#<- tag used for train stuff

[toast-com]

I love these two. Holy War and Alice

They are both Hunslet narrow gauge engines, and both are very cool and adorable.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

a blatantly lying salesdrake. "imported directly from the Shallows", they say. sure, dude, sure...

[bluehexagone]

Realism is fun till it isn’t and I realize I’ve already committed too far and can’t just scrap it but I know it will take me too long so here are some sacrifices you may see finished later on

[alistonjdrake]

Through Ice & Terror: AKA The Project June Hopes to Outline this Year

one girlfailure black/bi protag + my geniune love and defense of love triangles/messy romantic situations + a gilded age America-inspired fantasy setting + a drop of an ice age + fantasy of manners = the wip I hope to fully outline this year!

Her dangerously charming ex-husband, her loyal childhood friend, her beguiling former fiancé, and a mysterious politician in need of a wife all threaten to upend the slight peace of Naomi Nettles' existence. Born without the gift of Insight, the ability to see the monsters that plague the world outside the cities in the Frost Wastes, and a trait ruefully abundant in her family, Naomi is treated as little more than expendable. An embarrassment to her family and peers and seemingly with little social standing in a stifling community, when her mother calls her home to introduce her to one Vivian Quinlan -An upstart politician from the capital desperate enough to marry the last single Nettles daughter - Naomi finally believes things are looking up. That is until one of her former romantic prospects winds up dead and Naomi finds herself firmly in the middle of a murderous conspiracy between several factions that could threaten to undo the fragile alliances between the cities among the Frost Wastes and what little normalcy remains in Naomi's life.

This is a less a wip intro and more so the beginning of what I hope will serve as a year-long accountability thread as I flesh out my ideas, characters, and get a concrete hold on the story before I officially start it (but, as I am myself, some stuff is already written and I'm really doing this to feel out interest)

[loonfull-sonnetzz]

Anyone who writes transmasc! Reader fanfics deserves a sweet kiss on the cheek

[si0writes]

me? autistic about my newest f/o because he gives me the motivation to train? idk what you're talking about im n-

[b4kuch1n]

dip pen ink comm batch 4 complete! for Ezechiel, @ohwwhuv, and Leo :]

[velvetjune]

i played the remastered alan wake a while back and am replaying the original on steam, and, honestly, they’re so similar, I couldn’t tell which is which if you held up comparisons. ive come across reviews about the game looking outdated and bad (mostly compared to other releases in that time), but the original looks great and I like the hazy dark lighting for both this and awan

[youredreamingofroo]

people on simblr who make fullblown story posts, like dejasenti, stellarfalls, moonsims4, tricoufamily, rebouks, cinamun, and so many others are genuinely like my modern-day television (ik we still have tvs, i js dont watch tv much anymore LMAO), albeit they're not motion pictures, its just... pictures (except for gifs), they're always so well-done that they FEEL like im watching a show, like yes I will be watching (reading) this proactively, I will be that one person who likes your post five seconds after you post it (even tho im usually never that early LMAOO) and my entire day will not continue until I finish reading this post

[mordremrose]

I’m just gonna write a little thing! A little thought for Bloom, nothing too intense, just so I don’t forget it!

1000 words later? Whoops

Writing below the cut, major spoilers for the end of Heart of Thorns and implied End of Dragons spoilers but nothing explicit from EoD :]

Bloom

“Kill me, Commander.” Trahearne could hear his own voice tremble, as horror overtook his dear friend’s face. Around them all, their friends— Rytlock, Caithe, Canach, Marjory, Braham— were exhausted. Worn thin by the fight against the jungle dragon, both physical and within the Dream.

“What? No! Mordremoth is dead. We destroyed its mind from the inside.” The commander protested, their fingers curled around the hilt of Caladbolg.

“But I still hear its voice.” Trahearne looked down at his hands, twisted and blighted as they were. His body was not his��� he was corrupted. It was only cruel fate that he had kept his mind this long. Or perhaps something more sinister.

“Mordremoth is alive. One last hateful vestige… a terrible seed, planted deep in my mind.”

Trahearne’s hands curled into fist, as he took a deep steadying breath.

“You must kill me, Commander, before that seed grows. Before… before Mordremoth reclaims what it has lost.”

He reached out now, hands on his friend’s shoulders. The tears streaming down their face broke his heart. He did not want this. He didn’t want to hurt them, to see them suffer so.

Trahearne wished there was another way.

“What is left of me can’t survive on its own, my friend.” He croaked, and felt the Commander tremble beneath his hands. Were they always so small?

“Strike now or—“

Against his will, a rage rose up. A sick bile that boiled in his stomach and burned through his chest as his mind lurched.

Through his mouth, Mordremoth spoke.

“I am the future! I am this world! You cannot destroy me!” The dragon roared, hands tightening around the commander.

“Run while you can!” It took everything he had left to force his fingers to uncurl, to release the commander even as the dragon wanted to tear them to shreds to be remade anew.

Caladbolg flashed in the corner of his eye.

“No!” The commander yelled. Strike true my friend! Trahearne wanted to yell. But he couldn’t, and his mind went dark.

There was no great explosion. There was no dying scream.

If you asked those present what happened, none of them gave any concrete answer.

Canach hesitated to answer, but would confirm that Mordremoth was no longer hounding his mind, or any of the sylvari.

All Rytlock would say was that the confrontation wasn’t pretty.

Caithe mourned Trahearne, in her quiet and melancholic manner, and asked not to push the matter further.

Braham would scowl, shake his head, and shove his way past, unwilling or perhaps unable to describe that final blow.

