#DOWN TO THE NOTES AND BREATHS

[hellincarnation]

HOLY SHIT

SHE DID SO WELL I CANT-

IS SHE SURE SHE ISNT A SIREN

HOLY FUCK

SHE SANG IT SO FUCKING-

OH MY GOD I AM NOT WELL I CANT-

I’m in love with a voice.

[iraprince]

thinking about evil anime steve carell again. remember when he got kidnapped and all his beloved coworkers held an extremely serious and impassioned meeting to vote on whether they should let him die

[tea-cat-arts]

You know what, I've read enough fanfic. I'm confiscating Madame Yu from you guys

Free my girl- she did the things she's being accused of, but not as frequently or severely as the fandom pretends, her actions are being taken out of context, and her depth is being reduced to that of a Colleen Hoover antagonist

[ratatatastic]

Vanha Kauppahalli date: en full, a 2 minute 50 second masterpiece...

Primetime Panthers | 11.6.24 (x)

[goldkirk]

hey this isn’t aimed at anyone in particular but I’m saying it for the record here: if I tell you no, please stop messaging me about fundraisers and mutual aid.

I get enough messages that it’s impossible for me to keep up without devoting at least half an hour each day, when I’m not even on tumblr that long most days. Me having a boundary about this isn’t a moral failing, it’s a lifeboat for me on my own blog.

In my personal life I’m already advocating and donating literally as much as I can spare. This is not me not caring, it’s just me not willing to interact with that on the one place I go online to not interact with irl news and world events for the most part.

I cannot be upset all the time. I cannot be upset everywhere. I cannot use all my emotional and mental energy fielding my own upset from ongoing events. My options are to hold boundaries about this or stop coming online at all.

I’m all for sharing information and signal boosting to reasonable extents, but the scale of it this year is so large and so enduring that it is literally not possible to for me to participate on every account I have. I’ve previously shared links to Gaza eSIM donations and a major hub of verified Go Fund Mes here and elsewhere online. We, the online humans, know how to look those things up ourselves by now. There are many, many people choosing to do advocacy work, and right now, I can’t be one of them.

If you’re extremely upset when I tell you I can’t share/donate right now about a Gaza family or personal fundraiser you ask me to share here, just unfollow and block me. That’s what those buttons are for. Protect your own emotions and energy and get me off your feed instead of staying upset and continuing to engage with online people or content that upsets you.

Please don’t send repeated angry messages based on manufactured purity politics and moral outrage into my messages and inbox when I exercise the right to run my own blog.

[averlym]

ghost story premiere day! check @melliotwrites for more info

[lifemod17]

for a little moment of peace

Hozier on Shrike

October 2018

[racmune]

im actually like really smart

[robot-singularity]

Alright, in honor of @oldbutchdaniel 's Fan Fiction Fridays, I had an idea for how the 70s chase era of devil's minion might go, but I'm not great at full fledged writing so! Plot beat bullet points:

Daniel wakes up in a drug den, dried blood down to his ankles, massive neck wound, and the knowledge that vampires are real. He then realizes that, shit, he doesn't have the interview tapes/any solid evidence that would prove it.

Goes back home, patches himself up, and within a week decides to backtrack to Divisadero street and try to remember which apartment they were in. Maybe Louis left something, anything that could be concrete evidence that vampires exist and he was attacked by one. Or better yet, he might find a single cassette of the hours of recorded tapes.

So, Daniel heads towards Divisadero, and, with the slightest bit of self preservation, decides to go during the day. Vampires can't go out in the sun, so. Should be safer, right? 👍

Cut over to Armand, in the main room of the apartment, cleaning up, patching the wall, trying to fix the northward slant of the floor, when he looks up and Daniel's standing in the doorway. (Maybe the door wasn't locked, maybe Daniel picked it, maybe he went to pick it and found it was unlocked.)

They stare at each other for a beat. Armand thinking that there's no way this boy is That stupid. Daniel thinking oh shit, I just broke into this guy's house. This kind of? familiar? looking guy? Which could either be deja vu or I'm still mildly concussed.

They talk back and forth for a minute, until it eventually devolves into Daniel getting told to leave, refusing, and then Armand asking hey, how fast can you run? I'm going to hunt you down, so. Go, now. Start running.

