#just a mention

[mel-loly]

-It's Mel Ravagear, again!!!❤️

I love his breast binding, like- idk, suits him very well and... I love it.. So and so much...💕 (also- the >feather< on the necklace is from @shootingstarciuu sona :3 <333)

[triple-pupil]

Fuck You, have WIPs I'll never finish. Part 1.

It's dick, he's talking about his boss's dick.

The second one.

The third one.

[rainydaywritesstuff]

My take on the Taylor and Brittany situation: yes you absolutely can have friends that have different opinions than you. But when those opinions are about human rights and Brittany is actively hurting POCs and the LGBTQ+ community… not a good look 😬

These things affect real people. Taylor hasn’t made a statement endorsing Kamala Harris. That’s okay, of course. She’s on the biggest tour in history and she’s trying to keep thousands of fans safe every night. I think people forget that. But… hugging a Trump supporter?? Not a good look. There’s subtle things she can do to support Harris. There are.

This election is one of the most important in history, if not the most important. If Trump is elected, millions of people will have their rights stripped away from them. Yes Kamala is not a perfect choice. Not by a long run. But sometimes we just need to suck it up and get someone in office that will prevent unspeakable things from happening.

And to the people saying “it’s not her job to speak out she doesn’t have to!” Lives are on the line. Rights are on the line. Rights of her beloved LGBTQ+ community that she has claimed to support. It’s pretty damn important to speak out and it is her responsibility. It is. She is maybe the person with the biggest audience in the world right now. By speaking out at some point or at least signaling to people her views on this election, she can save literal lives. She can save people from having babies they don’t want. She can save marital rape from being legalized. Yes, I fully and truly believe that one person can sway the vote that much.

It is her duty to protect those fans that she loves so much. And by actively being friends with a Trump supporter, she’s doing the exact opposite of protecting us.

And before anyone says “oh you’re just one of those Taylor haters!” I love her music. I grew up listening to her. But she has changed as a person and we can realize that. This isn’t just about politics. This is about the lives and wellbeing of millions of people.

If you don’t agree with this, that’s alright! But please be kind. Just block me if you really want to. No threats, yeah?

[kits-ships]

ok time to go shower hopefully no pr/oshipper sends me death threats while im gone hjkgfgd

[kanicrow]

I know i’m just silly and delusional but I am convinced there’s gonna be a mcga cameo in tsats. PLEASE I NEED TO SEE THEM AGAIN

[imheredisappointingmyparents]

Japan. Cassaras and Thea's Asian dad discuss her adopting by Cassis. They sit at a restaurant. Cassaras: sees Geto Geto: also sees Cassaras Cassaras and Geto: intense staring Cassaras, in English: Dude, you give me existential crisis Geto: Yeah, you give me one too Thea's Asian dad: You both make me question reality Gojo: Suguru, if we had a child that would be him Cassaras: Geto: Thea's Asian dad: Gojo: Wut?

[theinfinitelibrarysystem]

i'm transgender. i've been on T for over a year, but i still think i don't pass, so whenever i bring it up in conversation with a stranger (eg; talking about recent social changes and saying i recently got the right to change my legal name without going to family court) they're usually VERY surprised.

because i look like i'm cis. i bind or use tape daily, i wear baggy clothes, but that fits with my grungy punk vibe. i have some facial hair, wispy bits all over that i'm sure will be a majestic beard later on, a few pimples every now and then. i look like what i am, a teenage boy. (thank fuck for my supportive parents and very cheap/free healthcare) but i don't think i fully got over being this androgynous, angsty 14 year old defending myself against the transphobes online and at my old school. i don't think i got over it. i'm a young man with so much to do, and finally the world sees me as i am. i'll never be quiet about my transness, but it's nice to know that i am seen as a male first, and transgender much later when i let them know.

[trzcinawtrawiewrites]

All For the Game - Neil Has a Brother AU (an exceprt)

TW: a slight mention of blood, implied minor character death, AFTG-typical things ig

“Teach me how to play,” his brother asks him after they washed off all the blood and ash and burned the clothes that had their mother’s blood on them.

“Teach me how to protect myself,” he asks him in return, and Nathaniel smiles, his ice-cold eyes hidden behind the contacts, and for the first time, Michael doesn’t see their father in his smile.

He nods and holds his hand as they get on the bus to another city, new documents in their pockets, hair dyed black, new names on their tongues.

“Hi, my name is Neil. What’s yours?”

“Hi, Neil. My name is Marc. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

Just a little silly something for the fandom. I'm not working on it right now, sadly, but I remembered that I wrote this after reading other works for this fandom on AO3, so here it is.

[badger-bah]

The difference between the singlet side of mogai and anti endo system coiners is crazy

It's pretty much a given that I've seen in the mogai community now that terms are free to be used by whoever, even if u don't like or agree w them

U can't stop ppl from identifying w a term

Yet I keep seeing anti-endo system term coiners straight up saying endos can't even use the term

Yeah obviously respect ppls dni's, but if the role they coined applies to us I'm gonna use it???

