#saturday shorts
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I don't remember who it was, but I remember somebody a while ago said that this particular MCR song synced up really well with the Saturday Shorts dance, and I've thought about that every time I listen to this song. I couldn't find the post, so I recreated it.
#MCR#my chem romance#my chemical romance#bdg#brian david gilbert#saturday shorts#meme#shitpost#Sorry for posting this on a tuesday instead of saturday
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Saturday Shorts Saturday!
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JORTS
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Saturday Shorts walked so Jort Storm could run.
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some days you're getting dressed and you look in the mirror and go "but bert, what if everyone at the convenience store DOESN'T realize you're the gayest uncle in there, wouldn't that suck for them" and then you change into something dumber
#me irl#selfie#selfie culture#reblog my selfie#give me compliments#reblog my selfies#selfies#trans#transmasc#genderqueer#nonbinary#saturday shorts#jorts#look how hot and gay i am#give me attention I've had a real shitty two weeks and i need it
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Darkness
It was the darkness that broke his heart. Years ago. Ages ago. What was nearly a century ago and might as well have been more. On the side of the road his kindness made him vulnerable and the darkness overpowered him. It tricked him. It schemed its way into his heart and began an infinite lifetime's worth of manipulation from kindness to cruelty. From weakness into power.
Now it had ended him.
As Rumplestiltskin, bent on hands and knees, felt the grit and pocked hardness of the paved road beneath him, he wondered if his fate was to be controlled by roads. At once powerful and sure of its destination, a road could take you to what you loved most: a long lost son, a friend, the person you loved... They were meant to be signs of hope for the future. Yet this night was proof that for him roads insisted upon continuing to do just the opposite: a son lost on his journey, a friend walking away to his distant mansion... and now he cowered in exile, sent to his heart's final demise by the woman he loved.
There was no way of knowing if she lingered or if she had quickly walked away, heels tapping out a rhythm of pain equating to a hammer driving nails through flesh. He imagined the sound for a moment, knowing he deserved the pain of each tap. Magic kept him from seeing her, kept him from hearing her, but it could not remove the anguish. All he knew now was the darkness and the empty road, leading to a place he would never again see and a heart he would never again feel beat against his own.
Darkness and the road. This was his fate.
He lingered for what felt like an eternity, weeping her name, knowing it would never bring her back. She was lost, just like everything and everyone he had ever loved. All he had left was the pain and the pitch black of the night that he wished would swallow him whole.
Forever.
Taken from the Monthly Rumbelling post here:
Sorry to use February. I didn't see one for March.
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Saturday shorts werewolf jorts huzzah
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Welp. Saturday shorts time.
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EVERY SATURDAY. EVERY SATURDAY YOU FUCKS REBLOG MY STUPID YOURE IN HELL AND BDG COMFORTS YOU BY DOIGN HIS SATURDAY SHORTS DANCE. ITS NOT GOOD!!!!!!! STOP THIS!! STOP REMINDING ME OF ITS EXISITANCE!!!!!
#bdg#polygon#well not anymore#Saturday Shorts#this is a half joke#everytime ig et excited for ntoifs#and its just#that stupid vido#please#hell
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スライム娘 by aokuma
#Original#Slime Girl#Slime Girl Saturday#Green Slime Girl#Green hair#Grey Eyes#Short hair#Skirt#Thighs#Legs
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Portrait d'une paresseuse (Chantal Akerman, 1986)
#Portrait d'une paresseuse#La paresse#Chantal Akerman#Akerman#quote#short film#laziness#sleep#bed#saturday#1986#Sloth#Portrait of a Lazy Woman
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Their dining room table has been taken over by thousands of tiny little beads and elastic in different colors.
Steve sits opposite their sixteen-year-old daughter, a thin elastic band clutched in one hand and an assortment of approved beads laid out in front of him. He picks up a small purple crystal-like bead and tries to feed the elastic through the minuscule hole.
“Christ, why isn’t this hole bigger,” he groans, squinting as he tries for the third time to thread the bead onto the elastic.
“Aw, but I thought you liked tight holes, sweetheart,” Eddie teases, sauntering into the room.
Their daughter pretends to retch before turning up the Taylor Swift song playing from her phone, hoping to drown them out. It doesn’t matter that they have a state-of-the-art stereo system in the other room that sounds a thousand times better than the shit speakers in her phone. She likes the convenience.
