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greyscalew49 · 1 month

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Okay? Time to ramble insanely about the horrors growing in my brain while the pain (very much real unlike the brain horrors) grows to a new crescendo!

Allow me to set the stage, please? We'll be talking through the design of what I call the Void. In the space between realities and insanity, in the space between matter, is the Void.

But what is the Void? Hardly absent, that's certain. The primary "biome" of the Void is, as far as any testing could demonstrate, an endless blackish plain, consisting of a near black fluid, similar in makeup to blood, called the Hollow. The stagnant liquid goes about a meter down before it seems to give way to solid ground. But the ground is merely the same fluid, congealed enough to support weight. And deeper down it merely continues to harden til it becomes nigh indestructible. Intermittently there are shards of dark crystal growing from the sea, the fluid dripping upwards like water dripping down a stalctite. The only other things to be seen out in the Hollow are translucent humanoids, their hands held up to their faces as though crying. They seem to dislike being looked in the face, and will attempt to kill anyone that does. Occasionally, these apparitions fade our of existence, at which point a crystal bursts from the ground where they ceased to exist. To explain the other places the Void holds, we'll need to cover how it operates.

In the in-between it lies in wait, until the inevitable end of the world, at which point it consumes what was, leaving space for something new to take its place. But what happens to the world that ended is a horror to behold. It starts with a falling and a shattering. The world breaks apart by unknown means, its chunks falling thousands of kilometers haphazardly down into the endless dark sea of the Hollow. (There is no consistency about how gravity works in the Void, as it drags fragments of worlds down into it with incredible speed, yet doesn't immediately crush any life that ends up inside it). The planetary shrapnel will sink into the Hollow, creating massive islands in the dark sea. Despite falling in such a manner, most of what's found atop a newly fallen world will be mostly intact, and creatures on the planet's surface seem to behave as though they were subject merely to a moderately sized earthquake. Things begin getting worse from there, as the lack of sunlight will cause most plant life to die. From there, everything else follows suit. It would theoretically be possible to survive past that, but only if you had a stockpile of non-perishable food and water. But the worst has yet to begin.

After most life on the planet's surface dies, something fascinating begins to happen. Rotting corpses re-animate, slowly moving towards one another, before falling onto one another in grotesque piles. They rot together, slowly changing color to a sickly teal. Once the mass loses any semblance of what it was, it begins to animate once more, spreading tendrils over the fragment, off the edges and down into the dark depths of the sea, growing even into the hardest layers, tethering the land mass to the Void. From there, the fleshlike material will slowly spread over the terrain, consuming the matter and transforming it into more of itself. This process takes an unknowable amount of time, and is only known of due to the existence of fully transformed chunks. Interspersed in the flesh will be bones, often ending in sharpened points; these often serve as something for additional flesh to grow off of, creating structure of its own. Once enough of the matter has been changed, plantlike growths will begin to emerge.

There are many specific "plants" but the three categories are as follows: seeing "plants," violent "plants," and "trees." Seeing "plants" refers to any "plant" that feature yellow orb-like growths, which testing indicates function as eyes. "Trees" are any "plant" that feature a large bone stalk with meaty growth upon it. Violent "plants" are the largest subset, as it contains any "plant" that functions as a way to cause harm to anything not of the Void. Given enough time, some plants will separate from the ground, becoming one of the many creatures of the Void.

Alas, we are out of time, as I'm beginning to lose consciousness to the sleep deprivation brought on by being in near constant pain. Whenever I remember to, I'll continue this, getting into the general state of creatures, beginning to go over the specific plants, etc. etc.

#graceless rambling #the hungering void

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nonbinary-androids · 2 months

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Theme is redone! I need to redo my playlist but that's too much work right now so just the colour is different for now

#lee rambles on and on #blog maintenance #i don't have a full playlist ready but it MUST have alastair anthem graceless on it

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moinsbienquekaworu · 1 year

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I have a certain gracelessness to me that only comes from being the weird kid in school

#in case the train of thought isn't obvious: i was weird so people weren't really friends with me #sports class in primary/middle/high school really are like 15% physical capacity 85% having friends #i didn't have friends and was shy so i kind of excluded myself from any group activity as much as i could #sports especially really because i was good for presentations (good grades) but i sucked at sports #it just reinforced the association where every time i failed something in a sports context i felt ashamed and terrible in my body #and now i'm in uni and i have a lifetime of atrocious habits that means i associate most sports in a school context with feeling terrible #all this means along the way i never got At Ease in my body the way people who do sports are #ergo. gracelessness that only comes from being a weird kid in school.#wow i have a ramble tag now

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dilatorywriting · 2 years

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Heroes vs. Villains : The Staff [Part 2]

Platonic GN!Reader x NRC Staff vs. RSA Staff Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. NRC Staff Version (Part 2: Crewel and Crowley)

ie. Mr. Rogerson has awesome dalmatians and his wife makes even better cookies. Meanwhile, Crewel continues to be an emotionally constipated mess, and Crowley is... himself.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

You were met at the door by a pair of over enthusiastic dalmatians—the chaotically cute duo sending you ass-first to the office floor in a merry greeting that was more of a graceless tackle than anything else.

“You brought Poe and Perdy!” you exclaimed, laughing past the face kisses.

“Well, they’d never forgive me if I didn’t,” Mister Rogerson huffed good naturedly. “Do you know how much this little nutter cried when I came home the other day and he realized you’d been by? Ages, I’m telling you. Thought he was going to pout me into an early grave.”

You squished both of them affectionately and showered the lovely, spotted, beasts with every compliment under the sun.

“Oh! Before I forget…” the professor rustled around in his leather messenger bag and retrieved a neatly packaged pastry box all bundled up in a colorful, twine, bow. You accepted the treats happily and removed yourself from the dog-pile to take your usual place on the well-worn piano bench. “Annie made you some more cookies, seeing as you liked the last ones so much.”

“Did you help?” you asked.

“Hmm? What makes you say that?”