It's baffling

[fistfuloflightning]

Curufin doesn’t think much, there at the end. She can feel the floor, unpleasantly warm and sticky against her cheek. There’s the sideways shuffle of feet and fighting, all greyed-out smudges as her vision fades.

There is someone calling her name, she thinks, but she’s too tired to raise her head. The Oath has weighed heavily on her and it has drained her until she is little more than a wraith herself. Footsteps close by and more voices. A golden head falls to the floor next to her and her stuttering heart falters within her. But no, it is more silver than gold. He’s long dead anyway.

Does regret mean anything when one is at Mandos’ doorstep? Curufin finds she doesn’t care. She’s lived with it long enough. And if the Valar wish curses upon her for her loyalty and dedication to her father’s pledge, she will take it as a proud daughter of Fëanor.

She dies there, on Menegroth’s blood-caked floor.

 Yet her dreams are still those of one with regrets. They follow her in the shadowed Halls, lurking at the edges of her sight. And slowly she feels herself yielding. The armor cracks, the festering wounds split open and painfully knit back together.

 And when she wakes, she wakes in water.

She’s floating on her back, hair rippling about her head and naked as the day of her birth. There is something tapping against her side, her arms. Lily pads, Curufin thinks with all the disinterest of one who has spent the majority of her life in the semi-darkness of a forge. Lilies or perhaps even lotissë. But she’s too weary to open her eyes to check. The flowers’ perfume is everywhere, accompanied by the bright fresh smell of green growing things. The sun is warm on her skin, broken occasionally by the shadows of leaves.

She has no desire to think.

Memories lurk about the edges of her mind but they are as fleeting as fish beneath a lake’s surface. A flicker of hands guiding hers over shaped steel, golden hair warm on her skin, a small dark head cradled against her breast. They wash through her and Curufin no longer knows what are dreams and what are not.

Gentle hands draw her up out of the water and down into a boat and Curufin at last opens her eyes. The eyes looking down into hers are bird-like, bright and unlike any of the Eldar. A maia, then. “Curufinwë Atarinkë, daughter of Fëanor.” Scaled hands curl around hers, so much larger yet infinitely gentle.

Her lips part, but no sound comes out. She knows her own name. The meaning behind it eludes her. Unable to answer, she looks away. Willow trees are draped around them, leafy curtains trailing gracefully in the water, shadowing the blanket of white-petaled lotissë.

The maia guides the boat to a stone dock and helps her off. “Wait here,” the maia says in its soft chirping voice after it clothes her in a simple robe and sits her in a pavilion overlooking the Gardens.

Wait for what? She sits in silence, memories slowly knitting back together. And when another elf approaches, the rich gold of his hair sparks a mess of grief and yearning. When he sits beside her, Curufin meets his eyes. But they are proper Noldorin grey, not the warm sea blue she knows. “… Lókë?”

“Ammë.”

And that’s… that’s all wrong.

But she knows. Knows this stranger with her eyes.

“Gwinig nin,” she murmurs, fingers touching his chin. She hasn’t seen him since he was no more than a babe in arms, scarce three winters old when she had been exiled from Nargothrond.

“Celebrimbor took you,” Curufin says suddenly. And now she remembers with painstaking clarity the way her eldest son had turned his back to her, shielding his younger brother’s eyes from the hatred and disgust thrown their way. Kinslayer. And worse.

“He did. He watched over me,” Gildor explains patiently.

Her lips twist bitterly. “He did a much better job of it than I did.”

His hands curl around hers. He has Nerdanel’s hands, strong but gentle. “You never had the opportunity.” Gildor’s words are sad.

What is past is past. Curufin breathes deeply and lets her eyes fall shut. “I never did. But that was my mistake.”

She hears light footsteps behind her but she does not release her grip on her youngest son. They stop behind her and the warmth she feels almost makes her weep. She had grown cold, her petals frozen in the winter of the Oath.

But there is a sigh bearing three Ages of the world and a hand against her cheek, warm as sunlight and just as gentle. And this time, she knows exactly who it is. Eyes still closed, she leans into the hand. “Lókë,” she murmurs.

And Finrod’s voice is as shattered as she feels. “Lotissë.”

[tiberius-delvaux]

TASK 001: THE REAPING (PT. 3 | DEAD END)

Bramble spent her last hour in Eleven giving orders. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” her hands clutched at Nettle, gripping the back of her blouse. Funny, how even now, they played their roles. Even now, Bram knew she had to steer them, had to get them down this dead-end road. “Listen to me. Joe’s lists are in the closet. Bottom right, under the loose floorboard. You get them, and you bring them to him, okay?” Nettle was sobbing, soaking the front of Bram’s dress. 

