#and then less than 24 hours after that

[inkskinned]

we heard that you were very disappointed in us both as a generation and specifically as a generation of women (emphasis yours), how we had let ourselves go and now we were slutty and ill-tempered and holding onto notions of feminism like "having a savings account" and "equality."

we were very sorry about it, we didn't realize. it is very hard for you, in your life, because your entire definition was centered around the word providing, and that's a really vague and undulating word. it is hard to be a provider. for your purposes, the word provider here can be defined as "having a job", although it sometimes also extends to "doing yard work", "grilling on occasion," and "knowing basic car anatomy."

we had to do some reading but we divided it out. do not worry. high-value women will fill in the rest of the gaps of your life - all those silly feminine things like doing the dishes. we didn't realize we had asked too much when we asked you to pick up after yourself. we did not realize you were rendered small and scared and crying about the possibility of doing the laundry. here is a joke to lighten the sentiment: a man that listens when you talk to him.

we heard about how we had fallen from glory and it sickened us and made us very, very sad. lindsey had to cut all her hair off and tara threw up. we lit one million candles and we are going to have a vigil about it tonight. all of the people in this world that you do not approve of are going to be there and we will all be in mourning colors because we have lost your respect which is of course the only thing that any of us were looking for.

we searched around our bedrooms and our closets and for some of us it took a while but we all found the pricetag that we were originally born with, the one that gave our listing offer, the one that smells like rot and pine needles. we were horrified because many of us had taken deductions and hadn't realized it. i had scraped my knees and decided to be a lesbian so they had to take my voicebox out so i could never call home again. janice had been with too many people overall so we had to put her into the big squisher that will hopefully collapse her walls so that when you're with her, you'll feel so big and powerful. it will be like you're conquering something instead of being close with someone.

we are all going to the funeral of feminism and we will tear at our bodies and fall over ourselves. we will invite you onstage for a live recording of your podcast about the occasional minor inconvenience of self-reflection. you will talk about how we have targeted you and made you feel the sweat slick down your back, and we will teach you basic self-defense out of solidarity.

do not worry, we are seeing to all the outliers. taylor asked to be taken seriously so we have shipped her off to prison. laura asked you to accept her femininity regardless of her presentation. you will be happy to hear all women are now and forever going to have to be small and thin and pretty and white and ablebodied and quiet and unassuming and ladylike, which is different than how society has previously told us to act.

i am going to have to shave off my jawline, which is a little masculine, and they are going to have to reshape my hands, which are very square and thick - all the work i've done with them has made their veins stand out, so we're just going to have to exsanguinate me. i am horrified to have been out in public like this.

we are going to sit around the campfire and we will talk about being weird little girls that made potions in pink teacups. we will talk about the first time we made a difference. we will talk about the private lives of crickets, and then, at the stroke of three in the morning (the witching hour, obviously) - we will all promptly shut up.

and this will be your beautiful world. this silence that spans every corner of every street and every zoom meeting and every alley. i do not think you'll notice at first - it will be the same as every television show and movie and book. we will all just simply sit there in our doll dresses and smile blithely at your advances and none of us will do you the dishonor of answering and none of us will appear to be in distress and none of us will nag you or make a fuss or get hysterical about it. it will just be quiet, and you will say finally, some peace for once! and we will smell of smoke and our teeth will be white and the next day will come.

tonight we are going to bury the last little bits of our humanity. you are not invited. it is going to be ugly.

[jaxonkreide]

We miss you. Come return to us… Why did you abandon us?

Last night at 1am I read all about @wasyago's trail's gone cold au and the brain rot immediately caused me to stay up until 5am starting this art before sleeping and finishing it today. Now I'm a little sick and got a sore throat, I think the cave is getting to me too

[1driedpersimmon]

❓

[militantmoose]

Not every pregnant person is a mother, a mama, or mom-to-be. Not every person who can get pregnant is a woman, just as not every woman can get pregnant. Yes, motherhood is important and sacred, and also motherhood is not the only path to parenthood or nurturing. I am so weary from seeing so much worship of ‘motherhood’ and the exclusion of all other genders and family types.

and…

Not every non-binary or transmasc person hates their body. I was every bit as trans while growing a baby and enjoying every moment as I was when I religiously injected my T every week. Gender is a funny thing and the best part is that we get to make what we want of it. Every person’s experience gets to be unique and valid and there is no way to define it for someone else.

[wizardlyghost]

[theaviatorthatcouldnotfly]

happy wilmon day ♥

[soupandsorcery]

“I don’t hate the word boyfriend,” Rune says, picking up the thread of a days old conversation like the response has just come to him. And okay…it’s possible that it has, but that’s just for him to know. “It just makes me feel like a teenager with a crush.” 