You held up the first treat from the pile—half-singed on one side and squishy with raw dough on the other.

“You caught me!” he laughed, and retrieved a second box. “These are from Annie. Those are my failures.”

“Such horrible lies,” you tutted, dramatic. “Trying to trick an innocent victim into ingesting poison just so that you can keep all the good ones for yourself.”

“Hey, they’re not that bad!” he defended, taking a large chomp out of one of the less charred looking of his creations. Immediately his cheeks went nearly green. “Or… maybe they are.”

You pushed a water bottle in his direction which he accepted gratefully. There was always a stash of them just to the left of his composer’s stand, and another hoard in a conspicuous looking storage cube closer to the piano at which you’d perched yourself. There were more sweets hidden in his desk drawers too, for when something stronger than water was needed to wash away whatever awful thing he’d tried to ingest. You knew where a lot of ‘secret’ things were in this room. It felt nice, to be so privy to all its little treasures.

“You know,” he smiled, finishing the last of his water with a final gulp. “Annie keeps pestering me to have you come by for dinner.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” you hesitated, looking around the room where so many of your little odds and ends had already started to accumulate. Empty mugs, the patch that had fallen off your jacket, the thread which you’d intended to use to fix said patch. Just… little footprints showing you’d been by. “Well, any more at least.”

“Nonsense,” Mister Rogerson laughed. “You’re more than welcome! But we don’t mean to pressure you, of course! Especially if you’re busy! Just something to think about if you’d like. Anyways, how has your day been?”

And thus began your afternoon ritual. You would sit and split Annie’s delicious cookies as you rambled about your various grievances. Mister Rogerson would inevitably come and take a seat beside you on the piano bench and start playing some gentle strains of this or that—‘just little things he was working on,’ he’d said. Occasionally you’d accidentally lean on the keys, throwing the whole thing into a cacophonous mess. But he would just chuckle and replay whatever the piano had just screeched, calling it a ‘fascinating addition’ and merrily jotting bits of it into his notes. It was nice. Better than nice. And you didn’t realize just how comfortable you’d become in your daily chitchats until you’d become perhaps a bit too comfortable.

“It’s just been so exhausting. And on top of all the other ridiculous things, I’m so sick of that fact that it’s like my job to be their personal punching bags or whatever when they’re Overblotting all over the place, and—”

The piano cut off abruptly.

Mister Rogerson’s hazel eyes had gone wide, as if he was spooked. Immediately you realized that you’d said something that you should not have.

“There are students at Night Raven College who have Overblotted?” he asked, slow, like he couldn’t even believe the words were coming out of his mouth.

“What? No. Of course not!” you lied, like a liar.

“Kiddo,” he frowned, stern. “You just said—"

“—I mean, no one’s actually Overblotted, Overblotted,” you spluttered hastily, rifling frantically through your brain for every plausible excuse you could cough up. “It’s more that I’ve heard a lot about Blot, and how it becomes a—you know—Overblot. Which sounds really scary, and like something that I never, ever, want to actually see! And it’s just that everyone there is a mess, so I guess I should I have said that I’m more just worried about Overblotting.”

A pause.

“Which, again, I’ve never, ever, actually seen.”

More silence.

“…Ever.”

Mister Rogerson sighed, apparently relieved by your bullshitting, and slumped forward over the piano keys.

“That’s… That’s good. You really scared me there for a moment, kiddo. Overblots are no small matter. They have to be reported to the proper authorities and dealt with accordingly. It’s a whole fiasco, and paperwork and legal proceedings aside, it’s dangerous.” He laid a gentle hand across your shoulder. “I’m just glad you haven’t been anywhere near something like that.”

You swallowed a chunk of wayward cookie, hoping you didn’t look horrifically guilty. But then some other part of what he’d just rattled off stuck in your head and that shame was wiped away by panic.

“They’d be taken away?” you whispered, something unpleasant and nervous curling in your gut.

Mister Rogerson looked down at you with a sympathetic wrinkle to his brow. He squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

“I know it sounds scary, kiddo. But that’s what we have to do to keep everyone as safe as we can. Does that make sense?”

You thought of Riddle, crying into his hands after years of emotional neglect—and then of the pair of you sitting in the Heartslabyul gardens after all was said and done, eating strawberry tarts with your fingers like little children. You thought of Leona, miserable and bitter as he was, finally breaking after an entire lifetime of feeling like nothing but a failure who slunk about in his brother’s shadow—and then how just last week the beastman had been lounging in the sun with his head in your lap, grouchily demanding your leftovers. You thought of Azul, and his bullies, and his stupid desire to take on the world just to prove he could. You thought of all the friends you’d made, and of just how many of them really needed a goddamn therapist. You thought about them being taken away to who-even-knew-where. Where you’d probably never see any of them again. And where you wouldn’t even know what was happening to them.

General grumpiness with the lot of them aside, your friends were the one, genuine, beacon of warmth in this miserable, cold, new world. Sure, they were all assholes. Mega assholes. But you knew that they’d stand by you through anything—do anything, if you needed the help.

And the idea of giving up on them? Just like that? Because it was protocol?

Your stomach roiled and you set the cookies off to the side.

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” Mister Rogerson frowned, taking in whatever unpleasant expression was no doubt twisting your face into knots. “We shouldn’t talk about it anymore. It’s not a fun topic.” He slid a new page of sheet music across the piano’s sleek, black, shelf. “Here. I started writing this the other day. What do you think?”

Strains of upbeat jazz threaded through the room and Perdy and Poe came over to mouth playfully at your ankles—no doubt begging for crumbs. Soon enough you were laughing along, clapping off beat and making jokes at the expense of his nonsense lyrics. You still liked Mister Rogerson. You liked him a lot. And you didn’t doubt that he was a genuinely kind person.

You’d just… maybe have to be a bit more careful about what you let slip.

“It’s kinda like being in therapy,” you explained to a very frustrated looking Deuce. “Like, how you want to say just enough to get help but not enough for them to throw you into an asylum. You feel?”