Daniel books it, out the door, down the stairs, door opens, door closes. Starts down the street, only to slow, stop, think it over, and starts going in a different direction, patting down his pockets to see if he has any money for either a payphone or a taxi or maybe a plane ticket if he can manage to get to the nearest airport.

And! The chase begins.

[qoldenskies]

I just realized the irony of Leo referring to Donnie as "the breath in his lungs" in Miner's Eulogy. Why do you do this to me

maybe leo can keep donnie's heart beating, but donnie can't clear leo's chest; leo is breathless with shame

[teathattast]

Sure know how to give, but you love receivin' (Wow)

Girl loves the feelin' (Wow)

Life in their eyes, everything's fleeting (Wow)

I can't feel the ceilin' (Wow)

Orange skies, I'm never leavin' (Wow)

[xiaokuer-schmetterling]

Chapters: 34/34 Fandom: Top Gun (1986) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Nick "Goose" Bradshaw & Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Rick "Jester" Heatherly/Original Male Character, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell & Original Male Character Characters: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Mike "Viper" Metcalf, Rick "Jester" Heatherly, Charlotte "Charlie" Blackwood, Original Male Character(s), Ron "Slider" Kerner, Nick "Goose" Bradshaw, Air Boss Johnson, Carole Bradshaw Additional Tags: Tags Contain Spoilers, Canonical Character Death, We All Know It's Goose, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Verse, No mpreg, no knotting, Yes Slick, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Falling In Love, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, No DADT, Depression, Protectiveness, Marriage of Convenience, We are Braising Maverick at 275 Degrees for Three Hours, Suicidal Thoughts, Gender Roles, Because Omegaverse is About Gender Let's Be Real, Take My Breath Away Playing in Background of All Scenes, Author Horny for Comments, Discussion of sexual assault, Pining, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Omega Maverick, Alpha Iceman, Oral Sex, Slut Shaming, Sexual Tension, Everyone Needs Therapy, Awkward Romance, Dysfunctional Relationships Becoming Functional, Rough Sex, Car Sex, Drunk Sex, My Spouse Betas This, Men Crying, Girl Help the Men Can't Stop Crying, Objectification, Dissociation, Panic Attacks, Violence, Boat Sex, Rimming, Love Confessions, Second Time Bottoming, Equitable Wallfucking for All, Canon is rolling over in its shallow grave Series: Part 1 of Hot Thots: Idiots Fuck in a Fighter Jet, Part 5 of Assorted Top Gun Tales Summary:

For much of Maverick's life, he's managed to fly his omega status under the radar—sort of. Illegal heat blockers keep the Navy off his ass, and his best friend Goose keeps off everyone else. But when a tragic accident strips Maverick of protection and uncovers his identity, the world he thought he knew casts him from the frying pan into a life of systematic oppression...and Thomas "Iceman" Kazansky's lap. Maybe the fire would have been better.

[fcntasmas]

something rubs me the wrong way about those straight women declaring eloise being “more fitting” for a queer storyline than francesca. like they cannot fathom this soft, quiet, introverted, and feminine woman also liking women. nah, the abrasive man-hater MUST be the lesbian! that makes more sense! the other one is too sweet, too normal. she should’ve been straight. her life should have revolved around a man, the same way all of theirs seem to be lmao

[666writingcafe]

Dear Lucifer

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr

[acourtofquestions]

"You'll come back," Manon said.

It sounded like more of a threat than anything

Dorian smirked. "Would you miss me if I didn't?"

Manon didn't reply. He didn't know why he expected her to.

He'd taken all of a step, when Asterin clasped his shoulder. "In and out, quick as you can," she warned him. "Take care of Narene." Worry indeed shone in the Second's gold-flecked black eyes. Dorian bowed his head. "With my life," he promised as he approached her mount and grasped the dangling reins. He didn't fail to miss the gratitude that softened Asterin's features. Or that Manon had already turned away from him.

A fool to start down this path with her. He should have known better.

The hours that passed were some of the longest of Manon's existence.

From anticipation, she told herself. Of what she had to do.

Abraxos, unsurprisingly, found them within an hour, his reins sliced from the struggle he'd no doubt waged and won with Sorrel. He waited, however, beside Manon in silence, wholly focused upon the gate where Dorian and Narene had vanished.

