#I AM READY FOR THE RIDE

[enverwhoretrash]

hands behind back? slut behaviour

[the-lonelybarricade]

I have such big feelings right now about how this fandom treats artists. This is the one hill I am willing to die on: all fandom artists deserve respect regardless of what ships they create art for.

Listen to me. Traditional fandom is dying. AI art is cropping up everywhere in fandom spaces, stealing work from real artists while getting twice as much recognition.

Meanwhile, the artists who are clawing and fighting to stay in these spaces are subject to constant criticism and harassment. They are taking hours to work on pieces that they share with us for free only to be bombarded with ungrateful comments. And on top of that, their work is constantly being stolen and reposted on other platforms without proper credit.

Fandom artists are fighting for their lives right now and the least that we can do is pay them the basic decency of shutting our mouths if we don't have anything nice to say.

If you are not paying the artist, then you are not entitled to art of your favorite ship.

If you are not paying the artist, then you are not entitled to art that fits into your specific interpretion of a ship.

If you want fandom artists to keep creating content that they share with us for free out of the kindness of their hearts, then you better learn to start supporting them.

Fandom artists are part of our community, and they SEE YOU making these negative comments. You may think that you're only putting down one specific artist, but they all see you. And they feel discouraged, and they feel angry, and they feel unwelcome, and many of them leave.

If you wonder why so many artists are putting their work behind patreon and withdrawing from fandom spaces, it's because of the way we treat them. Do better.

[finncakes]

i like to think orym druidcrafts new flowers for fearne every morning 🌿

[nateezfics]

hongjoong’s vlog is so boyfriend coded, and he did that intentionally. this man knows our delulu asses love this type of content from him, cuz he’s aware of how down bad we are :))

[lovemehardcoreangel]

[merriclo]

i love the idea that Wild is a big brother to basically all of the kids in his Hyrule. it’s such a good heacanon that i never see utilized.

[theinfinitedivides]

going to freak out about my bestie Daniel again by talking about headcanons but to me he's like. not only half-Armenian half-Irish (yes Molloy is an Irish surname but Eric is Armenian people. so what do we do we make the sensible choice and split the difference. put that shit in your fics my rep is lacking) but also Jewish. not necessarily practicing but yk. it's called his mother grows up in the US in a household where her father's Armenian Orthodox and her mother's Jewish and takes a little bit of both but mainly from her mother and then she meets his raised-Catholic nebulously-agnostic Irish-American father and gives shit a shot. and here's Molloy in the midst of it all, born to wreck marriages fail at parenting his own kids and get his shit absolutely fucking rocked by two vamps in the 70s

[rings-of-power-realm]

The Great Tale of our age is being written

The Rings of Power | Season 2 Trailer

[locke-esque-monster]

I've had this terrible, sick feeling all of today because, much like 2016, I think I held onto a little bit of doubt that it could ever turn out this way.

And that isn't necessarily because I expected so many people to vote for Harris. And I don't feel qualified to try and guess why they didn't.

It's that I couldn't wrap my head around how so many people could actually vote for Trump.

How they could look at a man who is, at least a dozen times over, unqualified and unsuitable to be president, almost hilariously so. Seth Meyers did a really excellent compilation with a ton of these reasons the on Election eve in this video here. It's a lengthy list covering the last 4 and a half minutes of the video. And it still doesn't even cover all of it.

This is a man who I wouldn't trust to run the McDonald's he cosplayed at a few weeks ago, let alone the county. A man I'm not even confident is capable of balancing a checkbook, let alone fixing the economy (and everything else he claims he can fix).

And yet somehow Trump voters look at that man and say, "Yep, I want 4 more years of that."

And in trying to come to terms with how this happened, I can only assume that Trump voters:

Are ignorant enough (willfully or not) of all the horrible things he's been doing and saying during this presidential run, let alone since 2015.

Are gullible enough to believe all the bullshit he's been saying about him being able to fix all the issues in the county.

Are prejudiced enough against all the people Trump rails against (women, POC, non-Christian religions, the LGBTQA+ community, political opponents, etc.) that they think he's the better pick to be in charge.

