#oh where oh where can my mutuals be

[draco-kasai]

I rly wanna start a book club.

For fanfic readers

Like, after every fic we finish or catch up to, someone else gets to choose the new story we'll all read.

And like, there's so many fandoms out there and we all just gotta be open bout it, like, 'I may not know this fandom but I'm open to reading stuff about it'

And, like, there will be channels for certain ratings. That way if someone decides on a fic that's a certain rating ppl who don't want to be involved will avoid it.

And another channel will be for open fic discussions, while others r for maybe fan art ppl decide to make and another for general chat in case someone hasn't caught up and doesn't want to be spoiled.

Nd the way it'll work is, maybe every month, or so depending on the fic lengths, we can put down 3 or 4 fics, all of different or same, ratings. Different fandoms and different ships. That way there's a variety.

Maybe have a 'read chapters __ to __' and every week we add on to it.

That way ppl who can't read everything at once can still discuss the fic without being spoiled. Nd there can be another chat for those who decide to read it all at once.

And like, we can read a currently updating fic together too and everytime there's a new chapter we post it so everyone knows and can all read and discuss the new chapter together.

Gosh, I need this.

So I can finally have ppl to discuss what I'm currently reading with

So I can have someone to yell with about the latest update on a fic

So I can gush with someone about how cute those two characters are.

So I can cry with someone about how gut wrenching it was

About how cruel or horrifying it was

None of my friends read my recs and I'm lonely out here y'all

[fumifooms]

When Marcille roleplayed as Chilchuck’s wife because it’s a normal way to engage in gossip of course of course, her appearance is really just her as a half-foot in a common dress and two braids. Uncharacteristically simple for her, though she did wear those as a half-foot too. At the end of canon, Chilchuck, implicitly by the text ~filling the hole in her heart~ by doing her hair for her when she lost the will to care for it herself, puts it in two braids.

She’s one step closer to her "I wonder what Chilchuck would be like as a husband" fantasy…. Don’t give up girl dreams come true, keep asking him about spending the rest of your daily lives together Mfw his love language is acts of service

[local-limebug]

wanna get back into mdzs but you are all so goddamn weird about jiang cheng

(i don't wanna retype my tags but read them pls... if you are both a wwx and jc enjoyer interact with this post please)

[misspermitted]

I’m on board with the “Adar was/is Celeborn” theory purely because I want this crack exchange -

Adar/Celeborn: You cheated on me with Sauron!

Galadriel: Well you also cheated on me with Sauron so the scales are balanced

Adar/Celeborn: What?? In what-

Galadriel: You left me, your wife, for 1000 years, to have a family and children with him

Adar/Celeborn: Okay, well, you fell in love with him. Which means you weren’t even in love with me in the first place. Which is worse

Galadriel: YOU LITERALLY HAD HIS CHILDREN

Adar/Celeborn: You married me for all eternity wiTHOUT EVEN BEING IN LOVE WITH ME

High King Gil-Galad, to Elrond: Still think he’s fake and they’re not married?

Elrond: Oh no, I take it back, they’re definit- oh my god Galadriel do not challenge him to a duel there is nothing wrong with your womb gods above

[pinkfey]

ice cold take but i hate how male centered fandom is

[its-a-beautful-day]

Updating my donation post as it's been a few months. I'm still struggling with being homeless and I recently lost my health insurance (yayy turning 26!)

I've applied for section 8 at a local large city but that can take time. I'm also in the months long process of applying for SNAP/medicaid. I've also applied for financial assistance through my work to help me as well but I'm unsure of the turn around time or how much they can assist me.

Currently with the cost of rent in my local area the best option might be for me to renovate a free mobile home. However I need to move it to a lot/mobile home park with hookups and that can cost alot of money. The current estimate I got is around $8,000.

This doesn't include the lot rent per month or the cost of fixing the mobile home. But I do get to own the trailer after and can sell it once I have my feet under me again and ready to move.

