#I have like a thousand words left

[risuola]

i have a feeling that the last picture of the last jjk chap will be some weird kind of gojo awakening.

[wormheamer]

sorry professor but your teaching style and my mental illnesses are a match made in hell

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

(ao3)

The worst thing, Bad knows, is the way that nothing changes. 

The clouds move slow across the sky, gentle giants on an eternal trek. The waters dance with fish; the brooks burble and sing. Grass grows. Sheep eat. Grass regrows. 

On, and on, and on, and on. 

Bad breathes in, slow, and holds it. 

It’s enough to go mad over. To become enraged for. To rip everything down just so that everything can match the- the keening lack in his heart. Grass grows. Grass has always grown. There is nothing that could ever stop grass from growing. 

His hands are curled into the ground at his sides. He clutches handfuls of the wretched plant and pulls, almost gently, and doesn’t snap a single blade.

He exhales, slow, and doesn’t inhale again. What point is there? He’s alone. No one will know whether or not he needs to breathe. He’s been alone before- days that Dapper doesn’t wake up, days where the other eggs are with their other parents. Days where he falls asleep in his chair and the ghosts are left to amuse themselves. He’s been alone before. 

He’s lost before. 

There is a sob in his throat. He refuses to let it out. It chokes him, and he takes another deep breath to try to settle it. 

There’s always- he misses Skeppy. Of course he misses Skeppy. He can’t lose Skeppy, but Skeppy isn’t here.

Dapper isn’t here. Pomme isn’t here. Richarlyson. Leo. Ramon. Chayanne. Tallulah. They’re-

Bad tears the grass out of the ground. He stares at his hands, dark claws curled around torn green plant. He tries to imagine the grass is white fur instead, but he can’t find the enthusiasm. That’s okay. The anger will be back later. 

He just- he can’t feel much beyond the loss, right now. The lack. The empty, quiet island where sheep eat grass and clouds keep moving and no eggs place any signs at all. That’s not okay, but he knows that, at least, will change. That’s how grief works. The world ends, and you end with it, and while you claw yourself up from the rubble the world ends again and sends you back under, and then again, and then again, but by the third go around you know what the tremors look like. You start to predict where it hurts the most. Then the world keeps ending but the ending just becomes a part of your world, and sometimes everything shakes but you shake with it and it’s not okay but it’s better. You get so used to the shaking that sometimes you forget that your world ever ended at all. 

How long will it take for him to forget them? 

Bad leans forwards, slowly, until he slumps into a miserable little puddle of limbs. He presses his cheek into the cool grass and when the sob rises up again he bites it back with teeth. The sun is blocked by a sombrero, now fallen awkwardly over his face, that Foolish had cheerfully placed on his head hours before. Bad doesn’t know why Foolish had put it there- except he does, and he’d seen it in the in the slightest tremor of Foolish’s smile, and so he’d kept it on. 

He can’t see them, but he can hear them laughing. Mouse, Jaiden, and Foolish, just around the corner. There have been so many people ‘just around the corner’ today. They’re so loud. They’re not the right type of loud. He feels guilty for the way that they’re comforting him, that he’s taking up their time, and then he feels angry that he feels guilty because he remembers the cage, and he knows what he really means to them, and-

They’re still here. The eggs are gone, and they’re still here. 

Forever isn’t here. 

Forever hasn’t given him a gift basket yet. 

…

…It doesn’t work. It’s a close thing, though- there’s a flicker of irritation at the thought of Forever’s awful, handsome face. Not anger, not nearly enough emotion to fill the void that is Bad’s heart, but maybe it could be. He’ll try again tomorrow. Isn’t that fun? Isn’t that something? There’s so much emotion he can’t feel any of it at all. 

Maybe it’s a bad dream. There were no remains. There was just Dapper’s top hat, and Pomme’s beret. No shell, no dead eggs. No eggs. It’s driving him mad, the maybe-yes maybe-no nature of his children’s fate.

He thinks, maybe, that tomorrow he will build a drill. 

Today, the world is dark beneath the sombrero, and the grass is scratchy and full of small twigs. Foolish laughs once, too loud. Automatically, Bad pushes himself up, because he knows Foolish, and knows how long he’s been away from the group, and he feels sick. He fumbles for his warpstone and- Foolish’s head pops around the corner- Bad freezes. Too late. 

Foolish looks at him, grin bright and neverending. Bad looks back. He can’t bring himself to say anything- he drops the sombrero at their feet. 

