The Musings Of the Many Mes

My (old) NEW blog! Xp I’ll get my masterlist on here soon and yeah! Get all started again! Current blog, rasax45

[slavery]

How does anyone hate kids they are so funny I sold tickets to incredibles to this little girl and her mom and she’s like mom are we sitting next to each other and the moms like ya and the kid screamed YES so loud it broke my ears

[pkslider]

The other day I was bringing an older gentleman up the hill in a golf cart and we drove past this huge YMCA group of kids like 100 kids and driving past the first chunk like 10 of them yelled out “let me on” in unison and then since I’m driving so slowly to be safe, halfway in some kid leaned up and said “do you play fortnite” and I told him I played a little and he just pointed and shouted “THIS GUY PLAYS FORTNITE” and then like 20 kids started talking to me all at once about fortnite

[low-budget-mulan]

A kid asked me if I lived in the ambulance. I said yes.

[patron-saint-of-smart-asses-dea]

The hero we deserve

[treerot]

When I was on register at Kohl’s a little girl came through with her grandma and she was so very excited to tell me the meaning of her name (I think it was like warrior of god) and she begged her grandma for her phone so she could google to find out what my name means too

[newterjuice]

i wear two spinner rings on one finger and one time at my last job a young girl (probably 6-8) said “your ring is very pretty” and when i showed her it was two rings she GASPED and said “does that mean you’re marrying two people?!”

[siren-singing]

I have this necklace with a mermaid on it that I wear to work a lot and I got asked by a kid if it gave me magic powers. I leaned in real close and told her in a low voice it gave me magical girl powers but it was a secret. She got this real serious look on her face and said to her mom “that lady has superpowers, don’t tell anyone or the government will take her away”.

[business-pug]

The other day i had to give a speech at my school despite my horrific fear of public speaking and afterwards i had kid come up to me and say well done to me. It was so cute.

[mcr-minivan-deactivated20200108]

god I love tiny kids

[uberfluss]

there was a kid in one of our science camps and he spent the whole week in a lab coat and goggles screaming “CHEMICALS” at the top of his lungs. he wouldn’t even tell us his name for the first two days just screamed CHEMICALS instead.

[moth-doe]

I was watching these kids at church today and one of them screamed and threw a toy car into the wall and it broke and the other one looked over calmly and said “does your insurance cover that?”

[armandyke]

I was taking the drink order for a family at work and I asked their kid what he wanted to drink and he just looked at me with a completely deadpan expression and said “vodka” and me and the parents just fucking lost it

[bemusedlybespectacled]

kid I used to babysit asked why my lips were different (she was two), and when I told her that it was because I was wearing lipstick, she yelled, “MAYA, I WANT LIPITZ.”

[itsmydrink]

I work in a school and every time I draw anything on the board (I am a terrible artist and usually resort to stick men), the kids will all go ‘I love your picture, that’s a great drawing Miss’. So blindly supportive.

[the-stray-liger]

One time my younger brother ordered a “non-alcoholic fanta” at a hotel bar and the bartender lost his shit and I was never the same man

[swankivy]

When I was student teaching, I was taking my fourth graders back from lunch and noticed one little girl looking longingly at the playground, where the younger kids were having recess. She heaved a big sigh and said, “I used to be that free.”

[ibibibi]

oh my god little kids in the library are the BEST one time i was looking for a book and a little girl tried to help me cause we always help HER find the books she wants. sometimes when i’m helping them check out they’ll tell me about the books they’re getting. i know so much about dog man.

[ibibibi]

oh man! another hilarious thing kids in the library do! they will straight up TELL ON THEIR PARENTS!

mom: the book was like that when we checked it out

child, innocently confused: i thought (little brother) did that though?

dad: yes that’s our correct address and phone number

child, barely paying attention: we MOOOOVED!! :D

parent: we never checked that book out

child, trying to be helpful: yes we did, that’s the one we lost at grandma’s house, remember?

me, fighting laughter and trying to decide whether or not the enter the child’s testimony as official evidence or not

[beingatoaster]

I know I’ve told this story on Tumblr before, but one of my favorite retail experiences was when I was stocking shelves once and dropped a couple of small plastic toys, and a little girl ZOOMED up, grabbed them, held them up to me, and when I thanked her, said “I’m closer to the floor, so it’s TEAMWORK! :D” and zoomed off back to her mom

[magpie-trove]

There’s a part in The Princess Bride (the book, it’s not in the movie) where Inigo and Fezzik are looking for Westley after he’s been taken by the Prince, and they’ve been running into obstacle after obstacle, having to overcome them one after the other till they are not only worn out but they find themselves lost in the dark in the Prince’s pit of despair. They overcome and overcome and barely overcome, and then they find Westley.

Dead.

And in the middle of this horrid moment, the passage goes,

“After such effort; after being reunited with Fezzik on this day of days for this one purpose, to find the man to help him revenge his dead Domingo—gone. All was gone. Hope? Gone. Future? Gone. All the driving forces of his life. Gone. Snuffed out. Beaten. Dead.

