#YEAH YES ALL OF THIS HOLY SHIT

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

HII just wanna let u know i cant stop thinking abt poppy and sally (and laughingstock ofc) and its ur fault!!! i love them sm!! ur brain is huge!!

!!!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!!

[wienners]

the worst thing (and probably the the thing that spurred my everymanhybrid rewatch) was watching the q&as as background noise a few months ago and realizing i have the same fucking khols button up

[magicstormfrostfire]

So that new Sonic Prime Season 3 trailer

[romance-rambles]

modern clarence | an appropriate staring distance

While at the beach, you take a moment to appreciate your handsome boyfriend while he's taking a nap—and also when he's not.

1.2k, fluff + established relationship, reader is mc, series: none

NAVY BLUE STICKS OUT TO you the moment you open your eyes.

Your aching shoulder protests your decision to stay as you are, on your side, facing a still sleeping Clarence. Like this, he looks much younger—you're reminded of the time you had to force him to take a nap. Like this, he's simply the cute guy you managed to score not one but multiple dates with, just Clarence, instead of the incredibly smart and wonderful and kind Student Council President.

You glance at the circular table set between your two beach chairs, taking note of his glasses resting primly upon its surface. With him often having to juggle two different kinds of glasses, you'd offered to put them in your bag so that he could pack lighter. Or, as light as he can.

Right now, it's awkwardly squished behind you, miraculously still on the chair only because it's too big to fall out the gap under the armrest.

Filling in the blanks comes as easily to you as the smile on your face when you get to see your boyfriend, nearly the same one on your face right now—and the expression that goes with it is so endlessly fond that you find yourself with the urge to hit something.

Simply put, your boyfriend is a handsome man—the most handsome one, of all the men your keen eyes have gazed upon. And gazed, they certainly have. But even if they didn't have to pick, then they would gaze at only Clarence for the rest of their life..

You almost giggle at the thought, but think against it at the last minute.

But pressing your lips firmly into a thin line has the opposite effect on your budding smile. You imagine you look rather strange to anyone who passes by—what with your mockery of a wide smile and the silent scream building up in your throat, paired with the quiet thumping of your feet against the legrest.

If you were in a more private space, you would resort to kicking instead.

A proper squish to your still warm cheeks as you begin to sit up helps ease up the passion swirling chaotically across your body. You exhale, then allow your hands to slide off your face. One side of it bears the consequences of your actions more than the other.

With a one last longing at the sleeping Clarence, you start to dig through your bag for the only thing in your arsenal that could substitute for a sketchbook.

There are a few miscellaneous promotion emails waiting for you on the lockscreen. A message from Cael asking about dinner tomorrow too. Somewhere between them, there's a notice about the weather, with the temperature from an almost hour ago listed uselessly.

You swipe past them all and hurriedly slip into the camera app.

The hand holding your phone steadies itself against the armrest as you swing your legs over the edge of your chair. A thumb hovers over the capture button, vigilantly awaiting your command. The fingers of your other hand, meanwhile, busy themselves with zooming in on the captivating scenery.

With each pinch, the focus grows ever narrow—until all that remains is Clarence and nothing else.

At one point, you try to zoom into the mole under his eye, but it doesn't make for a very compelling photo. After a few attempts, quite a few of which involve staring at your screen for prolonged periods of time, you reluctantly give up.

Your pout is soon covered up by your phone. When its front camera presses against your upper lip, your gaze is free to wander back to the sleeping beauty beside you once more.

A healing effect, exclusive to him, takes hold of you instantaneously.

Eyes brimming with fondness narrow slightly. You slide off your beach chair, hands on your bent knees as you take a closer look. You can make out the shadows cast by his long lashes and the drool dribbling past his chin.

He's perfect.

You're content to stay there until your knees begin to ache, reminding you insistently that this isn't a very comfortable position to be in. As a compromise of some kind, you adjust your arms atop the nearby armrest.

It really would be better if you'd brought your sketchbook along—but, you think, remembering his workaholic tendencies, would he even bother to take a nap then?

You scrunch your nose up at the thought.

