#t'is I

[forcebookish]

wow

[i-am-a-stupid-robot]

Reblog with your three brain cells. Mine are a kneadable eraser, bellybutton_song.mp3, and Linus Larrabee.

I have three brain cells. The first is an infinity cube. The second is a fidget cube. The third is a pair of earplugs.

[jimjamjommeron]

Phantom of Brazil 🇧🇷

[former-leftist-jew]

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

[caer-oswin]

deeper is the cut

and the wound that cannot heal

[ikarus-angel]

Hot and bothered<3

He likes it when he calls him Detective (for context; Polen works as private investigator)

Disclaimer: This story takes place before the second world war and before Reich assumes a position in the Nazi regime. Don't worry - eventually they will break and Reich will get his just deserves (death)

But right now he is Polen's gay awakening and that's okay 🥺👉👈

Hmhm humanised (original)

[unashamedly-enthusiastic]

I finished 'a court of thorns and roses' and wanted to do a review by counting how many times necks were mentioned and what percentage of those necks were described as sweaty

I did a search and find in a digital book and there were honestly too many results for me to be bothered, but, safe to say, there are a surprising amount of sweaty necks

Instead I will say they should get the girl who adapted bridgerton to do the mini series and it'd make 3 billion dollars

[wr1t3-my-wr0ngs]

So I've lost the tag list for people who wanted updates of this story. It's been a crazy time for me, and I'm happy to once again get to share a new chapter with yall. As always, this is crosspoted on Ao3, so go and check it out!

He hates the desert. Even with his heat reducing gear on, the air is suffocating. His layers cling to him with sweat and sand, and every move he makes rubs his old battle scars the wrong way. The burn left by Volga throbs the worst, not as bad as it did the day he got it, but more than enough to make itself known.

He had tried to rest after being escorted to the tents, really he did. But between the weight of Times lingering glare, the betrayal rolling through his stomach, and the ever so subtle shakes that the long trek through the desert and subsiquent introduction to an entire village of Gerudo did not make better, rest would not come. Outside the tent, Warriors can make out the sound of Times voice pitched low as he speaks to someone. A fresh spike of betrayal lances through his heart.

He knows why Time is just outside, it's for the same reason his one time little brother had placed himself between Warriors and Twilight on the trek through the sands. Time doesn't trust him, and the lack of trust stings almost as much as the memory of the one eyed man turning sword against the Captain in favor of protecting that liar.

Twilight.

Even thinking about the rancher, if he can be called that, sends emotions and panic rising through Warriors in an unstoppable wave. All this time...all this time and Ganondorfs heir was right there. Sleeping next to them, laughing with them, getting them to trust him...

The tent walls seem to close in, and the phantom sound of a war long over rings in his mind. Its accompanied by the smell of blood, of faces he had trusted turning sword against him, fighting for his life through a battle field of a time and place he was never meant to be. Killing people he was responsible for all because of him.

The snarling Gerudo of his memory towers over him, the historic enemy of Hyrule bigger than life and oh so much worse than any text could convey.

The tent grows smaller and taller at the same time, perception distorting as the panic attack grips the Captain. He can't stay here, but leaving through the front of the tent isn't an option and with such a blatant guard, he's far too noticable in his current state. Piece by piece he strips himself of his outer gear; first the scarf, then the green tunic, then the chainmail till he's left in the soft cream shirt. Divested of the most noticable parts of his attire, he crawls over the numerous carpets to the back of the tent and inelegantly begins pulling up a stake from the sand. It's longer than expected by a factor of at least a foot, but it pulls up with little resistance and allows just enough slack in the back tent wall to slip out.

He makes for the first free tent he sees that doesn't have people milling about it. it wouldn't be his first choice of hiding spot, but now that he's out of his makeshift prison, he feels exposed without his armor. The tent flap allows him easy entry, and he takes a moment to breathe and get his heart rate back under control.