‘I am Inigo Montoya, the son of Domingo Montoya, and I do not accept it.’”

And he drags Westley’s dead body to Max and stakes everything on a miracle happening. He is literally at the bottom of the pit of Despair with a dead man and instead of succumbing to despair himself he stops and says “I do not accept it.” 

And that is one of the most powerful moments in any story I’ve read. Because  sometimes the bravest and hardest thing is to insist on hope when it seems like there is none. To say no. I do not accept it. And look for a miracle if that’s what it takes!

(To against hope believe in hope, that we might obtain what was promised.)

[nqsa]

you know who’s gay? paul the real estate novelist who never had time for a wife and davey who’s still in the navy and probably will be for life

[mooncustafer]

New headcannon: everyone in that song is gay except the Piano Man who has no idea he’s playing at a gay bar and the staff and regulars have a betting pool on how long he’ll take to finally figure it out. So far John is ahead.

[skeleton-richard]

[spacegay-yx]

[freshdonuts]

“The manager gives me a smile ‘cause he knows that it’s me they’ve been coming to see” also implies that the Piano Man is possibly an incredibly attractive but oblivious himbo, and if you listen to the rest of it imagining that, this all fits a little too well.

[spacedandelions]

this makes too much sense. Also, the full quote is “Now John at the bar is a friend of mine. He gets me my drinks for free. And he’s quick with a joke or to light up your smoke. But there’s someplace that he’d rather be” Yes, your bed, he wants to be on your bed honey, that’s not a joke, he is flirting with you.

[madgastronomer]

Lighting another man’s cigarette is some old-school gay cruising.

[rasa1945]

Omg I makes so much sense lol

[thedaddycomplex]

So, okay, fun fact. When I was a freshman in high school… let me preface by saying my dad sent me to a private school and, like a bad organ transplant, it didn’t take. I was miserable, the student body hated me, I hated them, it was awful.

Okay, so, freshman year, I’m deep in my “everything sucks and I’m stuck with these assholes” mentality. My English teacher was a notorious hard-ass, let’s call him Mr. Hargrove. He was the guy every student prayed they didn’t get. And, on top of ALL OF THE SHIT I WAS ALREADY DEALING WITH, I had him for English.

One of the laborious assignments he gave us was to keep a daily journal. Daily! Not monthly or weekly. Fucking daily. Handwritten. And we had to turn it in every quarter and he fucking graded us. He graded us on a fucking journal.

All of my classmates wrote shit like what they did that day or whatever. But, I did not. No, sir. I decided to give the ol’ middle finger to the assignment and do my own shit.

So, for my daily journal entries, over the course of an entire year, I wrote a serialized story about a horde of man-eating slugs that invaded a small mining town. It was graphic, it was ridiculous, it was an epic feat of rebellion.

And Mr. Hargrove loved it.

It wasn’t just the journal. Every assignment he gave us, I tried to shit all over it. Every reading assignment, everyone gushed about how good it was, but I always had a negative take. Every writing assignment, people wrote boring prose, but I wrote cheesy limericks or pulp horror stories.

Then, one day, he read one of my essays to the class as an example of good writing. When a fellow student asked who wrote it, he said, “Some pipsqueak.”

And that’s when I had a revelation. He wanted to fight. And since all the other students were trying to kiss his ass, I was his only challenger.

Mr. Hargrove and I went head-to-head on every assignment, every conversation, every fucking thing. And he ate it up. And so did I.

One day, he read us a column from the Washington Post and asked the class what was wrong with it. Everyone chimed in with their dumbass takes, but I was the one who landed on Mr. Hargrove’s complaint: The reporter had BRAZENLY added the suffix “ize” to a verb.

That night I wrote a jokey letter to the reporter calling him out on the offense in which I added “ize” to every single verb. I gave it to Mr. Hargrove, who by then had become a friendly adversary, for a chuckle and he SENT IT TO THE REPORTER.

And, people… The reporter wrote back. And he said I was an exceptional student. Mr. Hargrove and I had a giggle about that because we both knew I was just being an asshole, but he and the reporter acknowledged I had a point.

And that was it. That was the moment. Not THAT EXACT moment, but that year with Mr. Hargrove taught me I had a knack for writing. And that knack was based in saying “fuck you” to authority. (The irony that someone in a position of authority helped me realize that is not lost on me.)

So, I can say without qualification that Mr. Hargrove is the reason I am now a professional writer. Yes, I do it for a living. And most of my stuff takes authorities of one kind or another to task.

Mr. Hargrove showed me my dissent was valid, my rebellion was righteous, and that killer slugs could bring a city to its knees. Someone just needs to write it.

