#the first part is also a lie

[foxfire-official]

“The average Foxfire mentor is part of at least one rebellion group” is incorrect. The average Foxfire mentor is a law abiding citizen who would never rebel against the Council in any way. The average Foxfire pupil on the other hand-

[3-aem]

fem suguru tiddies. do we want them or nah

[twinstxrs]

there’s something so personal about the scene in fantasy high s1e7 where gorgug calls himself stupid & fabian, who up to that point had basically entirely been acting like the bad kids (especially gorgug) were beneath him & had also been the one calling ragh stupid two lines ago, instantly says “okay, do not put yourself down like that. don’t you dare do that to yourself.” like it was obvious he liked the bad kids at that point but the instinct to protect his friends manifesting as an immediate strong refusal of gorgug’s self-deprecating talk kills me. that boy loves his friends so bad oh my god i feel sick.

[alaynestone]

3.15 TIME IS ON MY SIDE 5.01 SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL

[inadvisablebutinevitable]

fuck it. Everyone rant in the tags about a song you think relates to aftg for literally any reason

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

Share your lastest WIP! If you want 👀

which one 🥲😂😭💀 i have a few - will this do?

~

“They’re quite odd, aren’t they?” 

Abraxas is snickering when he says it. He’s just loud enough to grate - nothing new - but in what should be the quiet sanctity of the library, his tone sufficiently pulls Tom from his reading. 

His eyes lock on Abraxas across from him and flick to the ‘they’ in question. 

And, of course, it’s the Grangers. 

Since entering the magical community, Tom has learned a thing or two about their societal norms. An interesting component being that it is surprisingly challenging to be seen as ‘odd’ here. A wixen can be any number of things: lazy, stupid, poor, muggle - the list goes on, but ‘odd’ is a category used sparingly when directed towards each other. Much unlike the muggles Tom has known and grown his whole life around. 

He was always seen as odd by them - freakish - and continues to be whenever he returns to the orphanage for summer. So he doesn’t much care for the word. 

Besides, if anything, the Grangers aren't even worth gawking over and snickering about. Their worst can be summed up to anti-socialistic, codependent, and exclusionary behaviours - probably a trauma response from the war. They clearly have no interest in playing house with their dormmates or the rest of the school, so why bother?

They are sitting beneath the second-story stair landing where the elves have managed to shove one last table. It’s one of the more tucked away and private places on this level — a place Tom would not consider and will not consider; he needs to be visible, available — and they’ve claimed it like it’s never belonged to anyone else. Like it was placed there just for them. Their ease of acclimation to Hogwarts as a whole has certainly raised some eyebrows, yet still, he isn’t concerned. 

He had also known Hogwarts was his home the moment he had stepped foot in it, after all. He is not so foolish as to believe himself an outlier.

Hermione Granger’s hands are waving wildly, turning in circles and gesturing in a vague sphere-like shape. She’s talking aloud - not that Tom, or anyone else, can hear it - and doesn’t seem to like what she’s saying, given the harsh line between her brows. Ronald Granger is sitting in front of her and starts shaking his head. He says something and reaches across the table to take her wrists — expands them — the sphere becomes an oval.

Harry Granger sits beside them pensive, with his head down and reading carefully from a book in his hands. He starts to turn the page but pauses; he frowns and looks up.

He looks right at Tom.

Granger blinks once, slowly. He mouths something, but it’s not directed towards Tom because his siblings turn to look at him. It only lasts a moment before they suddenly turn around to stare at Tom as well, their eyes wide and alarmed. 

Tom watches on as Harry Granger slouches - maybe sighs? He shakes his head and palms his face in something like dismay. It doesn't take a legilimens to read his lips now—

“You are both such idiots.” He says.

The corner of Tom’s lips curl. It’s possibly a smile. He’ll never call it that out loud.

“Very,” he finally replies to Abraxas.

[moeblob]

Amazing, take some of the side character demons from Evil Bound.