He doesn't expect to see the prone figure of Four, propped up on soft pillows, and the sight of the familiar face trips something in his mind. Quietly, Warriors creeps towards the Smith. A tight bandage has been wound across Fours face, the smell of foreign medical herbs and potions strong enough to be overwhelming. The young man's colorful tunic has been removed and carefully folded beside them, and the tell tail padding of further bandages and poultices can be made out under the shift Four wears.

They look...small. Smaller than normal, and the Captain's guilt mixes with the hurt and fear that still thrum through him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, resting a hand on Fours brow and pushing wayward strands of hair away from the foul smelling bandage over their eyes. "I should have done something. Anything. But I let you get hurt, by him no less and-"

From out of nowhere, a sharp slap fires across the back of his head, hard enough to hurt but nothing more.

"ACK-"

"Do not lie,"

Looking over, Warriors finds himself suddenly face to face with one of the Gerudo. Deep lines and dark skin make up a face that seems as old as the desert around them, and fabric in clashing shades of blue, puce green, and muddy orange wrap around a body that is easily twice the Captain's own height from head to toe. How he missed her, he doesn't know, as even sitting down he can tell that she is easily among one of the tallest people he has met.

"You come to my tent, you will refrain from lying." She says, expression hard and unreadable. Her voice is heavily accsented with the same foreign curl that Warriors can hear floating around outside the tent, but hers is thicker. It clings to her voice from some point deeper than just her lips, native sounds repurposed in non native ways to service communication without any drive for mastery of the second language. It reminds him of the older Sheikah who sometimes visit the castle, the ones Impa bows to with difference, and whoes accents tell of a time before the Hylian language was common to the tribe and who learned it out of necessity. That resemblance alone is what keeps him from doing something rash.

Instead, Warriors rubs the back of his head, the sting still sharp from the hit, and glowers at the woman who has not moved from her corner where she sits calmly drinking tea.

"I wasn't lying-"

This time he sees the incoming blow and ducks the slap to the head, but he is entirely unprepared for the other hand that flicks him in the forehead with needle like precision.

"Another lie!" She chastises, clicking her tongue disappointedly and setting her cup aside with reverence. "You learn fast but do not *think* about what you say. You may not think them a lie, but that only makes them worse. You lie to yourself and believe it. What could you have done, eh?"

Her golden eyes drill into him, and Warriors swallows.

"Your friend has told me how the battle went. Do not take the fault for things that are not your fault."

Warriors opens his mouth to retort, but a fresh surge of pain from his aggravated scar makes him gasp instead. The adrenaline of his nerves had dulled the sensation, but moving around has been bad for it, and as the adrenaline leaves his system Volga's burn flares once more.

The old woman frowns.

"What is wrong?"

"Nothing," he grits out. "An old scar."

"Those are not nothing." She responds mater of factly, "I will examine it."

New fear shoots through him. It's bad enough he has to be in this tent village of Gerudo with an old war wound that won't stay calm, but the idea of any of them touching him-

Before he can begin to voice a complaint, his shirt has been removed without disturbing a hair on his head. Warriors blinks, fear and panic freezing in place within him, though he is of no mind to notice how comically fast it happened.

"How-?"

"Practice, now quiet."

Though her tone is brusque and her words cutting, the hands that begin examining the old burn scar across his side are gentle. He can't help flinching from her touch, the voice in the back of his head that kept him alive for so long screaming warning of an attack at being touched so suddenly.

The woman's hands pull back.

"You do not trust Sumati? That is fine. But you are in pain, so I will fix you."

"I don't-" Warriors tries, attempting to scootch away, but an iron grip prevents any escape.

"I say quiet, unless you wish to speak about trying to kill Meti'vi."

"Who?"

The old woman, Sumati, looks up briefly before continuing with their work. 

"Meti'vi, our Little Wolf."

Her fingers find the knot of inflamed tissue that throbs in the ambient heat, the remnant of magic fire that refuses to stop burning. Understanding flashes through the Captain's mind and he tries to pull away, but the press of a cool something - herbal and sticky- to the painful scar instantly soothes and stills him in place with sheer relief.

