#i don't have a tag for this

[neurodecadence]

[formerlyashkatom]

I don't want to reblog it because there are so many bad takes on it but there's a post in my for you quoting a tweet that says 'I'm an ally, but gay people make a lot of really bad webcomics. Not my business but you should figure this out internally probably'

counterpoint: bad webcomics are the backbone of society, let people cook.

[misdreavusplush]

@radaverse i'm likee freezing from your coolness!!!

[creakybonesss]

Idk

[cb-writes-stuff]

THE SNIPPET!!!

I am so excited to share this with y’all. This is the opening scene of the novel I’m working on, which at the moment doesn’t have a proper title. I don’t really have much to say about it, so I’ll just get right to it.

Edit: Added a cut. This post is only for the dedicated

There was barely time to react.

Stepping through the door, Nauth caught something in the corner of his eye. Something glinting in the dark. Instincts kicking in, he jumped back, but it wasn’t enough. A dagger blade cut through tunic and shirt, met skin, stung his arm. The attacker took another stab and swung, forcing a retreat.

Nauth grabbed a stool, flinging it at the black figure with the dagger. He ran out the back door, not waiting to see if it connected.

Hopping over the parapet of the small courtyard, he looked to his left and right. The sun had set and the streets were lit by soft lantern light. The streets were empty. The streets were quiet.

A clatter. A glance. The attacker in the doorway.

Nauth turned left and bolted down the street. A second set of footfalls was coming closer.

Sprinting through the gate, guards shouted at the both of them. Nauth ignored it. Turn down this street, and that one, weaving his way west. In the Market District, he could get lost in the crowd.

The streets were stained in rainbow hues by the light filtered through multicolor canvas canopies. However thin, the crowd would be enough. Turning a corner, he looked back.

The figure in black was gone.

Nauth stopped running. Panting, he looked around. His arm stung. His lungs burned. He scanned the crowd. No figure in black.

Finally, a moment to rest. He inspected the cut through the hole in his clothes. Only surface-level. It would heal. He looked down one street, and shook his head. Turning down another, he walked. Quickly. Leaving the Market District, making his way east. He couldn’t be sure he was safe.

On the way, he took stock of what he had. His cloak. A water bag. A satchel, and a couple belt pouches. A coin purse, light. His sandals. It would have to do.

At the stables, he picked out a brown gelding, sleek and quick, saddled it, and mounted. The horse obliged. Nauth did his best not to look nervous guiding it through the streets.

At the north gate, white-cloaked men and women made vigil, ringing soft bells at regular intervals. They gave Nauth warm smiles before shifting to an expression of concern. He repaid their smiles with a grimace. He didn’t want to flee on such a night, but he had no choice. He urged the horse on, into the dark.

What had happened? How had it happened? Nauth shook his head, trying to make sense of it. The past week had been so normal. Why now? And why at all?

[wtffundiefamilies]

Who else didn’t make the cut?

[mcytblingsbracket]

I predict that Viking will find you by the end of the day as well, assuming he hasn't already

*insert fan creator sobbing*

Ruby and Viking fans, what have you done to me? /vsilly

I don't even know these CCs HOW DID YOU FIND ME *points*

(lol this is hilarious)

[sullfurtv]

Orange juice that defies gravity 😍

Pipe needs his late night snacks

[mirabilefuturum]

“I am the legitimate representative of the Palestinian children. The child within me speaks: I don’t want somebody coming from London or somebody coming from the other side of the world to tell me what is the struggle of the Palestinian children. The Palestinian society has been hijacked by criminals and anybody who takes their side is participating in their crime.”

“We have to separate between what is the so-called Palestinian cause and Hamas cause. This is my message as an ex-Hamas member, as a son of one of Hamas founders, enough of this. If we don’t stop them now, the next war is going to be deadlier, and only God knows what will happen next.”

https://www.timesofisrael.com/son-of-hamas-in-interview-terrorists-brought-wrath-of-god-with-october-7-attack

[neurodecadence]

Made another short signs story. It's about a lot of things, really.

[midnightwinterhawk]

Shout out to the person who went through and liked about 90 of my Hawkeye posts while I was asleep. You have excellent taste.

[stargatelov3r]

thank you for tagging me @mathgirl24!

rules: type your favorite color into pinterest (google also works) and make a moodboard

tagging @aurelia-which-means-sunrise @kira-nerys-rocks and @foxmuld3r <3

[callofdooty]

Crack WIP

I've been posting so much these past couple days, I do apologise. There is more to come. Recent writing sprint got very, very amusing when we were given crack prompts.

