#but its kind of sickening

[ranboard]

just two people who grew way too fast, way too quickly

[deoidesign]

when your main characters start dating after years of writing so they finally get to be like this

[infizero]

they never really did leave that fucking desert did they

[one-cryptic-cryptid]

Can we please stop reblogging that ai generated Jon fanart? I can't believe tma is trending and THAT is one of the top posts-

Please, we have so many fanartists who's work is actaully worth promoting

[brw]

I realised last night not a single woman has ever written an Avengers or Fantastic Four ongoing and this is obviously tragic and horrible for a lot of reasons but my first thought genuinely was "Oh no..... I have to hand this W to the X-Men...."

[kafkasmjjw]

my god, he was GONE

[thatonebirdwrites]

Heroic

Lena Kieran Walsh knew her plan was perhaps the most ridiculous and ludicrous plan of all time. Yet her mother's last wish before her death had been, "become a menace to our enemies."

Lena, in tears, holding her mother's hands, vowed, "I will. Be at peace, Mammy." Her mother exhaled few ragged breaths with a faint smile before she slipped away. As if she'd only needed Lena's vow to finally let herself go.

The funeral had been a quiet affair, mostly due to her mother's instructions. Lena invited those on her mother's list, but she also added Sam Arias and her daughter, Jack Spheer, and Andrea Rojas -- her friend group to help support her.

They stood on the Cliffs of Moher that day, and as requested by her mother, she spread her ashes amongst the dirt by that trail and planted the oak. It had taken a week to get permission for the planting due to the area being a park, but the week had given Lena time to secure the ingredients for one last spell.

Lena herself didn't believe in magic per se. She was a scientist to her core, preferring to study biology and physics at the university, her thesis on the use of nanotechnology to target and destroy cancer cells. A project she shared with Jack and Sam. As much as university had set her apart from her mother’s lessons, she still remembered the old ways.

Traditions taught from mother to daughter, magic and stories that mustn’t be forgotten. Her Mammy was a self-professed druid within a larger druidic coven. She'd been highly regarded in the community as the caretaker of Ireland's history and myths, and Lena had been expected to take her place until she’d flounced off to uni.

But that day, she asked Sam to hold her brolly, it being a soft day, the mists from the heavy clouds like pinpricks against her cheeks. She knelt in the dirt and unstoppered the growing potion, one she’d carefully made per her Mammy’s instructions. Sung the magical words and focused all her mind and heart on imbuing it with her love for her Mammy.

That day, on the Cliffs of Moher, Lena poured the potion into the roots of the oak and sung the activation song. Her voice clear and precise, the melody soothing with little runs, and her eyes closed to keep herself from weeping. Tears would shatter her voice, and she needed to this perfect.

She could do no less for her Mammy.

Later Jack, Andrea, and Sam would swear the tree had grown during that moment, but Lena had her eyes closed and missed it. Lena expected the coven’s agreements that growth occurred, but Jack, Sam, and Andrea? They’re the pragmatics and realists of the group.

In the following months, she’d think of that day often, while she quietly worked through her mother's grimoire. Partly to better understand but also to continue her legacy in a way, and that was what gave her the idea.

Her mother referenced several artifacts that had been stolen from Haitian tribes, who had contacted her out of concern the magic within them was being misused. Her mother's cancer had prevented her from doing much more than attempt wards on the exhibits in London to prevent misuse.

But Lena had a better idea.

Why not steal from the colonizers who ransacked countries, starved populations into submission or outright killed them? Lena knew the stories of her people well. Her mother had taught her of the potato famine, which had been caused by the British literally poisoning the fields. The trauma of that colonization never left her people, and she let the rage from those injustices fuel her plan.

The Haitian tribes would see their lost artifacts returned, and Lena would wear the color of blood as a symbol of the dead left in the wake of the colonizers. Yes, if she planned well, she could leave her mark, and live up to her promise to her Mammy.

"Lena," Sam argued, "You can't do this alone. Let me help."

"I don't want to risk you," Lena protested. "You have a daughter."

"And the risk to you?" Sam crossed her arms and frowned. "You're family, Lena. And we help family always. So if you're going to do this stunt, then let me be your getaway driver."