[witch-without-gender]

This is the first time I’ve seen this post but I know I’m gonna love reading it every time it shows up on my dash

[old-screnwriter-deactivated2022]

reblog to send your writer friends a pat on the back and to let them know you're proud of them. a tremendous writer. you got this

[homo-sex-shoe-whale]

My favourite fact about chess ever is how Garry Kasparov, a Russian grandmaster and former world chess champion, once said during an interview:

“Well, in the past, I have said that there is real chess and women’s chess. Some people don’t like to hear this, but chess does not fit women properly. It’s a fight, you know? A big fight. It’s not for women.”

Only for Kasparov to get absolutely obliterated by Judit Polgar, a Hungarian woman, a few years later.

[homo-sex-shoe-whale]

Another fun fact: Judit Polgar, at the time of receiving her grandmaster title in 1991, was the youngest player to EVER receive the title at only age 15. Judit Polgar is straight up a chess legend. She was also the youngest player to ever be inducted into the FIDE top 100, ranking 55 at only age 12.

Judit has defeated numerous other chess legends, such as Anatoly Karpov, Viswanathan Anand, and Boris Spassky, all former world chess champions. She has even won a match against Magnus Carlsen, who is the current world chess champion as of 2021. When I tell you this woman is a beast I mean she is RUTHLESS.

Famously, in 1994, during a match with Judit Polgar, Garry Kasparov cheated, taking back a move after realising it was losing, even though this is very much against the rules of chess. At the time, Judit was only 17. Imagine being so good at age 17 that you make the world champion cheat!

Anyways. Stan chess legend Judit Polgar because she is a beast!!!!!

[homo-sex-shoe-whale]

Yet another fun fact: her sister, Susan Polgar, is ALSO a chess grandmaster and was women’s world champion in 1996!

And, their sister Sofia Polgar, is ALSO a chess international master! Meaning that all three Polgar sisters are chess masters!

[idkinsertfanreferencehere]

also, she’s Jewish! Bobby Fischer refused to play her because of this. She played in the men’s league, and at the height of her career was 7th in the world

[canaa]

Note, the reason for this is that their father, a researcher, decided to perform an experiment with the goal of proving that innate talent is not as much a factor as work - that ‘genius’ can be taught, essentially. He literally looked for a wife who would help him with this. He found a woman who was interested by the idea and agreed to marry him and have his kids so they could be his experiment. He decided on chess as the medium for the experiment because it has clear goals and rankings. He himself was not especially good at chess, nor was his wife. He taught his daughters chess from a very young age - at age five, his first daughter, Susan, won a local competition against people more than twice her age. I’m not saying their accomplishments aren’t their own - they absolutely are! These are three phenomenal ladies who have brilliant skill. But their unusual upbringing is the root of why all three of them are chess champions. What I would like to know is how he encouraged them to love chess, rather than making it feel like a chore to them. Because that is the most important key, I feel. It won’t help if you start a kid on something young but go about it in a way that leads to them resenting it! And he very easily could have raised three daughters who wanted nothing more than to hurl a chessboard at his head. Somehow, he didn’t, and *that’s* the interesting part to me.

[saint-dionysus]

Yeah, I see a lot of people in the notes and tags saying stuff like “imagine how much IQ that family has” or “they must have some crazy chest genetics”. Which is funny since they were actually born with the purpose of disproving the idea that talent is a genetic trait and that things like IQ are racist, abelist, and sexist ideas made up to inflate the egos of white cis men.

[nudityandnerdery]

[christinaroseandrews]

This guy knows what he’s talking about. He’s one of the lead writers for Leverage and if you ever watch the series on DVD, do yourself a favor and listen to him talk about how the scripts got written. Some of the advice he has is stuff I use all the time: 1. Don’t introduce an important plot person or thing after the first half of the story. 2. Always tie up loose ends. 3. Introduce important things in the middle of unimportant things. 4. If you have to infodump, find an emotion to tie it to and it will seem less like infodump and more like a motive rant. Seriously this guy knows how to write.

[agnesmontague]

so i just learned that after disney+ debuted disney shut down a huge chunk of its tv channels around the world such as disney channel and disney XD including the ones in south korea, so for old times’ sake i just spent a good hour or so watching channel shutdown compilations and 90% of these worldwide disney channels just…. got absolutely no sendoff whatsoever. many of them got their plug pulled right in the middle of a show without even waiting for the episode to finish airing and there was no ending jingle or even a voiced-over announcement, only a sudden cut to a soulless monotone blank screen with “this channel is no longer available.” like the stuff of childhood nightmares 

you’d think a company with such a family-friendly image would take the time to at least explain briefly to its very young audience that all their fave shows will be moving to another service or something, hell, at least do it for advertisements’ sake so that kids can pester their parents into buying disney+, but disney does not care about you and it does not care about your children and it will absolutely snatch the last shred of comfort from a kid’s hands if it means they don’t have to spend an extra $400 recording an ending announcement in different languages

and honestly i am just sitting here with my heart in my throat like. none of our current art is truly permanent, is it. we like to think that we have better documentation and archiving technology than generations past but all it really takes is for one megacompany to slap some copyright tape over its comic book villain safe and then toss that safe in the ocean for all it’s worth. youtube could potentially choose to do the same and simply wipe its entire site clean overnight. adobe decided to throw flash in the garbage and decades worth of internet content just…. disappeared from reach. i am begging every digital creator out there to backup your content to as many outlets as you possibly can. use different cloud services that aren’t owned by one company. use physical usb drives and hard drives. if programs you used to open your work become obsolete at least document what it was so it can be passed on and remembered by people who want to. jesus christ i need a drink