In that moment, Clarence seems sense to your presence. When you look back at him, you're greeted with the sight of confusion in his now opened, but still drowsy gaze. He blinks, and it earns him an amused grin from you.

"Morning," you say, though it's well into afternoon.

That seems to wake him up. His cheeks flush a warm pink, and he hurriedly wipes away the drool on his face, as though you haven't already committed the sight to your memory.

Clearing his throat, he responds in kind, careful to sit up in such a way that he avoids looking at you.

"You don't have to be so close...I can see you just fine."

You laugh, not unkindly. "What if I'm the one who's having trouble?"

For a moment, when he turns back to look at you, he looks alarmed. Then, his shoulders relax to the tune of a sigh, his groggy mind apparently having caught onto the fact that you were joking.

Without breaking eye contact, you reach for his glasses. But as with the issue of walking into a cave without a flashlight, even if you vaguely recall where your destination is, there's no guarantee you'll actually reach it.

"Give me a second," you mutter, your annoyance making your tone a bit too sharp.

You follow your words up with an apology. His glasses held are carefully by the frames as your sheepish gaze connects with his faintly amused one. Clarence reaches out, getting as far as grasping the slanted tips of the frame before the two of you reach a mutual agreement.

"Well." His cheeks return to being a rosy hue. He coughs politely. "If you would."

Cute. Biting your lip giddily, you shake his grip off. A quick once-over of your surroundings before you stand up shows that no one seems to be paying attention to you. And unless your friends and acquaintences have come to together to unlock the secrets of invisibility, no one you know seems to be present either.

Leaning over, you line his glasses up against his face, the tips of his frame brushing against his cheek. It takes only a moment to slot them into place—and you have enough experience with doing so that they don't snag against his ears.

It takes only a moment longer to give him an innocent peck on the lips.

"There," you murmur, not entirely satisfied with the kiss.

His Adam's apple bobs. Clarence adjusts his glasses with an awkward look that suggests he has some kind of solution to your dilemma. You, of course, beat him to the punch.

"Why—" Your voice cracks a little. "—don't we go find a different spot?"

He smiles, narrowed eyes watching you fondly. "I was about to suggest the same thing."

[whollyjoly]

for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise. 

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone. 

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert. 

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury. 

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

~~

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides. 

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope. 

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat. 

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth. 

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal. 

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

[girlwiththegreenhat]

i am never going to recover from the death shroud radio play actually

[is-this-tf]

Okay I need to speak my truth: being into character TF for fandoms that rarely get attention from TF artists feels like this

[artnerd1123]

Dancin’ all alone in the mornin’ light.

[acaciapines]

obviously if you’re busy leave this alone but: your tag essay has made me VERY intrigued about Dess and Azzy’s relationship in this AU. Tell me about it?

(also, did you see they did an announcement about Starship Iris season 3? It’s finally gonna happen!)

okay IM HERE TO TALK LOL i will NEVER not talk about this au <3 uhhh under a cut bc. really i should just expect these get super long.

big important note up top: all of this is in! early stages! things are not fully formed and researched yet so please keep that in mind as you read this. ideas might change and will get deeper as i do more work for this au, but since rn im focusing on owl house most of these are my ideas i've had without time to do deeper dives into them.

okay so with asriel i've always sort of written him as this guy who like...has an idea of what is 'normal' in his head, ie, what society wants from people, and what it doesnt want, and he has tried his hardest his entire life to always fit into this box. (think about i know im not well--this is why he's always seen kris as a human. being nonhuman is abnormal and gets you punished in society. to an extent this is also how he views dess being aromantic.)

i think a lot of this comes from fear--asriel IS for sure contorting himself and actively harming himself to stay inside this narrow box of 'normal' (think of this as another sort of prophecy--these are all touching on the same themes). and he applies this same mentality to other people BECAUSE of this fear, because he doesnt want his loved ones to be hurt, to be punished, ostracized, etc by society--which are i wanna be clear VERY MUCH THINGS THAT HAPPEN--but in doing this he sort of just hurts the people he loves. because instead of being someone who rejects these boxes hes like. no we gotta be good and fit into the boxes and then everything will be okay.