“What in the fuck are you on,” Ace gaped.

“See, if any of you actually even knew what therapy was, you’d get it.”

“I still can’t believe that’s where you’ve been every afternoon,” Deuce frowned, poking at his lunch with a consternated sort of look on his face. “Don’t you—I don’t know…”

“What?” you asked.

“Feel horrifically guilty and maybe like you should be burnt at the stake?” Ace complained, reaching over to swipe a fry from your plate. Grim hissed and swatted at his fingers—his little mouth stuffed too full of your half-eaten burger to yell much of anything else. “You’re a traitor, that’s what you are. Prancing around with those goody-two-shoes in their stupid, shiny, building every damn day like a—like a—”

“A frog?” Deuce suggested.

“What, no. Dude—”

“Frogs prance!”

“Frogs fucking jump, you ingrate—”

A heavy box landed on the table with a THUD, sending the quarrelling duo into silence. A mountain of homemade chocolate chip cookies stared back at them, nearly sparkling in their brilliance.

“Yes,” you intoned, stern. “It’s worth it.”

“It’s worth it,” Grim and Ace agreed heartily, already busy swapping their lunches for sweets.

Deuce sighed and reached for his own cookie. “If you’re sure...”

Being called into the Headmaster’s Office was not something with which you were unfamiliar. In fact, Crowley not having summoned you into his gloomy chamber over the past few weeks was more of an anomaly than not. Normally he was hurling new jobs at you left and right—organize this event, Prefect. Pick up my groceries, Prefect. The main hall is looking a little dirty, Prefect. Go stop my students from committing mass murder, Prefect. Maybe your wave of insults had rattled him enough to leave you alone for that little while. Or maybe he’d just been biding his time until he could think of something equally as nasty to say back.

Of all the things you were expecting upon trudging back into that office, a scowling Professor Crewel was not one of them.

You blinked owlishly, taken aback.

“Good afternoon, Professor.”

His lip curled, sour, and you fought the intense and suicidal urge to ask him just who’d pissed in his cornflakes that morning because damn. You hadn’t even done anything. That you could remember. Maybe. And besides, if either of you had any right to be acting all bitter and pissy it was you. Not Mister ‘I Have No Intention of Playing Parent to Anyone.’ The memory had your eyes stinging and your blood boiling all over again. When neither of the men deigned to greet you, you cleared you throat irritably and crossed your arms.

“Can I help you with something, Professor? Headmaster?”

“It has come to our attention that you’ve been sneaking off campus in the evenings,” Professor Crewel declared, with all the civility of an off-grid hermit. “Which I’m certain that you are fully aware is against school policy.”

Crowley just nodded, stiff lipped and robotic, and his silence immediately had you suspicious.

“Well?” Crewel snipped. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

You took a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. Then another.

You smiled, icy. “Then I’m sure this is just another infraction to add to my file. Which I’m very sure totally exists. Right, Headmaster?”

Crewel’s dark glower swiveled in Crowley’s direction, and you watched the Old Crow audibly gulp.

“Because of course, you keep proper records on all your students here,” you continued, happy to push your luck. “Especially the ones in special circumstances, and whose documentation is therefore not automatically forwarded to you by their previous schools. Right, Headmaster?”

You’d never seen a more apt demonstration of the expression ‘sweating bullets.’ It was intensely satisfying. Professor Crewel looked like he was heavily debating turning Crowley into a feather boa. After a too-long moment where you were pretty sure you were about to witness a murder, the two-toned professor sighed and turned back to you with a stiff sneer.

“It’s not safe,” he said, and you gaped at him.

“What?”

“It’s not safe,” he repeated, practically grinding his teeth. “What were you even thinking? Leaving Night Raven when you know full that you have no other connections in this entire world! Running off with a complete stranger on top of that.”

“Mister Rogerson isn’t a stranger!” you defended, resentment bubbling beneath your skin. How dare he? Now he cared? Now you weren’t just a leech, or a brat, or—or—No. It wasn’t fair. “And it’s not like I ran off into the woods or something! I’m at another school!”

Crowley slammed his clawed hands down onto his desk with a metallic BANG!

“AH-HAH! YOU ADMIT IT!” he howled. “YOU’VE BEEN GOING TO THE ROYAL SWORD ACADEMY BEHIND OUR BACKS!”

“I left you a note telling you that was exactly where I was!”

“YOU’VE BEEN CONSORTING WITH OUR ENEMY! AND AFTER I’VE WORKED SO HARD TO RAISE YOU AS MY OWN!” He wailed, inconsolable. “ARE YOU TRADING OFF MY GRIMOIRE TO AMBROSE, TOO? WOULD YOU STOP AT NOTHING TO SHATTER MY POOR HEART?!”

“I don’t even know what that means, but I wish I was!”

“Enough!” Crewel snarled, cracking his pointer across the desktop. “Both of you!”

“But he—!” you defended.

“Detention!” he barked.

“What?! That’s no fair!—”

“Detention!” he snapped again. “Three weeks!”

“Are you joking?! I didn’t even do anything!—”

“Four weeks,” he growled.

You pressed your lips shut, feeling your mouth wobble and your eyes warm with frustrated tears.

“Yes, sir,” you finally managed to grit out, and then turned without another word and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind you.

‘That may have been too much,’ Crowley had the gall to say to him, after Crewel had just watched the man have an entire meltdown in his desk chair and accuse you of outright subterfuge.

‘That may have been too much.’

The alchemist had watched, carefully stone faced, as your eyes had welled and you’d glared him down with a look that was a step or two past betrayed. Something tightened uncomfortably in his chest, and he refused to put a name to it. Naming things gave them power, allowed them to grow and spread. Like a tumor. This was all your own doing, and the subsequent punishment was clearly for your own good. So, what? He steps a bit too far and says something that’s perhaps just a bit too cold, and you go running off to—to Cliff Rogerson of all people? Pettiness is not an excuse for making poor, stupid, unsafe, decisions. And he would have certainly responded to any other student in exactly the same fashion.

