Might As Well - Tumblr Posts
reblog and make a wish! this was removed from tumbrl due to “violating one or more of Tumblr’s Community Guidelines”, but since my wish came true the first time, I’m putting it back. :)
simone biles is absolutely a demigod. i think maybe shes a child of athena, zeus or nike. michael phelps by default is a poseidon kid. usain bolt is either zeus or hermes kid (both for obvious reasons). there are of course so much more but i just covered the ones i could thinknof off the top of my head.
Alright, seeing as its the Olympics, how many of the "Olympians" / Athletes are demigods?
i learned both starting in grade 3 and i'm 26
Me and a friend have been developing this conlang thing for use in co-op play, both for immersion and so we don’t need to constantly pause to type things. I call it slugsign :-)
I should note that neither of us know ANYTHING about language structure or conlanging, we just developed it naturally lol.
some grammar notes:
-’punctuation’ style signs (such as ‘question’, ’attention’, ’relax’) come before the rest of the sentence. this is for clarity of intent
-’relax’ can be used to initiate longer, more complex conversations
-signs are VERY position specific. the limitations of the medium make a lot of signs look similar, so using the right starting and ending positions are important.
-’region’ specifies which region you’re referring to by the direction of your arm waggling, and the regions adjecent to the one you’re currently in. For example if you were in industrial complex and wanted to refer to chimney canopy, you’d waggle upwards.
🔮🍁🔟💰🎃🍁🔮
An emoji spell to help make October a prosperous month.
Likes charge. Reblogs cast.
Buni, catching up to him: Professor, can you hold something for me?
Professor Membrane: Surely!
Buni, holding his hand: Thank you!
Professor Membrane:
'rping for dummies' inspired meme
🪞Describe your muse, who are they to someone who's never heard of them; they're not in the fandom, etc. Perhaps how you'd explain them IRL? 🍵 Pick a sense, and write or describe/headcanon using only/primarily that one sense as a focus. Bonus points if it isn't sight, or dialogue-sound. You can use both narrative and IC sense. 🍳 Pick a worry that you have, and speak freely upon it within your comfort. Even if it's fake. 📝 What's something basic that you expect someone to know about your muse upon reading bios? What's something you don't? Is there anything important to know OOC, but not IC? 🐏 Describe your muse from the point of view of a peer. You can use npcs, other muses, other mun's muses, or briefly borrow another canon character's perspective. 📸 There's headcanons that people 'don't force' on their mututals in order to play together, what's yours? Talk about it, we're your Fans for the moment. 🪧 State a headcanon that you know about a mutual's muse. If you want, describe how important it is or compare it to yours! 🦖 Bring up something you haven't about the muse. Maybe it's an unimportant little detail, or part of their everyday life. 🪜 What's a hope for the future? Whether for your muse, or as a writer, perhaps something you want to improve, or write about. 🦘 Do a writing exercise and practice something in this ask; whether that be speed, something researched, or something that you don't write often. 🌈 Describe an ideal fantasy of your muse's. You can do it IC, or talk about it ooc. Does it match your own? If so, speak both sides elaborately about that. What about it is appealing to either of you? 🎓 Name something that your muse needs to learn. Or, something you need to learn as a mun. 🔕 Think of something that you or your muse won't do, or won't work. Now name an alternative or compromise to that. Practice the 'yes' that can come after the 'no.' This can be a writing trope, an IC habit, or a simple genre/thread subject. 🐏 If you're comfortable, describe something personal/IRL that affects your writing; things you want to do cathartically, things to avoid because xyz, moods you may be in. 🐰 What're you laughing or smiling at?! You've been caught! Care to share with the class what's got you so jolly? 💙 Describe something about your character or writing the way a child would. 💀 The last time you said nuh-uh, nope. Not feeling it. Maybe you didn't reblog that meme. Maybe there's just a topic you're not feeling. Maybe your memory sucks and the moment passed. ❓Most kids go through the 'Why?' phase. Start with a headcanon and keep elaborating and asking yourself 'why' until you reach a dead end or don't want to explain anymore. ⚖️ What's a 'maybe' or idk thread subject for you? Would you like help with it? 🦥 Give us the mood for the day. Or maybe hour or month.
Listen up!
You see a post like this? Where OP might hurt/kill themselves? You hit that button that I circled
Hit that.
Click Suicide or Self-harm Concern
Yes.
Fill in the rest of it, and hit submit. The "content you reported" will fill itself in
Tumblr will follow up and help them.
Warning: this is only for mobile. If anyone knows how to do this for desktop, please add it!
This could SAVE SOMEONE'S LIFE.
YOU HAVE NO EXCUSE NOT TO REBLOG THIS.
I DON'T GIVE A FUCK IF IT DOESN'T GO WITH YOUR BLOG'S THEME.
And yes, REBLOG. Liking does no shit at all. This isn't ig.
