#hope this wasnt already done

[robbyykeene]

“She wasn’t forcing him in any way” YOU chose to show Robby so drunk he couldn’t talk and could barely stand. YOU chose to show Robby come out of that room and say he couldn’t remember what happened. YOU chose to show him stand there like a zombie unresponsive while she kissed him and then stumble away like he didn’t know what planet he was on. YOU chose to depict a situation where one party so obviously could not consent, and the other was acutely aware of that fact. Stop playing fucking dumb and admit you’re a pathetic rape apologist and move the fuck on.

[qkumber]

Wexler-McGill, Partners at Law in Crime

Based on the original work by Mac Conner, Illustration for "The Other Father" by Laura Z. Hobson. Cosmopolitan, November 1949.

[scionshtola]

wip almost wednesday

i've been working on something this week and was just happy i managed to do that so thought i would share :> slight enw spoilers

tagging @coldshrugs @lavampira @hythlodaes @galadae @ghostwise

@impossible-rat-babies @lilas @birues and anyone else who wants to share! no pressure 💗 but i'd love to see anything you're working on!

‘Twas simple, after that, to fall into the haze of domestic bliss that overcame the two of them for the next few days. Corisande showed her around the island, her hand in theirs as they toured together. They dipped their feet in lily-filled ponds, jumped across the cold streams that carved the land on their way to the sea, stood atop cliffs with beautiful views that Corisande painted for her with words. Corisande pointed out all her favorite spots for foraging, marks on trees that marked her way back to the cabin, and where the island’s animals often liked to gather. They kissed beneath the loud rush of waterfalls, in the mouth of caves home to glowing crystal formations sprouting from the ground, under leafy palm trees, their backs pressed to the rough bark. They spent much of their time on the beach. Corisande packed lunch and they sprawled across a blanket on the shifting sand. They ate, read, lay together under the sun, the breeze lifting off the sea enough to keep the heat at bay. Sometimes they walked, hand in hand, the tide washing over their footsteps; other times, Corisande swam while Y’shtola read, waiting for the moment they returned and pressed their cool body to hers, both of them laughing when Y’shtola tossed her book to the side. They talked, as well, of course, about the usual things. Books they had read recently, recipes Corisande wanted to cook for Y’shtola to try, the progress on Y’shtola’s book and what the other Scions were doing with their newfound free time. There were topics they did not discuss, things that made Corisande pause, disquiet, before kissing the back of Y’shtola’s hand and leading her somewhere new. When the conversation brushed against them, Y’shtola did not pry. She let herself be pulled into their lap, pressed into the blanket, the sand warm beneath her, their lips and hands temporarily eliding her concerns. Corisande would come to her when she was ready.

[mirrortouchedsea]

dark. that was all he had ever known. cold, dark, damp. the boy shivers in the small room, painfully alone, only a book and his magic to keep him company. he tries not to use his magic very often, though. it seemed that the people above knew when he used it and they always always always refused to give him food until he “woke up” next, if they bothered to keep track of that. maybe this time he’ll learn their lesson. the boy whispers his spell, cur memini, and creates a small light in his fingers. this is the only spell he can cast safely, too small to be noticeable by the people above. he holds his hand over the fading book on the floor. the boy can’t read the letters on the page, but this book has pictures. he flips through it again, careful of the pages that were falling apart, admiring the figure in armor who always comes to rescue the figure in the tower, cut off from the world, just like him. the boy frequently dreams of a figure in armor coming to save him, despite the years he has spent alone. dark and cold and damp. 

the room the boy lives in, the only room he has memories of, is empty besides himself and the book. sometimes the people above would give him water and stale bread to eat, and then there was a cup and a dirty plate, but otherwise it was just the boy and the book. the boy knows why the people above have locked him away, they told him that he was a freak of nature, unnatural, dangerous. but the boy could only make lights in his palm, and that wasn’t very dangerous at all. he thinks to himself that the people above are the dangerous ones, locking away a child for something like this, but he can’t say that out loud. he doesn’t want to die again. 

the boy’s stomach grumbles and he curls in on himself, the light in his palm fades out. he longs to see the sun again, to play with the other children he can hear through the ceiling, to be normal. the people above must have decided to punish him again, though, as he doesn’t remember the last time he had anything to drink, to eat. his stomach would eat through his skin and he would still wake up the next day. why can’t he just die once and for all and be rid of the pain? why is the world keeping him here? why was he even born?

the boy closes his eyes, and falls asleep. maybe this time it won’t hurt so much. 

--- 

how long has he been here? the boy doesn’t keep track of time. he knows he’s died at least a dozen times, but how long does it take for a dozen lifetimes to pass? 