Are selfish enough to know what kind of man Trump is, but know they can benefit from his presidency either financially or in social issues, and just don't care about the rest.

And I'm not saying that every Trump voter falls under all of these categories. But I don't think it's so clean cut to say all Trump voters fall under a single one of these categories either.

But I guess what I'm trying to say is this:

If the majority of the voters that participated in this election think like this...I just don't know how we come back from that as a county.

[souredfigs]

And if jjk manga ends with a 10 year time jump showing Yuji as a teacher at jujutsu tech?

[starmocha]

We're Jack and Rose 🥹🥹🥹

[sprout-gt]

In Plain Sight - Chapter One

here it is folks! the start of the journey. i have had so much fun drafting this chapter, and hope you enjoy reading it!

Word count: 3958

CW: Adult language

Myth knew the route, he understood it. 

This well practiced tread was practically second nature to him. Gently palming the wall to feel for the familiar symbols long ago scratched into the soft wood within the walls, the borrower shuffled forward assuredly. 

The cramped, pressing space between walls he so often navigated provided a keen sense of belonging. He could probably find his way through most routes with his eyes closed. Hell, without the soft glow of a lit match or belt lamp he might as well be blindfolded. He could barely see an inch in front of him. And yet, each footfall was placed with complete certainty. 

The dark did not disquiet him, nor was it ever a challenge. Darkness was safe, shielding.The inability to make out anything in front of you was a blessing. It meant that you were also hidden from sight. Visibility meant guaranteed danger, staying out of sight meant safety. It was a simple principle. 

Myth raced through the corridors carved throughout the walls, relying only on the long ingrained paths etched into his memory to guide him forward. However, instead of the nearly blasé confidence that he usually assumed on runs, Myth navigated the tight corridors of the walls with an air of quiet desperation. 

The stockade had been raided last week. It was still unclear what caused it, provisions and supplies being there one moment and gone within the next routine inventory hours later. The wards had been diligently dealing with rats for ages now, but it was extremely unusual for any to get that far within the borrower’s well-guarded territory. There had been no sightings of any intruding borrowers or suggestion of foul play. And yet, the once cramped shelves of their stockade were now nearly empty. 

No matter the reason, the sudden, sharp decrease in supply and encroaching panic of the community over rationing what was left meant that expeditions beyond the walls were assigned with a concerning frequency. Some younger borrowers had assumed this was their chance to prove themselves and were clambering to volunteer themselves, but Myth was quick to shut that idea down. The hefty responsibility to train new runners fell to him as the main, and he had neither the time nor patience to do so now. 

With his sister unable to assist on any runs, the brunt of the recent work was delegated to him. He felt like he hardly had a chance to breathe between runs before Dasha was assigning him another. Sure, there were others that would occasionally accompany him, but Myth by far had the most experience. Myth was always happier to work alone anyway. No chance to get slowed down that way. No unnecessary risks. 

This was his fifth run of the week, and as he dashed through the empty spaces in the walls, he could feel the fatigue begin to set in as a dull ache within his muscles. His legs protested against the long distances he traveled, his arms stung with every inch scaled upwards. He shoved down the increasing tiredness that ebbed through him, and kept moving. He could sleep when the community was secure. 

He had felt Kara’s knifepoint jealousy as he was assigned yet another run this morning, and he had to bite back a comment about loving to switch places with her. Sitting safely within the walls while recovering from a minor injury sounded far preferable to these relentless assignments. 

There was a small, inextricable twinge of tired envy within him towards all of the safe, manageable roles delegated to the others as he threw himself outside of the walls again and again. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone. 

Despite the constant string of complaints he has let ramble in his thoughts, he understood the severity of the situation, and knew he had a role in fixing it. 

As his hand brushed a carved crescent shaped divot in the wood, he stilled. This was it. Myth knocked against the wall twice for good luck, a small practice he had started on his first few runs that had long since become habit. Taking a long and weary breath in, Myth pulled down his bottle-cap mask and stepped beyond the cherished security of the walls. 