I've been looking into so many different options but I'm struggling with finding something in my budget. Current income restricted housing is at a 1 to 2 year wait list. Others require a $48 per person application before you get to even see the apartment (for a one bedroom no less)

I've already made so many sacrifices during this year including not perusing fighting to get my cat back. Unfortunately with the way I can't find housing there wasn't a hope I could find housing and have it allow pets.

I've anyone has suggestions for finding roomates (that's not Facebook) or housing please feel free to message me

I'm also doing donation doodles for any donation over $10, give me a suggestion or prompt when you donate otherwise you get a bug art lol

[alongtidesoflight]

why is it that when you're biracial and you talk to white westerners once the question of your heritage comes up they jump to the absolute worst interpretation of it

[stuffedsand]

innocent voting kazui every day is not enough i need a gun

[reapersmarch]

tell me lies, and i'll justify them look before you leap, orrr, what happens when it all comes tumbling out start here prev • next

a note from me to u: this is (very slightly) canon divergent in the sense that I wanted to write a very specific confrontation between ricardo and bel and even though I think placing it in the canon "legs broke" ending would have worked just as well, I think the stress would've killed him and would've just been... kinda depressing honestly, so. slight divergence of "they narrowly avoided the semitruck and now have to deal with the fact that bel told him he's entropy", so please be advised and enjoy!

There are no two ways about this, and no sense in mincing words: this fucking sucks.

And that doesn’t even really begin to cover it.

In fact, there probably aren’t enough words in the English, Welsh, or French languages for you to begin to describe what, exactly, you’re feeling here. Awkward. Tense. Edgy. Uncomfortable. But, none of those are enough, either. It’s more like… you’ve been in a dead sprint for so long, your lungs have finally given out, and you know that the only way this ends is in death.

No one to come save you, no way for you to crawl your broken body out of this one.

You condemn yourself to your fate, and stretch your neck across the block.

The executioner, this time, takes the shape of Ricardo’s side profile as he drags a hand down his mouth, turning over and over and over what you’ve just told him.

There’s a saying that you’ve always been particularly fond of—if you smell shit everywhere you walk, check the bottom of your shoe.

Or: you are the lowest common denominator. 

Your strength was never math—it was always science, a natural inclination towards it, which is ironic given how much math there is in astrophysics. You were only ever a casual observer, though; never really one to know the exact application of the first and second laws of thermodynamics, but you knew what they felt like. 

The first law states that energy cannot be created or destroyed; only changed. You suppose that’s true enough. It did hurt, when you fell from the heavens. It hurt when you felt your wings melt, the wax burning skin like molten glass as the ground rose to meet you, kiss you, embrace you like an old lover. When you felt everything in you shatter and shake, stain the concrete, rearrange at the molecular level until you were no longer you, it hurt.

So, maybe you can’t destroy energy. You can fundamentally change it, however. You can destroy a person—ah. But you’re not a person. You never were. Let’s try again.

You can destroy a thing. Push it to the brink of ruination, only to bring it back from that point and say, “See? You were fine. You were just fine.” Do that enough times, and eventually the thing breaks. Machines slow and rust, clothes get holes in them, regenes snap and bend and morph until they do what they’re supposed to. They break.

And then what? The energy changes. Sidestep dies, Entropy is born.

If the first law is the making, then the second law must be the unmaking.

It states that when energy changes from one form to another, entropy in a closed system increases.

Funny how that works out.

But that’s true, too.

When did you start tearing yourself apart? When he entered your life again? When you let him enter your life? When you handed him the scalpel and lay yourself down across the operating table, guided his hand to your chest and said, ‘cut here’?

There is a bitter edge to the very idea that he occupied so many of your thoughts, had you tearing yourself asunder every other night, but you could never tell if you took root in any of his. That the bliss of silence could just as quickly be replaced with the violence of static—you never knew just how violent static could be until you met him, that it was even capable of doing that kind of damage.

Anchors, as you are learning, can be used to sink as readily as they can to secure.

So. Yeah. It’s you. You’re the through line here. And so is he. And you’ve just confirmed that for him.

