#orderless

[mountain-in-springtime]

do y’all have like a hierarchy or like ranking of y’all celebrity/fictional crushes bc if so i need to hear about them asap

#i have like a top 4 and possibly a top 6 fictional crushes in case y’all were wondering #it’s partially ranked but partially orderless #mal thoughts

[moondirti]

there’s something so erotic about a man who grabs your jaw when you keep avoiding his gaze so he can force your eyes on his

featuring: SOAP, afab reader, oral, spitting, mild dubcon (i.e. boundary crossing)

soap has always been intense. a bullet shot off in a steel room, bound to ricochet until it makes contact with something that can absorb its impact. you're in the right place at the right time: a bar, the gym he frequents, perhaps even a football game he'd been anticipating for weeks. it doesn't really matter what context he first spots you in – all that energy, that orderless enthusiasm he seems to prescribe to everything, sharpens to focus solely on you. bonnie wee thing that keeps sliding him wily looks, instilling in him a mission he knows he won't back down from.

at first it's how to approach you. easy enough; you like him too, that much he can tell. so when you eventually agree to a farmers market date (where he intends to spoil you rotten with food from every stall), it becomes about opening you up. figuratively at first, you have a hard time keeping up with him without getting overwhelmed. startled at how forthcoming he is, stunned at the manner in which he treats you. like he's known you for years, a childhood best friend you only met last tuesday. he calls right after your first date, asks you to accompany him for coffee before his morning run. shows up at your door unannounced, carrying tools to fix the fan you briefly complained wasn't working. is bold enough to sneak his hand on your thigh while you're watching a movie later that evening, gradually moving higher as your breath begins to falter.

he spares no effort once things get sexual, either. if you expect him to go easy for your first time, you'll come to sorely regret the mistake. quick to slip out of his too-tight shirt, even quicker to spread your legs out on your couch. manages to get your joggers off but opts to merely shift your panties to the side, fingers hooked in the thin material (which he will pocket later). when he envelops your entire cunt with his mouth, his tongue digs into every fold, every hole if it means he can swallow down the smallest part of you.

taste s’good hen, bloody mad wae it

only you’re not looking at him. instead, you’ve thrown your head back, too lost in the pleasure to pay attention to the show he’s putting on for you. why exactly, he's not sure. he’s being good, isn’t he? giving you everything you need? his heart races a mile per minute and something needy, something dark twists within him. he laves his tongue over your hole once more, collecting the juices that pour for him and gathering it behind his teeth alongside a hefty glob of saliva.

when he moves up your body, he tucks your chin in his palm, pulling your head down to face him.

it's too much. too much. he doesn't seem to realise it, but you're breathing is still inconsistent and shallow, and you're about to cry from overstimulation. now he's forcing eye contact, nose kissing yours, and pressing down on either side of your jaw so you're forced to open your mouth wide. you know what's coming, see it from the way his cheeks move. it's all you can do to brace yourself for the inevitable, unable to voice your aversion to the kink. fisting your hands, tensing your throat. but it's as you close your eyes that his self-restraint snaps.

so, he spits. it's thick and messy and heady with the smell of your sex. he doesn't even aim it properly. a significant amount of it lands on your lip, some even on your nose. your tongue gets the brunt of it though, the new weight of fluid causing you to gag. yet his pupils are blown so wide they're barely blue anymore, a cerulean ring around bottomless black, fixated on the sloppy state of your mouth, and it's hard to deny him anything that boils him down to such a state. like a puppy. over-eager and exhilarated when you indulge him so.

you never learn to like it, though it becomes a routine thing.

#written on my phone and unedited #have some garbage or whatever #also applies to price because i can definetely imagine him forcing you still so he can blow cigar smoke onto your face #johnny 'soap' mactavish #johnny 'soap' mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap #cod #call of duty #thirst #x afab reader

[fadeintoyou1993]

Weekdays. From 8:25AM to 3:01 PM, we adhere to a strict regimen. Everything in our lives controlled. But then something like the murder of Jason Blossom happens, and you realize there is no such thing as control. There is only chaos. Nevertheless, some of us strive to impose and maintain order in what is, fundamentally, an orderless world. A fact which would very soon be confirmed in ways none of us could have foreseen. [...] Whether you believe in order or chaos, in the end, it's the same… We are either in control of our lives, or merely think we are.

RIVERDALE (2017—2023) Chapter Ten: The Lost Weekend

#riverdaleedit #riverdale #riverdalecentral #tuserdee #userjacko #userlindsay #userrachel #userbecca #tuserrobin #usermorgan #userkraina #usersadie #userlourdes #tusersonny #riverdale episodes #gif #mine #an iconic episode ending with mary fucking andrews!!!!!!!

[extracurious]

Just

You!

"Oh my heart you're crazy ,

Only you know what you think of every time.

