#lost supports project

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thank you all for an incredible 500 days of love and support. I offer you: answers to questions that no one has asked.

(As always, more can be found in the tags <3)

[smile-files]

NO ONE ELSE CAN HELP YOU

NO ONE ELSE CAN HELP YOU

(objectober 2024 day 20: dream)

[sivon-acidwyrm-collections]

A low effort comic of my canonical mpn2 experience (I played as Jeb during this part of the stage)

[alexjcrowley]

Men be like "Ah ah! These women think they can fix us" and then support Ferrari

[st4rsinthenight]

★rotemntee. rottmnt. rotemntee. rottmnt. guys. guys I think I'm. I'm gonna erh supernova.★

[androgynouspenguinexpert]

has anyone else noticed the android being weird lately

[duketibbitswaifu]

🌸 Selfshiptober 🌸 💗 Day 11 : Comfort | Recovery 💗

🌸 TW// drug abuse mention, suicidal ideation mention 🌸

"Rosemary"

My ears perk up, a familiar croaky voice breaking my concentration. We're usually both asleep by now, but I was up working on my project. We had been sleeping together for nearly a year now, but he had affirmed me that it wouldn't be a problem for him.

I turn to him. He was standing in the doorway, his eyes sunken and tired. He was wearing his same battered wifebeater, and just some underwear: his normal sleeping garment. His wrinkles were highlighted by the dim light coming from my laptop screen.

"Duke? Are you okay?" I call out. His face lowered, and he scratched the back of his head.

"I was just thinkin'. Layin' in bed without you..." He paused, as if he shouldn't be saying anything right now. "It made me think how much I need you in my life. I don't want anything to help to you."

I invite him to sit with me, patting the cushion beside me. He takes the offer, coming into full vision. I could see his eyes are wet, and he's shaking a little.

"What happened at the lake..." He says it in a murmur, but it's enough to make my heart beat faster. I almost forgot about the lake. I peer down at my wrist. The bruise had nearly healed, being just a pale yellow now, but the memory was fresh in my mind again.

"I just wanted to apologize.... for everything." He takes a pause every so often, like he's trying to find the words to say next. His voice is shaky, contrasting his usual iron-tough nature. His eyes were darting to place to place, everywhere but me. "Me and Janice have been talking, about how I should tell you this."

I cup his cheek in my palm, running over his large scar. "Duke, you can tell me. Please, you mean so much to me."

His amber eyes finally meet mine. He takes a deep breath, in and out. "Rachel... my last wife."

His breathing erupts again, his eyes turning into a flowing fountain. He falls into my shoulder, sobbing. He wraps his arms around me, holding me as if he's afraid to let go, like I'd be washed away into nothing.

"It was all my fault. It's my fault she died. It should'a been me. I used to wish every day it was me instead of her. I used to just put that shit in my body, hopin' to some damed god it'd make the pain go away. I used t'see her all the damn fuckin' time."

He had more scars than you could see. No matter how many times I've explored his body, taking note of each blemish and scab, taking note of all the roads his wrinkles lead; there was still scars deep down.

"I saw in her that lake. I haven't seen her in so long, but I saw her in that lake."

I freeze. Thoughts start running through my head, trying to process everything I just heard. I don't recall anything but us two at the pond, and I've always had the ability to feel nearby spirits. And he's been weening off the drugs ever since we met.

But now my focus is on him himself. I run my hand through his tousled, slicked back hair. "Baby, it's-" and now I'm crying. "It's okay. It's not your fault."

"I just don't want to lose you. You mean too much to me."

"I'm not going anywhere."

He peers into my eyes, his breathing growing steady. He falls into my arms, letting himself go limp again, allowing me to bear his weight.

"I love you Dukey."

"I love you too, Rose. I won't let anything happen to you."

I decided my project can wait. We slept together in the living room that night. We covered ourselves in the blankets we drape around the chairs.

We held each other close. I could hear his breathing as I fell asleep. It was much more steady than before. And even though I could hardly see him, I can tell he looked a lot more comfortable.

-----

You must've been lookin' for me Sendin' smoke signals Pelicans circling Burnin' trash out on the beach 🌺 Smoke Signals - Phoebe Bridgers [ ♡ ]

[drywallwords]

The Looking-Glass Self

I have way too many thoughts on a butch Oriana. I thought to finally post a fic from AO3 from several days ago. If future me is feeling particularly wild, ze would write a collection of fics around this topic because the idea hasn't left my mind.

