#our lady of the abandoned

[eldrtchmn]

Death 🗡️ Lady Knight Tarot 🗡️

[tethrras]

i have not even begun to process how lavinia is feeling and instead i am thinking about hilda and alistair going to weisshaupt after adamant and hilda saying they're just gonna stay for a bit before heading out to work with the inquisition and then it's been a year and then two years and beth and nathaniel are back at vigil's keep but hilda can't bring herself to go back when the whole order is at best a laughingstock and at worst an enemy in ferelden and her and alistair build a home in weisshaupt that neither of them really want and. Augh.

[bigsharkguy]

do you think they like to scare trick or treaters

[icelogged]

imagine going through life thinking women should behave the same way they do in porn. a sexual entertainment medium made with your own sexual gratification in mind. imagine being grown and so out of touch with reality that you think what you see on your screen can and should emulate the actual world around you.

[found under an ai image of a woman]

so far that ai-generated women tuned so specifically to your fancy should be what you see for free at the bloody metro station. your own greed and desire when it comes to others bodies is so normalized by the porn you consume that you can’t consider a reality where your sexual gratification does not matter. where no one is performing for you.

the scrubs example made me literally laugh out loud. you expect a woman in healthcare after working a gruelling shift who is just trying to get home safe is going to change into something off the hookup hotshot rack? young women should be uncomfortable for your gratification? what about yourself why aren’t you wearing the costume design from magic mike?

[ourladyofomega]

📸: chperigault (Flickr)

[nomairuins]

brothers a tale of two sons is such a connor and lamp reference bc yes it ws like popular i think but i think me and lamp have referenced that game more than anyone on earth. and its all bc i was mean as a child

[angsty-prompt-hole]

Okay now that I've collected myself I'm going to abuse the polls to introduce my newest WIP idea (sort of). This one is very different from everything else I've written because it's autobiographical nonfiction bc my life is fucking insane. SO

[navree]

once again on my frankenstein bullshit because i’m sure it’s a very nice bookend but it is baffling that so many fix it attempts for this story are built on frankenstein asking the creature’s forgiveness in the arctic because like??? no??? the only time victor was ever in the position of “hey you should really say sorry to this guy” is after he first ran away. everything else after that should be the creature fucking groveling and saying “hey sorry i murdered your brother and then framed your friend so she’d be executed and then murdered your boyfriend and the murdered your wife which made your dad weaken and die”  because in the scales of who’s been wronged more, guy whose father was mean to him is very much trumped by guy who had everyone he loves wiped the fuck out because his son threw a temper tantrum. 

sorry.

[vaultsixtynine]

urehghdhgdhghg. whf is generally... listen. she gets it. she understands why people end up working for corps - she was one of them. it put metaphorical food on the metaphorical table. it paid for medical bills, piling up. it let her keep the people relying on her afloat. she won't apologize for making the decisions she made and doing what she had to do.

cut bc Longe. post abt takemura mostly.

but she never liked the corp itself, and only pretended she did when she had to. she worked in cybernetics programming, not intelligence, not public relations - she was tucked away in a basement lab, testing software integrations. no one looked at her for too long, let alone cared about how strongly she believed in arasaka's great vision. and behind all that, behind the chip she let them put in her to dull the edges of her emotions, there's just a massive, massive onslaught of rage.

listening to takemura talk up the Order and Overwatch of arasaka like it's a benevolent patriarch makes her want to climb off the side of the unfinished building they're doing a stakeout on and just hit the concrete, it'd be faster and less painless than her head exploding.

takemura, look at yourself. look at her. both of us are from respective slums created by corporate bullshit. she's been in debt since before she knew how to count, inherited and generated out of thin air as everyone she cared about fell victim to the poisoned air, the poisoned water, the poisoned earth - all effects of corpos running amok, unfettered. it's not like he doesn't know - it's just that he's convinced himself otherwise. seen what he wanted to see. and she was like that, too, before leaving arasaka for good. she knew, conceptually, that there were worse things under her feet. that some of her work was being used for horrible things. but there was only the desperate tunnel of needing to make it through to the next paycheck. and she stayed until the very last possible fucking second because - because it was only on the brink of having them take the last ten years of her life away from her that she realized she couldn't rationalize that away, and she had to stop doing it for everything else, too.

so sure, talk to hanako. do whatever you've got to do based on whatever loyalties you've got to honor. but don't fucking pretend, don't fucking lie to yourself that you were ever anything other than lucky. you worked hard, but a corp is a massive beast. you just got lucky. every day you got lucky except for that one day.

just like her. every day she got lucky. except for that one day.

meanwhile johnny's just sitting over there listening to all of this and it's the most she's ever spoken about anything prior to the corp, really, and it's usually walled off in her mind behind the arasaka no-feelings implant, so he's... interested, but also so fucking. sad. he guesses. he's sad because she's sad. except she's just empty, and the only thing left (because there is No One left; they've all gone and the years she spent trying to keep them alive feel completely and utterly wasted now because who is she to fight entropy. who is she to fight the corps. who is she to fight the decay of the planet) is just a well of anger so deep he's surprised he's never tripped over it before. not that he pries, exactly, but it's so obvious now that he's seen it. she's got so much of it and so little of anything else left, and he hates to see a mirror in her in this way.