[eyrieofsynapses]

just thinking about the ot3 and Halloween, and people having these crazily decorated houses, and just… you know Hardison goes all-out no matter where they’re living. you know he’s got all the blow-up creatures, the mechanized critters that make noise and move around, skeletons, gravestones poking out of the lawn, the fancy lights strung from the porch and the roof and on the ground, and all kinds of decor from every classic Halloween movie, and so much more. if you can think of it, it’s there.

plus costumes, and it’s an opportunity to cosplay, so you know that Hardison spends months in advance planning an intricate and awesome cosplay. his costumes are just insanely complex and cool-looking.

and of course Parker, being Parker, loves Halloween. there’s chocolate and cool costumes and awesome movies and all kinds of stuff! and I think that perhaps she really loves giving candy out to the kids, because you know, Parker and kids. she remembers when she was young, the magic of holidays like Halloween, and she always does seem to love giving kids the chance to do things and enjoy things that she may never have had—or the things that brought her great joy when she was their age.

so of course Parker climbs up to the roof and everywhere to hang decorations (everyone in the neighborhood is utterly mystified at how they manage to get things so high up—seriously, how the heck do you get lights and fake spiderwebs and stuff like that up on the corners of the second-story roof?). her costumes aren’t complex like Hardison’s, but they’re bright and brilliantly colored with lots of bobbling things or lights or sequins or whatever shiny or sparkly things she can get her hands on.

(they’re also easy to move in and take off. nothing can get caught on anything and hold her back. it may be Halloween, but there are some things Parker can never let go of.)

and then, well, then there’s Eliot. who of course acts as though the whole thing is ridiculous, and no, Hardison, he isn’t dressing up, are you kidding him? (that his clothing on Halloween happens to usually faintly resemble certain old movie characters is something Hardison has decided not to mention, for fear that he’ll stop.) Parker often manages to coerce him into wearing something particularly bright or sparkly, since it’s her, but it doesn’t last long most of the time. he does sometimes agree to help set up decorations. mostly it’s with the excuse that Hardison’s going to break his neck on a ladder or somesuch, and he grumbles, but they catch his little grin here and there with a particularly horror-type (or sometimes downright cute) decoration.

trick-or-treating is a whole Thing, mostly because all of them enjoy sitting outside and handing out candy. Hardison loves showing off his costume and the decorations. but he also adores talking about other people’s, and it’s a well-known fact that if you show up in a particularly intricate cosplay, you’re bound to get at least a couple of questions on how you made it and what inspired what and all sorts of things. several cosplayers have found packages of expensive materials showing up on their doorsteps a few days later, things that they usually couldn’t get because of the price, and if they happen to show up next year with even wilder and more complex costumes… well, Hardison’s always eager to praise them.

he buys positively insane amounts of candy, everything that’s popular and well-loved. admittedly this is partly because he still wants lots of candy himself, and he needs to make sure Parker has a nice large horde of her own so she doesn’t wind up stressed over giving it out. (she may love it, but there is still that lingering fear of never having enough food, that embedded anxiety, and she knows it’s irrational, but those sorts of things never truly go away.)

this is the house with the big candy bars and the tiny toys and everything. they have lots of special bowls for allergies and intolerances! they’re also known to be the house that hands out the best candy to the people with the best costumes. it’s sort of an informal costume contest. (this is Hardison’s little way of driving up the number of fantastic outfits they see.)

there’s always music blasting, all classic Halloween tunes. Hardison likes to put on some of the ones you can dance to, and trick-or-treaters who play along often get a little extra in their candy. Eliot rolls his eyes at the antics, but they can hear him laughing under his breath sometimes. (Parker always gets a number of songs stuck in her head, and the boys have to endure her humming them under her breath for the next week. not that Hardison doesn’t do the exact same thing. Eliot is not happy.)

Parker delights in pointing out the wildest costumes, as well as hiding candy on the trick-or-treaters. a large number of parents find candy in their pockets that they know their kids didn’t give them. it’s the good candy, too, the stuff you don’t usually get when you’re trick-or-treating. she takes great pleasure in showing up out of nowhere and surprising the older kids, who are half-sure she’s an actual ghost or poltergeist because of how sneaky she is. especially with her wild costumes. nobody dressed up in neon orange, purple, and green should be able to sneak up behind you in a completely open driveway.