--- 

a clattering on the floor wakes the boy up. the people above decided he can eat today. stale bread and water again, but better than nothing to the boy. he crawls closer to it, listening to the door. it closes and the voices disappear. where was the sound of the lock? did they forget? 

the boy scarfs down his food and water before tiptoeing up the stairs. he doesn’t hear any voices, but he needs to be careful. he doesn’t remember what the above looks like, but he needs to leave. he needs to be free. 

slowly, quietly, he opens the door. it’s dark on the other side of it, but still much, much brighter than his room ever was. he closes his eyes but keeps the door open. breathe in, and out. opens his eyes again, blinking the brightness away. pushes the door further open. steps on the hard ground outside the door. he’s so close. closes the door quietly. turns around and holds his breath. where was outside? pick a direction and go. his legs hurt. turn the corner, listen for voices. voices are dangerous, get away from the voices. whisper his spell, create a small light. keep moving keep moving keep moving. window ahead. break it? open it? is he strong enough? lift the window up. too weak. voices coming. hurry hurry hurry must get out now. whisper spell again, hand on window. break the glass and jump through it. cuts on feet cuts on legs deal with that later. voices getting louder voices shouting. run run RUN. 

the boy runs away from the building, away from his room. freedom is so close. first get to the trees, then… he hasn’t thought that far, but he will find a way. gunshots from the house. he runs faster, must get to the trees, must hide, must be free. cur memini, he whispers again, crossing into the forest. his spell can make lights and now break windows, but he needs it to protect him at this moment. run run run until the voices are quiet again. his legs are giving out, but he needs to run. he can’t die now or they’ll find him. keep running. bare feet on sticks and stones and sharp things, everything hurts but he can’t stop. he keeps running until the sun comes up. his heart beats out of his chest. 

--- 

when he wakes up he doesn’t know how much time has passed. his heart beats fast and he sits up. did they find him? he looks around. trees, rocks, a gurgling stream. he’s free. he’s free. he sighs and lays back down. how far did he run? he needs to go further. away from other people, away from anyone who might lock him up again. he sits up again and forces himself to stand and walk towards the sound of the stream. he can start there. water is important, and he might be able to get food from the little stream too. 

his first drink of the stream water is icy cold, quenching his lifelong thirst in just a few swallows. he washes his face with it, removing years of sweat and grime. he wants to sit by the stream forever if only he could, but the people will find him eventually if he doesn’t keep moving. but he allows himself a few minutes to bathe in the water, savoring the feeling of water on his skin. his stomach still growls, wanting something more filling than the freezing water of the stream, but that would have to wait. he needs to get his bearings. 

the light of the outside world is almost blinding, he realizes. the sun and the snow made it almost impossible to see anything. he should get up above the trees. can he even do that? cur memini, he says, trying to get his voice to be louder than a whisper. his feet float a few inches above the ground. he closes his eyes and says his spell again with more conviction. Cur Memini. he feels himself shooting into the air before he opens his eyes. he can see the forest stretch out for miles around him. trees covered in snow in every direction. if the old house is behind him, he should fly straight ahead, towards the forests on the mountains. tentatively, he leans forward and focuses his magic on keeping himself afloat. 

it doesn’t take much to exhaust what little magic he has, but he’s put more distance between himself and the old house and the people above now. he should be safe to rest, truly rest. but first he should find something to eat. is there anything to eat out here? something in his head tells him to look a little closer to the ground. to his left. there’s a bush full of berries. he’s never had anything but stale bread, and doesn’t know what to expect as he crushes one with his teeth. 

the sensation overtakes him for a brief moment. the berry is sweet, yet tart, and delicious. it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten and he thanks the little voice in his head for the information as he picks several more berries from the bush. the juice runs down his chin and makes him sticky, but it feels good. he feels truly alive for the first time. 

once he’s finished picking the bush clean of its fruits, he needs to find a place to rest, to stay warm. he’s shivering in the intense cold of the north, but it’s nothing he isn’t used to. the room was never very warm after all. he listens to the little voices calling out to him, guiding him towards a small cave, instructing him on how to make a small fire to warm himself up. a small rabbit brushes against his leg and he swears one of the voices is coming from it. and with the fire going, he thanks the rabbit before it hops away back into the snow. he would be roasting that same rabbit over the fire a few months later. 

the boy can’t stay in the cave forever though. as days turn to weeks turn to months, he worries that the people above are getting closer to him. they’ll put him back in that cold, dark, damp room again. he needs to keep moving. he has been practicing his magic, casting stronger spells, and he needs to be ready to fly. it's been long enough. cur memini he says holding his hand out. a rough stick with twigs tied to the end flies into his hand. it’s a poor excuse for what he understands is a broom, but it will work. he climbs onto it and focuses. cur memini cur memini cur memini. he lifts off the ground and watches as the branches of the trees get shorter and eventually he passes above the treetops. 

he takes a moment to gather his bearings. he no longer remembers the direction the house was in, but going up is his best bet of staying away from the people above. he laughs, realizing that he is the one above them now. after a moment, he flies into the mountains. the small voices change into bigger, unfamiliar ones as he gets further into the mountain range. they tell him to hide, to stay away. he doesn’t listen. they cannot be more dangerous than the humans he is running from. 

the boy lands, still exhausted from using so much magic, but he was able to travel further this time. that has to count for something, surely. he gathers some sticks and looks for another cave to make his home in. the caves remind him too much of the room he left, so he chooses to stay close to the entrance, close to the light that reminds him he is free. the fire keeps the animals away, but the voices are curious about the new presence in their woods. they make him curious too. he should stay in the cave tonight though and regain his energy. maybe he can get some small game to fill his stomach before settling in for the night. he listens for a rabbit’s voice, or maybe a squirrel, anything that would be small enough to kill with his hands. 