Foolish’s smile fades. Bad activates his warpstone again and, though the particles, he sees Foolish give him a sharp, left-handed salute. Bad can’t bite back his little laugh; Foolish knows him, too.

And then Foolish is gone. The world is purple. Then the world ends, once again, in Bad’s home. All of Dapper’s machines have stopped. Echoing noise to almost-echoing silence. Ah. Right. None of the island’s machines are working correctly. Bad will have to make a smaller drill. But he will build his drill, and he will dig, and he will find his son. 

“Dapper?” he calls, his voice cracking. The sound echoes. Only the animals answer back- they’re the only thing that stops the base from being completely silent. Grass grows. Sheep eat. Grass regrows. There’s so many animals here. What good company. It occurs to Bad, suddenly, that they’re good company. Dapper is gone, and his animals are still here, and Bad- 

He won’t kill Dapper’s pets. He is suddenly holding his scythe and he won’t hurt his son’s pets because he can’t trade them for his son and there’s a special sort of heartache to the fact that his son left behind instructions to machines that don’t work and so many animals that can’t keep Bad company the way Dapper kept him company and Bad- 

He’s holding his scythe. He’s holding the Sunshine Protector. He tries to take a breath but it comes out stuttery and he bites his tongue and. Dapper was-is always so sweet. He made Bonnie to keep Bad company, and Bad is always haunted by little ghosts but now most of all he is haunted by the love of his son. 

“Where are you?” His voice cracks on the third word. He stumbles to Dapper’s room and doesn’t think about the fact that they never got to build one for Pomme.  

The hole in his heart could swallow an island. 

Please don’t take- 

The scythe gets left outside. Bad can’t bear to look at it. Protector. There is a secure door in front of him that keeps nothing secure because now there is nothing to protect and Bad- 

-my sunshine away. 

He falls to his knees next to the empty bed. He chokes out, “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, Dapper.”

When the sob rises again, he lets it.

[pinespittinink]

being able to write in the evening without any distractions at all really is amazing, i'm literally able to get so much done

[creations-by-chaosfay]

A thing I pre-ordered months ago has shipped!

What's the thing?

Keepsake Quilting, and several other quilt companies/stores, put a sort of gift box together with fabric, notions, patterns, and gift cards in them. You don't know what you're getting, making it a surprise. I have never purchased one because they're expensive. This was 50% upfront, 50% when shipped, for a total of $150. Considering how much is in it, and what reviews were left the last several years, it's a steal. Plus, I wanna treat myself after having such a stressful and unpleasant year.

My mom and one of aunts have ordered such boxes in the past, but according to my mom, they're disappointing because she has so many of the things in the package, or no use for many of them. Rulers (some of which cost $30), needles, rotary cutters and extra blades (blades can be $10/each, new cutters up to $50), fabric marking tools (chalk pencils, disappearing ink, etc), precut fabric collections (jelly rolls can be $80, fat quarter collections up to $100 depending on number of FQs), and yardage ($12.99-$21.99/yard). She's been disappointed by "ugly" fabric too many times.

I, on the other hand, have significantly fewer tools. I make things for people to buy, and some folks love fabric I cannot stand (like x-mas and patriotic prints). There have been fabrics I consider well and truly hideous, and those I list in my shop or sell to people here. One person's trash is another's treasure, right? I've met people who think pastels are ugliest things to have ever existed. I think baby pink and green military camouflage look fantastic together, as well as turquoise and light hemp brown or terracotta and peacock blue. My mom finds them hideous. I think pink and any shade of brown look terrible together, or red and khaki (likely from working at Target and seeing is everywhere). Again, personal taste.

If any of you ever fancy treating me to one of these random collections of fabric and/or notions, feel free to do so. They're the sort of surprise I enjoy (that and people purchasing my work, especially from my shop). Sure, there are things that may he of no use to me, but others can use them. Nothing goes to waste.

This package will be arriving on November 18th, and has me giggling with excitement!

[superfluouskeys]

ASKS hmmmmmmmm 5 / 8 / 20 ?

👀👀👀

I just need to say I love that these eye emojis are coming into my house sdkjnfjnkfknjf they're so big and for WHAT tumblr LOL! Saving 5 for the end so I can readmore the snippet!

