#sorrel speaks

[whimsical-wild]

shoutout to alterhumans who want to roll in grass and play in dirt and leaves but also have sensory issues and feeling the grass/dirt/leaves on you especially sticking to your skin or clothes will make you cry. I get it. I get you 🤝

[ashennightingale]

eclipse photos!! I was in the path of totality & it was breathtaking in person ☀️🌙

[arthurbennet]

maybe my brain is just a little silly but i don't think c charlie resents c quackity. they both know that quackity getting pushed off the balcony was for his own good

[monorails]

it is about time i make myself a tagging system. hmm

[disorganizedkitten]

[blurrycow]

INSANITY

[classiclitbracket]

Update 3/17

Submissions closed last night with 117 entries, and I have begun the process of compiling the bracket, the finished version of which will probably be released on Sunday night (3/19), with hesitant plans to begin the first official match-ups on Monday (3/20). There is five preliminary rounds required, which will release at 9:00 AM EST Saturday (3/18) and be open for 24 hours.

New Guaranteed Entries:

The Sorrows of Young Werther-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The Picture of Dorian Gray-Oscar Wilde

Dracula-Bram Stoker

Fahrenheit 451-Ray Bradbury

Passing-Nella Larsen

Their Eyes Were Watching God-Zora Neale Hurston

Slaughterhouse Five-Kurt Vonnegut

Invisible Man-Ralph Ellison

Moby Dick-Herman Melville

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde-Robert Louis Stevenson

Jane Eyre-Charlotte Bronte

All Quiet on the Western Front-Erich Maria Remarque

Lord of the Flies-William Golding

The Oz Series-L. Frank Baum

The Catcher in the Rye-J.D. Salinger

Of Mice and Men-John Steinbeck

War and Peace-Leo Tolstoy

Preliminaries:

Lord of the Rings-related submissions

Dickens-related submissions (Oliver Twist vs. A Tale of Two Cities vs. A Christmas Carol)

Dumas-related submissions (The Count of Monte Cristo vs. The Three Musketeers)

H.G. Wells-related submissions (War of the Worlds vs. The Time Machine vs. The Invisible Man)

Don Quixote-related submissions

[werepaladin]

Who are you currently playing?

I'm in a few games so here are my active blorbos:

Denbora Beltune, drow chronurgy wizard in a very homebrew curse of strahd game. Currently being tormented by The Horrors:tm: but its okay bc he looks amazing

Sorrel, warforged light cleric from a homebrew game. He's 3 years old and god's most specialist little guy. Only ever gets divine intervention when its for the bit.

Rowlin Bronzefeather, owlin artillerist artificer in a sky pirate game. "No Fun Allowed" kinda guy, cares only about himself and his robot child, Piper (another pc). The worlds gayest straight man.

Darius, wood elf (reborn) monster slayer ranger in a VRGR/COS game. The most saddest man you've ever seen in your life. Very competent ranger, the worst at talking to people (7 charisma). He's also the groups straight man but its more like herding cats who want to jump into lava. Hes so tired and disheveled at all times.

Eeriuff, chaos-touched werewolf barbarian in a pathfinder 2e game. Imagine the edgiest werewolf character possible. Then slap wings on that bad boy. Thats him. He loves violence and killing and I'm sure that won't become an issue when the eldritch horrors get him :)

Mortis, winged tiefling necromancer wizard. Very heavily fiendish, got that bone devil swag. The most pathetic wizard you've ever seen, but thinks he's hot shit despite struggling with 2nd level spells. Has a rivalry with a sorcerer who doesn't even know he exists.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part fourteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Blue holds her arm out, stopping you from taking another step.

"Sh. I see one."

Up ahead, a squirrel stills on a tree, beady eyes unblinking. In a matter of seconds, Blue throws her knife and pins it to the bark through the stomach. 

"Nice," you comment. "You got it on the first try this time."

In your hand is the other squirrel she killed for you. Ghost started working on your bow yesterday. He didn't say anything to you about it, but you spotted him sitting on the porch chiseling away at a hunk of oak. Until he's finished, you've struck another deal: helping Blue skin the rabbits in exchange for her killing squirrels with you. She's better at killing them with a knife than you are. 

"This is good practice for me." She wriggles the knife out and hands you the kill. "Poor guy didn't see it coming."

"Probably better that way."

She slips the knife back to her ankle. "Do you need more? Or is two enough."

"Two is enough. I saw these flowers by the trench that I think are edible."