Myth utterly hated being in the open. Open meant visible, exposed, and there was always limited directionality for quick-needed escapes. The weaving route he used opened from a crack in the aging tile work into a vast kitchen area. Although it did not provide nearly enough cover as some of the other route entrances closer to the floors, it was optimal for gathering quickly, since it was positioned right next to containers of both non-perishable and fresh food. Supply runs would rarely ever pass through the kitchen, but provisions would rarely be found through the safer, less open route entrances. 

They were meticulous in scheduling runs, and midday seemed to be consistent in human vacancy. Night may provide more cover of darkness, but it was nearly guaranteed the humans would be roaming for hours, morning the same. What in the wall's name they were doing in that time was beyond Myth, but he spent very little time caring about the erratic behavior of humans- just staying out of their line of sight. 

Myth cautiously stepped onto the smooth surface of the marble countertop, after ensuring the room was empty. Glancing around his surroundings, he huffed with agitation as he scoped the area and immediately noted that the humans hadn’t yet replenished their own supplies, meaning he was left to scrounge in their diminished scraps. Again. Myth ran a tired hand through his hair as he weighed his limited options.

What this really meant was that this run was a whole bunch of expended energy and time with very little return. Myth knew that any borrower worth their salt would never return empty handed from a run, no matter how barren the surroundings may be. That would signal your inadequacy, and highly disrespect Dasha’s authority. And so, Myth trudged forward. 

Upon the vast counter was a nearly empty fruit bowl that towered over him, and a plastic container holding the crumbled remains of some unidentified dessert. Chewing on his lip, Myth glanced back and forth between them, as if his contemplation would magically spawn more provisions to bring back. An unfortunately unsuccessful strategy. Myth stepped towards the tall bowl, craning his neck up to the lip as he unhooked his makeshift grapple off his belt. Giving it a few swings to pick up momentum, he confidently arced the hook towards the lip. 

Catching his hook on the glass bowl, Myth gave a careful tug to ensure the twine affixed to the thin metal could be pulled taught. The hook held, although the slight creak of the rope while being pulled concerned him slightly. He would probably have to replace it when he got back. 

Ensuring it was secure, he began to ascend, wincing at the dull pain that bloomed through his upper body as he tugged his weight upwards. He pushed himself up to sit on the lip of the bowl, resulting in a sharper stab of fatigue buried in his arms. Removing the twisted metal hook, Myth reverses the grip, before belaying down to the flat bottom of the bowl and surveying his options.

There were a few discarded grapes, the skins of which had turned slightly brown and started to sag with overripeness, along with their now empty stems. Myth rolled his eyes and approached. He crouched down on his haunches and observed a few grapes that were still perfectly usable.  

Humans always seemed to disregard any amount of food that was past its absolute prime quality. The rejection of slightly worsened food was an unbelievable privilege to Myth. One that he had never been extended. Through his many assignments, he had learned that there was very little past the walls unworthy of using. They would need to ration these out within the next day or two, but that was still substantial. He scooped the fruit into his pack.

Once he had made his way back over the wall of the bowl and dropped down onto the counter with a huff, Myth approached the plastic container. It wasn’t much, a few crumbs and larger chunks of some kind of cake. Not very nutritious,but he had never been in the position to be picky. 

He wedged one tip of his hook between the layers of plastic so he had room to force them apart with a resonant pop. Myth winced at the sound, knowing full well he was alone but unable to shake the feeling he was about to be found hunched over and shoveling pieces of dessert into his pack. He moved faster, beginning to have that uncanny, unshakable feeling of being watched creep into him. 

Once Myth had filled his pack with as much as he feasibly could, he slammed the layers of plastic together, having to push down hard to click them back together. He quickly turned on his heel and hurried back to the insignificant split in the even tile lining the countertop. 

Pressing his bag through the opening with a push, Myth shoved himself in as well, leaning his back against the rigid wall next to the crack in order to catch his breath. As soon as he was past the barrier separating the gigantic scale of human spaces and tucked back into the security of the walls, his mind eased considerably. 

The borrower shouldered his now full pack, and turned down the long path back to the community, breathing easier under the cover of sheltered darkness. 