at last, a small fox’s voice is heard nearby. he wonders if fox will taste different from the other game he’s eaten thus far. he lifts a hand-sized rock and slinks out of the cave towards the voice. it takes a few minutes to find the source, but the fox is curled under a tree, shivering, hungry, just like him. the boy hesitates before bludgeoning it and slinging the corpse over his shoulders. there are more foxes. he is much more important. 

the fox is only the first animal he hunts in those mountainous woods. he spends several years in that forest and eventually humans settle up there as well. the boy, or rather, the man now, has made a name for himself amongst the human populations of the north. he is no longer afraid of humans capturing him and locking him up. they are still terrified of him, but now he is in control of that terror. the hunters that left his territory alive whispered tales of the great wizard owen who inhabited the mountains and terrorized anyone who had the bad luck of running into him. 

all of this is perfectly fine with owen. eventually his reputation will grow beyond himself, encapsulating atrocities that were impossible for even someone as strong as oz to commit, but that would be a problem for future owen. for now, he is still young and living in his cave on the outskirts of a small village and scaring hunters who stray too far from their boundaries. the wolves don’t like these visitors either and gladly listen to owen’s lamentations. it keeps his hands clean of the bloodshed if he isn’t casting the spell himself. the wolves don’t care for owen either, but they respect him. and that is enough for owen. 

the first of the unwanted visitors was a young man, someone who wanted to provide for his family. he pleaded with owen and the wolves to let him go and he wouldn’t cause any problems. those pleas fell on deaf ears though as owen looked the man in the eyes. won’t your family be disappointed, he asked almost innocently, you don’t have anything to show for your efforts. the man stammered a response, they’d rather i come back alive with nothing than die trying to find food. is that so, owen reached out for the man’s chin, the distance between their faces was almost nothing. y-yes, sir, please just let me go and i won’t bother you anymore. owen grinned. oh i’m sure you won’t be causing us any trouble again. the wolves stalked out of the woods, drooling at the prospect of tearing a piece of that man for themselves. owen snapped his fingers, and they came running forward, only to stop mere inches from the now trembling man. there was a suspicious yellow stain in the snow beneath him. p-p-please sir, anything you ask, it’s yours! then make sure you tell the rest of your little village that this forest belongs to the great wizard owen. the man ran off, leaving behind a hunting rifle and a ratty sack. the rifle would be of use, but the sack became tinder for his fires. 

despite the warning from that first man, hunters continued to enter into owen’s territory. and one after the other, they ran off screaming with their tails between their legs. this should have annoyed owen, that people would ignore all of the warnings and stories that had started popping up about him, but it doesn’t. their fear feeds into his magic power, only making him stronger, and that is all fine with owen. he is no longer a weak child locked in the damp, dark basement, and he never will be again. 

[snowcrowsy]

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[moonsidesong]

sighhgh. kinda missing my object era already. but i just cant put my heart in it rn man

[camvrin]

spit balling 🤓

self depreciation aside I'm AWARE that I'm one of the most generous and caring people you could come across if you're not a terrible person

and I will try and be there for you even if I don't like you

so sending me death threats over something that isn't even true when I literally looked out for you is a crazy thing to do 😭

[b4kuch1n]

bobby carruthers I understand u babe but what u have done is spilling blood all over ur sister as she watches her husband she's just learned catastrophic information about die in her arms. gods what a case

[catfishofoldin99colours]

I :) hate :) calling people :)

[princemick]

discovering things you can not yet handle while in recovery are as good as recovered is so shit

[orcelito]

2 hours zoned out catering prep while listening to trigun OST. 5 hours of stress stress stress stress becoming a bundle of nerves winding tighter and tighter and tighter until it begs for a release of Some kind, any kind, anything that would make the constant stream of customers and drinks and noise just STOP-

Then 1 hour, long hour, but calm hour, listening to trigun OST again and dealing with the aftermath. It did wonders for keeping me from biting my own arm off, but it still took. So long. Even with the help of my boss and the manager coming back from her catering thing, it still took about 20 mins over the hour (1 hr 20 mins when it usually takes 30 ish mins)

This was not a good day for me.

[phagodyke]

I still can't believe they're charging THAT much for the shadow of the erdtree dlc... for like 2/3 of the base game price there fucking better be 100+ hours of content in there 🤨

[bangcakes]

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[princessmyriad]

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[slightlymoldycadaver]

Idea for star trek character:

Star Fleet cadet gets sucked into a time anomaly, and keeps being spat out at random times and locations. Has zero control over where and when they end up or how long they'll be there.

Has a whole existential crisis, but then learns to just roll with it. Constantly references events that happened thousands of years ago or far in the future.

Very much a sad clown type of thing. They've mostly embraced the absurdism of the situation, but occasionally lets slip just how hopeless and resigned they are to their situation. They can't age, or die, or truly connect with any of the beings they meet.

Think like a powerless, secretly depressed Q.