#we're all on the same page here

[natdeviantrat]

didn't think it was possible but assad and eric may end up giving jacob and sam a run for their money when it comes to saying unhinged shit about their ahem workplace relationship

[punctuation-completionist]

okay, so, i just realized i never said this, but if i ever reblog something from you and you want me to take it down, please do just shoot me an ask explaining which post it is and like. try to make it clear that's what you're getting at (ie, if you just send me "fuck you never reblog my stuff i hope you die" i am not going to understand that inherently as a request and more of as a dick move)

because, genuinely, i don't wanna be reblogging something that you're uncomfortable with and if i ever fail to read the room, it's probably a mistake and i would love for you to tell me that i made one.

[incorrect-hs-quotes]

Jane: My take on the walrus knocking on your door versus a fairy knocking on your door thing is that I don't believe in magic or fairies whatsoever and I'd still be more surprised by the walrus. A fairy knocking on my door means I've made one bad assumption about how the world works; a walrus knocking on my door – in Washington, in February – means I'm wrong about a great many things.

[eightyuh]

Why does Freya seem to want to murder Glen (although deep down we all want to maul him one way or another)

Freya gets cute aggression!

[mortellanarts]

No one here follows me for writing but I would like to inform the chapter 2 of this is only 3/5 done and already double the word count of chapter 1 which means 24k so far lmao they were not kidding that post-ztd aftermath do have many characters to account for in conversation

[rinbylin]

谁说我儿子一个人？ who said my son is on his own? x

[inevitabledonutspree]

Relativity falls, but Dipper is trans.

Mabel is very proud of him 👏

[walterdecourceys]

i went to church for the first time in my memory (though i know my mom brought me when i was a baby/too little to be by myself) last sunday (not cause i've decided to go hard lutheran, i got roped into being part of church choir) and my frame of reference is so small with christian church i just spend the whole time wondering what you would have thought of it all sjdfhsd. there was a baptism and it took forever but the baby was very cute

i'm honored that you thought of me actually... i thiiiink lutheran theology is pretty similar to reformed (denomination i grew up in) theology since they're both directly based on the work of reformers 🤔 i don't think i can come up with the differences off the top of my head. either way i'm sure i would have had many thoughts about it.. infant baptism alone i could probably go on for a while about

anyway i hope services are not too torturous for you 🫡 if you get bored you can read some of the pew bibles that's my top tip. exodus is fun

[nostalgia-tblr]

I reckon I have at least one more sifki fic in me, somewhere. Because look:

They've definitely fucked, haven't they? (I made a gif to prove it. It's a fact now. A gif-proved fact.) There's a turbulent history there, I know it in my bones. I want to squish them together on the virtual page and see whether they fight or they fuck, or if - which I think is most likely - they do both of those things and also at least one of them cries for the lost innocence of the past and for the lost hopes of a misplaced future.

[coquelicoq]

In talking about Chaucer (p. 74), I said that, in general, puns and verbal connections of sound were unimportant and not to be sought out; and now, you will say, I have been using them to explain cruces in Shakespeare. Alas, you have touched on a sore point; this is one of the less reputable aspects of our national poet. A quibble is to Shakespeare [Johnson could not but confess] what luminous vapours are to the traveller; he follows it at all adventures; it is sure to lead him out of his way and sure to engulf him in the mire. It has some malignant power over his mind.... A quibble was for him the fatal Cleopatra for whom he lost the world, and was content to lose it. Nor can I hold out against the Doctor, beyond saying that life ran very high in those days, and that he does not seem to have lost the world so completely after all. It shows lack of decision and will-power, a feminine pleasure in yielding to the mesmerism of language, in getting one's way, if at all, by deceit and flattery, for a poet to be so fearfully susceptible to puns. Many of us could wish the Bard had been more manly in his literary habits, and I am afraid the Sitwells are just as bad.