Vincie is a menace to Chuck and Chuck alone so in Hell, Chuck hexes his hand behind his back so that he isn't grabbed as much (and it's harder to pet him). Chuck is like the most irresponsible older sibling ever to demons though so Kelvin recruits him (as an older sibling vibe) to go help him get his ACTUAL older sibling from Earth. Chuck agrees. And then drags Vincie from Hell with them because no one else wants to babysit him and he refuses to unbind the hex just to re-hex when he returns to Hell.

In Hell, Kelvin actually doesn't appear much different than his human form! Like Kronos, the lines under his eyes are red in Hell but black on earth. Chuck however? In Hell he has wolf-ish ears and has a fur lining his neck (note the neck scars in human form). In addition to that he has four eyes in Hell (note the scars under his eyes in human form). Vincie just has horns in Hell. And! In Hell the hex doesn't have a silly looking "tied up" look, it's invisible unless Vincie strains it with movement and then its red text. But it shifts on earth to be visible.

Vincie's biggest agony for the entirety on earth is "dude it's colder here than in Hell I want a jacket to slip my arms into BUT I CANT BECAUSE IM BOUND".

[aezuria]

leo would absolutely BODY the tell ur girlfriend dance trend on tiktok

[crispyjenkins]

(AC wip) The Savage Price of Piety

it's desmond's deathday and i wrote like. 9,000 more words to this wip (first two parts here) last week and i want to brag about it, so happy deathday you wet bastard (mostly gen but with a surprise rarepair, time travel/reincarnation, found family, william miles’ a+ parenting, accidental subterfuge, desmond goes by miles mostly, inspired by study of flight by @esamastation but with a twist!, only somewhat historically accurate swears by which i mean probably not at all but leonardo had some Opinions alright) have some (three) chronological but scattered bits of scenes

  “Oh,” Claudia says as soon as she opens the door, seeing Ezio’s rather wretched expression, “you’ve figured it out, then.”

  “You could have told me,” he growls, following her into the entryway and closing the door behind himself. 

  Claudia scoffs, spinning on heel to lead the way further into the building for the kitchens. “I had one conversation with the boy, brother, I was hardly sure of it myself. Wait,” she halts and points a finger at him accusingly, “how did you figure it out?”

  Ezio, quite graciously he thinks, ignores the subtle insult to his intelligence. Sighing, he pushes back his hood before their mother sees him with it on indoors, and runs a hand over his beard. “I had Leonardo visit.”

  Claudia’s face slackens, before twisting into a rage that has Ezio stepping away warily.

  But she punches the wall instead of her brother, a shouted “Gods damn it!” echoing in the narrow space. Then she spins on her heel and hollers further into the residential part of the bordello, “Mother! We forgot about Leonardo!”

  Horrified by his sister and concerned for his mother’s current mental state, Ezio reaches out to put a hand on Claudia’s arm, but he doesn’t get the chance before Maria de' Auditore is shouting right back, “God damn it!”

  Grumbling, Claudia stomps down the hall and leaves a very confused Ezio hurrying to follow; she ignores all his pleas for explanation until she’s stomped into the kitchen, where their mother is pouring two very large glasses of wine, with very little water to cut down the potency. She passes one to Claudia silently, and then they both drink, though luckily they aren’t attempting to down it all at once.

  “I can’t believe we forgot the Maestro,” their mother mutters to herself as she comes over to kiss Ezio on both cheeks, before shoving the still mostly-full glass into his hands.

  “Forgot him for what?” Ezio wants to know, clutching the glass like a mother clutches a babe.

  “To test if Miles really is an Auditore.” It’s said so flippantly, like it doesn’t affect Claudia at all, but she also collapses into one of two chairs at the little tea table under the largest window. Their mother takes the other, massaging her forehead and looking like she’s grieving their family all over again.

  It occurs to Ezio, as he moves to stand next to the table, that she probably is.

--

“It’s all up to you now, Seventeen.”