He was bound to figure it out eventually; you couldn’t hold it together long enough to keep the division separate. The lines of Sidestep and Entropy blurred into one another forever ago, when you decided to stop and do good, be good. You just couldn’t stop being Bel, even if you wanted to—and you desperately wanted to.

In your ardent need for affection, your unholy want for companionship, you lowered the drawbridge, and you took everyone in. You put the crown to his head, made him king of your domain, and couldn’t fathom how you were dethroned.

“Ricardo—”

“Don’t.”

He’s not done processing, it seems.

That’s fair. You might not’ve even foreseen this conversation, but he had an entirely different vision of how this would play out in his head.

(Not that you would know.

This is all just conjecture.)

The smoking wreckage of this barely functional car that you managed to veer into a back alley in an industrial zone is not where he pictured having it, for one. For two, he thought you were related to Hollow Ground, somehow.

Also kind of fair. You did have an uncanny resemblance to one another, one which you are not in a place currently to dissect, and he did spot you exiting his… lair, you guess.

You have a sneaking suspicion that neither of you expected to live through that encounter, and now that you have, it’s like holding on to a lit firecracker and waiting for it to blow your arm off.

“I’m sorry,” he lets you say. You’re not sure why. You don’t know what you’re even apologizing for, and it rings remarkably hollow when the ripple effect of your actions outweighs whatever guilt you could possibly be feeling. He does not acknowledge this though. He can’t even look at you right now.

You’re not sure if it’s better or worse that you told him the truth. Maybe letting him believe his conspiracy theory would have been the safer thing to do, but you have always laughed in the face of safety.

“I think,” he starts after an eon, “the part I hate about this the most is that I still love you.”

There it is, the axe. The blade right at your neck.

He told you this already. In his apartment when you let yourself be convinced to stay the night; let him talk you into his bed, let him hold you and tell you everything you’ve been wanting and waiting to hear, what you foolishly refused to see across all this time—the second time you’ve ever shared a bed. Quite possibly the last.

He told you he loved you, and the weight of that crushed you instantly.

It was fine when it was just you—burying yourself in years of regret, choking back every almost half-muttered declaration, and forcing yourself to be content with whatever you had going on. It wasn’t so much a problem when you were two ships passing in the night; everything you were experiencing was all self-inflicted. Sure, it was miserable. Sure, you thought it would be kinder to drive your car into the ocean. But you had a handle on it. Mostly. It was contained, even if you couldn’t keep it from showing in your face. Even if you couldn’t hide the way you still look for him first in a room, or the way your hand always manages to find his arm when you need it—a steadying point on the horizon.

It was contained. You never let it spill out of you in more than a trickle.

This, though.

Sitting there and being told it’s reciprocal, that he loved you—still loves you, somehow.

This is killing you.

He loves you, and you still can’t unstopper the bottle.

Not because you don’t want to—you would love to. You have been shouting it with your actions for years, you have been howling it, without ever saying a single syllable of the sentence that is piercing through your skull, currently.

You can’t uncork this because the truth has to come out, and when the tell-all gossip column finally spreads the word straight from the devil’s mouth to his ears, he’ll hate you, and you’ll still love him.

“I don’t know what to say,” you tell him, because you don’t, and you can’t stop looking at him but he won’t look at you.

“Were you ever going to say anything?”

“Eventually,” you try to assure him. You can’t really assure him of anything, but you are baring as much of yourself as he’s willing to see. “It was always—I wanted to. Ricardo, I really, really wanted to, but—”

“You couldn’t.” He finishes for you.

You don’t have anything to add, so you purse your lips and fidget with your hands for a while. He doesn’t say anything else, still gazing out the window as though something fascinating will occur there.

“Ricardo, please, just… look at me. For a second. Please.”

He doesn’t.

You reactively reach for his hand, then stop yourself halfway, fingers curling in on themselves. You don’t deserve comfort. You have no right to ask for it.

You betrayed his trust.

You may as well let your head roll.

Your hands find the hem of your sweater and lift until the flesh of your abdomen is exposed, intricate lines of bright orange crisscrossing in every direction.

He finally looks, but you can’t anymore.