"You can eat flowers?" She makes a face. The two of you begin heading back toward the camp. You didn't go off too far with her. Ghost said she wasn't allowed to go past the pond without him. Truthfully, you were surprised he let her go with you at all. 

"Yeah. Pink Sorrel. They taste lemony, and I'll add the leaves, too. Like a salad."

"Yum," she says sarcastically. "Did Paul teach you that?"

You nod. "He knew a lot about plants."

"Are you sure he didn't like you?" 

"Blue," you almost groan. "You've asked me this twice now."

"Well, you seemed to have spent a lot of time with him, and he taught you a lot of things."

"You can spend time with someone and learn things from them without... liking them."

"I wouldn't know," she shrugs, waving her hand around. "There are no boys here for me to spend time with besides Ghost." 

"Paul didn't like me in that way," you reaffirm. "Besides, he's dead."

There is a lingering pause as a cloud rolls over the sun, turning everything dim before it passes. The weather these past few days has been fluctuating like true spring. Cold showers in the morning, intense sunlight by noon, and clouds that come and go. The cabbages Blue planted have sprouted fat, juicy leaves. You've mentally scolded yourself for not including seeds in your deal with Ghost. 

"So when are you and Ghost going to start training or whatever?" Blue speaks up, switching subjects.

"Training?" you repeat.

"He told me you wanted to learn some things." She glances at you. "Look, let me just warn you, he can be a real hard ass. One time, he made me climb up and down a tree twenty times without stopping. And another time, he made me throw knives over and over until I hit the exact same spot on the tree again."

Right. Somehow, that last request you made of him has slipped your mind. You did ask him to teach you how to better defend yourself against other people.

It's been over a week now, and the two of you still haven't talked much except for the necessities. Honestly, it's probably best that way. Maintaining a clinical relationship with him should keep the peace and maybe even earn more of his trust. You're growing confident that he doesn't see you as much of a threat anymore. Last night, you ran into him again after waking up from another dream, and all he did was walk past you, step outside for a cigarette, and then go back to his room. He didn't seem suspicious of you being up at all.

That said, the reminder of the 'training' he's supposed to give you makes your teeth snag onto your lip. 

When you don't respond, Blue adds, "What exactly do you want him to show you? I hate to say it, but I don't think he'll give you one of his guns."

"No," you shake your head. "I don't want that. It's not Greys that I'm as worried about. As long I've got distance, I can use my bow for them. It's more about... other people. They get close. Too close."

"Well, you can always bite their nose off," she gives a bump to your shoulder.

You cringe. "I'd rather not have to do that again."

She pauses, looking at her boots. "What did it taste like?"

"Fucking awful. Probably the grossest thing I've ever experienced."

She looks up. "If you were a Grey, you would've loved it."

"Well, I'm human still, and I much prefer these guys." You wag the dead squirrels in front of her face and she laughs. If you could replace all her tears with that sound, you would.

"You still haven't answered my question," Blue tilts her head. "When are you getting started? Because I have some training in mind for you, too."

You arch a brow but don't question it. "Um. I don't know. Ghost hasn't said anything to me about it, and he's busy working on my bow right now."

"Why don't you ask him, then?" She shoots you a knowing smirk. "Are you scared of him, Twix?"

"No," you say all too quickly. "No... I'm not. I just don't know how to talk to him. He's not exactly approachable."

"Just do what I do. I say whatever I want to him. Except when he's pissed, then—" she freezes for a moment and lays a hand on your shoulder. "—it's better to shut up and listen. Believe me."

You speak under your breath. "Noted."

It's another dream that night which pushes you to actually confront him. The loud voices sharpen into images— a bloodied knife at your throat, a toothy smile, carved body parts. You wake up and grab your neck, expecting to feel severed tissue. Instead, you feel damp skin. Something bubbles up your throat and fills your mouth. Squirrel and Pink Sorrel. The taste makes you shudder, but you swallow your dinner back down. The dark, quiet living room mocks you. 

The morning after that, you find him on the porch. It's not raining, but the air pricks the back of your neck with dew. You've already bathed and woven your hair into braids, which is growing longer by the day and bordering on an inconvenience.

Ghost tilts his head the second a wood plank creaks beneath your footsteps, tearing his gaze away from the assortment of carving knives in his lap. You've caught him in the moment before he's started to work on your bow again.