You reblog, people see it. You don't, people don't see it. This shit's that simple.
This could save someone's life. It's not a joke.
Send me a color
red: how was your first kiss? what do you love about yourself? when’s the last time you warmed your hands in front of a fire? would you rather watch a sunrise or sunset? what’s the best thing about summer?
orange: what makes you feel warm inside? what’s your favorite halloween tradition? what’s the last thing you learned? when’s the last time you felt obsessed? what’s your favorite article of clothing?
yellow: if you could have any view from your bedroom window what would you choose? what’s your favorite thing to do on a sunny day? what do you consider lucky? what made you smile today? what makes you happy?
green: what’s your favorite thing to do outside? do you like camping? what would you spend $1,000 on? what’s your job, or what do you want to do as your job? what’s your favorite article of clothing?
blue: what do you do when you’re sad? what are some things you do when you can’t sleep? what was the best (non-romantic) night you’ve had? what kind of covers do you have on your bed? who is the last person you told a secret to?
purple: what’s your astrological sign? what’s the best piece of advice you ever received? when’s the last time you followed your instincts? what’s your favorite food? what’s your secret dream?
so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god
“Mamma Mia, He’s Italiano”
A ZeRoyalChaos Short Fanfic
Once he saw Anthony, his best friend- the guy that’ll end up being the death of him; his plan flew right out the window, the second Mr. Chaos came into view. He has been dreading this day, but Tom said if he didn’t confess, he would. How could Steven, the science, multilingual nerd tell Chilled? THE Chilled? He is tall, he has the most penetrating gaze with those big, almost crazily fascinating brown spheres that can make Ze just want to stop and find out what made them have such an effect on him. The way his lips curl up and separate to show off those teeth, the way he tries to hold back his laughter so it won’t give him away. No wonder he has called himself “Chilled Chaos,” he’ll make you want to trust him, just so he could betray you. “Hey, Ze.” the Italian said as he made his way over to the short Canadian who just couldn’t hide the smile that immediately graced his features whenever the two talked, despite the harsh nerves. “Salute, Monsieur Chilled.” “Okay, okay! Ze “I-Learned-French-in-High-School” Viking, way to rub it in.” They both start to laugh, “One day, Chilled, you will one day learn Italian.” Steven let the words just flow out of his mouth, wondering if he could actually tell the man what he has too. “I will! Anyway, what is it that you needed to tell me? Make it quick, it is Friday, I have to make it home.” “Why? Just so you could play games and sleep all weekend?” “NO!” Two green, emerald eyes bore into the nervous, brown ones, he gave in. “Yes.., but I will do work also!” Steven sighs, regaining his companion’s attention, “Anthony,” he starts. He didn’t need his sense of sight to know that Anthony was taken back by the usage of his name. They all called each other by their nicknames because, in their friend group, there are two Anthonys and two Stevens. Chilled became hyperaware of the sincerity and seriousness of the situation, he mumbles, almost to himself, “Steven..?” Ze heard him but didn’t reply, he only opened his eyes, grass meets the soil, the dirt, once again. He hopes his eyes conveyed his words but he isn’t hopeful. He shut off his brain and let his heart take control. “I…,” he starts, anxiety turning into determination. “We have been friends for years, best even.” He went on explaining every little detail that just helped him fall even more in love with the older man. He rambled on and on. He finally decides that he wasn’t going to stop any time soon, he stopped himself short; or “short.” In the middle of his explanation, to stare lovingly at the ground, he made himself look back towards the eyes that were once filled with excitement. He didn’t seem too happy or anything; he was confused. For poor Steven, he mistook that confusion for him not returning his feelings. He quickly left, trying to be easy on his joints for his royal disease. The only thing that was running in Anthony’s mind was,
“Was he speaking Italian?”
So, I decided to write the fic myself
I mean, it was half written anyways
You’re thirty-three when you shoot yourself in the head on the rooftop of St. Bart’s hospital. You’ve been holding London by the balls for almost ten years. Rich Brook may have been the (temporary) downfall of Sherlock Holmes, but he did more damage than you anticipated.
Seb has been picking up the slack over the last two years. He thinks that you can’t see the consequences of your obsession, but Seb can be so annoyingly human sometimes. You see everything. It was always going to end like this. But you didn’t anticipate the effect it would have on Seb. He’s surprised you again. Despite everything, he still loves you. He can be so annoyingly human sometimes.
The story can’t pick up again for another five years. You need to distance yourself from your kingdom. The stories of your reign need time to become legends. And you just know Seb is going to hold a grudge about this, he always did have trouble seeing the whole picture.
So, you have five years to spare. Five years to disappear into somebody else, somebody less. It’s all planned out, you’re going to Allen Hall. Maybe you should leave London, but people are so boring and this is the last place they’ll look for you. Seb won’t want to stick around and someone needs to keep an eye of things. Even if it is the distant eye of a broken man determined to change his life by going to seminary and becoming a priest. That really is the last place anyone would look for you.