‘That may have been too much.’

Crewel grit his teeth and fought the urge to run his hands through his hair in frustration. Normally he could use Badun as a stress ball, but he’d stopped bringing the dogs to campus when you’d continued to refuse to show up to his office. It had stressed them terribly, and it was unfair to force them to sit through the same, dull, solitude that he had to endure just on the off chance that you may change your mind and come wandering in. Jasper hardly acknowledged him at all anymore—only grumbled at him miserably when he returned in the evenings before curling up by the fireplace for the rest of the night.

‘That may have been too much.’

It… It really, probably, was. And he really should… apologize, shouldn’t he?

Divus Crewel could deny it all he liked, but he knew well and good that he wouldn’t have treated your classmates in such a manner. That unnamed twinge behind his ribs may have influenced his reaction a bit more than it should have, especially when he himself had so clearly relegated your place in his life to ‘by professional association only.’

So he forced himself to straighten his fur coat and start the trek to Ramshackle. It was a grueling walk, with broken pathways and rivers of mud. No wonder you were always running late to things. Perhaps he should bring this up to Crowley, and—

A familiar face stopped him in his tracks, and a wave of red-hot irritation worked its way through his veins as efficiently and viciously as one of the poisons he was so keen to brew.

“Oh,” Cliff Rogerson blinked back at him, “Divus! Good to see you.” It was not. It didn’t sound like Cliff thought it was either.“No need to call campus security or anything. I’m just here to pick up the Prefect for dinner.”

“Dinner?” Crewel repeated. It sounded bitter in his mouth.

“Annie’s making lasagna,” Cliff stage-whispered, like a secret.

“Can we get going?” you called and Crewel startled, noticing you off to the side for the first time. You looked so… small, for some reason. Hunched, maybe. Just, not your usual larger-than-life self—the Otherworldly Hero who showed up swinging to every fight, always armed to the teeth and ready to duel any monster, every horror. It made something in his gut twist unpleasantly. “I’m starving.”

“Of course, kiddo,” Cliff laughed and tossed an arm across your shoulders.

“How lovely,” Crewel interrupted, trying and failing to force the steel from his voice, “But I think that maybe you should reexamine your professional priorities. That hardly seems appropriate.”

“Oh, come now,” Cliff smiled. It wasn’t friendly. “It’s only dinner. And besides,” he chuckled, and gave your arm a fond squeeze, “Annie and I have always wanted kids.”

‘I have no intention of playing parent to anyone.’

A deep, cold, sort of dread rattled through Divus Crewel’s bones and settled all the way in the pit of his stomach. It was similar to the sensation that had been slowly clawing its way through him these past few weeks—the very same unpleasantness that he had refused to name.

‘You know,’ Crowley’s grating voice swam through his head once more. ‘That really may have been too much.’

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #My Writing #NRC Staff #NRC Staff x Reader #Divus Crewel x Reader #Dire Crowley x Reader #The NRC Staff's Horrible Parenting #Heroes vs. Villains #Crewel x Reader #twisted wonderland OCs #twst ocs #Divus Crewel #Dire Crowley #Heroes vs Villains The NRC Staff Part 2

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thecrimsonjaguar · 8 months

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i don't think i've seen many people talk about fionna's very clear embarrassment when simon comes back after they finished watching IK's tape. (its been overshadowed by the skeleton freezeframe, and for good reason, that part was so good)

She says "this is how he was with the crown?" which is of course her realizing that maybe cursing simon with the crown again is not a good thing, but it also seems like she's realized just how like. cringe and graceless Ice King really was. (i love u IK but youre very cringefail <3)

like. that's not the man she's been travelling with for days, the nerd who likes books and reprograms interdimensional remotes and was unflinching when someone put a blade to this throat and is well spoken and talks about his fiancé and tries to cheer her up. Ice King doesn't talk or act like simon at all. He's this weirdo who swaps from rage to tears on a dime. It's probably uncomfortable to watch precisely because she knows that it IS simon.

And i think its like when you find out something really cringe from your parent's or a friend's past and its this really strong feeling of secondhand embarrassment. and also the fact that she watched this tape containing her friend's weird fugue ramblings like- augh. it was a really brief moment but it was also very interesting to me

#adventure time #at fionna and cake #simon petrikov #fionna cambell #at spoilers

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absolutechaos101 · 9 months

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Welcome to our WTTT collaboration blog!

[pt: welcome to our welcome to the table collaboration blog! /end pt]

Admins and Admin tags:

Flower: All (#Flower Posts!)

Orange: He/Neos (#Mod Orange)

Lee: Xe/Any (#Lee Posts)

Graceless: All (#Dissonance)

Zene: All (#zene rambles)

Anyone is welcome to join, just drop your main blog below. Flower will reach out to you with information and verification requirements.

The blog will consist of multiple state-centric aus. We will post multiple short stories, headcannon posts, illustrations and/or mini comics revolving around each au.

Current AUs:

Toddler States

Middle School

Modern/Human States

Four Corners Corner Shops

Wildwest! Cali/Oklahoma/Texas

DNI: CgL (NSFW agere), Pedophiles

#wttt #wttsh #welcome to the table #welcome to the statehouse #Lee Posts #WTTT Toddler AU #Flower Posts!#Dissonance #Mod Orange #zene rambles

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astranite · 11 months

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WIP Wednesday!

Never done one of these (mostly because I never actually thought of it in time for a Wednesday), but they’ve always looked fun. And when am I not going to take the chance to ramble about my own writing? I love hearing what people think about it.

My biggest and most favourite headcanon is that John is autistic.

So this is very based off of that. And the fact that I am autistic and want to read and write about autistic characters!

It’s set after The Man From TB5 episode, because I just watched it twice in a row (yes back to back, I’d been having A Day), because I love it. So much John!