Eliot’s the one who likes to sit back and watch by the firepit. he’s usually got some food laid out, real stuff, because by God he does not need either of them on any more of a sugar high than they already will be. he does his best to keep them from eating too many sweets. (though if he happens to sneak a couple of candies here and there… hey, it’s Halloween. even he can’t resist the temptation. especially when Hardison’s been taking notes on what he like for the last five-plus years and sneaks handfuls of it into the bottom of the bowls. or when Parker keeps filling his pockets up with the stuff.)

but he sometimes takes the little kids, the tiny ones who toddle up in itty-bitty onesies or the most adorable costumes, kneeling with the bowl of candy in his hands with unspeakable fondness and the gentlest of voices. something always eases a little in his chest at the sight of how much joy he can give in a single evening. it’s small, so very small—but it’s something. it’s enough, for that one night.

(he also takes the rowdier and ruder teenagers. they don’t receive quite such warm treatment. it’s a well-known fact that you do not TP or egg a single house anywhere near their vicinity.)

all of them love the costumes and the kids. there’s something so wonderful and heart-warming about it all, about watching their delighted grins and listening to the joyful shouts of trick-or-treaters running to and fro, the obvious pride they take in their costumes. there’s little that makes them smile more than this.

it almost seems unreasonable, sometimes, the gap-toothed grins and the wide-eyed wonder of them, these bright lights of life. it’s rather strange, really, how much it means.

because, well—because this holiday, this one time a year, a holiday of scary things and silly things and haunted houses and spooky scary skeletons and witches and zombies and all sorts of things—such a fundamentally outlandish holiday… it’s oddly important. because it’s a day when they get to be normal, sort of, a day when they can just be the especially fun neighbors. they get to watch kids running about, parents strolling along and smiling at the antics or shouting for them to slow down and wait, bright-eyed teenagers freed to be young again for one evening, people, normal and ordinary and kind and real people.

for these are the people they fight for. these are the kids that they once were, the kids that deserve good things and good fun and good lives. these are the kids who should get to have these warm and wonderful childhood memories. this is what they protect.

and there are days, so very many days, when that’s easy to forget. it’s easy to get lost in the evil, in the endless marching stream of greedy people in over-influential companies without care for all these children and their parents and their world. much of the trio’s lives are spent in the darkness, because that’s the only way to fight it. it’s hard to remember the good things sometimes.

but Halloween? Halloween is a day of facing the fearsome things and laughing at them. and yes, fake skeletons and silly vampires and cartoon graves are very different from the falsely friendly smiles and pinstriped suits of the rich and powerful. but it’s still about fighting fears, in some ways, about finding humor in the darker parts of life. whistling in the dark, as it were.

and more than that—so much more, so much more—it’s a day when they get to be normal for a bit. in the light, for a little while. when they get to be the people they fight for, in a small way.

perhaps trick-or-treating is only a few hours. but the joy of it? the little flame of warmth that they carry, in seeing all the creativity and glee of so many kids? that never burns out.

[rasa1945]

I absolutely love this! and now I want to write a story and con about it! ahhhhh!

[thotketraccoon]

[typette-deactivated20150825]

[thotketraccoon]

HOLY SHIT OH YM GOD OH MY OG DFLSKDFJASSLDFKJDFSA

[queen0fm0nsterz]

CURSED

[two-kids-in-a-trenchcoat]

So i was just going to screenshot this post and-

[jackofgreen]

[danhowellsfeet]

this is the pic that wont load for any of us apparently

[rasa1945]

lmao

[thecleverdame]

East of Nowhere (Completed) - Master List

Sam x Reader

Summary:  You and Sam are strangers trapped in a desolate mountain town where you live alone, isolated from the outside world, for five years.

Warnings: language, violence, smut, talk of past trauma

Words: 44k

Beta:  ilikaicalie  

Keep reading

[rasa1945]

hmm sounds interesting

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Feral Masterlist

Summary: Feral is an Alpha’s most dangerous state. Pure raw instinct. A killing machine with no thought. Only an Alpha under extreme duress can submit to their feral side and they rarely can come back out of it. It takes highly specialized rehabilitation to even have a chance at working. When a feral Alpha comes into the reader’s low level rehab facility one night, she knows he’s a dead man walking. But he doesn’t deserve to die and a split second decision to help him escape before that can happen will put them both on the run. He’s no ordinary Alpha though. He’s Dean Winchester. The boy who went missing all those years ago. The boy that made everyone realize no one was safe from the Alpha black market. The man that could destroy them both with one wrong move…

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!reader

Word Count: ~62K (individual counts in parts)

Warnings: language, angst, violence, mention of kidnapping, heavily implied abuse (non-graphic), smut

A/N: This story has a darker theme than my usual ones however nothing graphic or specific is shared. There will be NO TAGLIST. Parts posted on days below ~7pm EST.