You enter seminary and it quickly becomes a bit of a game. You’re thirty-three, older than the other prospective priests but you’re used to being an outsider. So, you push boundaries. You never paid them any mind before, why should you start now? You swear more than is acceptable, you talk about your alcoholic parents, you even make up a pedophile brother. (Seb would love that one. You’ll have to tell him about the silence that follows whenever you drop that tidbit). But like all games, you grow weary of this one. Everyone is so fucking predictable. You wish you could just sleep through the next five years.
At long last you're ordained. You do your six months as a deacon and every day you contemplate stabbing the priest in the face. He’s an old fucker. Probably wouldn’t live much longer even if you weren’t there to speed things along with a touch of aconite. He had a weak heart an no one questions the heart attack he suffers the week before your parish assignment comes through. Asking you to take over is only logical.
Things get a bit more interesting after that. Pam really keeps you on your toes, she’s always there when you turn around – you contemplate getting a little bell for her to wear around her neck. The parishioners are a bit of fun. You revisit your game from seminary – push boundaries just to see how far you can push them. And then this batty woman comes and ask you to be the priest at her wedding to the father of her godchildren. You leap at the chance to join them for dinner and that’s when you meet her. There’s something just a bit...off with her. She’s resonating at a different frequency than everyone else – an outsider, like you but not like you.
When you meet her at the restaurant she asks if you’re a real priest; she surprises you. You can count on one finger the number of people who have done that. Yes, you say, I’m a real priest. But, darling, you doesn’t say, I’m so much more.
She’s good, but no one is as good at wearing a mask as you. You read her easily, unconsciously, the mask falling away as if it were never there. There’s so much grief and fear and guilt and loneliness – it’s intoxicating. The chaos she brings would be a work of art, were it intentional. You want to harness it, own it, teach her to wield it like a knife. But that won’t work. She doesn’t mean for any of it to happen – it’s her sister who had the miscarriage, obviously, and the ensuing violence simply the result of sisterly affection. But, God, who gives someone a voucher for counseling? (That’s another thing you’ll have to tell Seb about – that list is starting to get long.)
There are these moments when she slips away. You don’t know where she goes, don’t see the destination. That intrigues you more than it should. It’s more of a testament about your life these last few years than it is of her. But where is she going? It infuriates you that you can’t figure it out.
You have time, and you know how this ends, but everyone else is so very boring; you don’t care that she’ll be just as boring afterwards. You’re exile is nearly over and you’ve missed making the world dance for you. She falls for you easily, so ready to believe how vulnerable and how human you are. It’s so predictable and so beautiful and so fun – the most fun you’ve had since before the trial. (Before you began to lose yourself in Rich Brook and before you began distancing yourself from Seb.) You know how this ends, but why shouldn’t you have your fun?
You’re not going to have sex, you tell her in the back garden, drinking those disgusting canned G&Ts from M&S. That’s a lie, but you almost wish it weren’t. You don’t really like sex – this stint as a priest is hardly your first go at celibacy. Seb is the exception, of course, but that has more to do with Seb than you. And if there is anyone to blame for this mess, it’s Seb. You find yourself furious at him for turning you into such a romantic idiot. You’re Jim Moriarty – you don’t love, you own. But you’re not Jim Moriarty – Jim died almost five years ago and it’s not yet time for him to return. Right now, you’re the broken priest with the broken girl falling in love with you. It’s as hilarious as it is annoying.
And maybe it’s out of spite, or maybe it’s out of boredom, but you’re starting to get a bit tired of this charade. You pry a bit too much, pick at the wounds she tries so hard to hide, and kicks you out of her little cafe. It won’t last, you know, and it doesn’t. She’s runs back to you later the same night. You act the tipsy fool and convince her to bare her soul to you in the confessional. You tell her to kneel and for a second, you’re Jim Moriarty again – back on your throne with genuflecting subjects before you. You revel in her discomfort and to stop yourself from laughing you kneel down and kiss her. It really is luck that brings the painting crashing down to the ground.
You fuck her a few nights later. It’s not your worst sexual experience, but she’s not Seb. She’s suffocates you with her emotions and you’re honestly surprised you can even perform under these conditions. She’s stopped slipping away quite as much when she’s with you. And isn’t that interesting? And just a tiny bit disappointing?
You notice it at the wedding – she’s still out of step with everyone around her, but it’s a bit less obvious now. And you knew this would happen, but still, your so disappointed. She’s so ordinary now.
You leave, pretend to be all heartbroken about it, pretend to love her. You even manage to shed a few tears. But you have an empire to reclaim, a right hand to whip into shape, and a pair of brothers to destroy once and for all.
You leave, because that’s what people do.