----

You watch her from the bed, entertained. Oriana is in the bathroom. Your bathroom. At five AM. Warm light floods from the ceiling, spilling into the main room's early dark-blue hues, as she tries to get ready for the day.

Her fingers are shiny from grease, constantly combing through thick dark hair, her lip bitten in thought and annoyance. It's when she gives up she turns around to see you awake. Her expression of frustration takes subservience as eyes take in your body— her countenance darkens and it makes your fingers curl into the sheets.

You clear your throat, interrupting the silence. Interrupting what might come next if you didn't focus on other things.

"Why don't you just cut it even shorter? Y'know, like mine?" You mimic the movement of running your hand through your hair. Long in the front, faded in the back. Cut like all the boys you sorta liked in high school, until you realized that what you wanted was to be like them. Kinda.

Oriana scoffs, and you catch the bitterness—nothing at all like dark chocolate—like cyanide. Her jaw clenches as you push yourself off the bed to approach.

She straightens, looking at you through the hotel mirror.

Two faces: yours— almost intimidating, with your permanent dark circles and eye creases. But your cheeks are soft; Oriana's face is all angles. You know from experience that her face is at least warm, at least alive, evidence of a beating, tender heart at the core of her.

She takes a deep breath and reaches over, her long fingers play with the dark, loose strands of hair at the top of your head. You ignore the goosebumps that form as you let her, fiddling with your toothbrush you absentmindedly picked up.

"You need to get cleaned up yourself," Oriana scoffs.

"Me? Please. I always look good when I roll out of bed…" 

"Hmm," She scrutinizes, as she flicks a hair sticking up from the top of your head. Your smug smile turns into a frown. "You need a shower."

Your frown sinks a touch deeper. "Ouch."

And still, her hand glides from the top of her head, fingers gently tracing down your scalp to the base of your neck. It's a move that has you erupt in goosebumps, standing statue-still as you grip the side of the bathroom counter.

"I used to cut my hair as short as yours," Oriana says blandly, feeling the part that used to be buzzed at the base of your neck. Her fingers are aimless, ghosting. You struggle to listen to her words. "Wore a tie too." Oriana bit her lip. "When saw you in the magazine, dressed up the same way…"

You whip yourself out of your feelings to make a joke. "I'm handsome, I know." You flash her a cheeky grin.

Oriana scoffs again and rolls her eyes. "That, and another thing. I felt longing when I looked at you." Her voice turns even softer, more tender. She removes her hand at your neck and runs it through her hair again, and a few strands seem to pop up out of place. "You, as yourself, surrounded by friends who accepted you for who you are."

You feel a smile coming at the memory of that day's photo shoot, only for you to think of Oriana. "And you? What about you?"

Something in her face pinches— a feeling of frustration creeps across Oriana's face before it hides away again, under a veneer of stoicism. She no longer looks at her reflection, burning holes into the tiles that line the hotel bathroom. "…Whether or not the people around me accept me doesn't matter." She bites her lip. "Except—"

"—it very much does." You reach out and touch her shoulder, feeling her warm skin underneath her blouse. "Not in the way that you want."

Oriana nods. She holds your gaze. Squeezes your hand. "Exactly. This… professionalism. It's essential." 

A deep sigh escapes your throat. You know why. You know it when you occasionally glance on the internet, watch TV, overhear people behind you— even before fame, existing in public alone was a special kind of hell. The bathrooms were never safe, looking the way you do.

It made you wish you were what others expected you to be just to make life easier. But you knew if you returned to how things were before, it would break you.

So you persist. 

To Oriana, what would it be like? To reach a point in your life where you're are finally yourself, only to turn away from the things that give you joy?

"…I don't know how you do it." You shake your head. "Hiding yourself from the world. It was easier when Seven was around, but I couldn't stop when she was gone."

Oriana smiles in a way that doesn't reach her eyes. "That's what makes me different from you."

It could be a million things, you think. Fear. The pressure to be palatable, professional, in the sense that looked down on people like you. Exhaustion.

Being alone.

Removing yourself from the bathroom, you grab something from your suitcase laid at the foot of your bed. Once you find it, you wedge between the mirror and Oriana, blocking her view of herself. She peers down at you, brows furrowed in confusion. 

The tie is in your hands and you wrap it around her collar.

"I'm wearing a blouse. Not a dress shirt."

"C'mon, can't you play pretend?" You whine, already going through the motions of tying the tie. Cross wide, over narrow, and turn back underneath.