Others have said to him, during the common practice of recounting harrowing tales under the soft glow of wick-light, that the thrill of doing runs made them worth the risk, the adrenaline of close calls the best part of being assigned runs. Myth had nodded along in placid agreement, although he could not agree less. 

The thing Myth really loved about doing runs was the blissful solitude that traversing the routes provided. Simply, the silence of being in between the borrowing world and the human one. 

Borrowing life was as hectic as it was interconnected. Everyone was pressed so close, you didn’t have the space to breathe. In the heart of the walls, there was hardly any moment to reflect or exist in solitude. Here, slipping between the winding corridors, Myth was allowed to savor the isolation, if only for a short time. 

It was in these prized moments that Myth allowed his mind to wander past routine, past assignments and roles and into the abstract. He bounded between worries and excitements, potentials and anticipations. It passed the time deliciously. Gave him a needed distraction as he traversed the darkness.

But as he approached the central chamber of the walls, Myth could hear the stark silence of the route slowly be ebbed away with the present, bustling sounds of the community, the darkness slowly fading as he approached. His time with the personal came to a close, making way for the needs of his community. Myth entered the central chamber, exiting the cramped route entrance into the spacious room dotted with other entrances to routes, as well as corridors snaking further into community territory. . 

Tess, drowsily resting her head on her hand, snapped up immediately when she spotted Myth approaching, and waved him over as he walked in. He understood her excitement. Inventory was a slow and monotonous assignment. 

Casting a glance at the large wrist watch face affixed to the far wall, he noted that he returned several minutes later than he expected. He felt a pang of irritation at himself for getting increasingly slower. His legs ached in angry retort. He needed to lie down. 

He met the younger borrower in the center of the chamber and unloaded his meager spoils from the run onto the makeshift surface she stood behind. Tess made an obvious face.

“That… isn’t a lot.” Tess stated obviously, casting a dubious glance downward. 

“That is what was there.” Myth responded. As if he could control when the humans decided they were tired of their lack of provisions. That would certainly make his life easier.  

Tess sighed, and pulled a large scrap of paper from the pile beside her, marking the date and quality of the different food items with a pencil stub, leaving a patch of lead residue on her hand. “I’ll alert Dasha and sort this into inventory. In the meantime, would you please go lie down. You look like you’re about to collapse.” 

Myth laughed dryly, “Feel like it too. Thanks for telling me it’s obvious.” A slightly awkward beat passed between the borrowers. 

Tess shifted her weight from foot to foot, seeming to consider something weighty before asking, “Are you okay Myth? I mean�� with all these assignments…” Her tone was light, quiet, as if asking his opinion was in violation of some kind of rule. 

Myth shrugged his empty pack onto his shoulder, and simply stated “Why wouldn’t I be?”, as he promptly turned on his heel, striding away from Tess and her deepinging expression of pity. 

Making his way towards the opposite wall, Myth entered the corridor to the community quarters, following the long path down to his and Kara’s space. He could hear conversation loud and quiet past the curtained barriers, but was uninterested in participating in any conversation, save for the one between him and sleep. 

Stepping through the curtain of scrap fabric of his quarter, Myth shrugged off his now much lighter pack and tossed his mask to the side of the room, nodding to his sister sitting at the far table. He stretched out as much as his muscles let him, enjoying the aching feeling for a few moments. He figured he should probably greet her before shuffling to his own space. 

Myth joined Kara at their makeshift table, slouching down on the cork across from her as she whittled away at her prized spear. Too tired to greet her, he slumped forward, resting his head on his arms and letting out a much needed groan. 

“So, did the savior of the community gather a fruitful bounty today?” Kara asked, eyes trained on the edge of the glass she was using to sharpen the stone. The question was tinged with bitterness. Kara wasn’t one for hiding what she meant in any situation.

Myth let out a beleaguered sigh and responded without looking up. “Not enough, but there wasn’t enough to get. Bastards hadn’t replenished yet.” Slumped over like this, he could feel how much his back hurt. 

“Sounds like you went all the way out there for nothing. Maybe they should have sent someone else. Would have made the run less lonely anyway.” The edge to her tone was clear. This wasn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation, and Myth knew it wouldn’t be the last. He was getting pretty tired of having it though. 

