#when is it not here

[revelisms]

He's not a religious man. 

Superstitious, perhaps; spiritual, hardly—but Fate has her ways: claw-tipped fingers blue and demure, weaving chance like a seamstress bobbins thread.

And maybe Vander, the Hound, Zaun, this child—maybe all of it exists as the needle; he, the tear in need of stitching.

A loose thread; a future yet to be sewn.

A patchwork parable: smoke and schemes.

They spoke of his mother like a sickly omen, and his father like a begone spirit, vanished.

They spoke of him like something intangible: a concept, a slip of a butchered tongue, a wash of light from a galaxy gated in smog. Yet his steps hold sound: heavy-footed heels, heel-to-steel-tipped-toe, a graceless carryover of the mines; his clothes hold scents: of the Lanes' sweet-soured stench, of tobacco and juniper leaf, of cedar oil and citrus and clove. 

In the churches, he splits the silence with every stride, and sinks into an empty pew, in an empty hall, incense pluming fragrant off glittering tile and gilded glass and a child's scribble tucked in his pocket, paper pinched half-minded beneath his thumb—and he does not pray.

No, he is not a religious man. 

To be anything near it would be to deny the blood-soaked earth on which he stood: the blood his roots have drank from, his branches have beared fruit from, that his people have devoured: stripped the leaves for their bedding, splintered the branches for their kindling, consumed with the careless abandon of a youth's first harvest—one who has forgotten to sew the next.

(Needle, or thread?)

Most days, he wills himself not to care.

Superstition begs differently.

He will wash his hands thrice, on the mornings the sun shines too cleanly, simmers through jade-paneled glass and sits like a pyre on his cave-chilled scales; he will turn the lamps down low, on the days the storms wash the streets clean; he will keep a gun at his back and a knife at his waist, on the days he feels safe enough, and a dozen more, on the ones he doesn't; he will eat alone, standing, hunched at the open draft of a night burned with neon, before he ever thinks to sit at the kitchen table.

Strange habits. Stranger beliefs.

They say the Sun's a devil of disease, don't you know? That the storms of Jan'ahrem's sleeves are the oldest gods of all. That one ought to wear a bullet for every Sump-layer they cross. That those buried within their bowls may just as soon be buried beneath the rubble.

A canary, they called him. An irony.

Sooner to squawk than to sing; a wingless creature slimed from the Pilt.

A manifest.

Needles and thread.

He sung only at an ivory cast of 88 keys, a girl at his knee and a set of knobby fingertips skipping beneath his own, as the words little girl blue slipped too quietly off the tongue.

He prayed only at the altar of Vander's knees.

In the churches, he leaves his tithes, and slithers off in a prowl of loping boots. Heel-to-toe thud-thudding, hands pocketed, wool sweeping. 

The streets greet their Unholy, their Deliverance, their Own with blind chaos, devouring. Countless lives lived; countless threads, stitched and unraveling.

From his breast pocket, he snaps open a gilded cigarette case, and walks on.

Tobacco weaves through the fibers of his coat.

silco / on prayers

[zytes]

this manatee looks like it’s in a skyrim loading screen

[inkskinned]

how do i contact apple bc actually i am currently going through an internet story but i don't have twitter.

which is to say that 3 weeks ago i was on vacation to the Azores with my family. due to girl pockets (iykyk) my phone fucking jumped into the ocean literally only because i lifted my leg above a 30 degree angle to avoid a wave. the phone was black. the sand was black. it was night. i had waded in about 2 feet deep. i think my guardian angel just closed his eyes.

i immediately reached a state of peace about it. maybe it was a sign from god or the universe. don't we all need to unplug. let's live in the moment or whatever. also, let's give the crabs technology, i just think it would be funny.

i come home. i haven't backed up my phone in a while (lol since 2022) and the shitty replacement i got is literally useless. i lost pictures of newborn babies. i lost contacts. i have to wrangle things together that need 2-factor authentication with a phone that's in the fucking ocean.

and then today i got this notification.