“She has a point.” Andrea sipped her scotch from where she sat next to Lena’s bar. She leaned against it, both elbows on the counter, while her hand swirled the scotch. “This is a grave risk. Besides, it’ll be way more fun with friends, Lena.” She smirked. “I am an excellent—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” Lena pointed her finger at Andrea in warning. Her ex-girlfriend smirked in response and leaned against Sam’s side. The two had become nearly inseparable since meeting, and Lena didn’t mind if it meant less jokes about her own sex life.

Jack, who had stayed silent up to that point, chuckled. "Luv, they’re right. Doing this alone? It's a bit much. You need a team. I'll see if I can rig up a program to keep the cameras off your movements."

Lena already had done some preliminary hacking to see the extent of the security, but now that Jack had mentioned it, having someone to control the cameras would be immensely helpful. And Sam was an excellent driver and had a pilot's license, mostly because Lena had needed a buddy to get through the lessons.

"Fine. You all can help." She made a show of rolling her eyes and sounding put out, but secretly she was thrilled that her closest friends had her back.

Sam turned onto Mare Street in London, and slowed to a stop near 11 Mare Street. She parked with a frown. "Lena, are you sure this is it?"

Lena stared at the rather small storefront. Victor Wynd Museum of Curiosities was emblazoned above the more stately letters of The Last Tuesday Society. The window overflowed with a grotesque display of shrunken heads, skeletons, and voodoo dolls. No wonder Mammy's Voodoo friends contacted her for help. This place stank of exploitation of their craft.

"Yup. It's smaller than expected."

"Are you kidding me?" Sam leaned over her steering wheel. "There's a cocktail menu posted on the door."

“What? Are they drinking out of the skulls?” Andrea quipped, a hint of disgust in her voice.

Anger seared through Lena's veins. "Of course. Typical British."

"Hey!" Jack protested from the back seat, where he sat with a laptop. His fingers danced across the keys. "I am mildly offended, Luv."

"Jack, you're more Scottish-Indian than British-Indian," Lena drawled.

“Still. Till the Scots gain our independence, we do not drink from skulls.” He sniffed dramatically, but she knew he wasn't really bothered. "Their security is a load of tosh."

"Considering how tiny this storefront is, I'm not surprised," Sam said. "So, uh, what's the best way to do this?"

“Too distracted to hear Lena’s hours long presentation?” Andrea teased, which elicited a glare from her girlfriend.

“The placement of your hands is the villain here,” Sam shot back, her cheeks reddening.

Andrea raised her hands and wiggled her fingers. “We all need exercise sometimes.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Stop acting the maggot you two.” She nods toward the museum-cocktail lounge. “Three am is the goal since they close around midnight. Jack, focus on taking over their security feeds. I'll have a program ready. It'll erase itself within twenty minutes. If I'm not out by then, all of you leg it. If I’m caught, I’m caught, but I won’t have you three joining me."

"That's kind of tight," Sam said, uneasy. "And we can’t just leave you, Lena."

Lena sighed. "I mean it, Sam. This isn’t some grand heroic moment. It’s breaking and entering.”

“I beg to differ,” Jack said. “Heroic is indeed what this is. Lost artifacts returned to their homes? A modern day Robin Hood.”

Lena smiled and shook her head. “Look, I get in, procure the stolen artifacts, and get out. No sight-seeing or distractions. Twenty is plenty.” She turned to glare at Andrea. “Can’t trust you not to lob the gob with Sam, so you’re the lookout.”

Andrea smirked. “Fine. I’ll wear all black.”

“Good. Do that ridiculous whistle if you see any Garda.” In reply, Andrea gave Lena fingerguns. “Sam, use your electric car. The idling’s as silent as a grave.”

Sam nodded. “Can do.”

“Now remember,” Lena narrowed her eyes at Andrea but glanced at the other two in the car for good measure. “We’re scouting now. No getting banjaxed. I need you all as sprightly as a wagtail.”

“Being a craic vacuum today?” Andrea quipped.

“No more dossing around, Andi,” Lena said exasperated. She used that saying once about Sam being too uptight, and Andrea adopted i almost immediately to Lena's annoyance. “Or you’re sitting the rest out.”

“Wait, there’s more planned?” Andrea grinned. “Mina, you’re holding back.”