______

Part 1

Keep reading

[rasa1945]

Need to read ❤

[to-pick-ourselves-up-7]

The Marks of Running Ink

The Walking Dead [Soulmate AU]

Pairing: Negan x Tory Miller (ofc)

moodboard credit to my lovely friend @i-am-negan-trash

•••  •••  •••  •••

Warnings:  angst, swearing, death, violence, fluff, hurt/comfort, child endangerment, romance, general trauma, drama, cheating, general lack or morals, me trying to fuck with everyone’s feelings, SLOW BURN. Mentions of walkers, guts, bodily fluids, blood, etc. I don’t want to give the story away in the tags, read at your own risk. 

•••  •••  •••  •••  

To my lovely readers (old and new) before you read my story you really need to read Raise Hell, by my fantastic friend @i-am-negan-trash, as this is a sister-series to her magnificent story.

•••  •••  •••  •••

Ao3 • FF.net

•••  •••  •••  •••   •••  •••  •••  •••

Book One: Before

Summary: In a normal world, having a soulmate is usually considered a blessing, in a normal world, when their words appear on you finding them is not something impossible. But Tory Miller doesn’t live in a normal world. No. Her world is the stuff of nightmares, the dead walk, the living kill each other and soulmates are not important. Nothing is more important than surviving.

Part 1 •  Part 2  •  Part 3  •  Part 4  •  Part 5  • Part 6 •  Part 7  •  Part 8  • Part 9  Part 10  •  Part 11  •  Part 12  •  Part 13  •  Part 14  •  Part 15  • Part 16  • Part 17

•••  •••  •••  •••   •••  •••  •••  •••

Book Two: After 

Summary: The world as Tory knew it didn’t exist anymore. The world is a nightmare where corpses come back to life and where you can only trust those at your side, a world in which no wall can offer sanctuary. In a world where nothing is more important than surviving, what do you need a soulmate for?

The world as Negan knew it ended in a hospital room, but his new world started right there as well, a world at the tip of his fingers, a world for him to write the rules. And rule number one is: Nothing matters if you’re dead.

Part 18  • Part 19  • Part 20  • Part 21 • Part 22 • Part 23 • Part 24 • Part 25 

Part 26 • Part 27 • Part 28 • Part 29 • Part 30 • Part 31 • Part 32 • Part 33 

Part 34 • Part 35 • Part 36 • Part 37 •  

•••  •••  •••  •••   •••  •••  •••  •••

Book Three 

Summary: Of all places and all people, why him? Why here? Why now? Tory Miller never expected her life to take such a turn for the worse, but so far, her expectations had never been met. And of course, her soulmate had to be the cynical egomaniac murderer with a bunch of resources and a bat covered in barbed wire, of course.

How could she live with that?  

Part One: Now

Part 38 • Part 39 • Part 40 • Part 41 • Part 42 • Part 43 • Part 44 • Part 45 

Part 46 • Part 47 • Part 48 • Part 49 • Part 50 • Part 51 • Part 52 • Part 53

Part 54 • Part 55 •    

Part Two: War

Summary:  History had never been wrong about the lengths human beings would go for survival, for pride, for love… Tory Miller never thought she would see it unfold with her own eyes, not after the end of an era, but she could understand. Now, their war was being fought in all fronts. Negan’s was for pride, Rick’s was for survival, both of them were unstoppable forces. And her war? Tory’s war was for love.

Part 56 • Part 57 • Part 58 • Part 59 • Part 60 • Part 61 • Part 62 • Part 63 • Part 64 • Part 65 • Part 66 • Part 67 • Part 68 • Part 69 • Part 70  • Part 71 • Part 72 • Part 73 • Part 74 • Part 75 • Part 76 • Part 77 • Part 78 • Part 79 • Part 80 • Part 81 • Part 82 • Part 83 • Part 84 • Part 85 • Part 86 • 

Book Four: What Comes After

Part 87 • Part 88 • Part 89 • Part 90 •  

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From the universe of The Marks of Running Ink: you can visit the side stories here

an edit for The Marks by the sweet @lilymdonaldson

Tory and Negan for The Marks of Running Ink, by the darling @cherrytomatoart

If you want to see the face cast for The Marks of Running Ink, hit me up 

The facecast is baaaack! Find it here!

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[rasa1945]

I need to do a re read cause this series is the fucking bomb! Let alone I have NO IDEA where I left off lol so a reread it is!!! 😁❤️😍

[tiarasnteakettles]

I know nobody asked for a photoshoot of my kitten wearing the heart of the ocean but in my defense nobody told me I couldn’t either

[rowyngoldeart]

I regret nothing.