And I wanted to write John just unwinding after it, because parties are Exhausting, but then it kinda grew a bit from there. (Because Characters keep having Feelings and I am evidently incapable of writing just fluff because it always morphs into some kind of hurt/comfort something.) And John does not know that he is autistic yet. (I’d hope by 2060 we’d be a lot better at figuring this out and actually supporting people, but this was how the fic was going.)

@amistrio I started replying to you but then I started writing fic!

Bits of Amistrio and my discussion because we both have this headcanon if you want to hear more Here.

I’ve been poking about this a bunch today because I’m excited. Even to the point of typing on my phone on the bus. I’ve got most of the parts I want to include down, but I just need to get them in a coherent order. So here’s the first bit!

Enjoy Thunderfam! *waves in particular to the neurodivergent ones*

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((Set after ‘The Man From TB5′ episode.))

John flopped down in the passenger seat of Thunderbird One with all the gracelessness of not expecting gravity to be there. He tipped his head back to lean on the head rest, closing his eyes against the everything.

Scott’s voice came from the front of the ship. “So, how was it?”

John cracked his eyes back open

“No fatalities,” he reported, “The mission was a success in spite of the structural damage.”

“I meant the party, but good to hear,” Scott replied.

Oh. He had thought— well, Scott could have been more specific. (Or John could be less literal, that would help.)

The party.

Because that’s what it had been. Instead of the small charity auction he was expecting, there had been a massive gathering of people: all talking, drinking, socialising. His idea of a worst nightmare.

“It’s me, Scott. How do you think it went?” John said flatly.

Scott made a sympathetic noise. “You did seem pretty eager to get out of there.”

Under the light teasing, his brother knew that this type of Situation was not John’s forte.

He’d hauled John up into Thunderbird One when it became clear John would rather climb the grapple cable than be put down on the platform, full of jostling clamouring people wanting to crowd around him to congratulate their rescuer now the danger was over.

John’s heart was still racing. Whether it was more from the adrenaline in his bloodstream after his fall from the sky or the idea of nearly being back amongst all of that again, it was impossible for him to tell.

He took a deep breath.

Thunderbird One’s jets roared, the noise from the engines thrumming through the cahelium. John shifted in his seat. The sound scraped against his ears and vibrated through his body, setting him on edge. He could feel it in his teeth.

John took another deep breath.

---

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderfam #wip wednesday #john tracy #autism #Autistic John Tracy #AstraWrite #eh I think I've tagged this right #and I think ive done wip Wednesday right #not entirely sure at this point #but ah well

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ishaslife · 4 months

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ELDEN RING theory: Messmer is Radagon and Marika's son ?

Okay okay okay, guys...

Messmer in the new elden ring DLC trailer. I have questions and also some answers. My first thoughts were:

Red hair = Radagon but also, Serpents = God-devouvering Serpent/Rykard but then I paid attention to his dialogue...

I wonder if he is an offshoot or child of Marika and Radagon, he has the golden eyes and the red hair, he's also massive yet he wields red flame (like those of the giants) and Radagon was known to despise his red hair due to red hair being associated with giants (likely hinting that he had giant blood) So, crazy theory but I wonder if Messmer was Radagon and Marika's child before She came into power and he was actually a bit cookoo so his record was basically stripped from the history books. Like, Miyazaki said:

“There was this piece of key art where it shows Messmer sat in this throne-like chair, and people who’ve played the game may recognize this throne to be one of those from the boss room where you battle Morgott. And this represents the thrones at the base of the Erdtree. And it’s supposed to symbolize that Messmer stands on equal footing to these other demigods and children of Marika who sat around in these thrones and held the rooms of the Erdtree.”

Also,

According to Miyazaki, during the DLC we’ll “learn a little about why he wasn’t featured in the legends of the Erdtree, the lands between.”

So, my theory is that he is Radagon and Marika's exiled child. As in his dialogue, he says:

"Mother, woulds't thou truly lordship sanction in one so bereft of light?"

He's basically saying, "Mum [Marika] you really let this dude become lord? A graceless tarnished?"

As to why they exiled him to this land or, as Miyazaki said, "[we'll learn] why he wasn't mentioned in the legends of the Erdtree, the lands between"? I don't really know. Perhaps he represented everything The Greater Will wished to leave behind, i.e. Serpents, dragons (his helm has dragon wings), flame etc.

I like to think that where we're going is the same universe but an alternate dimension which I think Miyazaki has somewhat confirmed so perhaps time passes differently over there.

I don't want to be too concrete in how or when Messmer was born, it could be that he was born while Marika was ruling or perhaps when she was still an Empyrean, he might also be the offshoot created when Marika and Radagon merged (if they weren't always one being.) Perhaps, he is all the bad qualities of Marika and Radagon. The red hair of the giants, the deceitful serpents growing out of him, the flame (probably of the giants) that can burn the erdtree. It's as if they expelled all the faults that didn't align with the nature and principles of the golden order into Messmer and locked him away in another realm.

Hear me out but perhaps the echo Melina tells us in Marika's bed chamber isn't about shattering the elden ring but the moment when Messmer was conceived/made. She says:

"Radagon, leal hound of the Golden Order. Thou art yet to become me, thou art yet to become a God. Let us be shattered both, mine other self."

At first, I thought she says this to convince him to shatter the elden ring with her but the dialogue can be interpreted in so many ways that even this interpretion might be wrong. Perhaps, her calling Radagon her "other self," has two meanings: one, that he is her male aspect/alter ego and two, he is her other half, like, her significant other. So perhaps this was a conversation between them right when they decided to become one being, splitting from one another whenever they saw fit and their literal shattering of bodies/souls against one another is what gave birth to Messmer. Of course, I don't know the specifics of merging with someone so this just very crazy speculation.

(I suggest don't pay too much credence to this theory above, it's mostly just rambling but it is possible, you never know.)

We know offshoots are a thing since there are Malenia's daughters (Millicent and her sisters) and Malenia was an Empyrean just like her mother so it'd make sense if Marika/Radagon also made an offshoot.