Marjory Delaqua, normally so elegant and clever with her words, who could see the twists of a plot before anyone else— when she was asked, she could only shake her head and reply ‘I don’t know’.

The Commander didn’t answer at all, because no one was able to find them to ask.

Eventually, researchers at the newly established lab of Rata Novus confirmed what the entire world held its breath to hear.

Mordremoth was dead. He had to be, to explain the slow steady trickle of magic escaping the jungle, supposedly as the dragon… decayed wasn’t the right word, but it conveyed the idea well enough. It was a slow death, they said, not quite the explosive reaction from Zhaitan, who had gorged itself on magic before its death, but a gradual decay. It changed things, about magic, about how the people of Tyria and the soon to be established Dragon’s Watch understood the flow of magic around and through the Elder Dragons. But it was dead.

It had to be.

He woke up. His body ached, as it always did, as he woke. A consequence of being too bigsmall. He stirred slowly, limbs stretching out and tail dragging behind. He had buried himself beneath massive vines this time, the weight of them both familiar and restricting. These conflicting sensations, the constant disagreement with himself… it was the only thing he could rely on. Even his name escaped his memory, although he could hear whispers of it on the edges of his mind.

Traherdremaneth.

It didn’t matter, really.

He moved slowly, not truly wanting to rise, but knowing he must.

He was something in between, and there was no stillness for him. No place of his own.

His one companion, if you could call it that, would be upon him soon. A dogged purserer, both a thorn in his side and a trusted ally, trailed behind him. For a time he thought they left him— and the feelings that had wrought left him stationary in a deep cave for nearly a week before they had reappeared.

He didn’t want them close, he knew that much, but they were one of the few things he had, a consistency. He couldn’t see them well, not with the distance between them, but he could always make out the broken blade at their hip. The one that made the scar across his chest ache.

He wondered what would happen if he let them get closer. Would they strike? Would they know him?

They were his enemyfriend. What would they make of him? Caution kept him at a distance from them.

The longer he was awake, the more memories he could half-remember.

The Orrian landscape stretches out before him and it reeks of his sibling, twisting beneath the dirt. The undead don’t notice him, not yet, and he can take a moment to look closer at the coral. It was neither alive nor dead. Not unlike himself and yet so different to him or anything he had ever encountered before.

He missed his siblings, their quiet talks among the then empty roots, among safe coils with their constant presence around him. They were too distant to feel or simply gone now and it unnerved him. This was wrong. Perhaps they could help him make it right.

There was one other thing, other than his sort-of companion and his unsteady roiling mind, that remained constant. And this was the true constant. A steady beacon, that he could not see or hear, but simply felt in a way that he could not describe. A magnetic sort of pull that had him orbiting closer and closer.

It drew him in, out of the depths and dark underbelly of the jungle and the cave systems, towards the strange golden stones, the elegant walls meant to keep out creatures that wished to destroy the beacon. He was not welcome there, not yet, even though he meant no harm. He just needed to be closer.

He didn’t know how he knew that. He just knew it.

[hey-scully-itsme]

got to go on a trail ride yesterday and one of the guides asked if i rode (as in, rode currently) and when i said i used to she was like 'i figured, i could tell from your seat' and it's not a huge deal given i rode enough in the past that it'd be surprising if i didn't stand out in a group of beginners, but also i will be riding (haha) that high for the next week

[transsexualunderground]

i'm bored so have images of locomotives i like and some short descriptions of them

1: THE FLYING BUFFERBEAM (Peckett No. 1900)

Standard gauge and only 5'9". Very short for an engine indeed! A short king.

2: BECKTON GASWORKS NO. 25

This guy's, like, at most 8 feet tall. ALSO very short for an engine.

3: THE PLAZA LIBERTAD, ILOILO CITY ENGINE (888)

Just LOOK at that funnel! It's ridiculously big and I love that. Such a fun design.

4: KCS 2037

This engine's kinda sentimental to me because it was the first one I ever saw IRL, noted down the number of, and got to googling. 2037, you may not be the most impressive or unique engine out there, but you're very special to me.

Feel free to reblog with other nifty engines in the tags or something! I like looking at them!

[sweetenby]

That one Rudolph lesbian post has me all kinds of fucked up

Me foaming at the mouth desperate to explain that male work animals are more often than not castrated vs clamping my mouth shut bc then I'd be siding with a homophobe vs knowing it's meaningless bc the animators didn't care about any of that and just gave the reindeer antlers bc it looks good

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Doing research for Foxy's whole wild western thing with the horsies and stuff is really annoying actually? I feel like there's a lot of rodeo sports in here that either shouldn't exist, or could very easily be made totally fine if they could be bothered to put the effort into it.

Like... guys... you can train cows. Did you know that? You can train literally any animal you want... if the cow is scared when you're lassoing it maybe like... teach it to be in on the game? Let the cow play too? I feel like that's such a stupidly obvious solution to some of these man...

Not all of them though! Obviously not all of them! I'm thinking of the ones where they just lasso the horns and steer it in a different direction and that's it! The rest of those ones can fuck the hell off what the actual hell possessed anyone to consider cattle wrestling as a fucking sport? Like yeah sure a sport revolving around turning a cows head 180 degrees by jumping on it's horns seems perfectly safe and completely reasonable, not at all absolutely insane /s

Literally what the fuck is any of this I'm actually so glad I planned for Foxy to have also run various non-rodeo sports as well so I don't have to deal much more with all of this whadda hell

[your-fave-is-bi]

Hooray the minthara knockout recruitment method worked!!