“Shut it. We have a job to do. Now let’s get cracking.” Lena opened the door and wished she wasn’t about to sully herself in the most exploitive, macabre cocktail lounge she'd ever seen.

The moment she stepped inside, she wished she hadn’t, as the jampacked walls full of macabre exhibits and the strange musky scent almost had her walking right back out.

But no, she needed reconnaissance. Locate exactly where to enter, nab the target, and exit. Surely her ancestors and the ancestors of her mother's friends will forgive her for having a short drink next to a taxidermy lion on a table made from a sarcophagus.

She needed the ancestors protection for this, not their fury. Besides, the cocktails turned out to be manky as hell.

Dressed in a red cloak, wide-brimmed hat, gloves, and boots, Lena felt a trifle ridiculous but also proud of herself. Time to finally live up to her vow, to do what her mother could not, and bring home what was stolen.

From their reconnaissance, she marked several windows large enough for her to slip through. All required a climb. It hadn’t taken her long to make a device to shoot the rope into the wood of the window. Climbing had been a bit stressful, but she’d made it. Below she could see Andi, leaning against a wall as she watched the road. Jack was still in the car with Sam, the program churning through the security.

It took three tries with her tools to unlock the window and push it open. The stench hit her first. She pulled up her scarf to wrap around her face. For feck’s sake, did the owner store poop here? She dropped into the attic and to her horror there was indeed poop here. Several glass jars labeled with celebrity names and dates sat in a container to her right.

It gave her an idea however. She gathered a few and carefully made her way down the rickety ladder to the main floor. In the bar area, she set up each of the jars and uncapped them. Two she dumped their contents in front of the main office.

She tiptoed out of the bar and gingerly entered some of the exhibits. She couldn’t take it all — her bag couldn’t carry it for one nor would the rope hold that much weight — but the staggering amount of human remains on display twisted her stomach with rage.

Maybe she could come back and steal it all, but for now she focused on the Voodoo poppets. They were arranged in rows three exhibits down the hall in front of a macabre set of shrunken heads, African Masks — the designs reminding her of the Igbo people actually — and several skulls.

She bowed her head and murmured the words she’d heard her mother say many a time, “Tagaim chun tú a thabhairt abhaile. Bí ar a suaimhneas.” Irish for ‘I come to bring you home, be at peace.’ Then one by one she wrapped them in the silk the Haitians had sent her mother for this, and tucked them in her bag.

A quick sweep of the other exhibits found her three more poppets, and a search of the attic another six. Her twenty minutes neared completion, so she scurried through the window, slid down the rope, and tapped the button on her belt. The bolt blew apart in a rain of metal, the rope dropping like a flying a snake.

She whistled to Andrea, and the two legged it to Sam’s car. As soon as they tumbled into the backseat, Sam slid out of park and the car silently pulled away from the curb.

"Five minutes to spare," Jack said with a wink. "Nicely done."

"I'll do better next time," Lena leaned back and patted her bag. "Mam's friends will be relieved to have these home again."

"Here you are, being the hero of our time," Andi said with a grin and poke of her elbow in Lena's side. "You need a name though." She looked over Lena's outfit. "Why red?"

"Carmen is the hue actually." Lena laid her hand on her bag and thought of her Mammy, how the cancer had slowly eaten away her life. How hard she'd worked toward causes of liberation. "I promised Mam I'd become a menace to my enemies. I wear the color of anger and blood."

"Right, and whose gonna know that?" Jack pointed out.

Lena smiled. "Oh, the world will know soon enough."

Three hundred Euros later and two days of searching flights, Lena was on her way to the Haiti, her prize carefully hidden in her carry-on luggage. As she watched Ireland fade from view, she took a deep breath and released it slowly. She’d done it.

She’d rescued priceless artifacts, and now they were going home. Smiling, she leaned back and closed her eyes. Already plans formed of improved methods of infiltration. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it well.

[sieglinde-freud]

idk how in 2024 ppl still playing vanilla awakening like i gotta make these bitches gay. im pairing the second gen girlies and by god. none of them should be paired with a man. these ladies are GAY and good for them. not my fault intsys couldnt see that in 2012 but i can now and i WILL do them justice

[supermaks]

[theladyfae]

42 / lost brilliance, rita dove

[angelwishess]

No thoughts just Floyd being the biggest simp EVER.

