows. It sounds like they were trying to recruit me,” she widened her eyes, feigning innocence. 

“Oh, they’ve more than reached out to you.” His voice hid an angry undertone, and Jolie squirmed in her seat. “You’ve done things for u–them.” Jolie noticed his slip. Had Brant been about to say…us?

“How do you know that?” she whispered, nervously snapping her fingers and making a small plate of butterblasts appear and disappear. 

“But that would mean…” Brant muttered to himself. “That would mean you’re not a real member!” He lunged, grabbing her monocle pendant as she screamed. Brant loved her, surely he wouldn’t hurt her, surely… What was happening???

A small ball of fire was hovering over his hand, and he was melting her pendant in it. “You’ve been in the Black Swan all along,” he spat. 

Brant was a pyrokinetic???

That explained the sparse furniture. He probably didn’t want to burn his house down every time he lost control.

“So you’ve been in the Black Swan, doing everything we told you to do in the dark because you wanted to infiltrate us?” Brant yelled.

“No, I–Did you just say, ‘us’?”

Brant covered his mouth and laughed darkly. “Well, I suppose there’s no reason to keep it a secret now.”

Jolie’s mind flashed through all of the horrible things the Neverseen handmade her do, all the nights meeting in secret, and the whispers… “That was you, in the tower? Telling me to join?”

“It was me, yes. And a few…others.”

“Why?” Her voice was quiet. Scared.

“Because our world isn’t perfect! Look at me, labeled Talentless when I can do this.” He muttered a few strange words and a glowing ball of neon-yellow flames burned through the stone ceiling, leaving a gaping hole with smoke rising from the edges. Jolie gasped. “This is power. This is a valuable ability.”

“Can’t you just go to the council with your concerns?” Jolie pleaded. Tiny flames were circling the ceiling now, licking at the edges and creeping closer. 

“The council won’t do anything. They never will. That’s why Fintan created the Neverseen.”

“Fintan?” The ancient elf who’d been one of the first councilors to exist made the organization that burned down human buildings for fun?

The flames were getting larger now. More determined. Brant didn’t seem to notice, still staring at his hovering yellow fire. 

“I can’t believe you’ve been a part of the Black Swan. The puny rebellion, destined to fail.” Brant scoffed as the flames slowly ate at the walls.

“And you’ve been spying on us…reporting our plans…telling them all of our secrets. What a good liar you are.” 

 Jolie didn’t think that was a compliment. 

Then Brant seemed to notice what was going on around him. In a panic, he dropped his ball of fire, which immediately sprang up, devouring the couch in its eagerness. Brant sprinted to the door, not looking back. Jolie was left behind, and now…she was trapped. 

Fire everywhere else she looked. It was getting very smokey, and her eyes were burning, her throat aching, someone please help, I’m trapped, please, “get me out!”

She didn’t realize that she’d said that out loud. She couldn’t think, could barely breathe. Her head was getting very foggy, and she collapsed to the ground, screaming as the fire whispered across her skin. She was on fire. 

She tried to push herself up, but her arms felt strangely detached. Jolie gasped for air, choking on the smoke. The flames had consumed almost the entire interior of the house.

She heard a distant pounding on the door, but her eyes were fluttering closed. Jolie felt strong arms picking her up, running, the door slammed behind them, she was lying on the dry grass, the stars were so high above her–

“Jolie. Stay with me. I love you... Please…. Please, you have to stay here, be with me, you can’t leave me…” that was Brant. So he did still care about her.

Her chest ached and her head was pounding. Her arms felt scorched.

The pain was only a distant feeling.

Everything seemed so very far away.

Too

far

to

reach

back.

and, since past experience proves that Tumblr hates formatting, here is a screenshot in case that last sentence didn't work correctly:

cool, right?