8. Is there a story idea in your mental vault that you’ve never been brave enough to try writing? Is this the year? Can you tell us about it?

kjndfsnjkdfsknjfsd literally the only things I'm weird about writing are smut ideas okay!!! and they're not even that weird it's me i'm the problem!!!!!!!!! So idk, the LiandrinxReader fic will probably be a nice challenge for me on that front, and who knows, maybe this is the year the Hawkedith light bondage fic sees the light of day. oh actually you know what for a non-smut idea I've always wanted to do a tropey time travel fic! but i think i would make myself insane LOL. maybe this will be the year!!!

20. Any plans to work on original fiction this year?

OHOHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! It's honestly so hard to choose and prioritize what to work on!!! I have 2 big original ideas, both of which I have rambled at you about extensively LOL. I think I can make a good chunk of progress on the nano nonsense fic this year, since the style is pretty firmly in my wheelhouse and I have a pretty strong idea of the main plot through-line. We'll see how I'm feeling, but I think once I get a few of my lingering fanfic projects done I'll be ready to focus on my original things again! Month-long challenges like nano actually work really well for me when I can manage them, so I might try to do something like that eventually to make some significant progress!

5. Which WIP is first on your list to complete this year? Will you post a snippet?

Again, it's soooooo hard to choose and prioritize!!! Scorched earth is in general my top priority because I just don't want to drag it out too long--before the most recent time my schoolwork beat me to death w a stick I was under the delusion that I could have it almost finished by the new year LOL! But since it's fairly simple in structure and I have it pretty clearly planned out, I mostly write chapters in one or two sittings. Second priority is advancing/finishing ghost of you, since the next chapter is literally almost done, I just got too busy to work on it. But instead I shall offer youuuuu Liandrin x Reader nonsense! It is once again a long snippet because I cannot just be normal.

--

You heard a lot about Liandrin Sedai during your first year or two as a Novice.  There was a rumor, never confirmed but nonetheless ubiquitous, that a Novice had died under Liandrin’s tutelage not long before you had arrived.  As a result, she was no longer permitted to teach Novices.  Furthermore, it was suggested, Novices would do well to avoid her.  Reasons for this varied somewhat, from ‘lest they remind her of her very recent tragedy’ to ‘lest they become the next unwitting targets of her deadly ire.’

You’re sure you never saw her in all that time, though, and eventually you heard the story repeated less and less, only really trotted out when new students arrived to the White Tower.  You learned later that Liandrin had left the Tower for a long while after the incident of legend.  It’s common for sisters of the Red Ajah to take extended leave, and the unfortunate fate of the Novice in question had certainly not impeded her ability to perform the functions for which she is best-suited.

You have also learned since then that for every extended absence, there is a corresponding extended stay in the Tower, particularly for the powerful and influential.  Liandrin is quite popular, if perhaps controversial in some circles, and it has thus been impressed upon her how very much her talents are needed within these walls for the foreseeable future.

Nevertheless, you are nothing short of shocked to see her perched atop the teacher’s desk when you arrive for your afternoon lesson.  You glance out the window, perhaps to catch a glimpse of the dire emergency that must have incapacitated so many Aes Sedai that Liandrin has been deemed a suitable substitute.

Liandrin is technically allowed to teach Accepted students.  Technically.

Liandrin herself looks about as pleased as any of the Accepted.  She pays you no mind as you enter, her piercing gaze fixed on some imagined point on the far wall.  Her arms are folded, her lips are pursed, and it looks like she’s biting the inside of her cheek.  Given her storied reputation, this understandably puts most of the students ill at ease.

“No need to trickle in,” she says, so sharply that you notice a few students flinch.  “You’re all in the right place, I should think.  I am Liandrin Sedai, and I will be overseeing your practice for the afternoon.”

She says all of this as though each word causes her great distress, gaze still fixed somewhere above the students’ heads.

“I am unaccustomed to teaching, and it’s been a long while since I was Accepted, so you will have to forgive me my unfamiliarity,” she continues, but gives absolutely no impression that she is asking forgiveness for anything.  “Adeline Sedai was not generous enough to inform me which weaves you are currently studying.  Would anyone be so kind as to enlighten me?”

The room falls eerily silent.  You cast a surreptitious glance toward Briallyn, who is usually the sort to raise her hand at any opportunity.  She is gazing at Liandrin like she is something inhuman and incomprehensible.

You swallow your nerves and raise your hand.

Liandrin turns her head sharply.  “Yes?”

“Weaving Spirit,” you say, although your voice falters under her exacting gaze.

“Weaving Spirit,” she echoes with a mocking lilt, inclining her head and smiling with false sweetness.  “Could our esteemed little sister perhaps narrow it down, just a bit?”