"Ridiculous." Oriana sighs, but there's no venom behind her words. Bring it up and turn down through the loop. She is pliant as she tilts her head upward so you have more space to move your fingers, occasionally brushing underneath her neck once in a while just to feel.

Pass the wide end around the front. Then, pull it up through the loop and pull down.

Swallowing hard, you smile triumphantly, and move out of the way so Oriana could see. "Done."

She leans closer towards the mirror to inspect your work.  The short collar of the blouse is forever upturned by the thicker tie, clearly not made to accommodate such an accessory. "A half-Windsor knot? I would've gone for a Four-in-the-Hand, it's slimmer—"

"—oh my God," You close your eyes and sigh. "It's the only tie I know."

When you look back at Oriana, she is smiling wide at you, soft and fond and bright. So bright. You swear that the room had gotten brighter… or that time had passed and the sun is higher in the sky. 

The smile on her face only grows when she looks back at herself, a little ridiculous in her outfit, the tie a little askew. She tugs on it, fixing it a little, and Oriana stands a little straighter. 

"Hold still."

You momentarily don't know what to do when Oriana reaches over with a palm over your cheek. Her eyes flutter shut as her lips meet yours. You sink into Oriana's warmth, her strong arms holding you. When you break apart you breathe in her hotel-laundered clothes, her perfume, the scent of the gel she uses in her hair. You have to place a finger on her lips to stop her from kissing you again.

It's so easy to kiss her nowadays. In your off-hours, it's all you want to do. But instead, you say, "Ri. Listen to me. We have each other now, don't we?" You look at her, pleading. "You can rely on me. If there's anything I could do to make your life easier—"

Oriana holds your finger in her hand and kisses the tip of it. Her eyes are downcast again, looking far-off. You never know what she's thinking for sure. 

"No." She says it so flippantly you rear back. Her eyes narrow, and she lets go of your finger gently. "…Not yet," She says in the softest voice you've ever heard her use.

"No?" You vocalize back.

Oriana pulls you into an embrace. "I'm not ready."

"Okay." You press your lips together and nod. 

(Also on AO3)

[r0semultiverse]

These organizations supporting KOSA going through while claiming they want to help marginalized kids are actually so disgusting to me. The posts they make about Nex is just virtue signaling & words when their actions say let’s make things worse for these children.

I’m gonna be 100% honest, they should keep that kid’s name out of their damn mouths so long as they support KOSA. Like actually fuck you & eat shit. Actions speak louder than words, traitorous scumbags. You don’t care, you care about your stakeholders more.

Your organization can only thrive & exist so long as there’s a problem to donate towards solving. Of course you would support KOSA, you need a problem to keep existing in order to look like the good guys & solve it. Just go mask off & call us slurs & your “customers” at this point, it would be less disgusting than covering it up behind kind words.

[vivy-nx]

hi!! look at my cool kirby walking simulator fangame i made over the course of last year!! i worked very hard on it!! it's downloadable for windows and linux!

[madwickedawesome]

they dont know i spent hours of my life subtitling all of 2016 ride the cyclone only for the captioned boot to get taken down within like a week

[unchained-hound]

Honestly, I think that people having an issue with Viv donating 5k to Lackadaisy isn't because she donated, it was the manner of the announcement itself. I've been a fan of her work for a while, but posting about it and outright showing the amount she donated on her Twitter... even as a fan of hers the manner of it really rubbed me the wrong way, particularly because she posted a pic of the donation. It almost felt as if she was showing off.

If she had just posted saying something along the lines of "We at Spindlehorse donated to help fund Lackadaisy! It's a fantastic indie project that really needs more love, go support them if you can!" and left it at that (maybe having a link to the Kickstarter but even that text alone could have worked) with no clarification on the donation size, that would have been fine. I don't think anyone would have had issue with that.

As it was, outright showing the donation amount seemed less "Support Lackadaisy, they're awesome!" and more "Look how much I donated!"

Anon you literally just admitted people are doing pic related

[payphoneangel]

the finale was bullshit for a lot of reasons but one thing i feel like we gloss over is that series finale Sam would be an absolute dog shit father.