I don't know what has happened to me,

Cause my days are spent orderless,

without any reasons I am being very huff

and being hurt in love. "

"He is like a sweet light who makes my life glow,

and who is always involved

in my imaginations and in my gab.

And my lonely nights are spent by craving for his indulgence."

"Although I pretended a bit by masking my love for him but still,

The moment I don't think about him,I feel like not getting the comfort of his passionate love."

"Oh beloved, i can't close my eyes in night without you.

Oh beloved, the night does not pass without you

As if I feel like getting slowly addicted to You "

"She walked into my life just like the flame on the candle wick, so

I absorbed her in me,

and tried to hide her in the alcove of my heart."

"I fought with the hands of time to rewind to the yesterday's sublime path but failed every time.

"Oh my heart ,you're so mischievous

Cause you always keep searching for excuses to find ways to see her."

"Wonder why she again ate into the wax stick ?

Thus snuffing the breath from my life but still I would try to survive this sudden strife.

Why don't you understand that Love is magic,elusive and delicate so needs be handled with genuine care?

Will our time together, love-kindled

Disperse as an unfulfilled dream?

Don't leave me ,my dear,my heart can't beat if you aren't here."

-extracurious

"Not to be reposted" 😊

#across the spiderverse #gwiles #miles morales #spiderman #ghostflower #gwen stacy #spiderman atsv #into the spider verse #gwen x miles #spiderman art #my poetry

[querentiaa]

A Lover's Discourse: Fragments - Roland Barthes

Alt: this is the love story, subjugated to the great narrative Other, to that general opinion which disparages any excessive force and wants the subject himself to reduce the great imaginary current, the orderless, endless stream which is passing through him, to a painful, morbid crisis of which he must be cured, which he must "get over" ("It develops, grows, causes suffering, and passes away" in the fashion of some Hippocratic disease) : the love story (the "episode", the "adventure") is the tribute the lover must pay to the world in order to be reconciled with it.

#quotes #prose #web weaving #web weave #roland barthes #literature #lit #a lover's discourse #typography

[vyvilha]

death is senseless. dead can't make sense. a prophecy is always told in a language that is veiled. to unveil it would mean to make order. death is by definition orderless. a prophecy is never told by the living, at least not by the living in a very strange definition traditional culture gives us. the living is someone who is a person. prophecy always comes through the people somewhat impersonal. witch, fool, child, drunk, mad, asleep, old, saint, damned. always someone who's too late or too early, always someone double in nature. half this, half that, half there. can you make sense when you're like this? in slavic folklore, rusalki attempt to mimic their daily tasks they remember from being alive. they try to weave, but they do it backwards, spoiling the fabric. they steal children and try to breastfeed them, but they die in their arms. they can't make sense. a prophecy is always told from the realm of death. it is believed in the otherworld time flows differently. there is no other way to receive a prophecy — only by someone who's half there, half over there. over the realm in which future and past don't make sense, and therefore you can see them all as if they're present. a prophecy by definition can't come from the place of order. that's why prophecies are always worded in a language so strange and allegorical. what makes sense to them doesn't make sense to us and vice versa. their meanings are distorted when carried over the threshold. like a fabric being weaved backwards. i forgot what i wanted to say

#🪱

[mydarlingdearestdead]

Aleksander Morozova rambling

Aleksander, as a child, saw and lived in a vastly prejudiced society toward his kind, which unsurprisingly had a large effect on his choices as an adult. Grisha were, and still are in the timeline, hunted for sport by otkazat'sya (namely Fjerdans). Not to say they were a united front against this bias, take Annika's ruthlessness as an example of that. She was his friend, or perhaps posed as such, yet willing to carve out his bones for the sake of her own power. She was the one who died young in the end, Ulle's son as well, Aleksander thought to use the cut on himself and frame a otkazat'sya village nearby. This was likely the first act taken against him as an individual from other Grisha, nevermind children.The two were afraid, unmistakably so, and therefore thought it justified to sacrifice, as I'm sure they would've considered it, another living being for either of their benefit.

The problem is, each of them, Aleksander especially, had the same experience. How does it feel when your parents bring into the world knowing they can't protect you from the dangers? Dangers posed from their own blood, mind you? Aleksander set out to create a sanctuary where no Grisha child would suffer like he once had. It was a noble vision, but a poisoned seed, as they say, grows to a poisoned plant. Those with power consistently crave one thing: More power. Aleksander Morozova is simply another victim of this pattern in literature.

The Darkling mantle, and those which came before it (e.g Black Heretic) are dehumanising, to say the least. The Grisha soldiers under his command aren't meant to see him as human in any case, to them he appears as an untouchable figure. I suppose that's important; when a god tells you to do something you rarely doubt his word.