Regardless, one thing (I think at least) I'm fairly certain of is that Messmer is son to Radagon and Marika and that he is also definitely associated with the giants in some way, perhaps decended from them much like Radagon or played some part in their downfall. And I think I'll have to delve even deeper into the dialogue and watch the trailer frame by frame to be able to decipher more lol.

#elden ring #elden ring shadow of the erdtree #elden ring theory #dark souls #messmer the impaler #messmer elden ring #radagon of the golden order #elden ring radagon #marika the eternal #queen marika #marika elden ring #miquella the unalloyed #elden ring miquella #elden ring speculation

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bloodydeanwinchester · 1 year

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i was tagged by birdie @birdstiel<333

shuffle your ‘on repeat’ playlist and post the first ten tracks, then tag some people 🎶

holy lover - keaton henson

ramble on - led zeppelin

ambrosia - rosie tucker

please don't go - wyatt flores

rotten ol' me - shakey graves

graceless - the national

take me to church - hozier

shaky in the knees - grizfolk

ode to a conversation stuck in your throat - del water gap

ace up my sleeve - lord huron

no pressure tags: @pinkdean @bisaster-energy @butch--dean @castielsparkle @saintedcastiel @angelsdean @faithdeans @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie @naughtystiel

#this is literally all just songs from my destiel playlist 😳#tag games

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pencil-down-a-paragraph · 8 months

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you could say it was pretty shocking

Whumptober day 4 prompts “cattle prod” and “shock”

Warnings: Electrocution, vomiting, torture and hostage situations(??), inaccurate depictions of how cattle prods work 😔.

Summary: After locating an artifact, Illinois gets electrocuted by hired thugs who were sent to collect what he found. All you can do is watch.

AO3

...

Crackles of high voltage electricity are nearly drowned out by the sound of Illinois’ ear splitting screams.

You had arrived in the country only that morning, immediately springing into a hunt for a very rare artifact that few others had caught wind of and you had had the privilege of been sent to find by a close curator friend of Illinois’. It had gone well, very well, in fact, that you were almost suspicious, almost took your attention away from the beautiful scenery and the endearing boasts and rambles of your companion to see it should have been more difficult.

Almost.

In hindsight, you should have seen it coming. Both of you should have. But you didn’t, and you couldn’t do anything about the men suddenly appearing and rushing you. There’s too many and no room to escape, your jeep mockingly out of reach and engine turned off. It’s easy to guess who your attackers are, fighting with the brutality and gracelessness of cheap black market hired help gives clues you in on them not just being muggers. You couldn’t figure out how someone figured out so quickly that you were on the artifacts trail, the plans were made quietly and kept within your circle.

That’s not on your mind right now, however. It’s a tunnel vision, the world around you fuzzy but sharpening out every time their leader brings the buzzing cattle prod back down on Illinois’ back. the air is thick with the smell of ozone and a burning something that you refuse to think about.

“STOP!” you scream, struggling in vain against the two people holding you in place “LET HIM GO! LET HIM GO!”

The man with the cattle prod laughs uglily as men lift Illinois’ gasping form by his arms

“I will!” He assures. It feels mocking “Give me the necklace and pretty boy goes free.”

Your heart races as he grips the side of Illinois’ face harshly, wrenching it up. Illinois looks at you with pleading eyes, shaking his head as best he can.

You swallow, voice cracking as you answer.

“No.”

The leader sighs, his voice almost chastising as he says “See this? Everything that happens now is your fault.”

He swings the prod into illinois stomach, his men’s rubber gloves keeping themselves from being electrocuted while they hold up your companion.

Hearing Illinois scream and being told to do nothing about it is agony, tears well up in your eyes as your mind races to figure out how to get you both out. Illinois gasps painfully, mouth dropped open as convulsions rip through his body. The prod is removed suddenly when he wretches, the sound of him vomiting has you lurching forward, forgetting about being held back.

“ILLINOIS!”

He can barely catch himself when he’s dropped, arms shaking from the small exertion. His hat falls in front of him, it had impressively stayed on his head the whole time and surprisingly misses the puddle of vomit. Illinois’ wide, frantic eyes flick from it to you, his body heaving with every pant.

It’s too close. Everything is falling apart before your eyes and you can only watch as the leader gets ready to shock Illinois again. Panic crawls up your spine when a whimper involuntarily leaves Illinois. If you could just give them the necklace—

An idea blinks into your mind and your thoughts grind to a halt. Your tongue darts out to wet your split lip, not tasting the blood by how preoccupied you are by quickly rolling the idea over in your mind.

It could work. You consider grimly. Or you’ll both die.

You hope your friend understands when he finds out.

“Wait, stop!” You cry out. The leader pauses, the cattle prod raised high to strike Illinois “I’ll give it to you, please, just let him go!”

Illinois’ eyes widen, your name whispered hoarsely.

The leader grins.

“Finally! Some cooperation! Remember,” He shoves the end of the prod into the back of Illinois neck making him slump forward, arms nearly giving out. Your stomach drops at the sight. “Try something, he’s dead.”

You’re released from the other mens hold, your shaky fingers reach into the hidden pocket in the inside waistband of your pants. There’s silence, aside from Illinois’ shuddering breaths, where they wait for you to grasp it, the chain falling out between your fingers. They shouldn’t know what the artifact looks like, just that its an old necklace. Afterall, that’s all you two knew.

“Here,” you toss him the medallion. A keepsake stolen for you from your heist partner back when you were still a thief. Under better circumstances it’d be sad to see it go, but you’d rather have Illinois.

Illinois keeps his eyes on you while the leader examines it. You hold your breath, skin buzzing.

Please work, please work, you internally beg

A grin stretches across the leader's face. He stuffs your medallion into his pocket. “Alright, we’ve got what we came for.”

You’re shoved, hard. Pain blooms in your knees at the force they hit the ground. There’s a grunt and a softer thump ahead of you while boots thud in the dirt

“You’re lucky,” the man calls “We were told to keep you alive. But if you try to get up before we’re gone,” there’s a click of a gun “You lose your legs. Got it, sweetheart?”