He is wearing that balaclava that makes him look more man than ghost, along with a black hoodie and faded, brown jacket. The whites of his eyes are visible, slowly sliding up to yours. You fully realize he isn't going to greet you with a hello, and standing there in an uncomfortable silence doesn't interest you, so you bite the bullet.

"I want to start that other thing I asked you for."

He seems to know what you're referring to. "Right now?"

Your nails dig into your palms, realizing that you should've waited for a time when he wasn't preoccupied. Though, he's hardly ever not doing something. 

Blue was right. Something about him has you subconciously on the defensive; it's something you want to get over if this living arrangement is going to be long-term, which you'd prefer it to be. It was about two months ago now that he nearly killed you, and since then, he has kept you alive ten times over. Maybe you should focus on that: on the hand that pulled you up, on the warm jacket over your shoulders, on the bow he is making.

"Whenever you have the chance. But— now, if we could."

Ghost lowers his eyebrows and seems to think it over. "Now is fine. Your bow will have to wait a bit, then."

"That's okay," you speak as you exhale. "I don't mind."

It's at that moment Blue pushes through the front door and you almost startle. "Can I come with you guys?"

Ghost folds his knives up and responds in a firm tone. "No. You have work to finish up."

"But my leg is hurting," she retorts lightly. "I'd rather sit and watch you guys."

"Your leg was just fine yesterday when you were hunting and climbing trees." 

"That was yesterday. Today, it hurts." She bites her lip and shrugs.

"How convinient." He gives her a dry look.

"So is that a yes?"

"It's a no."

With a groan, she goes back inside. 

Ghost escorts you out of the gate and towards a small clearing nestled within a circle of trees. As you follow behind him, you find your eyes straying to his broad back and for a moment, you wonder if maybe you've changed your mind— or maybe you want to tell him to wait until Blue can come join.

But you remind yourself that survival is a proactive game; you can't laze around and keep getting sick from the memories. You need to shut them away into that box you've made, and in the meantime, get stronger.

"Here is good," he says, stopping.

It's been awhile since you've done anything like this. There were plenty of times Paul 'trained' you. He used to make you shoot at the trees until your back muscles were practically immobile. As an ex forest ranger, he wasn't much of a fighter. His advice was always this: "Don't let anyone or anything get close enough to where you have to fight them."

Clearly, his advice can only go so far.

In the five years you were at your old camp, you managed to keeps things at a distance for the most part. A few Greys had snuck up on you, resulting in thrashing and wrestling around to avoid bites. But there were only one or two times that you had to engage in close combat with a human. The few other survivors you encountered were usually punished by Paul's rifle or your arrows. 

You shed your jacket and hang it on a branch, left in just Ghost's shirt and your jeans. "So, um, what should I start with? Running laps?"

"You want to learn how to defend yourself, not run a marathon."

"Right." You nod and rub at the gooseflesh that sprouts on your arm. You turn to face him. "I was joking."

Ghost ignores your comment with a pensive expression, staring you down across the short distance. You put on a blank face and meet his eyes expectantly. 

The silence stretches for a second longer than what would be deemed normal. Is this just how he is, then? Or is it only with you? You're about to say something to put an end to it when he suddenly crosses his arms over his chest.

"You were a nurse." It should come out like a question, but it's more of a statement. His voice nearly makes you jump. 

You can't help it; you look away. "Um. I... wasn't, actually."

Why is he bringing this up? Never once has he asked anything about you. In fact, you sometimes toy with the thought that he might have forgotten your real name by now.

"Figured," he says.

You frown, flashing him a confused look. "What? Why?"

"You're a bit too young to have been a nurse five years ago."

You think back to the moment he found you with an inward wince. "So you knew I wasn't telling the truth?"

"It didn't matter if you were or not."

That's right. I don't need a nurse, he said. 

"It wasn't a total lie," you clarify, dropping your arms at your sides. "I was in nursing school."

He rubs his chin. "You should understand the body, then— its weak points."

Your fingers flex before they gesture to your face. "The nose and eyes are obvious ones. But... but if someone grabs me from behind like," you forcefully inhale, "Like you did, then I won't be able to reach them."

He gives a short nod, then looms closer. You will your boots to remain planted in the damp soil despite the overwhelming proximity and intimidating mass of him. You blink up as he points a gloved finger to the hinge of his jaw. "There's this, too. Pretty easy to dislocate." His fingers move to side of his corded neck. "And here. The throat is weak and vital."

"I still wouldn't be able to reach those," you point out.

"You have more than just your arms, Twix."

"So my head, then?"