Steve, on the other hand, glares playfully at Eddie. “Seriously, not in front of our daughter.”
“Oh, please, don’t pretend she doesn’t know things.”
“I mean, yeah, but she doesn’t need to know things about us.”
“I really don’t,” their daughter agrees.
Eddie laughs before collapsing onto the seat beside Steve. Assessing the beads in front of him, Eddie collects a few and gets to work.
“Hey,” Steve whines, swatting Eddie’s hand away when he tries to steal one of his beads. “These are mine. You didn’t even get her approval.”
Eddie scoffs. “I don’t need her approval. She trusts me, right bug?”
Their daughter rolls her eyes, but nods. Eddie hoots victoriously before going back to his own bracelet. Steve shares a look of amusement with their daughter. One that says it’s better to let Eddie think he won than try to give him a set of rules to play by.
Many things have changed about Eddie over the years, but one thing that has remained the same is his disdain for other people’s rules — even if the rules are coming from his daughter.
When Steve tries to take a peek at what Eddie is working on a moment later, he gets a swift elbow to the ribs. “No peaking!”
Shaking his head, Steve gets back to his own bracelets. It’s a lot easier threading the beads when he grabs his glasses from the bedroom and he manages to finish two daughter-approved bracelets in the time it takes Eddie to finish whatever he’s been working on.
“Are you ready to see the best bracelet ever?” he asks, standing up with all the dramatics he had when he was thirty years younger.
Steve and their daughter nod, setting aside their own bracelets to look at Eddie’s creation.
A rainbow of beads, all different shapes and sizes surround a group of block letter beads that reads: Fuck Ticketmaster.
Steve laughs while their daughter smirks, shaking her head.
“It’s not a Taylor lyric, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
“Our bank account definitely agrees.”
“So will the Swifties, you’ll see!” Eddie says, reaching for another random set of beads to start another bracelet.
The three of them spend the rest of the afternoon making friendship bracelets. Well, Steve and their daughter do. Eddie continues making “Fuck Ticketmaster” and various other obscure and random bracelets. The highlights of which include a red beaded monstrosity with the word “scarf” on it and one that just says "Olive Garden."
Unfortunately for Steve and their daughter, Eddie’s unhinged bracelets are the biggest hit at the concert. He ends up trading all his bracelets before they even get into the stadium.
He doesn’t let them live it down, proclaiming himself the King of Friendship bracelets.
#something short sweet stupid and silly for this Saturday morning#steddie#steddie ficlet#steve harrington/eddie munson#steve harrington x eddie munson#steve harrington fic#eddie munson fic#steddie dads#steddie hits their taylor swift era#stranger things#stranger things fic#dani writes
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you’d better believe it
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Update: Image description in Alt
This comic is made as the response to @thedasincolor's prompt, exploring how the Contact Clan Lavellan mission could have gone for my Ellana ✨
Splash of Color Saturday Prompt: Tell us about how different families, groups, cultures, and societies welcome visitors! When Inquisition Agents reach out to Clan Lavellan, or when they enter the Jaws of Hakkon, what might they expect to encounter? When a Warden calls upon the Legion of the Dead, how are they welcomed, and what are the customs that differ between the dwarves outside of Orzammar and those within? When we reach out to allies across the sea, or meet with diplomats from the indigenous Seheron people or in Rivain--or elsewhere? How do these welcomes differ for strangers, for armed people, for unarmed people, for children, for long-lost family?
Ellana's hand poses in the "folding betel leaf" page is heavily referenced from this video. The phoenix-wing betel and the trope of Deshanna recognizing her daughter from how the betel was prepared are also inspired by the Vietnamese folktale "Tấm Cám", which has a similar ending reveal to Cinderella where instead of the glass slipper, the King saw a set of phoenix-wing betel and immediately recognized it as being made by his long-lost love, and reunited with her at last. I've included some images under the cut of how it looks like in real life.
A noble's betel kit (with gold, silver, jade, ivory, Nguyễn Dynasty):
#dragon age#dragon age inquisition#dai#lavellan#inquisitor lavellan#ellana lavellan#hoàn anh#keeper deshanna#Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan#vietnamese#alien turnip's art#alien turnip's ocs#splash of colour#splash of colour saturday#socs#shaking a little as i post this... it's still short but i've never made a comic this long!#i'm excited and also nervous!