Time dripped by. The king's sword was constant weight at her side. She cursed herself for needing to prove-to him, to herself-that she refused to let him go into Morath for practical, ordinary reasons. Erawan wasn't at the Ferian Gap. It'd be safer. Somewhat. But if the Matrons were there … That was why he'd gone. To learn if they were. To see if Petrah truly commanded the host there, and how many Ironteeth were present. He had not been trained as a spy, but he'd grown up in a court where people wielded smiles and clothes like weapons. He knew how to blend in, how to listen. How to make people see what they wished to see. She'd sent Elide into the dungeons of Morath, Darkness damn her. Sending the King of Adarlan into the Ferian Gap was no different.

It didn't stop her breath from escaping when Abraxos stiffened, scanning the sky. As if he heard something they couldn't.

And it was the joy that sparked in her mount's eyes that told her.

Moments later, Narene sailed toward them, making a lazy path over the mountains, a dark-haired, pale-skinned rider atop her. He'd truly been able to change parts of himself. Had made his face nearly unrecognizable. And kept it that way.

Asterin rushed toward the mare, and even Manon blinked as her Second threw her arms around Narene's neck. Holding her tight. The mare only leaned her head against Asterin's back and huffed.

Manon hadn't dwelled long on what she'd say.

And as the three hundred Ironteeth witches filed into the hall, some coming off their patrols, Manon half wondered if she should have. They watched her, watched the Thirteen, with a wary disdain.

Their disgraced Wing Leader; their fallen Heir.

When all were gathered, Petrah, still standing in the doorway where she'd appeared, merely said, "My life debt for an audience, Blackbeak."

Manon swallowed, her tongue as dry as paper. Seated atop Abraxos, she could see every shifting movement in the crowd, the wide eyes or hands gripping swords.

"I will not tell you the particulars of who I am," Manon said at last. "For I think you have already heard them."

"Crochan bitch," someone spat.

Manon set her eyes on the Blackbeaks, stone-faced where the others bristled with hatred. It was for them she spoke, for them she had come here.

jacket, then hoisting up her white shirt. Rising in the stirrups to bare her scarred, brutalized abdomen. "She does not lie."

UNCLEAN

There, the word remained stamped. Would always be stamped.

"How many of you," Asterin called out, "have been similarly branded? By your Matron, by your coven leader? How many of you have had your stillborn witchlings burned before you might hold them?"

The silence that fell now was different from before. Shaking shuddering.

Manon glanced at the Thirteen to find tears in Ghislaine's eyes as she took in the brand on Asterin's womb. Tears in the eyes of all of them, who had not known. And it was for those tears, which Manon had never seen, that she faced the host again.

"You will be killed in this war, or after it. And you will never see our homeland again."

"What is it that you want, Blackbeak?" Petrah asked from the archway.

"Ride with us," Manon breathed. "Fly with us.

Against Morath. Against the people who would keep you from your homeland, your future." Murmuring broke out again. Manon pushed ahead, "An Ironteeth-Crochan alliance. Perhaps one to break our curse at last."

Again, that shuddering silence. Like a storm about to break Asterin sat back in the saddle, but kept her shirt open.

"The choice of how our people's future shall be shaped is yours," Manon told each of the witches assembled, all the Blackbeaks who might fly to war and never return. "But I will tell you this." Her hands shook, and she fisted them on her thighs. "There is a better world out there. And I have seen it."

Even the Thirteen looked toward her now.

"I have seen witch and human and Fae dwell together in peace. And it is not weakness to do so, but a strength. I have met kings and queens whose love for their kingdoms, their peoples, is so great that the self is secondary. Whose love for their people is so strong that even in the face of unthinkable odds, they do the impossible."

Manon lifted her chin. "You are my people. Whether my grandmother decrees it so or not, you are my people, and always will be. But I will fly against you, if need be, to ensure that there is a future for those who cannot fight for it themselves. Too long have we preyed on the weak, relished doing so. It is time that we became better than our foremothers." The words she had given the Thirteen months ago. "There is a better world out there," she said again. "And I will fight for it." She turned Abraxos away, toward the plunge behind them. "Will you?"

Manon nodded to Petrah. Eyes bright, the Heir only nodded back. They would be permitted to leave as they had arrived: unharmed.

So Manon nudged Abraxos, and he leaped into the sky, the Thirteen following suit.

Not a child of war. But of peace.

[sysig]

How is skeleton shaped (Patreon)