"That's one way." He moves a step back and you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding. "Why don't you show me what you'd do— give it a try."

The suggestion should be expected given what you're asking of him— of course he would have to touch you at somepoint. Yet, it makes you stiffen. He motions his hand for you to turn around and with great hesitance, you comply, until you hear the crunch of twigs beneath his boots as he closes in behind you. You stare straight ahead at a tree and focus on breathing. 

"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

His flat tone makes your eyes twitch in irritation and you are glad he can't see them. "Yeah. I know."

Just as he did all that time ago, his burly arms wrap around you, though not as firm and threatening. Your feet don't hang and you're not skin and bones this time, but once again, you are imprisoned against a hard chest. Your lungs pick up their pace and an artery in your neck jolts. 

"Just show me what you'd do," he says slowly, warm breath fanning across the top of your hair. "Don't worry about hurting me."

You wriggle against him, but even without issuing all his strength, it's useless. You stomp on his foot, figuring that toes are pretty vulnerable, but his thick boot hurts your sole more than you could possibly have hurt him. Your eyes begin to sting. You suddenly find yourself panting in frustration. Before you can even think about trying to use your head, full-blown panic unfurls in your chest. 

"Let go," you say under your breath. He must not hear you. Your voice turns to a snarled hiss. "Fucking let go of me."

His hold immediately loosens and you stagger forward, creating much-needed distance. Heavy breaths scratch up your throat. You wipe the back of your hand over your forehead and close your eyes for a moment, seeing blood and burnt skin against the backs of your lids. When you reopen them, Ghost is staring at you. The humiliation sets in as a red flush on your cheeks.

"Sorry," you shake your head and stare up at the clouded sky. "Just— maybe we should go back." Your arms hug around your stomach to keep its contents contained. "We can start this another day."

Throwing up in front of him again is low on the list of things you'd enjoy doing. He's already seen you near-death— no need to add a mental breakdown to your repertoire. Your lips press tightly together as you head to the tree for your jacket, but his gruff voice pauses your fingers against the embroidered flag on its sleeve.

"This isn't going to work if you don't tell me what is bothering you."

Your hand drops. "What?"

"What happened when you went to get the ammo, Twix?" he presses.

"I..." 

To tell him would be to pry open that box you've made and let him peek inside. He has never even asked a single question about you until today, so you press onto the lid, tight, and turn to face him with pleading eyes. "I don't want to talk about it with you, Ghost. Don't make me."

In response, he lifts up his hands in resignation. "Alright." He lowers them. "Why don't you at least tell me how you handled it?"

"Why?"

He taps a finger to his masked temple. "So I can understand how you think. How you keep surviving all this shit."

The wave of nausea settles as you form your response. "I... I burned him. He cleaned the bite on my arm with some alcohol. I distracted him a little and then smashed the bottle on his head. I had my lighter, so I used it."

Slowly, he nods, as if your words are not all that surprising to him. "And how about at the base when I left you?"

"There was that Grey," you remind him. "I bit the guy's nose and pushed him into it. If it hadn't been there, Blue and I would be dead. You see? I survived because I was lucky. I hardly know what I'm doing."

Ghost argues. "You survived because you saw opportunities and took them. You were smart about it."

"And what about when there are no opportunities? I will just panic like I did now." The tightness in your chest turns into something that has you roughly grabbing the jacket and sheathing your bare arms. "Let's just go back now.”

This time, he doesn't protest. The silence that clouds the short walk back is expected on his part, and purposeful on yours. 

[whimsical-wild]

I have been asked if I’m homeless when I go out in my fey gear more than I’d like to admit. What part of seeing a woman in a flower crown with pointy ears, a long billowing floral dress and cloak carrying a vine covered staff makes everyone in my town immediately think “homeless”

it happened again today while I was in the wooded area of my neighborhood. deadass I was prancing around picking flowers to weave daisy chains and this woman, from the street like 100 paces away, kept yelling stuff like “ARE YOU HOMELESS. DO YOU NEED ME TO CALL SOMEBODY. ILL CALL SOMEBODY” while I awkwardly shouted “no I’m fine” back over and over again while trying to get away without running and looking suspicious. It was so nervewracking. please. just let me be whimsical in peace