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#ryan gosling#snl#saturday night live#love him#paul rudd#martin short#matt damon#love#jon hamm#kristen wiig
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Breezes Are Better On Vacation.
(There is mention of nudity here, but nothing at all explicit about it.)
A warm, salty caress of air woke Belle on their first morning in the new realm. Even with her eyes closed, she could envision the elements of the Mediterranean in this place. Perhaps it was something about the warmth of the sun or the taste of the sea. Maybe it was the sound of the birds or the accents of the locals that wandered under their always-open window. Whatever sensory combination created the sense of belonging, it was welcome to stay.
This was their visit to a place where they had no plans, there would be no exploration. For this visit, time would be kept only by the number of waves crashing on the nearby shore. That decision had been made on their arrival. The Golds had taken one look at the beautiful blue water surrounding the realm's islands and decided that this time, in this place, there would be no exploring.
"It will be a vacation," Rumple insisted.
"A vacation when we're always traeveling?" Gideon frowned. "How do we do that?"
"We do absolutely nothing," Belle told him. Which was exactly what they'd all done. They hadn't even lifted a finger to make a snack, keeping their vow of laziness by eating at a one of the local food stalls for lunch and a restaurant for dinner. Tea was the only thing Belle allowed herself to make and that only because the blend here, poured over ice, was the perfect contrast to the humid afternoons.
"You're awake." It was impossible for Belle to trick Rumple into believing she was still slumbering away.
Instead of responding to his statement, she stretched and let out a hum of delight.
"Our son has been up for a while," he whispered as his arm shifted beneath her. "Out on the balcony. I think I should check he isn't burned."
Reluctantly, Belle adjusted her position so that her husband could extricate himself from their tangle of limbs. "We have aloe gel in our bathroom. Make him use it."
"I-" The beginning of Rumple's sentence turned into a chuckle. "Son. What /are/ you doing?"
Now more curious than lazy, Belle twisted herself around and sat up in the bed until she could barely catch the sight of Gideon through the bedroom's doorless arch. He was stretched out on his stomach, head right at the edge of their small balcony and his chin resting on his crossed arms. From there, he extended in a perfect line, log legs reaching well into the living room. Though the position was peculiar by itself, their son's complete lack of clothing was what had both his parents shaking their heads in disbelief.
"Basking," he said with a shrug, not even taking his eyes away from the activity below. With one hand he gestured at some houses farther down the hill. "Everyone here does it."
There was a pause before Rumple tipped his head to one side. "He's right."
Belle adjusted her nightgown and left the bed to pad over to them. "That doesn't mean we need to follow their example."
Below her, residents who were fully clothed went about their daily routines, walking up and down the cobbled streets, greeting their neighbors, or purchasing goods. Meanwhile, blissfully contented individuals were stretched out as Gideon was, fully unclothed, bodies aligned perfectly with whatever rectangular rays of sun fell on their balconies. She turned around and tried to peer beyond their house, but the angle of the hill prevented it.
"Enough of them seem to be comfortable," Rumple said, glancing around as if taking count.
"You're visitors," a voice chimed in, lifting and falling with amusement.
Belle turned and smiled at an older woman standing out on the next balcony. "How did you guess?"
She nodded their way. "Your lack of love for the breeze. Here we all spend some time with the salt on our skin. We see it as a form of cleansing. It's one of the reasons our homes are designed to let air flow through."
"That and the heat, I imagine," Rumple added with a smile.
The woman grinned. "That too." She picked up a cup from some surface hidden from Belle's view and nodded at her own building. "So long as your air bathing remains respectful and limited to your balcony or your home, no one will think anything of it."
"Thank you," Belle called out before stepping back in their own building so she could stand next to Rumple.
Out on the balcony, Gideon let out a contented sigh. Then he closed his eyes, rolled over, and folded his arms behind his head to make a pillow. "Breezes are so much better on vacation."
---
Crazy schedule today. It took me all day to write this, in 5 minute spurts, but I got it done in the end. That's why this is such a disjointed thought flow. Again, these are very rough drafts and might get properly written into real stories some day.
Image prompt was from Samuel Jerónimo at Unsplash:
https://unsplash.com/photos/roof-of-a-building-j73rdhsRE7o
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