You feel your cheeks flush hot.  “The basics, I mean,” you stammer.  “Just starting.”

Liandrin scoffs.  “I suppose I should have known better than to expect anything more than that,” she says with a theatrical sigh.  “What was our dear Adeline Sedai having you do, just…” she waves vaguely, “pick at threads of Spirit out of nowhere?  No direction, no purpose?  No wonder it’s taking so long.”

She points at you, and you nearly startle out of your skin.  “Come forward.  Since you’ve been kind enough to volunteer.”

You can hear a low whisper of fear starting up around you as you obey her command, feel the eyes of your fellow Accepted upon you although you keep your head bowed low.  You are shy and unused to this kind of attention.  You can feel your face flushing all the way up to your ears.

Liandrin is perfectly average in stature, yet somehow seems to tower over you through her presence alone.  She ducks her head to catch you eye, and now her subtle smile bears no tinge of mockery.  “Look,” she bids you, gesturing out toward the classroom.

You attempt, quite unsuccessfully, to swallow down your embarrassment.  You look.

“Your classmates are afraid of me,” Liandrin observes, with the kind of neutrality one expects of a particularly uninteresting weather forecast.  “No doubt you’ve all heard stories about me.  Or, should I say, one in particular?”

You glance surreptitiously in Liandrin’s direction.  Her eyes are alight with cruel amusement.  She is enjoying this.  She leans in toward the class, as though to share a secret.  “Let me assure you that what you’ve heard…is absolutely true.”

The whole class visibly recoils, and the frightened whispers culminate in horrified gasps, followed by a deafening silence.

“Look at your classmates,” says Liandrin.  “The same way you would look for threads of fire or water.  Look for their fear.”

A part of you considers that you can see their fear perfectly well without looking very closely at all.  Another part of you is preoccupied with the way Liandrin’s eyes light up watching people recoil from her.  But you know from experience that Liandrin has very little patience, and she will not be pleased if she has to repeat herself.

You tear your eyes away from Liandrin and look, focusing on the class as a whole rather than trying to stare at any one person.  You squint and tilt your head, think of the frightened whispers and all the different versions of Liandrin’s story you have heard repeated over the years.  Some of your classmates are much younger than you, and their precocious talents allowed them to graduate to the rank of Accepted sooner than most.  They must have heard the story of the Novice who died under Liandrin Sedai’s tutelage very recently, and they do not have the benefit of experience to tell them that Liandrin means them no actual harm.

You think you start to see it then, something red and wrong hanging about them, brighter in some places than in others.  On instinct you reach out to pull at the threads.

You are not a talented channeler.  Threads do not respond well or quickly to your beckoning.  But the threads do come to you, slowly, and in this aspect alone, Liandrin is endlessly patient.

“A useful trick, to draw upon strong emotion,” says Liandrin.  Her words are for the benefit of the class, but she speaks quietly, and she is standing close enough to you that her voice makes you shiver.  “Spirit is that which is not strictly tangible, and yet you can feel it, can’t you, when there is a room full to the brim with terror?”

You can see the change in some students then, the ones who understand that this was, at least in part, a play upon their emotions in an unusual effort to educate.  You see the shift not in their faces but in the threads you are attempting to weave, a subtle change in the color and shape as fear gives way to confusion, or brightens into excitement.

You can’t help but wonder what others see, when they look at the color and shape of your own emotions.

New Year Fanfic Asks!

[naivety]

well maybe i am inacpable of finishing a single youtube video did you ever think of that

[transhawks]

someone encourage me to finish this damn fanfic

[coulsonlives]

can i

umm

what the actual fuck is wrong with people

[born-to-lose]

Why is the ex yearning every time I'm starting to get over him

[zamalie]

the problem with your average su fan is that theyre still under the impression that SpineI had the same problem as PearI in that she physically couldnt disobey Rose's orders which is. Not true

[b-a-pigeon]

Painstakingly cleaning up my dashboard to make this godforsaken website usable so I can come back and infodump about my Nanowrimo project soon :)

[usmsgutterson]

trying to get back into writing a WIP you loved but left behind accidentally by rereading what you wrote, only to get to where you left off and just going “oh shit, what’s next??” and then realizing you have to write what comes next lol

[randum-famdoms]

me: this chapter is going to be super fun and lighthearted! no sad thoughts today, no sir!

some demon inside me: this character is going to become so guilt ridden that they dissociate due to being reminded of their past

me: but... why.... you don't have to do this....

some demon inside me: vibes

[keebydeeby]

descendants 4

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.