You grit your teeth, exhaustion washing over you in waves as they leave. You finally look up after you can’t hear them anymore, eyes locking with Illinois’. He’s laying on his side now, bits of dried spit and vomit on his chin. His hat is grasped in one hand, the other tucked against his chest.

He rasps your name, breaths coming in unevenly “Good thin-thinkin’.”

You’re scrambling forward before you can think, dust kicking up around you. Your knees ache as you tumble back down, hands flitting anxiously just out of reach of touching him.

“Illy—” you gasp, letting him weakly take your hand. “Oh my gosh, Illy, I’m so sorry, I should have thought of something sooner—”

He cuts you off with a squeeze of your hand “Did—did fine, partner.” He licks his cracked lips, grimaces “We need to get—…out of here.”

He sounds breathless, lungs rattling. Your heart breaks for him.

“Still have it?” you ask quietly.

He nods tiredly, tapping at the inside band of his hat where the necklace was hidden away earlier. You’re not the only one with little hidden pockets.

You sigh in relief, wanting to sink down in the dirt. But it’s not safe to stay here, Illinois is still injured and your attackers orders could be changed from ‘keep them alive’ to ‘leave no evidence’ at any moment, so you heave yourself up and shake off the aches and pains that you are starting to become aware of.

It’s a chore getting Illinois upright and to the jeep, but you manage, mumbling “I got you”’s as he stumbles, arm slung over your shoulder. As soon as he’s in the car you’re tearing off to the other side, hip slamming into the grill hard enough that you know you’ll be sore there later. Well. More sore than you’ll already be.

Illinois groans quietly in his seat. Your stomach flips.

Not as sore as he’ll be.

The door slams shuts harder than you mean and it takes you a few shaky tries to get the keys in the ignition as the adrenaline continues to fade, but soon you’re speeding off, switching to a different road at Illinois’ instruction.

“We need to get out of the country,” he says hoarsely “Only one other person knew where—” his eyes squeeze shut, a soft grunt leaving him when he shifts stiffly. The pressure of the seat against his back and shirt against his burned skin can’t be comfortable. “Where we were going… What our plan was, the airport we flew in from.”

“Where we’re staying.” You white knuckle the steering wheel “I need to get into our hotel room, we can’t leave all our supplies. Even if they’ve already been there, I doubt they took the med kit.”

Illinois huffs, it almost sounds like an attempt to laugh despite the pain “‘m fine, partner. Takes more than a little shock to get rid of me.”

You blink back tears, trying for a weak smile. You chose not to push, he doesn’t need that right now, but you’re sure you both know you’ll be talking about it later. “Nobody stops the great Illinois Jack, huh?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” He smirks, failing to hide a wince. He keeps his hat clutched in his lap in a tight grip. “This is nothin’, darlin’.”

You let go of the wheel with one hand, wordlessly reaching over his lap to take his trembling hand. Illinois is shaken, which is unsurprising. Aside from the injuries, he’s just put together that a dear friend of his was not so dear afterall. You know Illinois gives his loyalty freely, shining like the sun at the prospect of friendship and community. He thrives on it.

You briefly wonder how well he knows the term ‘honor among thieves’, if he knows what thieves do to the people who betray them. You wonder how many favors you’re about to cash in.

Oh, well. You’ll find out soon enough.

“I know, Illy.”

#ahwm #a heist with markiplier #ahwm illinois #illinois ahwm #ahwm y/n #writing #fanfic #whumptober 2023 #my writing

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vullcanica · 2 months

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Thinking about Danny in love and oh man.. does he deserve it. Let this man put down all the affection he hasn't found a place for all his life and have it be someone unafraid of the sheer depth and clumsy intensity of it all. Let him be totally graceless about it. Let him get a crush and fill his stupid journal with barely coherent ramblings and cringy poetry. Meticulously and painstakingly set up dates and show up with a face twitch from the stress of impressing his paramour. Dedicate embarassing amounts of authorial compositions to them, ranging from flatteringly beautiful and pleasant to concerningly fervid, almost macabre. Ramble to them endlessly - tediously - about his passions in a way he's seldom dared to sacrifice politeness for. Say raw, incere, unironically saccharine things that might make a lesser man's teeth itch and mean them entirely. React to affection with excitement or be caught unawares and reciprocate in all his awkward, colt-like glory. Let him place his unfaltering trust and loyalty in someone and not be lead astray. He deserves to be absolutely, unabashedly, inelegantly down bad. HE DESERVES TO BE WEIRD AND IN LOVE.

#𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓 ‒ danny ║ MUSINGS #RATTLING THE BARS OF MY CAGE #all the times i joked that the danny species mate for life only i wasnt joking at all #and don't get me wrong he can feel emotions as intense for friends as well but the idea of romantic love truly just makes him stupid #sb: you love me?#dan (shaking): there are 13 sonatas in your name as of today. please.. i think i hauve tachycardia #there is no grace to it whatsoever and he is So Much & i absolutely love that #AND HE DESERVES TO BE ACCEPTED FOR ALL OF IT AND LOVED AS HE IS

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queerofthedagger · 1 year

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Hiii Mona <3 I couldn't help but notice that we were both losing our minds abt the new National song, and because I always need ppl to talk to abt them, I simply *must* ask. do you have a favorite album/song of theirs?? 👀 maybe even favorite lyrics? 👀👀

Jules!! <3 Oh this is such a pandora's box question because the National is just one of my favourite bands... 😭😄

God so albums is already so hard but with it all being very close it's

1. Trouble Will Find Me 2. Boxer 3. I Am Easy to Find

and for songs.... oof. i am bisexual why would you make me choose anything ever 😭😭

Don't Swallow the Cap

Graceless

Weird Goodbyes

Slow Show

Rylan

About Today

Mr Novemeber

Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks

Mistaken for Strangers

Light Years

and i could go on but. i. yeah. top 10 it gonna be 😭😂 and if i got into lyrics we'd be here forever but generally speaking I just really love the way they understate things and then make those punch your teeth out, like in Weird Goodbyes the

your coat's in my car, I guess you forgot / it's crazy the things we let go

or like, in Tropic Morning News (which honestly would deserve a place on that list... anyway) the

oh, what happened to the wavelength we were on? / oh, where's the gravity gone?