“This is why,” you state, as though it’ll answer everything—and in some ways, it does.

This is why: I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t be honest. I never let you in. I never asked for help. I tried to lock you out. I was afraid of you. I'm sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

Take your pick.

“After Heartbreak,” you drone, like you’ve numbed yourself to it, “I didn’t exactly have the best time.” Understatement of the century. “I’m sorry you mourned. I’m sorry you had a funeral, and that, in your eyes, I’m dying a second death currently, but I fucking had a good go of it, Ricardo. When they hauled me back to the Farm, they poked and prodded and so much worse. They fucking—please don’t look at me like that—they put me back together so they could split me apart again, and do whatever else they wanted, because it didn’t matter; I don’t exist. ‘Less than’—isn’t that what you said once?” He flinches.

“I didn’t mean—”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant.”

You let your sweater fall back into place.

“When I was there, they did everything within their power to keep me out.” Two fingers against the temple. “Went so far as to take something they knew had the potential to fuck them up worse than I ever could, they were that afraid of what I would do. You…” With thumb and forefinger, you rub at your eyelids, exhausted. You sort of wish you could gouge them out. “Sometimes, not being able to feel you is nice. It’s nice not hearing everything so loudly, knowing that I don’t have to try to shut you out because you can’t let me in. Knowing that I could relax because it’s just you—it’s Ricardo, it’s Charge, it’s just my shadow. But on my worst days, you fucking… you feel like them, Ric.”

You feel like you’re going to vomit.

“You feel just like them, and then my shadow isn’t comforting anymore, and suddenly, I’m afraid of the dark.”

You pivot before you’ll let him acknowledge any of that. You don’t want it acknowledged. You don’t want to know what he has to say about any of it. Maybe that’s selfish. You don’t care.

“So that’s why… Entropy. The only way I could see how to fix it was by becoming Entropy and giving the public something to rally around. Voice of the fucking people and all of that bullshit,” you chuckle in spite of yourself, dropping your head back against the seat. “Which meant that by default, I couldn’t tell you a thing. Even if you wanted to, there wasn’t a way you could help me that wouldn’t also make you a target,” you say, “and I couldn’t trust myself around you.”

That’s a fairly important distinction.

You didn’t trust him enough to reveal anything, this is true. The Rangers were staunchly in the adversary bucket given the nature of what they are. But you didn’t trust yourself around him.

You couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t unhinge that jaw and speak. You couldn’t trust that you would be able to control yourself.

You were right.

You threw yourself at him, hoping the landing would be softer this time, and it was worse.

“You’re right,” you hear yourself say, head lolling to the side to smile bitterly at him. “The worst part about all this is that I still love you; I can’t make myself stop. In seven years, I couldn’t make myself stop. It’s pretty stupid, actually, because I knew, deep down, that you were just like that. Ricardo Ortega, the flirt. The unfairly handsome, outrageously friendly Marshal Charge. You knew how to make someone feel like the most important person in the room. That was just you, but I couldn’t stop myself from falling for it. No one had ever looked at me the way that you did, and I—”

He kisses you.

He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you, like you’re the oasis in the desert and he hasn’t seen water in weeks. He kisses like a man starved, and you’re the last thing he’ll ever taste. He kisses like he loves you—still, despite—and it knocks the breath from you.

He pulls back enough your lips are just barely grazing, stroking his thumb along your neckline and pressing your foreheads together.

“—I just wanted to feel alive,” you finish. 

And you do. You feel more alive than you ever have in your thirty years, and now he’s looking at you the way he always did, seeing you, intent on you, and you realize—he has always looked at you this way. When his eyes fixed on you, they were waiting for you to notice. Even here, in this barely functional car in the back alley of some industrial zone, where you thought you were going to puke your innards out from the stress of this conversation.

The only thing you did vomit up was words, so that’s incredibly impressive for you. 

You were surprisingly calm about the whole thing. You don’t think you are physically aligned with your body at present, so this is probably the biggest contributing factor, but maybe that therapy session did you some good after all.