“I was perfectly fine on my own thanks.” Myth responded pointedly. 

“I would have gotten back here faster. Have you noticed what time it is?” 

Myth scrunched his eyes, annoyed that she knew he would have taken consideration of his increasing slowness. The comment stung slightly. 

Myth raised his head and regarded his sister tiredly. “Kara, it’s not my fault that you weren’t careful.” She sucked in a breath. 

Myth had noticed that, since she’d been recovering from her hurt ankle, Kara had been diligently attentive to her gear. It was clear to everyone she was desperate to get back out there. Myth really did regret not having her presence. She was skilled and effective on runs. Maybe even more than he was, and they both knew it. 

Kara responded with nothing but a punctuated swipe of her knife and a sour frown. He knew he wasn’t being fair, and was about to apologize before she interrupted the silence with, “What even is this, your fourth run this week?”

“Fifth.” Myth responded wearily, sitting up straighter. He really needed to get some rest.  

“Of course. Why not? You alone are going to fix this mess for us. Maybe we’ll throw you a party! Get Cade to plan it, he’d drop everything.”

Myth was about to retort how much he would prefer someone else to do his job for him, but considering how bitter Kara was about being stuck within the walls, he bit it back, and took in a slow breath.

“As much as your doubt inspires me, I’m fully capable of handling this.” Myth responded, trying to keep his voice level. 

Kara slammed the glass point down with a hard smack against the table’s surface, causing Myth to jolt in surprise. “You’re tired is what you are, and that means you’re getting sloppy. Sooner or later that means you’re going to fuck up. And then where would we be Myth?” Kara regarded him with intensity. 

Several moments of tension-singed silence stretched between them. 

Myth tried not to escalate anything when he responded, “Dasha knows what she’s doing.”

“Dasha is scared and making stupid decisions. We have plenty of other people wanting to do runs, wanting to help.” Kara retorted with exasperation, crossing her arms tightly.

“Wanting is not the same as being ready.” Myth firmly insisted, not really wanting to push things further but feeling the stubborn urge to defend himself. 

Kara scoffed in agitation, but he continued. “I am not going to be responsible for anyone getting hurt or caught. They’re untrained, and they’re agitated. That makes people sloppy.”

“They’re eager, and there’s a difference. You won’t even talk to them Myth! Maybe if you gave some of the people here half a chance you wouldn’t have to risk yourself over and over!” 

“I’m doing my job.” Now it was his turn to cross his arms in mild defiance and stare daggers across the table. 

Kara let out a wild laugh, “Of course you are! You’d probably throw yourself in front of a human if Dasha asked-” The thought made his heart rate spike. 

“That is not fucking fair Kara.” Myth’s voice finally raised sharply. He pushed back against the table and scrambled to his feet. He felt agitation cascade through him. Towards Kara, towards Dasha, towards himself. And he was far too tired to do anything about it. 

Kara stood in a feverish instant, leaning all her weight on her good ankle and slamming her hands down on the table. “Since when have you given a shit about fair? Nothing about this has been fair!”, waving one arm out wildly. 

Myth was about to shout back that she was acting like a child, but turned his head backwards when he realized Kara's eyes snapped to something over his shoulder. Tess was standing in the doorway, pushing back the curtain extremely rigidly, eyes equally apologetic and uncomfortable. 

The energy in the room instantly chilled to an awkward coolness. Myth was extremely embarrassed that someone caught one of their regular arguments, and he felt his face get hot as he turned to Tess. Now that the fight had crashed to a stop, Myth felt like he had been zapped of any strength he was still holding on to.  

“Hey Tess.” Myth said quietly, looking downward, unwilling to regard either woman due to the growing sense of shame settling into his chest. He knew he wasn’t angry at Kara, and she wasn’t angry with him, not really. The cramped anxiety that had descended upon the community had been slowly escalating their own unpleasant feelings. The closest thing to take them out on was each other. He knew Tess wouldn’t understand this. 