Aleksander was fighting a war. Not the war those under him fought meekly with guns, though that literal war accumulated many losses and sacrifices as any does. His struggle was for power, as you'd expect and though it landed him in the throne eventually that's not the prime aspect. As I said before, the thing with powerful men is that they're ravenous, dangerously persistent in their hunt for more power. A single life lost is not a tragedy. No matter who the victim is, noble or poor, young or old. A single life lost in favour of a greater picture, is a sacrifice, a martyr. Alina says it herself, so many saints are martyrs.

I’m not saying Aleksander is a saint, despite The Starless Saint being a wonderfully poetic name. I’m merely suggesting he set out on a road to become one. I mentioned that a poisoned seed always grows into a poisoned plant because that’s nature. That’s the way things occur, nothing to fault or blame. I believe his idea was a poisoned seed, of sorts. The unfortunate truth is the most exquisite plants often turn out to be toxic.

His vision to create an oasis for Grisha was pure, but does that excuse the unavoidable bloodshed to afford it? Is there a meaning behind those losses? It was war after all. War ruins lives, that is no secret. Aleksander brought peace, and The Little Palace was, in some form, a direct result of that peace. The Little Palace and the second army were established, a sanctuary for Grisha and an Army for the king. A fair trade?

Is this trading lives like crops? Ten otkazat'sya for one Grisha?

Aleksander’s new system still had a hierarchy, despite it almost being flipped from the previous version and more complex. Before otkazat'sya were considered top of the food chain, and Grisha, orderless, below them. In that time, if Grisha had any use it was as weapons, which didn’t expressly change once the Shadows came into rule. Once Aleksander got his way, Grisha stood above those who had once tortured them. Still, even within them there was yet another hierarchy.

While all Grisha Aleksander considered to be below him except for the Sun Summoner, he had his favourites in Corporalki- Healers, Heartrenders, later Tailors-, preferring his guard to be made up of many Grisha within that order. Etherealki, which Shadow Summoners are also considered to belong to, remain as prominent figures in many battles as well. Materialki- Durasts and Alkemi-, while powerful, were not considered fighters during Aleksander's reign. They were not given physical training until Alina took control, which was an intelligent move on her part especially since we know what kind of accuracy Durast sharpshooters can achieve. A mistake on Aleksander’s part.

In conclusion, Aleksander did what he thought necessary. To him, every loss is a sacrifice, willing or not. Still, it’s the rule of man. Some people are always going to want to feel better than others. As Genya said, be careful of powerful men. The choice to have every otkazat'sya tested for Grisha power was to find The Sun Summoner and to build numbers in the first army. The problem is that many of these children, who were being brought to a supposed sanctuary, weren’t in need of one. In fact, by definition, a sanctuary isn’t a sanctuary if you aren’t in need of one.

One thing didn’t change from Aleksander’s childhood: Otkazat'sya feared Grisha. What did change is how they reacted to that fear. The reaction was an instinctive move to destroy what wasn’t known. Once Grisha were known to the public in Ravka, the fear may have grown, yes, but the willingness to do something about it shrank. These people who live their lives quietly in a town aren’t going to suddenly pick up a knife and throw it at someone meant to protect them. Even if they don’t believe that protection is necessary or possible.

#jm sorry it's sounds like I'm for this guy #im not #i just understand it #day one of me psychoanalysing this man #i spelt that wrong #oh well. #the Darkling #alexander morozova #shadow and bone #leigh bardugo #alina starkov #anti darkling #anti darklina #ruin and rising #siege and storm #nikolai lantsov #mal oretsev #shadow and bone trilogy #reminder: this is my take #opinions and all that #if you disagree don't be an asshole about it

[vayneoc]

Silent Neon

Vayne, as a yesterday corpo-rat, wasn't going to blast scavs' hideouts, explode tigers' drug labs and go on maelstrom with guns in arms, grenade between her teeth and blaze in the eyes...

...yet.

Her early mercenary times are a mixture of private investigation, diplomacy, blackmail, hacking, thievery.

She knows that right information, and what you make others think about it, opens way too many doors. In the corpo world. But, to her pleasure, in the streets no less.

People make a society, and whether high above or underground, it's habitudes stay the same. With the only difference being the orderless freedom of the streets.

No higher-ups, no one to set titles and control promotions. The only higher-up to you being your own self.

If you dare.

And Vayne finds herself daring enough.

#oc: vayne #fem v friday #cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #fem v #cyberpunk v #cyberpunk 2077 photomode #cyberpunk photomode #cp2077 photomode #how to make people read your stuff? put pictures all along it. works with kids then works with tumblr #my stuff #my stuff: vp #my stuff: txt

[tootallferne]

Last night I got to run the Daggerheart playtest adventure for my group. It was okay! There are some parts that we really liked (2d12 with hope or fear, the character creation, and some of combat) and some we didn’t like as much (orderless initiative, combat slog, lack of interesting abilities). I felt good because I thought it probably wasn’t for our group, and I was right, but I think for a group with more theater kids (like CR) it would work really well.

#daggerheart #critical role #tabletop

[transgenderer]

hiatus (n.)