[draw-you-coward]

me realizing retrospectively that i didn’t just “randomly” turn my roza series into a romance because it actually largely pivots around trahearne’s death (even when it’s not directly stated) and how the fallout of it is the centerpoint of roza’s trauma and trust/abandonment issues

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

today's vetted campaigns. please continue to donate if you have the means and share as widely as you can regardless. the individuals on here go through so much every day just to communicate their stories to us - let's uphold that trust by showing them as much support as we can.

july 15th:

Hadeel Mikki (pregnant and needs perinatal care), her husband Waseem, their two young daughters, and Hadeel's mother and two brothers (they are the only survivors of her family) (€5,091/€35,000) - @hadeelmekki, verified by @/90-ghost

Aspiring doctor Malak Dader, her six siblings (they've already lost her teenage brother, and two of her younger brothers need medical treatment), and her parents (one injured, one sick with hepatitis) (€110/€25,000) - @malakabed, verified by @/90-ghost

Mohammed Al-Habil (needs urgent surgery after being shot in the leg), his five siblings (one of whom is immune-compromised and has congenital heart disease), their mother, and his widowed sister-in-law ($5,713 CAD/$70,000 CAD) - @mohammedalhabil2000, verified by @/90-ghost

Hanaa Jad Al-Haq, her husband Muhammad Hammad, and their little son Yousef (£2,675/£20,000) - @henomohammed, @hanaajad123, #246 on @/nabulsi and @/el-shab-hussein's spreadsheet

Salam, her husband Mohammad, and their two little children (€17,365/€40,000) - @save-salam-family, verified by @/90-ghost

Aya Maher, her three younger siblings (two under 18), and their mother (€4,920/€25,000) - @ayamaher444, #216 on @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi's spreadsheet

The AlBalawi family of ten, including several children and two chronically ill members who need treatment (€24,200/€50,000) - @bisanalbalawi18, @elbalawi, @yasminalbalawiigaza, verified by @/90-ghost

The Ayyad family of eight, four of whom are children ($24,842/$35,000) - @aymanayyad82, @mayadayyad81, @aymanayyad1, verified by @/nabulsi

Munna Tashmali and her five children (this is the third time they've lost their home) (£3,269/£30,000) - @monashamali, verified by @/nabulsi

Maha Ibrahim, her husband Ahmed Al-Habil, and their two young children, one who is immune-compromised, and the children's sick grandfather (kr34,626 NOK/kr1,067,200 NOK) - @mahaibrahim12, @ahmedkhabil, #79 on butterfly effect project's spreadsheet

Ahmed Baalousha, his wife Islam, their three children (one a newborn), and Ahmed's parents and sister (€15,802/€50,000) - @5735765, @mahmoudbalousha4, #124 on @/nabulsi and @/el-shab-hussein's spreadsheet

Mohammed Al Manasra (needs treatment for chronic respiratory illness and a leg injury), his wife (also sick, needs chemotherapy), their three little children, and their cat (the family has already lost many extended members) (€26,790/€40,000) - @save-mohamed-family, #192 on @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi's spreadsheet

Hanaa Al-Lulu (needs treatment for a painful foot growth) and her family (€2,628/€40,000) - @enghanalulu, verified by @/90-ghost

Mohammed Hijazi and his elderly parents, including his severely injured father (€2,106/€20,000) - @savemohammedfamily, verified by @/90-ghost

Maysaa Balousha (suffers from pulmonary fibrosis and is deteriorating without treatment), her husband Muhammad, and their four children ($118/$60,000) - @tamer200333, extended family of Mahmoud Balousha (#124 on @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi's spreadsheet)

Mahmoud Saleh and his family (they've already lost several members, including Mahmoud's father and niece) (€5,265/€20,000) - @mide404, verified by @/nabulsi

Helping Siraj Abudayeh, his wife, and their three young children rebuild their destroyed home ($6,449 CAD/$82,000 CAD) - @siraj2024, #219 on @/nabulsi and @/el-shab-hussein's spreadsheet

Eman, Ahmad, and their two little children (€1,653/€15,000) - @zain-leen1993, @leen-gaza, verified by @/90-ghost

not yet vetted:

Mohammad Taysir, his wife Basma, and their two little children (€0/€50,000) - @yazanfamily

Mahmoud Alkhaldi and his family of five, including his little nephew ($235/$50,000) - @mahmoudalkhaldi

Shimaa, her little daughter Juri, and several members of her husbands family (€331/€50,000) - @shimaashaban22

your help, even if it seems insignificant to you, can bring life and hope to so many people. now is not the time to give in to despair or allow apathy to stifle our actions. here is something you can do. don't pass it by.

[autumnoakes]

falling back into an old special interest thanks to clips on youtube and i feel like i'm 12 years old again