[tiarasnteakettles]

I’m crying sksksksk

[rasa1945]

😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣

[quasi-normalcy]

Conversation that Tumblr is not ready for:

A Vampire's fangs are also it's reproductive organs

[autumngracy]

I scrolled past that before realizing op was being literal and not just making some kind of weird joke

[plateauofmemories]

Oh please, "the penetration of the vampire's bite as metaphor for sexual penetration" is like, horny classic vampire symbolism 101 🙄 Taking this to the next level of "vampire bite as literal reproductive penetration" is a conversation Tumblr is thoroughly and uniquely prepared for and one that we will all severely regret very shortly

[gothiccharmschool]

Oh, I’m ready to be a spectator for this conversation. I’m ready. 

[dee-the-red-witch]

So, when a vampire doesn’t want to become a vaddy, they use a set of these, right?

[saint-batrick]

SIR.

[grumpytrans]

ooohhh so that's what those are for.... vampire condom

[rasa1945]

😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂 I'm dying

[chaotic-archaeologist]

A professor gave us an extra credit option: take a picture of yourself outside, doing something that you would not usually do. We were told not to take it too seriously. Here is my entry:

I maintain that sticking my head in the mailbox is not something I do on a regular basis.

[chaotic-archaeologist]

Love that some of you are reblogging this. You looked at a picture of a guy with his head in a mailbox and went "yeah"

[chaotic-archaeologist]

Can't wait to see if everyone did something like this or if they had a normal reaction. I will keep you posted.

[arospacecase-moved]

[ID: a photo of a pale person wearing a black t-shirt and jeans with his head in a mailbox /END ID]

[chaotic-archaeologist]

Hello to everyone asking for an update!

The professor has said that he will put all submitted pictures into a powerpoint to be shown in class tomorrow (Tuesday, March 9th). I am very much looking forward to seeing the reaction from him and from the rest of the class. I promise to keep you informed.

[chaotic-archaeologist]

Update: the professor saved my picture for last. I was told that I had "truly embodied the spirit of the assignment" and that I had gone "above and beyond."

Also, to everyone who is worrying about whether or not I got my head out, I was gifted with a very small head, and while I got out just fine I would NOT recommend this if you have a large head or even a normal sized head.

[chaotic-archaeologist]

Hey you guys should make this into a meme.

[thesadboisguidetolife]

Hows this?

[chaotic-archaeologist]

Perfect

[rasa1945]

Lol @castleadixon the meme 😂 we both wish

[writing-prompt-s]

An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.

[eatbreathewrite]

It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed, creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled walls.

It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever known has lived in such an, ah, dated, home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all. Not if they want to survive the encounter.

It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen, going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top, as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger. It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into this strange place.

As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.

Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless) grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.

“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year! You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear! Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”

She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear, because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only because it had been caught off guard.

The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues, while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans would say.

That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully, so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.

“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated with icing.

It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.

Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.

The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners regardless.

“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright, dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”

The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love that must have gone into its creation.

“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime. I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”

When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning circle is bundled in her arms.  

“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”

Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.

[voidbat]

this is so sweet. it made me want to hug someone.

[bigmammallama5]

i had to

[geniusorinsanity]

I WOULD WATCH SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE

[rocky-horror-shit-show]

Okay but she takes him to the little cafe and all of the people in her town are like “What is that thing, what the hell, Anette?” and she’s like “Don’t you remember my grandson Todd?” and the entire town just has to play along because no one will tell little old Nettie that her grandson is an actual demon because this is the happiest she’s been since her husband died.

Bonus: In season 4 she makes him run for mayor and he wins

[silvermoonphantom]

I just want to watch ‘Todd’ help her with groceries, and help her with cooking, and help her clean up the dust around the house and air it out, and fill it with spring flowers because Anette mentioned she loved hyacinth and daffodils.   Over the seasons her eyesight worsens, so ‘Todd’ brings a hellhound into the house to act as her seeing eye dog, and people in town are kinda terrified of this massive black brute with fur that drips like thick oil, and a mouth that can open all the way back to its chest, but ‘Honey’ likes her hard candies, and doesn’t get oil on the carpet, and when ‘Todd’ has to go back to Hell for errands, Honey will snuggle up to Anette and rest his giant head on her lap, and whuff at her pockets for butterscotch.  Anette never gives ‘Todd’ her soul, but she gives him her heart

[wickedwitchofthewifi-deactivate]