Rambling about Floyra under the cut, though its mostly just about Floyd being down bad.

Just, the thought of Floyd being so head over heels he’d drop everything and come rushing to Kyra’s side whenever she needs him. Floyd who does things even he never even imagined he’d do for someone else, atleast not until he met Kyra. Now, he can’t imagine anything he wouldn’t do.

Floyd whos actually a HUGE hopeless romantic. You’d think it would be Kyra whos the hopeless romantic, but no. Its Floyd. This may also tie in with my personal hc that merfolk choose only one partner for life.

Floyd who, once he realized and accepted his feelings, knew that Kyra would be that “one” for life. Floyd whos so ridiculously, embarassing soft for Kyra. He melts in her arms and under her kisses and goes limp at her warmth. Floyd who acts like a big puppy when it comes to Kyra, lighting up and rushing her into a tight squeeze whenever he sees her, as if they didn’t just see eachother just earlier that day.

Floyd who has trouble sleeping without Kyra in his arms, who tosses and turns more than usual trying to sleep, but cant seem to fall asleep and gets all grumpy. Floyd who ends up sneaking into Ramshackle instead in the middle of the night.

Floyd who starts calling Kyra “Sea angel” instead of “Shrimpy” one day because he decided it didn’t fit her as much as he thought it did. Of course it didn’t, not when she glowed so much. He wonders why no one else can see it whenever he mentions it, she glows brighter every single day. How could they not see it?

Floyd who plays along with whatever shennanigans Kyra is up to whenever hes in the mood, who dances in the rain with her and breaks open claw machines to take all the plushies for themselves. Floyd who gets kicked out of class with her whenever they laugh too hard, Floyd who helps her pet a random cat in a tree by carrying her on his shoulders.

Floyd who goes ice skating with Kyra— but its both their first time in a skating rink, and theyre both stumbling and holding onto eachother and falling onto the ice together the entire time, and theyre on the ground more than they are skating but he still enjoys every moment because hes with her.

Floyd who worries. Who carries Kyra whenever she gets an injury or gets into another accident, who stays right by her side whenever she isn’t well until she feels better. Who insists he’ll “take care of her” but then brushes it off as nothing. Floyd who scolds her whenever she gets into a fight, who defends her when someone tries to mess with her and drops everything to do so.

Floyd who gets bored so easily, but Kyra is the most interesting thing to him. Floyd who can listen to her talk for ages and not get bored. Sometimes he stops listening by accident, because he gets distracted with how pretty she is. How pretty she sounds. How much he loves her. Floyd who follows her around like a lost puppy and sits so close to her during class they’re basically sharing a seat.

Floyd isn’t clingy, he doesn’t need to be near her every waking moment. At the end of the day he’s still Floyd, his own person with his own desires and sometimes he needs some alone time, too. But even then, he’ll always come right back into her arms when hes done.

And Kyra, who is just as head over heels for Floyd just as he is for her <3

[sodrippy]

thinking about how when i was in high school numerous people showed interest in me but i had been so deeply conditioned to hate my body i was like. oh theyre just doing this for a laugh. obviously. duh. despite like. lots of evidence to the contrary 😭

[lorillee]

one thing about lorillee and her taste in media She loves messy family drama where everybody kind of sucks more than life itself

[wintersangels69]

[the-meme-monarch]

no y'know what i am going to be a little hater about cooking actually. particularly how i see people handling raw meat. I have seen too many Professional Chefs fucking touch raw meat bare handed and then just wipe their hands on a towel before touching something else. fucker you WASH YOUR HANDS. BEFORE AND AFTER TOUCHING RAW MEAT. DO YOU HEAR ME. SOAP AND HOT WATER. and that TOWEL is contaminated too now. you're just going to put it down to let other people touch that? sling it over your shoulder and get it on your clothes?? and then also I'll see people wear gloves and touch raw meat and put it on a plate and then TOUCH the OUTSIDE OF THE PLATE to hold it and move it like to the fridge or whatever. YOU'RE JUST GOING TO TOUCH THE PLATE AGAIN LATER. POSSIBLY WITHOUT THE GLOVES? those germs on the outside of the plate aren't going to die. but you will I'm going to fucking kill you over this

[butchdykekondraki]

lobocorp being 25 dollars is SO sick and fucking twisted you CANNOT do this to me