“Uh… sorry- I didn’t… I mean… Myth, Dasha wants to see you, like, now. Sorry. I’m gonna-” Myth heard Tess turn and sprint away from the curtained doorway. What a day. 

“I better see what she wants.”, even though he most certainly knew what she did. Myth looked towards Kara for her response, but she had sat back down and was now trained on her blade, lips pulled in a tight, straight line. Myth turned away silently. 

Presence with Dasha rarely resulted without a delegated assignment, but Myth internally begged to not be handed another run. He knew that his last one was disappointing, but he was so tired. 

Myth found her in the provision inventory, a carved out hallway stuffed with ledges and makeshift shelves. Dasha was inspecting one of the grapes he had brought in, holding it up with one hand. Her face was still turned away from him, inscrutable. 

He felt a stab of embarrassment at how little he brought back, and desperately wanted to explain himself.

 “Dasha, I-”. She held up a hand, and he immediately halted. 

“Myth, I know this last week has been difficult. Trust me, know one has felt it harder than I have. But you understand that this amount from a run is unacceptable in our present circumstances.” 

His cheeks burned hot. “I’m sorry. This really was the best I could do, the humans hadn’t replenished yet.” 

Dasha wearily raked a hand through the length of her hair, and let in a sharp inhale. 

“I figured. I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair of me.” Dasha put the fruit down and regarded him sympathetically. “You have been doing so much great work for the community, and I know it has not been easy.” Myth could feel she was priming him for something he didn’t want to hear. 

“But I am growing worried that I have been over-relying on your skills. And your sister has been… insistent that I consider alternative runners in her absence,” she took in a breath, “so I am assigning you to train an eligible member to assist you on runs-” His stomach dropped, hard.

“No!” The objection was out before he could stop himself, he quickly tried to recover, “Dasha please, I can do this alone, really.” 

Dasha didn’t seem offended by the outburst, her expression almost pitiful. It made him want to scream. Why did nobody trust that he could handle this? 

“I’m sure you can, but my mind has been made up. If you got injured after all these runs-” she closed her eyes, “I would never forgive myself.”

“Dasha please-” He knew he sounded pathetic, but he didn’t care. 

Dasha firmly interrupted, “You get to choose who it will be, and it's just until Kara recovers and they are trained. I have full faith in you.” She smiled at him warmly, but he could see it was useless to argue. 

He briefly thought back to the comment Kara had made during their argument. He knew she was right. 

“You’re dismissed, get some rest. Tomorrow, please report who you have chosen and we can work out a plan,” she stepped towards him and placed a gentle hand on his cheek before saying, “Thank you Myth.” 

Dasha stepped away and out of the stockade, leaving Myth with a growing thorn of apprehension in his gut. He stood there rigidly for a few moments, before turning and making his way back to his quarters- wishing for his day to just be over already.

Upon returning to his quarters, guilt sat in his stomach like a sharp stone. As he passed by the curtain separating him from Kara’s space, he paused, placing a hand on the wood next to the doorway and leaning his forehead against it..

“I’m sorry.” He spoke to the curtain mutedly.

“I know.” Kara responded from within, equally hushed. And that was it. 

Myth turned to finally, finally crash headlong into the escape of sleep, and as he shuffled toward his own sleeping area, he heard Kara mutter something quietly, although he couldn’t quite make it out. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

[darkcomets]

Also what the fuck do you mean MHA is ending in 5 chapters? But honestly, I just hope it leaves things open for the fans. I don't really want any ships to be confirmed in canon (except for ones that are already obviously confirmed), it's fun seeing all of the ships people mess around with and make fanart of (although I don't making anything canon will stop people lol) While it's not been the most perfect thing (and some of the fandom is absolutely terrifying), I've had such a brilliant time with this manga/anime and I'm still so fucking psyched for the rest of the anime. It's not over yet though, so I guess we'll just have to see how things turn out

I just want Deku and Class 1A and basically everyone to have a somewhat happy ending because they deserve it so damn much

[phoenixcatch7]

Everyone keeps pairing Danny up with the bat kids and I'm not even a shipper, but.

Pair him up with Steph,

Cowards.

[lovemehardcoreangel]