1560s, "break or opening" in a material object, especially in anatomy, from Latin hiatus "opening, aperture, rupture, gap," from past participle stem of hiare "to gape, stand open," from PIE root *ghieh- "to yawn, gape, be wide open." Sense of "gap or interruption in events, etc.;" "space from which something requisite to completeness is absent" [Century Dictionary] is recorded from 1610s

not only does hiatus come from "gape" in latin, its actually cognate with english gape/gap (also yawn, chaos, chasm, gasp, gawp)

chaos is really the odd one out!

late 14c., "gaping void; empty, immeasurable space," from Old French chaos (14c.) or directly from Latin chaos, from Greek khaos "abyss, that which gapes wide open, that which is vast and empty" (from *khnwos, from PIE root *ghieh- "to yawn, gape, be wide open").

The meaning "utter confusion" (c. 1600) is an extended sense from theological use of chaos in the Vulgate version of "Genesis" (1530s in English) for "the void at the beginning of creation, the confused, formless, elementary state of the universe." The Greek for "disorder" was tarakhē, but the use of chaos here was rooted in Hesiod ("Theogony"), who describes khaos as the primeval emptiness of the Universe, and in Ovid ("Metamorphoses"), who opposes Khaos to Kosmos, "the ordered Universe." Sometimes it was personified as a god, begetter of Erebus and Nyx ("Night").

Meaning "orderless confusion" in human affairs is from c. 1600. Chaos theory in the modern mathematical sense is attested from c. 1977.

very strange, the conflation of "chaos" (in the modern sense) and "void"

[theroyalsims]

QUEEN KNIGHTS LADY BEATRIX’S HUSBAND IN PRIVATE INVESTITURE

Lady Beatrix’s husband is now officially a knight in standard-issued armour!

Wesley Collinsworth was knighted by The Queen herself during a private ceremony at the Palace yesterday. The honour was given to the brave fire chief after he led his team to a heroic and successful rescue mission when a fire gutted an entire school early last week. Thankfully, although the building was nearly burnt to the ground, all the children, teachers, and staff were brought to safety, and no serious injuries were recorded. 

This is, however, not the first honour Sir Wesley has received from Her Majesty. The newly-minted knight was formerly made an Officer of the Realm many years ago.

(Above: The Queen honours Wesley Collinsworth, a decorated firefighter, as a Knight of the Realm, in the presence of his family during a private ceremony at Brindleton Palace.)

Sir Wesley’s family was there for the joyous occasion. Lady Beatrix, and their daughters, Fiona and Matilda, looked on proudly as Her Majesty knighted the brave fireman.

Lady Beatrix and Her Majesty have a long and colourful history. The once-sisters-in-law (Lady Beatrix is the former Duchess of Holm, Prince Leonard’s ex-wife) were said to be feuding back in the day. Royal sources used to write about an unacknowledged rivalry between the two. One notable article mentioned that Beatrix was disappointed when Emilia’s relinquishment of her position to marry Al-Simhara’s Crown Prince Phillip did not push through: 

“Beatrix was disappointed, to say the least. She knows that she would have been a great Crown Princess, and her husband, Prince Leonard, would one day make a great King. She felt cheated and she finds the whole situation unfair, especially since commitments were made in private that Emilia would, indeed, step down in favour of her brother so she could marry Phillip.”

(Above: File Photo - An “order-less” and “sash-less” Beatrix stands out in this old family photo. The former Duchess of Holm reportedly felt left out and alienated within the family. [back row, L-R: Crown Princess Emilia, Princess Alice, Beatrix, The Duchess of Holm, Prince Leonard, The Duke of Holm; front row, seated L-R: King Leopold and Queen Ophelia])

Another cause of friction was reportedly the fact that the Royal Family never really warmed up to Beatrix. 

During the reign of King Leopold, Beatrix was the only member of the royal family who was not given the Royal Family Order. A Royal Family Order is a personal gift given by the monarch to female members of the Royal Family. Even ten-year old then Princess Anya was gifted by her grandfather the special order, making her the youngest ever recipient. 

Beatrix, however, was overlooked and was often spotted “orderless” and “sash-less” during formal events. She was also never given access to the royal jewel vault, and throughout her stint as Duchess of Holm, she was almost exclusively photographed wearing her mother’s tiara, the Ennisford Tiara, the only tiara she had access to.

(Above: File photo; Queen Emilia honoured her former sister-in-law by making her an Officer of the Realm, giving the latter her first, and thus far, only royal honour.)

However, whether or not Her Majesty and Lady Beatrix had a feud back in the day seems to no longer matter. Ever since Lady Beatrix divorced Prince Leonard, The Queen seems to have always had her back. For starters, she reportedly lashed out at her brother for what he put Beatrix and their sons through. In fact, even during the height of the cheating controversy that eventually shattered the Holm household, The Queen (then Crown Princess) was reportedly “Team Beatrix” all the way. 