  Desmond opens his eyes to the dark of the dormitory, faint moonlight cutting over the floor between his bed and Nino’s, and he can’t bring himself to move — even to roll off his arm that is very much still asleep. 

  Clay still haunts him.

  Five hundred fucking years, and his current twenty-four besides, and that fucker still won’t leave him alone. If Desmond were not so familiar with what an actual Bleed feels like, he’d almost think Clay is stuck in his brain the same way as his ancestors. Thank fuck he stopped Bleeding Ezio’s memories and feelings, while still retaining much of the training.

  Fuck, time travel is so weird.

  Or, reincarnation? He’s not sure of much, but he’s sure he was dead, he’s sure he burned, and he’s sure that though his 15th century mother had affectionately called him [redacted], his name is Desmond Miles.

  Or just Miles, he supposes. Sue him, he panicked when Adele first approached him, and the best aliases are ones you know you’ll respond to, right? If only he’d have had the forethought to divorce himself from his... future family’s surname.

  It sounds different enough with an Italian accent that it hasn’t caused any problems, yet. Like making him flinch. Or snapping that he hasn’t been a Miles since he was sixteen.

  Granted, he still has no idea what he would go by instead. Altaïr and Conner would feel weird, while Sef or Darim are just a bit on the nose, and does he look like an Edward? Malik, maybe. His grandmother here, now, is actually from the Levant, so his skin is certainly dark enough that people wouldn’t be surprised by the name.

Except that feels almost akin to naming himself Leonardo.

--

  So instead, Leonardo spends every spare moment with his best friend, sometimes to brainstorm, sometimes to simply be there for him. It’s during one of these visits, he and Ezio once again observing the youngest assassins in the training ring, that he hears Miles laugh for the first time, and it’s as if ice water has been poured directly into his veins.

  Oh fuck. Oh Saints, oh Holy Father, oh fuck.

  “Leonardo?” Ezio asks quietly, head tilted towards him in concern, but Leonardo ignores him to stumble for the bannister to lean over it and stare down at Miles learning a little jig from Tullio, laughing all the while.

  He had only heard it once, truth be told, and it had been Salaí that had caused it, but even three years later, Leonardo remembers the laugh of Rodrigo Borgia’s sinister little shadow.

  Below, Miles doesn’t stop smiling, but his golden brown gaze yanks up towards Leonardo as if knowing his thoughts are about him. His eyes narrow, then widen slightly in realisation, and then he winces and looks away, which is all the confirmation Leonardo needs.

  Turning around, Leonardo grabs a confused Ezio by the arm and drags him from the training room, ignoring his protests until they find the nearest empty room.

  “Leonardo, what—?”

  “Romulus.”

-

[lesbianfakir]

To elaborate on my ruekirtho throuple thoughts, sometimes I think about a world where their shared love for mytho brought rue and fakir together instead of driving them apart. They’re both incredibly lonely kids who have lost too much and, as much as they care for mytho, a heartless doll isn’t replacement for real human companionship. So they find each other.

Rue knows it will never last. No one beyond her Prince will ever love her. She sees the way Fakir throws rocks at the flock of crows that gathers around her. When he discovers her identity—and she knows he will discover her identity one day—they’ll go back to being enemies. He is the Knight and she is the daughter of the Raven, his killer. Still, it’s nice to have a friend even for a little while. So she lets herself forget. She forgets who, what, she is. She forgets that there was ever a before. She forgets that they won’t last.

Fakir knows there is something very, very wrong in Rue’s life. He sees the deep scratches that stand out against her almost unnaturally pale skin. She speaks in a hushed tone with a haunted look in her eyes when it’s time to go home. She won’t tell him anything, though. He doesn’t even know where she lives; it’s as if she disappears at the end of the day. He just hopes that one day, when it comes down to it, he’ll be able to protect her from whatever haunts her.