Addam smiles, metal fingers curling around Rune’s ankle where it’s slung into his lap. “Am I to understand then, Hero,” he says, amusement and that teasing fondness making his voice deeper than usual. “That you would not have had a crush on me when you were a teenager?” 

Before Rune can finish being flustered by Addam’s tone, Brand is snorting from his place in the armchair across the room. 

“Hey. Shut up,” Rune says, and points at him for emphasis. 

Brand, predictably, ignores him. “He absolutely would have had a fucking crush on you back then. You would have come over with your smile and your accent and your dimples, and this one would have swooned all over his fucking self. All I would have heard for weeks was ‘did you see the way he looked at me, Brand? Do you think he likes me, Brand?’ Worse, I would have had to feel him crushing on you through the bond because his control was shit as a teenager. Fucking embarrassing.” 

“That’s offensive,” Rune replies. 

“Truth hurts,” Brand shoots back, shrugging a shoulder. 

Addam’s still grinning, showing off the very dimples in question, and Rune doesn’t think he can be blamed for the way his whole torso goes a little gooey at the sight. Teenage Rune would’ve had good taste, at least, if Brand’s right. Which he isn’t. Mostly.

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned my dimples in such a complimentary way, Brandon,” Addam says. “I’m flattered. And even moreso that you think they would have been enough to send Rune swooning into your arms.” 

Brand rolls his eyes. “It’s not the compliment you think it is, Saint Nicholas. You flash those things all the time when you want to get your way. That’s where Quinn gets it from. And Rune’s just weak to that pretty boy shit.” 

“You can’t be mean to me,” Rune complains. “I’m still recovering. I had an ordeal.” 

“Oh now you’re recovering. This morning when I caught you trying to sneak down to the beach without having breakfast it was ‘fuck off, Brand, I’m fine’.” 

“That was then.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

The two of them have a familiar stare down: Rune makes a pitiful face that he knows will just make Brand laugh at him, and Brand tries to keep his expression as flat as he can make it. The waves of good humor echo through the bond from both ends though, and Rune’s heart is very full. 

“I like the two of you like this,” Addam says after a bit. “It is always intriguing to see you in a fight, working together and reading each other's minds, but I much prefer when your odd version of telepathy can be applied this way.” 

“What, Brand using our sacred, special bond to bully me? Are you condoning this?” Rune asks, pretending to be outraged. “You’re supposed to be defending my honor, Addam. That’s sort of your job as my fiance and literal knight in shining armor.” 

“And if I thought your honor was in danger, I would certainly leap to your defense,” Addam replies evenly.

Brand laughs at that, and Rune folds his arms, lips turning down into an exaggerated pout. 

“Do you want to know what I think?” Addam continues, glancing at the pair of them. “I think that perhaps Rune would not have been the only one who was weak to ‘that pretty boy shit’, as Brand so colorfully put it. I think that if I worked at it, I could have had you both.” 

It’s an Addam level mic drop as he slides out from under Rune’s legs and makes a show of stretching. His arms reach overhead, and he pushes up onto his toes so his muscles pull into one tight line. A few inches of that lovely tanned skin flash as Addam’s shirt rides up, then disappear when he sinks back to his feet with a content sigh. He drops a kiss to the top of Rune’s head, puts a hand on Brand’s shoulder, and then makes his exit from the room. 

Rune and Brand sit in silence for a full minute once he’s gone, gaping in the direction he went. They turn to look at each other at the same time. 

“What the fuck was that?” Brand demands. 

“This is your fault for bringing his dimples into this,” Rune replies, sliding down the couch so he can put his head on the arm rest. “Everybody knows naming something gives it power.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

Rune can only sigh and wonder at his attraction to men obsessed with having the last word.

[mangled-by-disuse]

re: suicidality

So I have now had... a couple of people come to me personally in crisis today, and seen a lot of others speak about it publicly. And I just want to say to all of you what I've been trying to say to the people who've spoken to me directly:

You are in shock. You are grieving. You are in a heightened emotional state, and there is nothing wrong with that, but now is not the time to make decisions you can't take back.

My mother was telling me on Sunday, when I was having a much more banal crisis about regretting my move, that when she moved to the North she gave herself six months, and she wasn't allowed to give up on it until then. Not because it would definitely be okay, but because until you've got your footing, until you're no longer reeling from the immediate change, you don't know. You can't see the challenge clearly.

So, please. Give yourself six months. Decide if this is really a world you can't live in.

You haven't closed the door if it turns out that you really, truly can't live like this. You don't have to close the door. Just don't go barrelling through it yet.

[fairyroses]

I know what you're thinking. That you've given in to your son again? That you're spoiling him? Exactly. And I can certainly understand how you reach that conclusion. But the thing is... this tree is for me!