Further proof of the two’s solid friendship is the fact that The Queen herself made Lady Beatrix an Officer of the Realm for her invaluable philanthropic  work.

(Above: [L-R] Sir Wesley, Lady Beatrix, Fiona, and Matilda Collinsworth pose for a photo. Strange that Lady Beatrix used to roam the Palace walls as a member of the Royal Family, but is now deemed a guest. Funny how things work out sometimes!)

Following the ceremony, Lady Beatrix took to her official social media account, and posted a lovely family photo (sans her two sons), taken at the Palace. The former Duchess of Holm captioned the snap: 

“A beautiful day at the Palace! So incredibly proud of my husband and knight in shining armour. You are our world.”

A beautiful day, indeed! Congratulations, Sir Wesley! Certainly, an honour well-deserved! And it’s always great to see what Lady Beatrix is up to!

#ts4 #theroyalsims #ts4 story #ts4 legacy #simblr #ts4 royals #ts4 royalty #ts4 royal family #ts4 royal legacy #ts4 royal story #emilia #beatrix #mystory

[incohearent]

Some things I learn this year

I used to think the best way to use Tumblr was to come up in tags as few times as possible. That is to say, I thought that I was meant to create a proprietary website in my own image, with utilities and perks that benefit me and me only.

On the contrary, Tumblr has no specific image that can be developed for a user. You are a product. Easy to say. As a product, what matters is your value as a person. A clever usage means nothing on Tumblr. It doesn't matter if you can code. It doesn't matter if you can curate. It doesn't matter if you create wonderful art. What you achieve means nothing on Tumblr. That is because Tumblr is its own achievement in itself.

Tumblr is an uncontrollable beast. It is the dashboard. It is the tag page. It is the inbox. It is the DM widget. It is the mutuals label. What Tumblr is not: It is not a gallery. It is not a forum. It is not a beautiful string of text. It isn't even an archive that you can sort through. You can only hope that you are shown good fortune and through good fortune you can have strings of text and you can have galleries. But the good fortune is determined by the value of the humanity.

So, the only way to use Tumblr is to be a good person. That is to say, you must take care of yourself so you can be the best product possible. You must wake up every morning with a deep seated love to create, or perhaps a deep seated rage to engage in orderless discourse over a political topic. Either way, you bring value to Tumblr because you have energy and calories and fingers that can interact with the cold, flowing, manipulative API.

So, for what I wanted… Tumblr is certainly not what I want. I do not want Tumblr at all. It is a cold, useless, hardened tool. And it can only be used as much as it suits your purpose. I cannot consign myself to Tumblr any longer. If it wishes to hurt me this gravely, I will not use it. Truly, the only benefit you can have from Tumblr is not tagging, archiving, or optimizing. It's simply reaching out to the masses as much as possible. I guess that's what the masses wanted, too. They didn't want to be alone.

I see this more and more. So I mean. If you…. really want to be alone, like me, like I so often want to be alone, I don't think "living on Tumblr" is a good idea. Find some other online hub that has fewer features, but at least it won't destroy you. You can never, ever, not in a million years make Tumblr in your own image. You can only make yourself in your own image.

As I see it, much of my Tumblr existence necessitates purge more than I already practiced. Originally I deleted… or hid… a lot, for sake of organization. I thought that I could organize this silly website. That was stupid as all hell. Of course, the API kept changing itself. I couldn't keep up with what was not stable. So I really… just don't know. It won't suit me. Not in a million years. I'm too big of a control freak. But it's not like I don't want to touch people, and help them, and send information. But all these perceptions and all these attempts became naught.

Ah! But I already learned that well and enough when I deleted one of my sideblogs. Actually, I didn't delete it. I just made it worthless and unusable. I didn't like that I tried having… blog… after blog… after blog. The real point is that I don't own any of my blogs. They serve a public purpose. Always. And asking it to suit me… that's just bullshit!

The attitude that, "I will do this, and then delete this, and then move this" was stupid because I don't own any of the stuff I post on this website. It's stuck here, for better or worse. It's not something I can organize or control or even enjoy. A post can only have meaning during its initial publication, and after that one must throw their hands up and say that it is not their decision to make. There are no decisions to make. It is Tumblr. It is its own goddamn website. It is not you.

The best way to use Tumblr is to be completely heartless and apathetic to the interface. You will never be rewarded for your efforts. You can focus on the initial post session, and what it means to you. After that, it is just Tumblr. It has nothing to do with you. Some of my favorite bloggers give no shits. That's because they have their own goddamn life and their own goddamn content, and they keep it for themselves until they decide to share. That's all it is. A share. It is not an archive…

I suppose one must say, "delete! Delete! Delete! Delete!" as Tumblr will do the deleting for you. You don't need to press the button yourself. It's not your responsibility. I suppose one must say that it is good to live in the present. You will have a reward for the present, just not during any endeavour that ensues.