By the time the story goes into motion, the two, along with Mytho, are near inseparable. When Mytho begins regaining his heart, Rue and Fakir work together to put a stop to it. When Rue begins losing track of the days, feeling as if someone else is trying to claw their way out of her chest, she almost goes to Fakir for help. Almost.

It is, of course, Fakir who shatters the illusion that is Rue. Her one and only friend calls her an ugly crow, and in that moment she remembers what she is. What she’s always been. They’ve been enemies from birth. This “friendship” was nothing more than the a sad illusion created by a lonely girl—a girl who no longer exists. And she knows now, in her father’s absence, her “friend” will die at her hand. This is their fate and fate cannot be changed. Still, it was nice while it lasted.

[mishy-mashy]

Kudo makes funny facial expressions

[psygull]

First Snow (2006)

"Hey, they say it's gonna fuckin' snow down here this year, can you believe that?"

[iced-souls]

So I’ve been watching the show Alice in Borderland

Currently I just finished season one and Honestly, just found out it’s based on a manga, and suddenly everything about how the show is made makes so much more sense—

On another note —and the main point I’m addressing in this post— within the course of my viewing of season 1

I HATE THAT GOD DANG CHISIYA!!!!

HE PUSHES ALL MY GOD DANG BUTTONS OMG HIS HANDS ARE ALWAYS IN HIS GOD DANG POCKETS HIS FACE IS ALMOST ALWAYS THE SAME EXPRESSION

I DON;T CARE ANYMORE THAT HE’S SUPPOSED TO BE THE CHESHIRE CAT — WHY CAN’T HE SHOW OFF HIS COOL TECH MORE— THAT WAS NEAT

“But I am clever”— NO YOU AREN’T JUST SHUt— AUUGh AUkRAAAAGHHH you know what YOU KNOW WHAT I’m done IM DONE

Post done guys, bye

He’s my favourite character now

[aceredshirt13]

gang i have to share this P. G. Wodehouse quote with you all because ever since I found it I can't stop thinking about it. it's from a letter he wrote when he was 78 years old to his friend Guy Bolton (many thanks to P. G. Wodehouse: A Life in Letters)

I have been on the sick list myself, but am better now. Inflamed bladder or chill on the bladder or something, the symptoms being agony when I passed water, as the expression is. It brought back the brave old days when I used to get clap.

he really said "yeah the pain from my bladder issue reminds of the days when I used to have so much sex I repeatedly got venereal disease"

[bunnihearted]

it's esp in these times when i wake up early in the morning and cant get back to sleep bc i have so much anxiety my entire body hurts that i just so badly wish i wasnt alone in the world and that i had someone to hold me tightly and ground me and let me focus on their breath bc my breath hurts going thru my body, and focus on their warmth and anchor me down, show me and my mind that im not alone so that i wont spin away into a neverending abyss of worries and nightmares

[compacflt]

my apologies if this is too simple or juvenile or personal a question but HOW did you become such a proficient writer? and do you have any tips or pointers to keep in mind? i know you must do a lot of reading and a lot of writing, but your skill is just incredible to me. your prose!! your cadence!! when we get around to talking about it is genuinely one of the best things i've ever read and i'd eat it if i could!!!

this ask was so sweet thank you!! rly made my day when i needed a boost. Hope you don’t mind i took a couple days to think about it cause no one’s ever asked me for writing advice before

idk how i became a “proficient” writer bc I really don’t write that much. something about my fic gave me brainworms and i went into overdrive but that’s…not my usual MO. which is why it’s weird for me too. admittedly i am studying english/creative writing as my second major at uni, but i haven’t learned anything in any of my classes you couldn’t learn by just reading and writing on your own. honestly i should’ve stuck with my IR major instead, i find structured cw classes a complete waste of time. but here are some little tips i thought of that would’ve helped ME:

This is more a “do as I say not as I do” because I’m really bad at habits like this, but keep a diary. You can write about the big events (went to the store, did homework, got laid etc.) but that’s boring—focus on the details (watched someone at west side market throw a glass bottle of olives at a rat, broke a pen and permanently stained my dorm desk and won’t get my deposit back which pissed me off because I move out in a week, this guy’s breath smelled like lemon pledge and it made me wonder if he drank window cleaner before kissing me etc.). Real life is really interesting! How can you write about interesting real life in an interesting way? It’s a good way to practice. You don’t have to do a big reflection at the end of the day or anything. It’s okay to jot down something you saw & then immediately forget about it. It’s the act of figuring out how to translate life into words that’s important

If you type, learn how to type FAST. This is just my experience, but I think typing faster makes your cadence, clause length, dialogue, IDEAS flow better/more naturally. We think in words/sentences, not letters.

This is a super lame tip that’ll make you roll your eyes, but read poetry. Poetry is all about how words/ideas/images sound and interact with each other. Don’t get hung up on one poet—im not really recommending any for precisely this reason—read poetry you love (for me, Ada Limón, Jack Kerouac, Frank O’Hara, ghazals etc) AND read poetry you hate (for me, Rupi Kaur, Emily Dickinson, Whitman, etc)! Read all genres you can get your hands on. (I think there are like “great poetry anthologies” you can find for free online if u don’t know where to start. Also you can’t go wrong with subscribing to/reading a variety magazine like the NYer. It’s pretentious but it exposes you to all kinds of weird topics, ways of writing about them, etc.) Figure out how certain combinations of words and punctuations make you FEEL, and why, and why the writer chose (or not) to make you feel that way. Figure out which literary sounds you like and which ones you don’t. For me, i figured out that I REALLY like alliteration, comma splices, zeugmas, the rule of three, and

“he’s [verb]ing again… yeah compacflt’s characters are [verb]ing again… big shocker”

If you have an idea for a piece, figure out what it is you really want to get out of it—to say something? to experiment with a different style? to see your fav characters do something? to have fun?—and then figure out how, on a technical level, you should write to match that goal (this is where the poetry training comes in handy). If you’re just writing to have fun, don’t listen to any writing advice (incl. mine), because most of it is bullshit and over-generalized and will make you feel bad about yourself. Just take the advice that you think will work for what YOURE trying to write.

But if you’re writing to explore some political idea, then you should think about HOW to best write about that idea. What would be a convincing story/allegory/scene to engage with this idea vs. not convincing. I talk on this blog all the time about how disappointed I am that my very-adult-grown-up attempt to deal with the dynamic of “immovable internalized homophobia vs unstoppable falling in love anyway” is rendered a little childish/immature by some pretty unconvincing plot points like the characters buying a house together—I really should have considered how that plot point would interact with the characterizations I’d built already (hint: poorly). You can think of writing as kind of a military structure if that helps—you have strategy on the overarching campaign (plot/character growth/allegory/theme) level, the battle (scene that advances the above) level, and the tactical (sentence-level construction/syntax/wording) level. They all have to work together. If a scene is failing to properly engage with the idea you’re trying to convey, you’re losing a battle that will weaken the overarching campaign. Same thing if you choose a weird word in a sentence/write in a style or tone that’s weirdly out of place with your idea—it makes your engagement with the theme/idea less convincing. just try to be purposeful and consider your strategy on all levels of your work as you’re writing it!! At the very least it’ll make editing easier lol.

But then again when I read my own writing from just a couple months ago I cringe out of my skin, so like—just also accept that it’s a process and we’re all just making it up as we go along. Be proud of being embarrassed of your old work, because it means you’re growing. Own that shit. When I finished writing WWGATTAI i thought it was the best thing I’d ever written, and maybe it was. But since the day I finished working on it, it’s the worst thing I’ve written since then. That’s a great feeling. Not to be like writing grindset obviously bc it’s supposed to be fun—but if what you want is to get better at writing, the strategy is to WRITE a whole bunch of shit, and then own your embarrassment about how much you’ve grown since you started. And know you’re still always growing and learning. there should never be any “goals” where skills are concerned 👍🏽