William Empson, 7 Types of Ambiguity, ch 2 pp 100-101

i'm sorry this is so fucking funny. that pathetic loser shakespeare who loved puns so much it cost him everything, except of course his status as the most famous, most read, most immortal english-language author of all time. but everything else, he lost and it's all because of how weak he was to resist a pun :/ pouring one out for my sad little girly man who could have had it all if only he was better at writing, the thing he is the most famous guy in the world for.

even empson, who disagrees with johnson that shakespeare "lost the world", is like, too bad our favorite poet is susceptible to the thing that made him famous :/ really tragic that the guy whose wordplay we've been talking about for 300 years likes wordplay :///

also i can't get over writing a book about the types of ambiguity and NOT INCLUDING PUNS?? sorry but puns are ambiguous! that's where their juice comes from! imagine liking ambiguity so much you write a book about it but never mention puns except to dunk on them. imagine being a POET and POETRY CRITIC who looks down on sound-based ambiguity! could not be me!!

[mantisgodsdomain]

We ought to write more Pokemon fic some time. We want to recreate the Pokemon Manners/Human Manners cheat sheet that we made a few years ago we think that this site would like the Sliding Scale Of Politeness When Greeting A New Pokemon You've Never Met Before.

[wife]

reading about peoples experiences with childhood loneliness on reddit is like wrow... i'm a special girl i see

[mugiwarafan]

the entire fandom @ buggy after 1082

[princestolasofficial]

pro tip: water your plants with the 50 half drinken water bottles in your room to help lessen the depression pit

[hornedavies]

actually i think taskmaster rpf is the most ethical rpf can get

[townofcadence]

Snowed In

@talesofnovembria continued from here!

She'd initially raised a brow when Artair sought her out to help with some supernatural rumors. More than anything, it was more that he was coming to her rather than someone closer. More pressing was her stepping away from the Estate to deal with something like this. Sure, Cassandra and her husband didn't really seem to mind...

But Alexander was always the main issue. She could rant and rave about how she didn't care what he said about her actions... but that would be a lie. Assuming this outing wouldn't take too long, there really shouldn't be anything for him to complain about.

Salena and Artair might not have seemed like much... but they were a powerful force when they were working in tandem with one another.

Both of them had agreed to meet up at his gas station, moving through the ley-line rather than risking her gates. Smart really, making it mean she only needed one to get to Cadence. In turn, this also gave her time to gather supplies. The "mission" was pretty tame. Go to investigate the mountains and the anomalies that were taking place there. Vague was the word he'd used, and she agreed.

The set of saronite armor would be overkill for something like this... but even some casual clothes might not be the right call either. Supernatural meant dangerous more often than not. Having protection would work in her favor. As a compromise, she dawned her leather armor. Another perk was having some small bags attached to help carry her other supplies.

Supplies which included a strange looking whistle and a vial of sand. Those were the two most important things aside from her blades. No reason not to bring those too. If she didn't need them, then fine. If not used, having them with her would help channel any runic magic she might use.

Before long, both parties arrived at the station, her ignoring any strange looks that might have been directed at her. Logic and strategy came as second nature.

They stepped through the ley-line...

And were immediate hit by white.

Snow was one thing. Both of them could handle that... but this was a full on blizzard. A chill rushed up her body the moment her feet sank into the snow, frigid winds biting against the uncovered parts of her body. This was bad. Very bad.

She was used to dealing with harsh winter weather... when she was undead. It was entirely another matter now that she was alive again. Mad worse by her weakened health. The leather was at least doing its job from not immediately getting soaked. If they didn't do something soon though, they were both going to freeze.

Salena's head snapped to the side when Artair called out to her, shivers already starting to wrack her body. A portal? Right. A gate. Her hand came up, feeling the way the runic magic moved through her. Gates were easy...

Unless you felt your power immediately cut off before it can finish.