What in the everfuck. are you kidding me. this thing was IN THE OCEAN. like the ACTUAL OCEAN. like originally "find my phone" was reporting it as ABSENT.

and then i get this email:

she found it while she was SNORKLING. at the bottom of the actual ocean. it's been there for 3 weeks.

IT STILL WORKS.

which is to say. like how do i get her anything she wants, forever. i don't have any money but i would buy her a fucking boat of iphones to thank her. how do we get apple to give me a commercial. if nothing else i just want people to know that someone found my phone at the bottom of the ocean because how fucking fake of a story does this even sound.

what's going on. hello????????

[hotcinnamonsunset]

The Tiger (from the poem by Nael, age 6)🐅

[planefood]

rules for thee and not for me

[professor-pants]

Genre of character: submissive like a guard dog is submissive

[sleepy-hyperfixations]

welp, somehow im glad im not the only one

[wanologic]

reminder to take care of your loser human body

[canisalbus]

✦ Freshly ordained ✦

[emmeriex]

girls when they remember that sally named percy after the only greek hero with a happy ending and beryl named jason after a hero who died alone and unhappy to appease a wrathful goddess.

[salt-baby]

yes, doctors suck, but also "the medical ethics and patient interaction training doctors receive reinforces ableism" and "the hyper competitive medical school application process roots out the poor, the disabled, and those who would diversify the field" and "anti-establishment sentiment gets applications rejected and promotions requests denied, weeding out the doctors on our side" and "the gruesome nature of the job and the complete lack of mental health support for medical practitioners breeds apathy towards patients" and "insurance companies often define treatment solely on a cost-analysis basis" and "doctors take on such overwhelming student loan debt they have no choice but to pursue high paying jobs at the expense of their morals" are all also true

none of this absolves doctors of the truly horrendous things they say and do to patients, but it's important to acknowledge that rather than every doctor being coincidentally a bad person, there is something specific about this field and career path that gives rise to such high prevalence of ableist attitudes

and I WILL elaborate happily

[novaneondream]

it’s our turn to make you smile

[hattersarts]

>>> Risk ineffable husbands, 7 pages

here's a little comic, it's not completely show!gomens compliant but its headcanons i enjoy

comic notes under cut :)

I enjoy Az already realising he likes Crowley by the time Adam appears but hasn't yet worked out what to do with that information bc acts-of-service Crowley Can't Talk, Wont Talk.

Crowley on the other hand has been VERY GOOD at ignoring why he spends so much of his time around Az so only on the crux of YOU'RE GOING TO LOOSE HIM did anything manage to force its way through to his brain. (i did not enjoy crowley being told he was in love with az in s2, i think he could have worked it out himself)

i rly enjoy hcs where they started sleeping together and with humans for fun (i mean the ox ribs scene sets some v good precedent for this) az sleeps with humans bc he indulges! he likes pleasure! crowely on the other hand is very bad at catching feelings and doesnt like it when they die so has mostly only slept with az (did i mention he's VERY good at ignoring his feelings) but they probably haven't slept together for a few hundred years when adam pops up.

my compliant show!hcs are still that az knows he loves crowley (i mean the scene with jim where he leaps out of the chair to attempt to protect crowley saying no he defo doesnt know ANYONE who he feels that way with, don't look closely at anyone he is with) and is just sort of sitting on it still, waiting for any hint from crowley, planning a ball definitely only for humans and no other reason. Crowley is obviously very protective of Az but he still hasn't clicked why he's worried about him but he doesn't have the excuse of heaven or hell anymore so it wouldn't have taken much for him to work it out (hello one of his first lines in s2 is "you ever think, what's the point?" the point is love you idiot)

(book!gomens is just they're already married and have been fucking for centuries but the book just doesnt mention that.)

[greykolla-art]

Alastor: “Now, let’s talk about literally anything else please!”

Me: “Good! Cause I don’t know where you went so I can’t go further with this!😂”

[lazylittledragon]

if i had a nickel for every au spawned from twitter that i SWORE i was going to be normal about