“You’re an idiot,” Ricardo tells you gently. “The biggest idiot I’ve ever met. The biggest, prettiest pain in the ass idiot to deal with.” And you laugh, even if you do feel yourself wanting to cry. “You still look like you, Bel, at the end of the day. This is just you on a really bad one.”

“The worst fucking day imaginable, really,” you manage, muffled against his shoulder.

“Yeah. But you’re still you, and that’s all I care about.”

[waitineedaname]

a svsss/hlvrai crossover au. is this anything.

[lostxmelody]

ah yes. right on time for pride month - what do you mean it's almost over?

my apologizes for the delay again but as you may find, it is quite long. 40k words long, to be exact. please take your time reading as i will now hibernate for the rest of the year (/j)

happy ch.3 !!!

[sunflowercider]

I think its very funny that I know when someone is scrolling through tumblr user lloydfrontera's blog and liking a bunch of stuff, because I will also get likes on very specific posts of my own 😂

[cryolyst]

~

[patron-saints]

crawl like a sinner (a riza/lust fanmix)

falling in love with someone who could never love you back is the exact kind of curse lust would wish upon her worst enemies. it is also something she thought she’d never experience.

listen on: spotify or youtube cover art in collaboration with: @amotleycrew

——— tessellate - alt-j triangles are my favorite shape / three points where two lines meet gimme what i want - miley cyrus pleasure leads to pain / to me they’re both the same hatchet - archive you could aim between my eyes and i’d still be yours to have looking too closely - fink truth is like blood underneath your fingernails / you don’t wanna hurt yourself hearts a mess - gotye but i’m desperate to connect / and you, you can’t live like this  hold me tight or don’t - fall out boy when your stitch comes loose / i wanna sleep on every piece of fuzz and stuffing that comes out  piece of shit - wet leg  and you are not in love, but it’s close enough  did it to myself - orla gartland now you're living in my memory / living in my mouth / living in the four fucking walls of my house october - the crane wives take my word, but keep the upper hand / i know you, you're the daughter of a lonely man blood orange - freya ridings could a life be like this, even with you?

[spinnysocks]

spinny!! I’m curious, what got you into the lion guard?

EHEHEE YAY I LOVE ASKS LIKE THIS!! don't mind me rambling about how i got into it :3

i watched the lion guard originally as a young teen! my memories are foggy, so i can't say how much i liked it, but i do remember ono being my favourite and that i watched enough to remember a lot of the episodes when i revisited it a few years later. i rewatched it out of childhood nostalgia and curiosity - i wanna say around 2020 maybe? - and developed a hyperfixation on it, specifically on janja! back then, i kinda only cared about his character and a few others such as timon, pumbaa, scar and kiburi, though janja was the character who i was actually interested in. i had even bought a lion king notebook to write a snippet of an au i had for him, i still have it lmaoo

because of how my hyperfixations work, i get obsessed over one fandom for a while until it switches to another. for instance, most of last year i hyperfixated on the madagascar movies - those periods of hyperfixating would last anywhere from hours to months until shifting to, for example, the lion guard. it also wasn't my main fandom at the time, madagascar was. that changed in november last year, when i found that there was a LOT of cool lion guard content on here (especially @devilsrecreation's outlanders posts!). i began to interact a little bit which made me hyperfixate on it even more. i made my first lion guard post in december, and that's where my posting and very long hyperfixation on it began!! since then i've had like a landslide of constant thoughts about this silly show, and i've picked up a lot of new favourite characters along the way (such as kiburi and his float, beshte, goigoi, dogo, literally all of the outlanders...). i've barely shifted hyperfixations since then and the show has very swiftly become a favourite media of mine! :3

so, i guess seeing content being made AND making my own has made me hyperfixate on it endlessly (/pos btw). i've specifically hyperfixated on the outlanders as you can probably tell lol. essentially, ✨the power of hyperfixations✨ lead me to being on and posting on this site, but the show has always been for me since i was a teen c:

[todayisafridaynight]

THIS IS GONNA SOUND SO MEAN BUT WHY DO U LIKE RYO AOKI/MASATO

masato hot