A chopped snarl erupted from her throat. Ok, calm down. Assess the situation. Was it just the gates? Her eyes fell back on Artair, moving her feet through the snow to bring up some ice to at least block one direction of the roaring snow in the air. Same result. It was cut off before it could finish. Her snarl increased as she called back to him, "No good. It's like someone, or something has silenced me."

Her hood and mask was good at keeping the snow out of her face, so it would be best for her take temporary lead. She pushed over to Artair, keeping her voice a little loud so he could still hear her, "Our best option right now is to find some shelter, if not to wait out the storm, then to make a plan and see what we can figure out before freezing."

"Are there any known caves or landmarks here that you might know of?"

It is a fleeting relief, seeing the snow dusting Sal’s coat, but not melting on the touch. Wolves used to be something he watched documentaries on while he worked on things in the shop—their coats, called a pelage, has two layers. One is meant to keep the snow and wind and rain out, while the other-- the undercoat—insulates and traps air, to keep them warm in winter. He can feel a fraction of a shiver he’s sure is hers, but at least she wouldn’t freeze fast; seeing the snow on her fur refusing to melt might mean she has that same pelage as a worgen. And thank the fucking stars too. Fur like that could keep the snow and wind at bay, maintaining her vitals and warmth well below zero. Its why wolves could survive so well up north in the frozen tundras. And with her living in a place like Sweden, her winter coat would likely be sticking around from the colder climate. She had a lot wrong with her body, but she for sure has fur, and that can’t--- it can’t work the wrong way like some of her can. So maybe this wouldn’t be so rough on her, even if it was unpleasant.

He pushes away a circling thought. His heart squeezes in his chest with a surge of – something, he’s not sure what, and it’s not worth the time as another howling blast of algid air whips against the two of them. He hisses, watching Sal begin her moment for a gate. There’s a tingling, a sense of magic, a sense of her own, before—nothing. Numb. Fire along his neck and down his spine and tears in his eyes that don’t make sense. The air feels thinner than before, like he’s spinning, but he doesn’t even sway. Is it his? Ugh--- he can’t tell. But there’s an emptiness, a sense of nothing like a hole in his chest, and he doesn’t need to see the lack of gate to know it didn’t show like it was meant to.

Something had to be blocking the spell.

He nods at her reaching the same conclusion at likely the same moment, barely hearing her over the wailing storm. It doesn’t seem worth trying a spell of his own. Not in these conditions where he can barely see a foot in front of him and everything aches and burns, and not when he’s a novice at best: if Sal can’t do anything, he’s sure they’d get the same result.

He reaches into his pocket for his phone, fishing it out with red fingers and curling over it to see the screen. Snow already patters against it, leaving drops. He pulls the hood over his head to conserve what heat he can, rolling his shoulder as his eyes flick over the screen. The biggest issue was not knowing where they were in relation to anything else, but he could see a trail with at least a dozen shelters along it, likely for surprise storms, and the safety of hikers. There’s some kind of town at the bottom of the mountain, but they’d never make it that far--- but if they could reach the trail, they might be able to find shelter.

“I don’t know where we are.” He shouts, brushing the ice from his face. His cheeks hurt. “But I see a trail. No caves on the map but I’m sure there has to be some around. We could move and look for some kind of shelter for a few minutes, but if we can’t spot anything in this storm, I think we should build a snow-burrow.” The words sound familiar in his ears, like Byron is right behind him sharing one of his survival kernels of wisdom. “I’ll see if I can’t get us a good direction.”

Artair slips his phone into his bag and produces a compass instead, a tiny thing the size of a quarter in his hand. The mountain was north of the town at the base of it, so if they could head south---

The needle wobbles, then wiggles more sporadic, before spinning wild on its axis. A shake does nothing to cure his compass of the erratic movement-- the needle didn’t seem keen to stop, and picks up speed. His frown deepens, before he shoves it back in his bag. His voice drops a little, dipping with a cough, before he forces it loud enough to be legible again. “I--I guess we pick a random one to move in. Unless you can hear or smell something that could h-help.”