— SMALLVILLE, "Lexmas" (5.09)

[thestoriesthatweweave]

"It's three seasons old, at least," said Phillip, in a pained voice. "What sort of provincial backwater did you buy it in?" "The Little Dover Dress Shop." Visander bit out each word, fuming that he knew the answer. "It still has an empire waist," said Phillip, a kind of agony on his face. "You know, here we have fashion, we don't just go about wearing robes for ten thousand years." "I care nothing for your human fashions, worm," spat Visander.

Dark Heir by CS Pacat is a comedy. Or, in other words: if book 3 is not a married-life sit-com between Phillip and Visander I riot.

(In other, other words: there are so many fantastic romantic dynamics in this book, but the one couple I have imprinted on like a baby duckling is the queer murder-machine with tunnel vision stuck in the body of a Victorian ingénue and his husband Who Really Does Not Want To Be Here and can endure his wife being "a dead man from a defunct world" but draws the line at him not dressing for dinner.)

[jessamine-rose]

…….do y’all want to guess what was my first brainrot this year?? Ykw f*ck it, this might as well be my first post for 2024 (*⁰▿⁰*)

Capitano and Damsel sharing a kiss when the clock strikes midnight. Damsel watching the fireworks, unaware that her husband’s eyes are fixed on her awestruck expression. Capitano kneeling before Damsel to kiss her hand and promise another year of happiness—

[angiestown]

[cyberpunkboytoy]

If anyone wants to look at the full outfit for Rei's SSR....here you go

[twinknote]

moby is 21 years old, diabetic, and if you leave food out he Will be eating it

[moderndaypandora]

Got tagged by @notallsandmen for a WIP paragraph game, and I’m incredibly flattered, considering ... this doesn’t feel on the level of fic, this is fun little sketches of dialogue at most. But this is what I had, so here’s more of the mortal dreamling silliness (previous bits: modern day mortal dreamling and newlyweds with ravens)

How Hob asked Johanna to be his witness for his wedding:

He texted her asking if she was free that afternoon, because he needed her for something.  Historically "something" has meant anything from "taste-testing 3 different scone recipe variations to figure out the best one" to "hustling drunk pricks at darts". Likewise, Hob has done her favors ranging from picking up tampons to providing an alibi. In theory there is a ledger of favors owed, but in reality there will never be a balancing of books (because they're best friends, even if Johanna is too prickly to admit it and Hob is too smart to).

Johanna texted back "yeah, what's up?", and practically broke a land speed record pressing "Call" when she got the response.

Johanna: what the fuck kind of text exchange is confirming I'm around and then sending "getting married today, hello, witness!" and a selfie of you and some goth twink?

Hob: it felt pretty self-explanatory

Johanna: last I'd checked, you weren't even seeing anybody!

Hob: things change?

Johanna: I got dinner with you 5 weeks ago, you bastard, and you were single then.

Hob: ... things change fast?

Johanna: how the fuck did you even meet him?

Hob: I was running back from class during that awful rainstorm last month, and he was just outside my tube station.

Johanna: Hob.

Hob: His umbrella'd broken and he was soaking wet, and he looked absolutely miserable, poor darling.

Johanna: ...

Hob: So I offered him towels and dry clothes, since my flat was just up the road. And by the time the rain stopped I knew I wanted to marry him, and he said yes.

Johanna: what lunatic just follows strange men home?

Hob: he was pretty suspicious until I gave him my phone so he could text my address to his sister.

Johanna: and she was somehow fine with it, like 'yeah, go on'?


Hob:

Hob: he got a bit distracted by my phone background and never actually texted her.

Johanna: the fuck

Hob: you know Julian of Norwich is gorgeous

Johanna: your cat is a lesser demon escaped from hell. I'm going to exorcise your cat someday

Hob: Jules is a sweetheart. She doesn't even hunt birds!

Johanna: That thing won't kill any of the bloody birds in your neighborhood because she's saving all her energy to someday murder me and you know it.

Hob: ... undeserved paranoia about my extremely photogenic cat aside --

Johanna: WELL-deserved!

Hob: --will you be my witness?

Johanna: Left it a bit late, if you're asking me today. Did everybody else say no?

Hob: Didn't ask anybody else. Been planning to ask you since Dream said yes, but I figured if I gave you too much notice you'd flee the country.

Johanna: [tearing up, because even if you're an independent badass, it's nice to hear you're somebody's person] you're fucking right I would.

(Johanna's custom ringtone on Hob's phone is from Sweeney Todd, the final verse in Johanna where you can hear the body drop ("Wake up, Johanna, another bright red day"), because Hob and Johanna are black-hearted bastards/absolutely in cahoots with each other and think it’s funny. Hob's ringtone is Being Alive from Company ("Somebody need me too much...").  Sondheim all the way, motherfuckers)

[sealeneee]

whoever makes the schedule is a fucking cunt