so when it comes to dess, dess has always very much Done Her Own Thing, consequences be damned. partly this is who she is, partly this is hashtag undiagnosed and untreated mental illness, the onset of which happens around when shes 18 and everything is going down with the bunker (which is NOT helping at ALL). and so when dess comes back from the bunker asriel does very much go 'oh. shes delusional.' and proceed to be No Help At All.

and like, the thing is dess IS very much having a psychotic break. this bit is very much still in deep research (sidenote: anybody in my audience who has experience w/ these things. feel free to hit me up/dm me lol i'd love to talk through some of my ideas as a sort of preliminary sensitivity read, but of course only do this if you are up to it, no pressure lol bc again we're in early stages) but she has schizoaffective + bipolar disorder. dark worlds dont help with this, asriel SUPER doesnt help with this (he doesnt know her actual disorder--neither of them do, this is the onset of things. but tbf even if he did he Would Not Help asriel is essentially doing everything wrong here.) and what dess needs is literally one single person in her corner but the person who is supposed to be in her corner (azzy) is basically being like 'you are making this up' and shes like im NOT, and everything is all mixed together, terrible, bad, awful, and eventually everything culminates and. we know what happens.

(side note but this is why she and chara work real well together actually--chara gets her when asriel doesnt!!)

asriel never actually like. tells anybody about this though. in his head after its assumed dess and kris have died he sort of just. is like well this proves it. i cant let anybody else i care about go that far EVER AGAIN, because if i was a better friend i would've noticed and i wouldve stopped it and made dess "normal." (yes asriel sucks here. the focus is on the kids but. he's getting an arc. i do promise he will get better but. that doesnt really fix what he's done in the past.)

and all of this is like. it fucking sucks for the people around asriel. in hurting himself he's hurting his loved ones--it pushes dess away, and that relationship is never going to be the same. even when asriel realizes how he fucked up i dont think dess really forgives him. because if asriel had just believed her, or at least even if he didnt actually took her seriously and tried to help, shes like. things wouldve gone differently. and asriel knows this too.

and then when it comes to NOELLE, well. asriel's always been very overprotective of her. terrified the world is going to hurt her. and so when noelle starts experiencing things, things she cant tell if theyre real or not...

she doesnt tell him. she doesnt tell anybody. she keeps it all to herself, and this means its a hell of a lot easier for the player/red soul to manipulate her. and nobody finds out until its too late.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hm! i have never stimmed so violently (yippee yahoo!) in my life!

[meringuejellyfish]

also probably some of my favorite panels

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Shit bro first hormone appointment in two days hold my hand

[whumpy-wyrms]

love being wide awake at 2am on a school night. good news is i’m almost done with tllr chapter 15

[reitziluz]

writing patterns (tag game)

rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

tagged by @lethotep !!

i'm excluding the fic that exists just to hold fanart, the old version of shit-all, and the ones where the first line is word for word the prompt i wrote the fic for. here we go!

In the sunset glow, Serizawa felt at peace.

Of course Reigen had heard about that movie.

Serizawa’s apartment was barely bigger than his old room had been.

“Do you see that?”

With a weary sigh, Reigen sat down on the lone bench in the park.

The ramen shop hadn’t changed at all.

A strange couple lived two houses down from the Kageyamas.

This far out there was no shoreline to split the world into the sky and the ocean.

The first time Serizawa noticed it was during a lazy summer afternoon with scarce clients.

The gray skies and exhaustingly humid air had turned into an afternoon downpour.

fascinating results. i had to fix typos in 7. and 10. i didn't think there'd be such a strong pattern - and i can't really name the pattern either. it just feels like it's there. i mean, look at them!

also yes that first one is actually new! as in. i remembered i hadn't cleaned up a ficlet i wrote a year ago and got around to it due to being tagged in this game. so i posted it quick before finishing this!

i'm tagging @countthelions @kaosvrow @gittetj @feroluce but the invitation is open!!

[rhymaes]

Mysterious Lotus Casebook // Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red

(continuation of x)

[baffledapple]

once again i am being subjected to "educational courses on generative AI" (lengthy advertisements that the higher ups want us to watch so they can say that we are trained in AI)