"None of your people have said anything, but it is not hard to know. I recognize your kind, Soldier. I remember the battles of my youth. You are a Hylian Soldier. The Gerudo have not been friends with Hyrule for many many lives. I am not surprise that you made attempt. When he first came to be with us, there are many even of eh Gerudo that would have tried also were it not for Anish."

She sighs, almost imperceptible.

"There are fewer now who know not to try again,"

Warrior starts, turning to look at the older woman, making Sumati tut when the action takes his wounds out of her reach and the bandage she had begun to apply over the sticky herbs.

"You mean, there are Gerudo who tried to kill him?"

The idea boggles the mind.

"There were," Sumati stresses, once again gripping Warriors by the shoulders and turning him to face the way he had been. "We have not had a king in many centuries. Our last one lead eh Gerudo to ruin. The King of Black Lies was not only enemy to Hyrule,"

She sets the bandage and Warriors swallows.

"You're still helping me,"

"I am a healer, it is what I do."

"...I don't understand."

Sumati sighs, long and deep, and her hands pull back from their careful examination of each old injury and point of pain. Warriors looks around, confused to see the old woman sweep the puce green scarf from her head. Curls that are more gray then red spring back up in a short hair style when freed. The cut is practical, harsh, and meticulously maintained. With her head and shoulders now exposed, she reminds him of the old captain, the one before him who took Warriors under her wing. He's even more confused when, moments later, the fabric is draped over his bare shoulders.

"I spent my youth in wars, some started by us, some not. I know soldiers. And I know war does not end for us when killing stops. I see it in your eyes, the battles you still fight."

She leaves him for a few seconds, turning away to do something and he briefly considers ducking back out the way he came in. But he has begun to feel the exhaustion of the day, the wrung out emotional drain that fighting back the horrors of the war always leaves him with. So, when Sumati turns around and reverently sets a small wooden cup filled with steaming tea down, Warriors is still there.

She waits for him to take a sip before nodding, adjusting the scarf over his shoulders so that it covers him more fully, then retrieving her cup and taking a slow thoughtful sip.

"I know why eh Gerudo tried to kill Meti'vi. I know why Hylians have tried to kill him also. But I do not know why *you* tried, Warrior."

Rather than answer, Warriors looks down at the cup and takes one last sip of warm liquid.

Sumati sighs and takes the empty cup from his hands, tucking them into a fold of her skirts.

"You do not have to talk to me, but know that my tent is safe to you. I will not tell any where you are."

This time when Sumati reaches out to him, Warriors does not flinch, and even though his mind protests being manhandled into laying down, as soon as his head touches the ground his eyes begin to droop shut.

"What was in that tea?" he slurs out, fighting off sleep as a light cloth is lain over him

"Only tea, you bring your own exhaustion."

Without his permission, he falls asleep.

Sumati sighs, eyebrows pinched in thought as she considers her new patient. It had been odd watching the sand covered voe crawl into her tent from the back door like a man being set on fire. The fear in his eyes had given her pause. T'i knew fear, after more then sixty winters of life, much of it spent tending to wounds on bloody sands while those still able to fight climb over the bodies of those beyond help. Fear, anger, grief— these Sumati knows as well as joy or triumph.

But this fear had not been of a man in battle, or one haunted. This was the fear of the hunted and the lost, and it was relieving to see how the blonde relaxed when he had caught sight of his injured friend.

Then he had opened his mouth and started talking, and Sumati's relief morphed into resignation as the guilt and the weight of burdens unshared crushed the soldier before her eyes.

Treating this soldier will be a challenge.

A slight dampness soaking through t'i's skirts reminds Sumati of the cups that need cleaning, and with a groan, she crawls out of the tent and into the still too warm air.