I'll do my best to delete what I can, and make sure I can use Tumblr as it presently exists. Archives belong where archives belong… not here!!!! But I'm not going to be a perfectionist about it. There is nothing to perfect. It is inherently Tumblr. Ugly or pretty, it is just Tumblr.

On that note, I do have a question regarding utility. If I unprivate all of my old posts, and then delete them, would they still be rebloggable? You see, I set a lot of my old posts to private, but that made it impossible to reblog them. So I'm laughing at my mistake. Tumblr added this feature to protect some of its users that require that type of protection against other users, but I don't. So, I will use the feature that I am supposed to use. And so… as I take it… the feature I am meant to use is the delete function, right? /falls into the same trap as before

I guess I could write even more observations on Tumblr. Like, I think I have a lot of praise for what it is. And this stuff surprises me. It surprises me what is valuable, technologically speaking, in this day and age. But it slips my mind. I hope to be able to put those ideas together.

I'd do an "under the cut", but the "under the cut" causes me so many problems. And, in light of that, Tumblr dashboard started adding "under the cut" by default in the dashboard, since so many people wanted that feature for ease of reading but… no one was remembering to use it in their initial post. So no more using specialty features, this is Tumblr---I don't need to try.

#text post #personal #tw depressive

[mentalisttraceur-software]

My Markdown-with-frontmatter-YAML-to-Tumblr-NPF (and then `pytumblr2` to the Tumblr API) code is now wrapped in a very minimal CLI, and I have written Emacs glue for calling that CLI.

I am using `docopt`, which I reach for first when I need a Python CLI MVP, because it reduces boilerplate almost entirely down to just writing the `--help` text string.

(Naturally this post was created and updated through it. Basically ":w" to save changes in my text editor, two keys to switch from this file in my editor to my shell, then rerun the publish command from history to push updates. For the initial posting, I just had to tab-complete the file path and type out my blog name.)

Edit: I have now also added

CLI to get/set my two Tumblr-specific frontmatter fields,

Emacs code to prompt me interactively to pick from one of my blog names (I use Vertico+Orderless for `fzf`-like narrowing/search in all such prompts).

Emacs function to get the target Tumblr blog from the frontmatter (or prompt if it's not in there) and then call the publish CLI.

Emacs function to call the post deleting CLI.

Code within the above two functions to automatically reload the file from the file system if it had no unsaved changes before the publish/delete (to pick up the frontmatter change made by my Tumblr CLI, since that bypasses Emacs and edits the file itself).

(Naturally these latest edits were made by calling that function from within Emacs.)

Final edit: and now, finally, I can publish/update/delete posts with just three key presses (from vi command mode, when on the post's local Markdown file in my Emacs). Naturally, this final triumphant edit was published that way.

#docopt #emacs #software

[the-gateway-to-madness]

ROTBTD Tales of Arcadia AU!

With official written permission from @hijacksecrets to play with their AU, I shall now post the concept sketches I've been working on the last few hours.

The original AU features Hiccup as the trollhunter (keepsies! He's the best fit for sure). I'm adding Astrid in the place of Claire and Fishlegs in the place of Toby (book references!), Rapunzel and Varian as Aja and Krel (they've always had sibling energy), Eugene as Varvatos (questionable past, trying to make it up to Rapunzel and Varian), Merida as Douxie with wisp-colored magic, and, my favorite-

Jack as Skrael.

I have the most ideas for Jack's arc. He arrives, at first playing the part of a normal wizard, but in reality a spy for the Arcane Order (the other two members are Pitch, acting as a leader, and some spirit equivalent of Eris, a being of chaos- this gives us the trifecta of sorta the beginning of space and time, dark, cold, and orderless).

After spending some time in Arcadia, Jack realizes he doesn't want to be feared like the others- he hates the way people treat his season, and he wants it to change. It's not who he is and never truly was. So he pleads with MiM to break his connection to the Order.

And Tsar Lunar does it.

Now Jack has 1. unique ice powers, and 2. a direct connection to MiM.

Yeehaw.

Also, I've turned Hiccup's sword into a nod to the Guardians of Childhood books (NIGHTLIGHTNIGHTLIGHTNIGHTLIGHT-)

Hit me up with asks and ideas!

Before anyone starts though- I don't know if this will be a popular choice, but I don't have any intention to really focus on any ships at all, canon or otherwise. I find the story development on a world-building or story-arc basis more compelling in this AU. I don't begrudge anyone any ships they add in, but please don't expect romance to be a focus as far as my development of the AU goes. Romance in ToA has usually been integrated into or secondary to the overarching stories and it feels weird to do it any other way in an AU based on it, is all. I'll talk interpersonal arcs, development, parallels, but I will personally tend to exclude romance from the equation.

I'm happy to see other people develop ships tho! Don't let me stop ya! I want to see more about this AU.

