[honeybreadbee]

Licking tequila salt off my hand except there's no tequila and the salt is a small glob of saucy meat&rice that fell off my spoon

[otherwindow]

I feel like zombie settings could do more to make slow zombies scarier in quiet, creeping ways. Zombies facing away from people. Walking backwards. Only moving if they're not seen. Holding a survivor but not hurting them. Motionless but their eyes follow you. Soundless horde.

[otherwindow]

Encountering fast zombies: Physical challenge

Encountering slow zombies: Psychological terror

[ibapoque]

Ohh okay okay okay I like this.

If zombies are a representation of the breakdown of society, the traditional zombie is a more noticeable, violent, immediate collapse of society.

The slow, quiet, still zombie is more about the societal collapse we don't see until it's too late, one that doesn't happen suddenly and drastically but one that happens without a fuss. The violence doesn't become the focus of the tension, the violence is the release of it.

[galileosballs]

I have a deep appreciation for trans people in general, of course, but especially those who take the opportunity afforded by the chance to pick a new name in adulthood to pull an interesting but out-of-fashion name out of mothballs and give it new life. I'm not sure it would be appropriate to give a newly-cooked baby the moniker 'Millicent' - there's no way of knowing if they'd be powerful enough for that name - but if you want to make yourself Millicent? You're my hero.

[honeygrahambitch]

I was reading an article about toxoplasmosis and if you have a weakened immune system it might even lead to the inflammation of the brain, like encephalitis so I was thinking hmmmm getting toxoplasmosis from dogs is unlikely but not impossible - how funny would it be if Will had encephalitis because of them? Is it a coincidence that his symptoms started after adopting Winston?

[medievaljournalist]

got a good thing going where these bandits give me a half share of whatever loot they pull from adventurers i send their way & the best part is i don't even need to lie or anything since every hero is born with the unshakeable belief in their ability to win a fight against ten guys at once. just gotta say "we've got bandit trouble in the west, let me mark it on your map" and a week later i get $15 from Wulfric the Hound on cashapp

[honeybreadbee]

It's half past midnight, gotta be up in 5 hours, i can smell the indian food on my hands I'M HUNGRY

[softwaring]

[pomegranateteeth]

All the people want is vampires and a direct deposit of $5000

[the-modern-typewriter]

i’m doing the biggest and scariest exams of my life right now and reading your posts has become my favourite study-break activity. Thank you for keeping me sane!

Good luck!! Have a token, like a messed up lady and her studious knight.

"Is this part of the exam?"

"Excuse me?" The villain turned to stare at the protagonist, startled. They did not look like the sort of person who was easily started.

"The entrance exam?" the protagonist asked. "For the hero academy?"

The villain, for that was surely what they were, blinked.

The protagonist's head tilted.

"No," the villain said. "I - no. What?"

"I suppose you would have to say that," the protagonist said. "So we take it seriously."

"You wouldn't normally take being kidnapped seriously?"

"It was just a question."

"This is real," the villain said, slow and deliberate, like the protagonist was being particularly stupid. "This isn't a test."

"Oh," the protagonist said. "Sorry."

"You won't be hurt so long as you co-operate-"

The protagonist slipped the ropes free behind their back and shook out their wrists.

The villain's eyes widened.

The protagonist shrugged, apologetic. "Hero academy," they said, as if that explained everything. Which, really, it should. What kind of self-respecting would-be hero couldn't get out of ropes in a tough spot?

"Right," the villain said. "You're a wannabe hero. Do you know who I am?"

"I don't know," the protagonist said. "A bad guy who kidnaps people?"

"I'm Malefix."

That gave the protagonist pause. Nerves tightened in the pit of their belly. A creeping horror. There was no way, was there, that the world's leading supervillain would be helping out on an entrance exam.

No. No way. Absolutely not. It wasn't Malefix, it was some wannabe liar. The thought was comforting. They gave the villain a pitying look.

"Are you though?" the protagonist asked, slow and deliberate, like the villain was being particularly stupid. "Why would Malefix be kidnapping me?"

"Because your magical energy readings are off the chart. Shouldn't someone applying to hero academy know that?"

The protagonist stared at the supervillain.

The supervillain stared back.

Nah. No way.

"I still think this is a test," the protagonist said. "It's not like my powers are particularly cool or anything. I'm not the Justiciar."

"Oh for-" The villain closed their eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. They lifted a hand, dark energy warping out of their palm. The room around them turned dark and cold and the protagonist was filled with the most profound sense of doom. Their knees went wobbly.

Actually Malefix. Shit. Hot damn. Wow.

"Huh," the protagonist managed. They released a steadying breath as the villain's power faded. "How did they get you to help with the entrance exams?"

"This isn't an entrance exam!"

"Well, it's going to have to be, because I plan to start next September, the protagonist said, a little shrill. "I don't have time to be kidnapped. The Admissions Department might call me!"