Outside the tent is chaotic, but this is not unusual. Getting to set up at Kara Kara is a treat, a novelty that before the ban was lifted could not have happened. Having access to the oasis is strange and a blessed relief all at the same time. Water in a desert is a precious resource, and in all t'i's life t'i had never seen so much in one place. Still, something about it's depths keeps the old woman wary, and she keeps t'i's distance.

It is chaotic, but it is good, so Sumati doesn't pay it any attention until the frantic voices starts.

"Did anyone see him?"

A one eyed man, another from Meti'vi's group stands before a tent, gripping one of the long stakes in a hand.

"He's missing?" Another man asks, this one shorter and more square across the shoulders and wearing more layers then Sumati would have thought a Hylian capable of wearing in the heat.

The one eyed man runs a hand through his har, face twisted with worry.

"I went in to bring him some water, but all I found was this-" he gestures at the stake, "And most of his gear." The man looks grave, "Including his scarf."

A soft gasp of horror from the shorter of the pair is almost enough to make Sumati approach and ask what the problem is, until the next words offer her a final piece of information.

"Warriors left his scarf?"

Shakeily, the one eyed man nods. Meanwhile, Sumati's mind, older than it once was but no less as sharp, has put together the last piece of the mystery.

Warrior..., she thinks, they must mean the Soldier. She turns away from the pair and offers herself a rare smile of amusement. So, their prisoner has escaped? Too bad for them. After seeing the state of agitation the Soldier had come to her tent in, perhaps letting his captors sweat will be good for them.

---

Food has done wonders for Twilights mood and part of his mind frowns at how much of his depression was probably driven by unrecognized hunger. He is still shaky and uncertain, but the horrid little siren song of a voice in the back of his mind has quieted. That, at least, is progress. He takes his time getting ready to face the world again. Careful sweeps of a small brush over his lips add the bright yellow color of his lip balm to his encemble. Though not the best at applying the make up, there is something reassuring about the simple ritual. Once done, Twilight reluctantly leaves the tent.

The air around the oasis is cooler than the rest of the desert, and though his kurta isn't warm, he relishes the opportunity to shed the outer layer and walk around in his sleeveless blue undertunic.

There is something to be said for the power of a familiar place to ease anxieties, and the oasis is as familiar to him as the rest of the desert is by now. Even more familiar is the sprawl of tents around the water. The larger of the tents ring the encampment, offering a wall of sorts against the wind and sand for the smaller personal tents to take shelter in. Normally, a small collection of cooking slates and wide pans over hot fires would sit in the center of the encampment, but with the oasis this set up wasn't possible. Instead, the various cooking stations ringed the pool, each cooking area with a small group gathered around it.

Striding up to a near by palm tree, Twilight leans against the trunk and surveyed the area. 

"No crown?"

"Absolutely not." Is the instantaneous response the rancher gives Legend.

"Funny, I thought kings had crowns."

Twilight sighs.

"Not me. It's not something I've ever been interested in. Besides, the money is better spent on them." He nods at the tents around him, indicating the Gerudo as a group.

Afraid of what he might see but starting to be resigned to the worst case event, Twilight looks over at Legend. For his part the red clad hero looks very relaxed among the hustle and bustle of the village.

"What do you want, Legend? An apology?"

Legend snorts.

"Oh hell no. Believe me, I get it. Heavy is the head and all that noise."

"You aren't mad?"

"Eh, I'm always a little ticked off with something. But not at you. Not anymore. Like I said, I get why you didn't say anything. Gotta admit I didn't see this twist coming, and yeah, I'm hurt you didn't say anything. But I've cooled off...metaphorically."

It's Twilights turn to laugh.

"You're gonna want to take mid day rest pretty soon. Trust me, heat resistant clothes are not enough."

"Yeah, I'll do that in a bit." Is the flippant response. "One of the women here was kind enough to offer us tents. Nali I think her name is."

"I know her. She's good at the hospitality game."

Legend nods, turns and then pauses.

"Sorry I snapped at you when we all found out. You don't deserve that."

Twilight doesn't get a chance to respond before Legend walks off towards a set of smaller tents.