“My ring’s not done, but it’s in my sewing box under the bed. Take it to Sloyd. He’ll finish it as a favor.” The Peacekeepers were here now; she felt their gloved hands on her arms, pulling her back. Bram wanted to scream, but she was unnaturally calm. She wanted to fight, but if she stayed, Nettle would be shot. They’d seen it happen before. Everyone was on edge in Eleven; it wouldn’t take much for them to raise a gun. “I love you. You gotta let go now. I love you. You gotta let go–”

Joe came to her first. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asked, pissed that he’d left Nettle alone.

But he didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to fight her, fruitless an endeavor as it was. Instead, Joe grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her close. She wasn’t a touchy person. Not usually. Strangers were plentiful, and Nettle was the charmer, but Bram had worked hard for her family. She wanted the closeness, their affection and touch. And here, in her father’s arms, she could feel her resolve weaken. “Joe–”

“Are you comin’ home?” 

“Joe–”

“Are you?”

Bram closed her eyes. She wouldn’t lie. Her last words to him would not be a lie.

“No.”

He nodded. He’d known. 

She began to recite the same information she’d given Nettle, when they thought Joe was only losing one daughter. Where to find the lists. The packages they were going to deliver next on the berry trucks. Their rings, unfinished. Their lives, unfinished. But it was quick, pushed out with shallow breaths because time was fleeting here. Bram would be alright. Nettle needed him more.

“I love you,” she said, holding regret for all the years she thought it, felt it, and kept it close. “Go. Be with her. I’m ready.”

Joe kissed Bram’s face. Once, on her forehead, where in the weeks before, Nettle had smeared the berry juice that would bind them together in this life and the next. 

“I love you, dad.”

She let him go.

“I love you too.”

He turned, and she watched him walk the length of the room, to the door, back up a dead end road.

[desiderium-eden]

The Praiivar

The Praiivar refer to the deities of Ishbaran. Or rather, what's become of them.

Due to a long forgotten conflict that happened seemingly an eternity ago, the divine presence in the realm had fallen. The realm torn down to a fraction of what it used to be. Lush landscapes turned into near endless deserts with rare oases sprinkled about. A land of eternal night because the sun had long died, having been killed off first. The gods now devoid of the worship needed to sustain them.

The Praiivar are separated into two categories: the Praiita and the Ixva.

The Praiita are the larger group, encompassing not only Ishbaran's fallen gods but also the fallen of other realms that come (or get dumped) there to die. Mutated and corrupted into mindless monsters that populate the deserts of the realm. They are no more than hunger and violence given shape. No more traces of their former glory. They attack and consume any and everyone and thing they come across to survive.

Compared to the numbers of the Praiita, the Ixva (pronounced "ish-val") are but a handful of beings. The family of Sorem, the last of the old divinity and former goddess of Spring and Beauty. Her "children" are the remnants of the gods of old. The souls of the children of the long gone goddesses, ripped out before their enslavers could kill them. Kept alive in a pocket realm on bits and slivers of Sorem's own soul. Frozen in time. Awaiting their turn to be born.

Due to the complicated natures of their beings, their own souls and power are unstable upon entering the world. Desperate for "worship" to sustain themselves and their lives. And they've found the easiest way to do this... is to consume the souls and powers of other gods. Whether it be the weakened gods of other realms (their names threatening to vanish from memory), the Praiita ... or their siblings.

They will do what it takes to survive.

[some-pers0n]

Hey you ever think about The Characters so much to the point where

[oldtvandcomics]

HEY GUYS!!

GUYS!!!

FRANCE HAS REACHED THE REQUIRED NUMBER OF SIGNATURES ON THE CITIZEN'S INITIATIVE AGAINST CONVERSION THERAPY IN THE EU!!

ONE COUNTRY DOWN, SIX TO GO!!

We also need still quite a few signatures in order to reach the one million required.

As to date, the six other countries with the most signatures are:

Spain - 38.72%

Finland - 30.31%

Ireland - 24.86%

Netherlands - 24.15%

Germany - 23.54%

Belgium - 23.09%

So yeah, still a long way to go, but we ARE slowly getting closer. Don't stop now! Don't let this stay within the community, either, if you have any friends or family who are open to queer rights, get them to sign, too!

[spookygibberish]

OK SO I WAS WALKING DOWN THE STREET IN THE RAIN AT 2AM AND I SAW AN ANIMAL RUNNING DOWN THE ROAD AND SO I GRABBED IT AND

IT WAS THIS

[whaledocboi]

ai generated images make me increasingly sad and tired the more i see them in more and more casual contexts. i dont know how to explain, but it just fills the world with a bunch of nothing. no matter how visually stunning the pictures might be, there's nothing behind it for me. no dedication, no emotions, no feelings, no hard work or creativity, nothing i can truly think about, admire or enjoy. i dont think thats how art is supposed to be