In season six, Anette gets sick. She spends most of the season bedridden and it becomes obvious by about midway through the season that she’s not going to make it to the end of the season. Todd spends the season travelling back and forth between the human realm and his home plane, trying hard to find something, anything that will help Anette get better, to prolong her life. He’s tried getting her to sell him her soul, but she’s just laughed, told him that he shouldn’t talk like that. With only a few episodes left in the season Anette passes away, Todd is by her side. When the reaper comes for her Todd asks about the fate of her soul. In a dispassionate voice the reaper informs Todd that Anette spent the last few years of her life cavorting with creatures of darkness, that there can be only one fate for her. Todd refuses to accept this and he fights the reaper, eventually injuring the creature and driving it off. Knowing that Anette cannot stay in the Human Realm, and refusing to allow her spirit to be taken by another reaper, so he takes her soul in his arms. He’s done this before, when mortals have sold themselves to him. This time the soul cradled against his chest does not snuggle and fight. This time the soul held tight against him reaches out, pats him on the cheek tells him he was a good boy, and so handsome, just like his grandfather.  Todd takes Anette back to the demon realm, holding her tight against him as he travels across the bleak and forebidding landscape; such a sharp contrast to the rosy warmth of Anette’s home. Eventually, in a far corner of his home plane, Todd finds what he is looking for. It is a place where other demons do not tread; a large boulder cracked and broken, with a gap just barely large enough for Todd to fit through. This crack, of all things, gives him pause, but Anette’s soul makes a comment about needing to get home in time to feed Honey, and Todd forces himself to pass through it. He travels in darkness for a while, before he emerges into into a light so bright that it’s blinding. His eyes adjust slowly, and he finds himself face to face with two creatures, each of them at least twice his size one of them has six wings and the head of a lion, one of them is an amorphous creature within several rings. The lion-headed one snarls at Todd, and demands that he turn back, that he has no business here.  Todd looks down, holding Anette’s soul against his chest, he takes a deep breath, and speaks a single word, “Please.” The two larger beings are taken aback by this. They are too used to Todd’s kind being belligerent, they consult with each other, they argue. The amorphous one seems to want to be lenient, the lion-headed one insists on being stricter. While they’re arguing Todd sneaks by them and runs as fast as he can, deeper into the brightly lit expanse. The path on which he travels begins to slope upwards, and eventually becomes a staircase. It becomes evident that each step further up the stair is more and more difficult for Todd, that it’s physically paining him to climb these stairs, but he keeps going.

They dedicate a full episode to this climb; interspersing the climb with scenes they weren’t able to show in previous seasons, Anette and Honey coming to visit Todd in the Mayor’s office, Anette and Todd playing bingo together for the first time, Anette and Todd watching their stories together in the mid afternoon, Anette falling asleep in her chair and Todd gently carrying her to bed. Anette making Todd lemonade in the summer while he’s up on the roof fixing that leak and cleaning out the rain gutters. Eventually Todd reaches the top, and all but collapses, he falls to a knee and for the first time his grip on Anette’s soul slips, and she falls away from him. Landing on the ground. He reaches out for her, but someone gets there first. Another hand reaches out, and helps this elderly woman off the ground, helps her get to her feet. Anette gasps, it’s Charles. The pair of them throw their arms around each other. Anette tells Charles that she’s missed him so much, and she has so much to tell him. Charles nods. Todd watches a soft smile on his face. A delicate hand touches Todd’s shoulder, and pulls him easily to his feet. A figure; we never see exactly what it looks like, leans down, whispering in Todd’s ear that he’s done well, and that Anette will be well taken care of here. That she will spend an eternity with her loved ones. Todd looks back over to her, she’s surrounded by a sea of people. Todd nods, and smiles. The figure behind him tells him that while he has done good in bringing Anette here, this is not his place, and he must leave. Todd nods, he knew this would be the case. Todd gets about six steps down the stairway before he is stopped by someone grabbing his shoulder again. He turns around, and Anette is standing behind him. She gives him a big hug and leads him back up the stairs, he should stay, she says. Get to know the family. Todd tries to tell her that he can’t stay, but she won’t hear it. She leads him up into the crowd of people and begins introducing him to long dead relatives of hers, all of whom give him skeptical looks when she introduces him as her grandson. The mysterious figure appears next to Todd again and tells him once more he must leave, Todd opens his mouth to answer but Anette cuts him off. Nonsense, she tells the figure. IF she’s gonna stay here forever her grandson will be welcome to visit her. She and the figure stare at each other for a moment. The figure eventually sighs and looks away, the figure asks Todd if she’s always like this. Todd just shrugs and smiles, allowing Anette to lead him through a pair of pearly gates, she’s already talking about how much cake they’ll need to feed all of these relatives. 

[captaintinymite]

[gilajames]

P.S. Honey is a Good Dog and gets to go, too.

[kaijufluffs]

[jumpingjacktrash]

the last lines of the show:

demon: you’re not blind here – but you’re not surprised. when…?

anette: oh, toddy, don’t be silly, my biological grandson’s not twelve feet tall and doesn’t scorch the furniture when he sneezes. i’ve known for ages.

demon: then why?

anette: you wouldn’t have stayed if you weren’t lonely too.

demon: you… you don’t have to keep calling me your grandson.

anette: nonsense! adopted children are just as real. now quit sniffling, you silly boy, and let’s go bake a cake. honey, heel!

honey: W̝̽̂̿͂͝Ọ̮̹̲̪̋ͦͅO̸̘͔̬͊F̜̫͙̟͕͖̙̋ͫ͌͗

[drst]

Haven’t seen this in ages.

I want the demon to go after the real Todd though.

[rasa1945]

My heart!!!! ❤️🥺❤️😭