[iwanttobepersephone]

hihi

MY BOYFRIEND

HEY EVERYONE THIS IS THE BF I'VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT SAY HI TO THIS STUPID, STUPID MAN WITH HIS MANY STUPID, STUPID HYPERFIXATIONS /lovingly

[snudootchaikovsky]

ELF WEEK DAYS 1-4

AYA • ECLAT • FFION • LICHT

[steeltempered]

They are plotting and scheming for a Halloween group-costume. Gajeel suggested mecha.

Juvia says Wizard of Oz.

[skaruresonic]

Hey lowkey Lakeside is REALLY good. You read Stephen King? It's giving Stephen King. I love it.

Thanks! ^^ gather round children, I have a tale to tell you about a lake freezing over in summer

I've read some stuff by Stephen King, but I think the only full novel of his that I've finished was Carrie. The rest were his short stories and On Writing. So maybe some of his style subconsciously rubbed off on me lmlksklfms. He's definitely the master of writing that burrows under your skin, so I'm flattered you think Lakeside gives off King vibes.

On Writing is a really good source of writing advice. I especially resonated with his advice to make short sentences like "Janet looked. Rocks exploded." if the words aren't wording for you that day. I'm a big proponent of Hemingway's iceberg theory, and SH tends to rely more on implication than description, you know what I mean? Less is more.

I'm approaching the end of the fic on AO3, so I'm planning on posting chapters here as well.

Stay spoopy, my friend >:3c

[dr-albert-g-krueger]

@vincent-cyborg

Ah too bad..my hand slipped. I meant to write.. visceral cellular border. Yes. That.

[fox-lemour]

Every so often I come back to this, but I have been hesitant to post on Tumblr because I have mutuals in the creepypasta fandom and I don't want to seem like I'm encroaching on their domain or something stupid like that.

Anyways here's wonderwall.

[yeyinde]

Hi! If you don’t mind me asking, what characters are you feeling inspired to write for at the moment? Not to send in requests or anything, just to see where the next yeyinde era will take me!

Hiya!! "Yeyinde era" I love it so much 🥹

I'm kinda shuffling through some stuff while combating the prevailing sense of ennui that seems to come with summer, but currently I'm working on fics for Richie Jerimovich, Jacob Seed (I say for the third month in a row with absolutely nothing posted to show for it 😭), and another little far cry 5 au (kindaaa) but I wanna write about what happens after the Dep decides not to arrest Joseph because 👀 ohhh, my goddddddd. But I shan't say anything else because I promise I won't shut up about it if I start now.

And also!! Ghostface, Yautja, finishing up Fever in a Shockwave, John Wick, and Tom Wombsgans x Greg Hirsch, maybe some Kendall Roy.

And ummmmmm.

[theserenityinviolence]

bhenchod innocent people are subjected to evil and cruel news because goddamn jiska kaam hai woh gaand mein dandi laga ki godi mein baithe huey hai (godi media hehe) I swear. Those insta templates are wrong. it's not our job to circulate horrifying disgusting cruel news, nor should normal people have to be exposed to those details. Likin because some chutiyon couldn't honestly do their work, it becomes our responsibility. And you know what, I hate that. All of these rapes, murders, religious violence etc. etc. etc. Can't even threaten the government with the media kyuki bhenchod sab toh ek dusra ka chooste baithe hai. No seriously, tell me, when did people decide to just be okay with the fact that the general public is going to be exposed to such gruesome details? and this is coming from me, i've read and watched a massive amount of gore and violent media, trained a lot of sports that used to be arts of war and been around a lot of aggressive violent things. And yet. And yet these posts mess me up. They mess up my mental. It's disturbing and i'm not too tough to admit it. Yeah I can take my fair share of gruesome things, I've become numb to it now, I hate it. I hate that we've become so numb to it.

sorry that was just a rant post, i get into a really horrible headspace every couple of months because of this stuff. again, i'm not saying we shouldn't speak up. I just hate that this is what it's come to.