"Were you dropped on your head as a child?!"

"That's not a very professional thing to say! That's mean."

"Oh dear god." The supervillain began to laugh. Not funny laugh. Sort of like they were having a crisis. "You know what. Yeah. This is a test. Congratulations. You passed."

The protagonist sagged in relief and triumph.

"I knew it! Will you write me a recommendation letter?"

"...You want a recommendation letter from a supervillain for hero college?"

"Who better to convince the Admissions Team that I'll be a terrifying asset? It's not like anything usually happens here. Best I got was a convenience store robbery and someone's cat in a tree."

"That poor robber."

The protagonist nodded. "I think I did a good job. To the police department with minimal damage. Come on. Please? Villains like pleading don't they? Please."

The villain considered them, expression unreadable once more. As cool as they had been when they walked in. Then, they dragged a hand over their face and walked over to the desk. "Have you got paper? For the letter?"

"Who uses paper? Jesus. Take my laptop. How old are you?"

The villain raised an eyebrow. "Do they have a unit on cyber-security at hero school?"

"I think so," the hero said, handing the villain their computer. Their brow furrowed. "It's the combat I'm excited for though! I'm not that good in a fight. I always feel a little mean. But I'm sure it will help if they deserve it."

"And how will you prove you didn't just write this letter yourself?"

"Don't you have like an official email or something?"

The villain's lip twitched.

"It's not funny," the protagonist said. "This is my education on the line."

"I'm sure I'd feel worse about it if you didn't ruin my kidnapping."

"Ooh. Can I have that quoted?"

"Paper. Now."

The protagonist sighed, but found a notebook stuffed in the back of the drawer. "I'm not sure how this proves it's you more than an email."

The villain ignored them, setting to work.

The protagonist craned, trying to see.

"I will put you through the wall," the villain said. "If you keep crowding me."

The protagonist considered, then stepped back, reluctantly.

"Wise choice," the villain said. "I was starting to wonder if you were capable of them."

"Hey!"

The villain handed them the notebook back.

The protagonist immediately flipped to the right page, a little worried at how long and glowing such a letter could be, when the villain did it so fast.

To whom it may concern

If you don't take them, they will be worse than me. Also update your security and containment procedures.

Yours in bemusement

M

"Hey," the protagonist said, "do you think maybe-"

They looked up.

The villain was gone.

The morning after they received the letter, the Head of School called them up personally.

Needless to say, the protagonist got in.

[the-actual-ocean]

The Entirety of Tumblr from Tumblr has been Chucked in to the ocean! You're all wet now.

[goldenretriever-boyfriend]

[songsomi]

Touch me again and I'll kill you.

[serpentstones-blog1]

i literally cannot convey how long i fucking laughed after i realized that boobytrap backwards is partyboob

[serpentstones-blog1]

i really hope that this does not end up being the text post that defines my entire tumblr career

[deathstaaar]

Untitled by artist DaviGo (2026)

[ass-mosphere]

WATER'S EDGE | fae king x reader

wc; 1,500

warnings; themes of arranged marriage, exploration of familial traditions, making a deal with a fae tsk tsk

divider; @/dividers-are-us

please reblog and share your thoughts!!

A fine man astride a glowing silver elk had come to you one night in your time of need.

From his realm, he ventured into the world of mortals, led by your sounds of sorrow, the salt which fell upon the soil as your tears did. The breeze carried your awful human noises through the trees, who were his messengers, and they told him how deeply your agony pierced them, sawed them like jagged teeth because they'd never seen a creature so miserable.

He did not enjoy the companionship of humans as they demanded too much, gave too little, and exploited whatever they could if it meant it would be advantageous. Yet, what he enjoyed less than humans was hearing their despair, as it moved him to undesirable emotions and to things like this. He sought you out through inquisitiveness and to ask you why, little human, did you weep so upon the earth?

You knelt by the water's edge with a shattered jar you'd thrown in rage before melting to the ground and dissolving into tears. Mounting expectations from your town to consent to being the next of your sort sent away, married off to some man of lesser noble status in exchange for meager allowances, had led to your frustrations consuming you.

The jar had been a family heirloom; precious, molded, smoothed, and repaired by the hands of your ancestors over time, yet when you looked at it, all you could manage to see behind your eyes was red and rage. It was through that upwelling of red and rage that you'd taken the jar and thrown it to the ground as hard as you could. It had shattered easily, remarkably dully, leaving you unsatisfied and filled with dread.

How could you return home with only fragments?

"Little human, your cries are absolutely averse to me, but I must know why you do so," the fine man announced himself, immediately ceasing your cries and startling you to your feet. "Now you stop, but why ever were you making such horrid sounds to begin with?"