One of the prompts was Soulmates + Telepathy. So I decided on the crackship of Louse (Logan+Mouse) and thus, this shit was born. Turns out it's hard to be scary when your captive knows what you're thinking.

-

(Look at this fuckin--)

They both pause. And then they squint.

(-... Wait..)

Mirroring each other again, their eyes widen, and Logan's already lamenting before he can even assess the situation properly.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You? You're my soulmate?"

"Oh charmed." She snaps back with a sneer and a roll of her eyes, "Yeah believe it or not, this isn't exactly how I imagined meeting the irritatin' bastard in my head, either."

Indignation flared inside of him, and he found himself mentally spluttering, which causes the little bastard to laugh.

"Ohh, this is gonna be a riot," a wicked grin flashes onto her face, a twisted touch of glee shining in her eyes. "Aye, g'won then! Try n' stay intimidatin' when I can hear all two of your braincells clackin' 'round in that thick skull!" She breaks out into a fit of laughter then, curling in on herself with heaves of chortles.

"This doesn't make sense..." Logan shakes his head with a frustrated frown, scratching at the back of his neck. "Why didn't we figure this out sooner...? We literally... Work on opposing sides...? Surely we should've...?"

"Honestly, I thought you were just some weird conspiracy theorist." She snorted, "Not sure which scenario I prefer honestly. On one hand, it would've been entertaining, and probably far less disappointing-"

"Hey!-"

"Buuuut this is also wonderfully fucked for you, innit? Not that you were ever intimidatin' in the first place, doe-eyes."

"Swear to fucking god, I'll kill you right now."

"I'd like to see you try." Jesus fucking christ that smirk is infuriating. And thinking that only makes it worse as her amusement gleams brighter. "Stop starin' at it then, if it distracts you so much."

[wondermumbles]

what do artists mean when they say Tumblr butchers the quality of their images? I assume they mean jpeg compression, but uh... I'm looking at your art on a phone screen, or zoomed halfway out on my 1080p PC monitor. I am not going to notice the difference. you're probably the only person who's ever going to notice

[meolcwifes]

Friday: one week before Independence Day. Legislature Terminal is ignoring a message. It's on her pad, an inch or two from her hand. She's seen the notification, indeed it's nestled itself into her visual memory; she knows who sent it, and knows she does not want particularly to speak to her. Instead, she pours the contents of her can of Spirit 28, so cold you can scarcely taste the beer, into a glass and continues to give the message as little attention as she can.

The air feels limp and muggy as she sits by the open window, and the sky over the city has its usual haze: green-grey-brown, depending on whom you ask, with a muzzy bright spot somewhere overhead that marks out the distant sun. Behind her, the Giants are playing on the TV over the bar — an away game in Aeolis. She can't muster the nostalgia to turn around to watch, but it's nice to hear they're doing well this season. Fourth in the league; better than they've been in years.

This message on her pad: she can ignore it, but she can't do so indefinitely. Though she wishes it could be otherwise, the message when finally answered will lead to a meeting, and that meeting will be a necessary one. Business depends upon its occurrence. She has picked a bar, accordingly, an aloof ten minutes away from Memorial Square — her eventual rendezvous point. Close enough that she can make her meeting, when it comes, without undue delay; far enough that it doesn't feel as if she's waiting for it. She can sit here and enjoy, insofar as she is able, the ambience of a tourist bar with enough aŭtenteco still remaining to charge only a couple of dollars for a Spirit, and this is enough to assuage that part of herself which can be contented with an act of petty and symbolic defiance.

Her thoughts drift as she drinks her beer. It was a Friday when she was here last, wasn't it? Maybe even Independence Day, though she wouldn't swear by it. Not enough tourists in her memory, for that to be true. Why does it have to be her, she thinks. Of every fed with whom I could work, why her. And why on planet? The docking orbitals may have stale air and lack the room to stand up straight, but at least I wouldn't be stuck drinking Spirit. At least she could get away, retreat; she could boot up her engines and in mere hours be comfortably alone in outer space. She thinks: thank god I'm not in Tyrrhena; I might die if I had to see a parade.

Her resolve to ignore her pad eddies: reluctance, anticipation, let's-get-this-done resignation. Irritation. She puts in the number and calls. 'Harbour? This is Legislature. I'll see you in ten.'

[wtffundiefamilies]