[ashennightingale]

perry, my bladesinger/artificer for a planescape game, is v fun bc at the start of her campaign she was like. yeah sure i'm level 7, but i work A Day Job. i taught myself wizardry & artificer techniques bc i love magic & do a lot of crafts respectively, not bc i'm an adventurer or anything. i'm just a cute lil dancer. I Have A Mortgage

and then u talk to her long enough and find out oh yeah she used to be a powerful fey in service of That Tasha before getting caught up in the political schemes of her lady's rivals that led to her being cursed and stripped of magic. huh? what? is that why there's a heavenly host dedicated to hunting her down, specifically? no no that's a whole other thing. she stole a magic weapon that willed itself into sentience & thus is an affront to Order tm bc she thinks he's neat and is now infamous for beheading angels that try to take him bc that's her Friend. its okay tho bc she keeps sending freshly baked cookies and such back w them, so there's a whole quilting circle of angelic spouses who love her to bits. she's besties w a full-blown dragon also.

and yet she has such "I'm just a little guy trying to make it in this topsy turvy world" energy that her other party members, who have actually been adventurers this whole time, had to be like

[arthurbennet]

i've been dragged into tntblr.... hi guys i went on my redemption arc i dont hate c tntduo with a passion anymore

[greylynnsorrell]

The Trip

Cole could tell the drugs were already starting to kick in as she looked up at her husband's dopey face above her. It was obvious that he was struggling to understand what she was saying as a tiny trail of drool ran down his chin. His eyes had a far off glossy look to them as he stared down at the package of diapers she had in her lap trying his best to figure out if this was really happening to him. it felt more like a dream than reality, or maybe more accurately....a nightmare.

His wife had dealt with his bad behavior for to many years and when his party lifestyle finally resulted in her wakinig up to mullltiple wet beds she finally had enough. After a long night of extensive research she came across a "Mommy Dom" blog that seemed to have all the answers she needed and before long her little man was getting put into proper protection every night before bed. Of course she had been forced to do it as like most little boys she found he couldn't be trusted to do it right. She didnt mind as she began to noticee the changes in his personality as well as a shift in the power dynamic of their relationship. It wasnt long before she was looking into more ways to further her control over him until the young man found he was spending all his time properly padded and under his wife's thumb. But this wasn't enough for Cole after awhile as she craved more and more power over her overgrown man child.

It all came to a head one evening when Gray began throwwing a full on tantrum after being told he would be going to bed early from now on, screaming that it wasnt fair that she got to stay up as late as she wanted whille he was forced to lay down by 8 oclock. As she watched him stomp his foot with teaars running down his red cheeks it dawned on her that her big bad hubby was nothing more than a giant cranky toddler. And thats exactly how she decided to treat him from now...

Whne the supplies finally arrived the following week she was giddy with excitement to try everything out and made sure to get him good and drunk that evening. From the moment he got home from work she encouraged him to down drink after drink, lightly spiking each one with a special cocktail of drugs that would enssure success. By the time 8 oclock had arrived she could tell he was beyond fucked up and decided it was finally time to act. She announced that it time for him to get ready for bed and did her best not to smile as he took the bait immediately once again making a fuss about the new rule, working himself up into another whiney pathetic fit, sounding evenn more immature given the state his mind was in. He didnt even realize he was playing his part of the plan so well and now it was it time for his wife to play her part..

'Gray Lynn Sorrell, you do not speak to me that way! Come here right now Mister!" And with a smack to the face and a firm hand grasp on his chin directing his gaze down into his wife's fiery gaze he was at her mercy. Instead of fighting her like a man he broke down into a sobbing mess, obediently following her across the room where she instructed him to stand still or else. She could hear him sniffling as she tied his hands behind his back, an evil grin sspreading across her face knowing that the mirror she had purposely placed him in front of would only reenforce how she wanted him to see himself now. The whole whille she scolded him for being such a naughty boy and that she had had it.

"Look at you, your nothing but a giant crying baby. And Mommy has just the thing for you...." And with final sentence the already crumblilng walls of adulthood in his mind began to collapse, the drugs now able to take him on the strangest trip of his life. She knew the giant package of Huggies she had purchased, which perfectly resembbled the ones from his youth would only hightened his psychotropic experience and start to chip at away at whatever grasp he still had on his sanity.

"These are much more appropriate for a little boy like you honey, don'tya think?"

[disorganizedkitten]

A very brief and context-lacking teaser for TRTR c7

[blurrycow]

he has been dubbed Traffic Cone by one of my friends

[classiclitbracket]

I was going to make the finals polls one day like I've been doing with the others, but on second thought, I think I'll put it to a vote (the poll will open on Saturday at 8 regardless of result).