The sight before you was so ethereal and exquisite that you could not bring yourself to answer him. Before you was a silver elk with sprawling antlers reaching high and far, nearly blending into oneness with the tree branches. It had a soft glow surrounding it, a sort of humming halo of light which made it simultaneously a sight you could not tear your gaze away from, yet still too bright as something standing apart from the darkness.

It wore no saddle or bridle like steeds you knew, but seemed to know, intuitively, what the rider wished for it to do without a spur in the gut or tug of fur.

Aboard the immense animal, the speaker was a ghost-pale man with long, icy hair the whitest you'd ever seen. Though his face was inexpressive, you saw a curious gleam in green eyes and a careful tilt of the head. Most fascinating to you about this man were the antlers mounted upon his own head, ones you could not discern whether they sprouted from his skull or were part of some extravagant ornamentation to his person.

"If you can cry so loudly, surely you are capable of speech, little human," pressed the fine man, growing impatient and bored of your stares. "Does something trouble you to be here at night? What is that there at your feet?"

It was embarrassment that broke your trance of the beauty before you. Your face felt like it was singed by the hearth at home.

"I—forgive me, sir, for being so impolite." You placed a hand across your chest and bowed sharply, a formality among your people reserved for those of important status. "It was discourteous of me to assume that I would not disturb others, even at night. Had I known that, I would—"

The fine man gave a suffering sigh, as though hearing you explain was truly a test of all of his goodness and patience, and said, "That is not what I asked. Answer my question."

"The crying, you mean?" Such a strange thing to insist upon demanding an answer for, but you would give it to him as you wanted the conversation to last. "Well, if you must know, I broke my family's most prized heirloom. That water jug." You pointed down at it. "It has belonged to my family for generations, and in my blind fury, I tossed it down, and it shattered. It is not as shattered as I am, however."

To this, the fine man inspected the dark shards of pottery on the grass from his great height. You were quick to notice the slight twist on his face, a downward tug on his lips as if disappointed. Perhaps he'd expected you to say something else.

"Things can be replaced," said the fine man coolly, looking now to you, "one thing your species will never seem to understand is that your things will be lost to time. Heirlooms and trinkets will tarnish and crumble to dust. They are merely things which you imprint importance upon, nothing more. They are no more than what they are."

You gazed down somberly at the fragments of the water jug and considered his words in silence for just a moment. "Maybe you're right. Maybe things have no inherent value beyond what we put into them. But, for one reason or another, they matter to us. They hold power. The hold memories. They tether us to the past and to family and to tradition."

"Does that make it a good thing?" He seemed to be seriously asking.

"I'm not sure," you told him. "Perhaps it's a bit of both. At some point, I started to resent that water jug because of what it represented in my family. Sameness. Embracing rigid, unchanging tradition. I am told that everyone in my family, at my age, is to go to the river to fetch water and bring it home until I am finally married. And then, if it were to happen, my own children were to take the jug and continue the tradition. It's heavy. It's heavy to carry around with me, and I didn't want to do it anymore. It's not what I want to do. So, in my anger, I broke it."

The fine man didn't seem to comprehend the complexity behind your words: your talk of sentimentality and tradition meant very little to a being such as him. This you were acutely aware of, but you had no other way of explaining your grief. Breaking the jar had given you a release, a great rush of relief through your lungs and soul, yet also a great loss. Something you would never get back.

"I don't want to get married away like everyone else I've ever known," you admitted. "I want to be able to choose whom I marry, but it is also a selfish wish. Not giving my consent to the marriage would mean that my family would not receive their allowance to survive. It's difficult."

"Why must their survival depend on you?"

"Because that's the way it's always been."

The fine man dismounted his steed and approached you. His height dwarfed you, yet under his gaze, you did not feel belittled or insignificant as you often did with men. It was something in the way he regarded you with that curious glimmer in his eyes, even though his face would not convey the same thing. He did not look at you as something to collect as part of many things, nor as something to hold ownership over with titles and contracts and rings and traditions.

He saw you simply as what you were: A human crying over a broken jar and an unknowable future.

"I will offer you this: Come away with me. Give me your name and take my hand. We will ride away to my realm, where you may choose to live however you please, forevermore." He extended a ghostly pale hand towards you, palm facing up. You thought that touching him would warm you. "I only ask that you be willing to keep me company, answer whatever questions I may have of this realm."

You smiled at him and didn't hesitate to slip your hand into his, fingers reaching towards his wrist. The contact was warm as you imagined. It pulsed through you like a heartbeat, like the gentle, glowing hum that encompassed the silver elk.

The fine man's softly pink lips rose into a kind smile, and he asked again for your name.

You gave it to him.

[nociceptrix]

tweet sequence of a not-quite-friend and artist i admire that i find myself thinking of constantly

[varenkaaaart]

heads

[varenkaaaart]

𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐧

the guards are next I promise