#tales of arcadia #rise of the guardians #jack frost #rotg jack frost #krel tarron #rotg #3below tales of arcadia #wizards tales of arcadia #trollhunters tales of arcadia

[thetistaboveall]

Batman: The Psychology Of The Dark Knight

The moon lights up a other wise dim alley way in the systemic unraveling of what was Gotham city.

Some unknown lower level thugs race in to a alley way breathing heavy guns in hand and backs to the wall.

The Batman is hot on the trial of two thieves who are the keys to unlocking a mystery in Gotham.

“He is coming, he’s coming”

“Calm down, he can’t take us”

“Can’t I?”

“It’s the Bat shoot”

“What a rookie mistake Dark Knight walking in to a trap.”

“Who are you?”

Batman turns to face the hidden face in the dark as he steps back and his attention falls to the goons.

The race at him causing his distraction as he fought then only to feel a needle inject in to his skin.

The serum takes effect quickly sending him in to dizzy spinning fit and he falls in to his arms.

“Hurry bois! Pick him up”

“Bring him to the lab and set him up”

“Sure thing boss”

The body is off the ground in minutes he is loading on to a elevator going to the sub basement.

Bruce’s eyes groggy as ever still under the Serbian influence can only check out his surroundings.

His eyes pick up a young man on a throne with Superman at his feet kissing his hand.

Bruce is lock inside of glass pod strap to the seat under him that is until the programming began.

The white noise enters the pod along side a orderless gas permeating his mind Bruce makes his best.

Batman fails to escape the man with a tens of millions of back up plans finally fails.

I am the young man I proudly speak in to the microphone and the command the pod to begin.

The glass is covering up in a steel case, the gas overtakes the pod, and Batman falls.

The mind confirm binary sounds attach to the low pitch sounds melt his mind breaking him.

A screen rolls down to meet his face turning on I appear on the screen.

“You are probably wondering who I am and why I am doing this?”

That same night Dick Grayson Aka Hero of Bludhaven Nightwing arrived at his old stopping ground.

“Alright show yours, who dares to call me here.”

“I dared.”

“What why? Who are you?”

“No you can’t be “

“Dad? You are dead”

“You can have him if you join me”

“Who are you?”

“I have many names, I am the ring Master for now.”

Dick can’t move a muscle standing mindless at attention feeling feel fear and excitement

The man jumps off the truck he is on in the distance landing on the ground he walks to Dick.

“What do you want from me you fiend”

“Fiend? Watch your mouth”

“Here take this bar soap”

“What bar? Stop these games”

“This one here you go”

“Nnnmmmmmmppppfff”

“Mwahahahahaha “

“You should know it would be in you best interest to join us.”

“Who’s us? Fuck you!”

“Them barf bag”

Dick is stunned to see his father figure Bruce and his idol Clark kneeling in total submission.

The Ring Master meets Dicks eyes as they glow bright blue and change Dicks eye color as well.

Dicks head is out of sorts seeing flying objects in the air and he can’t get a sense of anything anymore.

“What’s going? Why do I feel so weak?”

“You are giving in, you are embracing and you are growing.“

“No! I can’t, I won’t “

“Uuuuuuugggggghhhh”

“Take him in with you guys and prep him”

So happy with my victory I did not expect any interruptions and yet the alarm goes off.

“God damn it! Who’s that?”

“For fucks safe”

“Oh it’s the new boy wonder”

“Yuck! Uuuuggggghhh”

“I suppose better late then never”

“Speaker on”

“Speaker on”

“Hello Boy Wonder”

“Jason Todd is it?”

“How do you know my name?”

“Bruce told me”

“He would never”

“Oh yeah! He is on my team now”

“So is Nightwing”

“Liar”

“Say that to my face”

“I’m coming for you freak”

Robin uses his grabble hook shooting up

to the roof and speeding up.

On the roof top a familiar face waits in red, yellow and blow costume.

“Superman huh?”

“I could use your help “

“Oh I will help you”

“Wait! Those eyes are like his”

“He assume control over you too”

“Smart ass I see, not as dumb as you look”

“No…..let me go”

“Mwahahahahaha “

“Let’s go flying”

“Master here is “

“Pop him in the pod”

“Sir Yes Sir”

“My collection in Gotham is complete”

The end

#Hypno Zeros

[its-my-whump]

Whumptober 12

No. 12: Red

Hummingbird 12

(Story starts here, if you like) previous

...

When Sam's mind came to the next time, he was laying on that soft surface. It smelled fresh, a blanket up to his shoulders. He felt mentally exhausted. Everything was but a blurr of what had happened. He remembered having an emotional breakdown. Waves of shame washed over him.

Nevertheless, his body felt kind of rested. His head was clear for the first time in... how long had it been? Was it all real, or just a nightmare? He was hungry.