AND in Don't Swallow the Cap the !!!!

I have only two emotions / careful fear and dead devotion / I can't get the balance right / with all my marbles in the fight

ALSO because I can't NOT mention it the fucking line in Graceless that makes me want to eat glass namely

There's a science to walking through windows without you // plus // God loves everyone / don't remind me

Like ugh there's so many more this feels blasphemous but!! also please please please tell me all of yours I want to hear them ALL they just make me INSANE (and thank you so much for making me ramble about them I'm really terribly normal about them😭❤️)

#answered asks #ghostboyjules #mona rambles #the national

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kaesficrecarchive · 2 years

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TGCF fic rec

hua cheng x xie lian

coffee and pine trees by orangemints (6/6 | 37,402 | E)

Xie Lian was in his senior year of being a law major and his reputation was impeccable. Renowned for his beauty, talent in dance, astounding grades, and polite disposition, his name was whispered about all over campus. He was practically flawless, and would have been even more popular, if not for how untouchable his love life was. It seemed the campus Crown Prince was completely uninterested in dating.

Then he meets the sophomore upset, Hua Cheng, infamous for his wanton behaviour and easy smiles, in a cafe - and the rumours start flying.

“Have you heard? The Crown Prince is having an affair with the literature department’s number one bigshot!”

Digging for Orchids by betts (6/6 | 43,684 | E)

“It is possible,” Hua Cheng began slowly, for once looking like a real person and not a god who had meticulously chosen a human suit in which to travel this petty and boring mortal world, “I may have lied a little, to my cohort. I may have told them, a few of them, not many, I was married.”

“Okay,” Xie Lian said, assuming he was talking about his special someone.

“To you.”

“WHAT.”

Or: After a meltdown goes viral and ruins his acting career, Xie Lian moves to LA. Unable to find work, he slips into a severe depression, until Shi Qingxuan hooks him up with a new roommate, an art student who has apparently been telling everyone they're married.

hold the quiet of my heart by moonsteps (3/3 | 53,441 | T)

San Lang laughs. It’s low and raw and makes something in Xie Lian’s chest dance. Pitter patter, pitter patter, like ballerina toes. “So why are you meeting with Hua Cheng?”

“To ask him to live with me,” says Xie Lian immediately.

(Or: Xie Lian and Hua Cheng become roommates.)

feng xin x mu qing

little beastie by Annabec (1/1 | 6,613 | T)

Mu Qing.

Mu Qing is a kid.

Feng Xin needs to sit down.

But not here, because this is Mu Qing’s bedroom, and Feng Xin wouldn’t ordinarily have barged in at all but Xie Lian had asked and Mu Qing is sitting in a puddle of his sleeping robes, silky hair flopping into his eyes. He tries to brush it away, pouting. His hand doesn’t even emerge from his sleeve. He pouts harder.

Feng Xin possibly makes a noise like a tea kettle and sits down right where he’s standing. Because fuck chairs and propriety.

Mu Qing apparently gives up on his hair, because he scoots to the edge of his bed to peer down at Feng Xin, head tipped to the side like an adorable little bird. Feng Xin is going to die.

Mollycoddled by wanningcore (1/1 | 7,980 | T)

“Uh, I made you ginger congee. I assume you haven’t eaten recently.” Feng Xin nudges the bowl across the table so it’s a little closer to Mu Qing, eyes flitting back and forth between him and the food. “Also I made peppermint tea if you want some afterwards. And I threw away your half-cooked eggs, which was disgusting by the way, they were stuck to the pan—”

Knowing that Feng Xin rambles when he’s nervous and won’t stop once he gets going, Mu Qing snaps, “What are you doing back here?”

Feng Xin’s head jerks up, brows furrowing angrily. “Fuck, just shut up and let someone take care of you for once. Eat your fucking congee.”

(Or: Mu Qing is sick and Feng Xin takes care of him. Lots of feelings and emotions ensue.)

Tear out this graceless heart (and hope that you will treat it well) by juurensha (1/1 | 8,964 | T)

“However you have changed, Feng Xin hasn’t,” Mu Qing says bluntly. “He’s still—loyal to a fault. He’s as dumb as a bag of rocks, and he can never figure anything out or notice anything, but you fell in love with that, so you can’t fault him there. He likes to fight too much, but he’s also—so kind. Kind and loyal to all those who are lucky enough to be in his affections.”

(And he has never been all that lucky in the end.)

Jian Lan’s eyes widen as she stares at him.

“What?” he snaps.

“…I am no longer in love with him, but I think you are,” Jian Lan says finally.

Mu Qing and his Cursed Luck by heartbeatangel (1/1 | 10,927 | T)

"I can't believe you two are seeing each other! You two love each other now, don’t you?”

Feng Xin plastered on the fakest smile Mu Qing ever seen him flash. “Yes, so much in love.”

He wrapped an arm around Mu Qing’s waist, drawing him closer to his body. Mu Qing tried not to push him away on reflex and hoped his disbelief was interrupted as shyness. Curse his stupid, shitty luck!

(The five times Feng Xin and Mu Qing faked being in love, and the one time they didn't need to.)

Beyond Our Fighting Borders by UnhookedStar (1/1 | 24,311 | T)

“So what’s the issue then?” Xie Lian asks.

Feng Xin takes a deep breath in, lets it out, and then breathes in again. “What I’m trying to say is, I think I’m homophobic.”

Or, Mu Qing starts going out on dates, and Feng Xin starts slowly losing his mind.

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #hualian #most of this is #fengqing #tho...#fic rec #kae's fic rec #c: xianxia

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