When Sam finally opened his eyes, he saw white sheets. He was in this bed again. It felt like the first time he actually really felt the softness of the sheets, smelled freshly washed bedding and realised the warmth of the sun, bringing in light from the window above his head. For the first time he really saw the clear blue sky outside. Everything looked like a normal room, no equipment by the bed, just furniture in light colors around.

The white wooden door, opposide the window, by the end of the bed, opened slowly.

'Grey' entered with breakfast on a plate, Sam esstimated by the looks of it.

It was probably the first time, he saw him clearly after their encounter in the basement, where his heart had stopped. He looked kind of sympatic.

Because of his grey short hair, Sam had stored him as 'Grey', he just realised. Despite the color of his hair, the man really didn't look that old. Some stubbles in his face. Athletic like Sam but not that scrawny, he looked healthy with having a few pounts more than him. Long arms and legs, big hands grabbing that plate. All details Sam hadn't actually registered or saved till now.

Sam moved, wanted to get up from the bed. He didn't know, where he was. As in WHERE he actually was? What really happened. How long he had already been here. Who Grey was. What he wanted. How he could get out of here. Why he had his heart on his tongue last night. Embaressment crept up his face, when he vaguely remembered crying like a baby.

"Did you rest well, hummingbird?"

'That word.' It let goosebumps run down his spin immidiantely. 'This wasn't a welcoming party!' Sam could actually think for the first time. For the first time in god-knows how long. He only now realisied his place in reality and wasn't only but a mere puppet for that guy anymore. Sam instantly decided, that he wouldn't play his part as the shy, intimidated victim any longer.

Anger already flared inside of him. It felt good. Not only really feeling something again after all this time, but to tap into that pit of fire and rise.

Simultaniously, single fragments, pictures, thoughts and feelings were bumping through his head orderless. All this time as a drugged puppet were infact real memories and not just a fictional nightmare.

A muffed metallic sound reached his ears, while he tried to get up. The blanket shifted, dumbstruck he suddenly stared at his hands. "What the f...?" There were handcuffs around his wrists. Frightened he followed the connecting chain with his eyes from his hands to the upper bedpost.

Fear was exchanged by rage in an instant. Without hesitation he started to yank. Angry sounds from metal on metal. His astonishment and slight fear had totally vanished in a heartbeat. He turned even more furious. That was good. With anger he could work.

"What..." Sam looked up from his task. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" He screamed at his captor, his heart hammering painfully, flushing his veins with adrenaline. His agitated ribs protested his movements.

"There, there little hummingbird. Don't overreact. That's bad for your heart. I'll sedate you again, if I have too."

The man was too calm, he hadn't moved from his spot by the door, plate still steady in hand, but his words were a plain threat.

Sam's anger was penetrated by a flash of despair. His eyes went wide, his voice almost sounded like a kid. "You promised!" His facial expression couldn't hide his disbelieve. "You fucking promised to let me go."

"But I did keep my promise. This is your home now. Nobody out there cares about you. You told me so yourself. Look at what's life ever given you. No job, no girlfriend, no real life..."

"Wha...?"

Sam yanked again at the chains, more forcefully. "THE FUCK! That's none of your goddamn business."

For Sam 'Home' wasn't a family or a childhood home. It was the place he called home for a few years by now. It was his appartment, with the bolted door and the safety lock. It was the place, he could ban the world. Where he could hide from everything that was out there, when he needed to. The place where no one except Peter, who was living hours away by now, could ever enter, unless he decided to let them. It was the place, he felt safe.

Still violently yanking, the healed skin on his wrists broke again. Very fast, drops turned into thin streams of red. The stinging and strain on his arms hardly reached his attention, too big the disappointment of a broken promise and this man audacity to decide over his life and freedom.

Nevertheless, Sam felt his eyes watering. 'How could he fall into the stage of a vulnable hurt child again, ever believing the aduld's lies. More frustration, but also rage got the upper hand. "FUCK YOU!"

The man shrugged his shoulders and turned on his heel, a disappointed look on his face himself. "Seems you need some time to calm down, hummingbird."

"STOP! fucking calling me that, you damn fucking PSYCHO!"

He screamed from the top of his lungs, shaking from head to toe with rage. But the door had already closed, leaving him alone with his pain and frustration and a groawling stomach. He could feel his heart jumping from his outburst. Whatever happened in his chest felt wrong. It was hard to breath. A coughing fit aggrivated his overloaded system in addition. He really needed to calm down, or he would probably pass out.

Constantly more tears of anger, frustration, fear and hopelessness summoning in his eyes and were finally dropping onto his bloody hands. Liquids were mixing and big drops of light and dark red colored the white sheeting, while a wave of despair rolled over him.

TBC

Hummingbird masterlist

@whumptober-archive

#whumptober2023 #no.12 #red #OC #blood tw #selfinflicted wounds tw #captivity tw #confusion tw #drugged tw #emotional breakdown tw #hummingbird #whump #writing #whump writing #whumptober #language tw