[eimearkuopio]

ECHO

Lupita Nyong'o & her cat Yoyo – Glamour (2024)

[llycaons]

cursed to wander the halls of this abandoned and derelict hospital searching for a room that may not actually exist seeking an item that may have vanished long ago...what am I some kind of romantic hero...

[snarltoothed]

okay like two out of three of my cats are like… on death’s door basically despite them being all roughly the same age and sharing the same genetics (mother aged 16, son and daughter aged 15) and while i’ve accepted that i’ll be exceptionally lucky to get even another year or two with the momma cat (bonded to me) and that her son (bonded to my mom) is not too far behind… despite being the runt 15 years ago, the daughter (also bonded to me) is still quite spry and in good health so i literally tell her sometimes like you’d better live til you’re 20. i need at least five more years with you and also some time in between you and your mom dying. please.

[reinemichele]

Haha,,, one of my mom's patients needs to find a home for her cat and we were planning on going tomorrow to get the cat,, but my brother saw we moved the cat carrier 😭 shit's gonna get ugly for a bit

[bunnys-kisses]

i have this little thought bouncing around in my head! single father simon. (a drabble)

*shrug*

simon ends up with his daughter winnie after her mother abandons her at his doorstep. he was the father, it was his turn to take care of her. simon could handle warfare, he could handle guns and sweat and metal. he could handle blood and bruises.

but a fussy newborn was a little too much for him.

enter you, it was your summer off from university and you were making extra money by babysitting for parents who couldn't afford weeks of posh summer camps. it was decent work and you were pretty good with them! so being concerned for your neighbour, simon's well being, you offered to watch winnie.

simon very well fell in love with you the moment you took the baby girl into you arms. winnie instantly got settled into your grasp, almost like you were her mother.

"what a lovely baby girl." you cooed, you looked at her with such affection already. you looked at simon and smiled, "she looks too cute to be yours." a playful jab.

you watched winnie while simon was at work. you didn't know what he did for work, but you tried not to ask too many questions. all you knew was that the checks didn't bounce when you cashed them.

but being with winnie for so many days had gossip go through the apartment building. you had a baby with simon? why were you in two separate apartments? where did the lovely newborn sleep? she SHOULD be sleeping with her mother (you).

when you tried to correct them, simon always said, "ah don't worry. we'll be havin' our own place soon enough!" his large hand snaked around your waist.

you just looked down at winnie who was sound asleep in her stroller. she couldn't care less who her mommy and daddy were. it wouldn't be hard to be the mother she'd otherwise be without, right?

that was the angle that simon too.

you'd make the most perfect mrs. riley. you were already taking care of winnie, but also him when he came home. you shouldn't be the nanny, you should be winnie's mama.

"she really loves you." simon remarked when you went with him to the pool.

you were in a one piece swim suit and you were making sure that the baby was out of the sun and had sunscreen on. you didn't want her to get sick or burned.

currently she was resting on your chest while you were in the shade. in your free hand you had a book in it and the other was on winnie's back. you said, "i don't know what you're talking about." as if you hadn't heard the comments from the little old ladies about how sweet you two looked.

"look like a real mama."

you looked to him and raised your eyebrows, "i thought i was the babysitter, mister riley."

simon placed a hand on your thigh then rubbed up and down, "nah."

it didn't take long for you and simon to get intimate. he asked you to stay because winnie had been having trouble sleeping. you two shared a glass of wine and then you found yourself face first into simon's bed. the scent of him filled your head as he fucked you into the comfortable mattress.

he loved the sound of your pussy as he fucked you without much abandon. the thickness on your hips would only grow once he made sure his next child was inside of you. you'd be such a good mama, unlike that previous bitch who left him.

maybe there was a good reason why she left him.

cum clung to the fuzz on your pussy lips and was a bitch to clean in the shower come morning.

he woke you up and said, "she needs her mama. she gettin' fussy, doll." then watched you stumble around to find clothes to wear while you checked on winnie as if the little girl was your own. his hand was wrapped around his cock. he wondered how many more times he could finish in you before you stumbled back to your apartment.

the answer was four.

it wouldn't be easy carrying for a sprouting little baby plus the baby boy you were currently pregnant with. you've put school off for a little while and moved in with simon, your due date was in the middle of the semester. now you were trying to figure out what food was good for a teething winnie while also trying to manage the riley son that was occupying your womb.

you were making dinner for your growing family with a cute little maternity dress of. simon was at the table with winnie. he knew that one day he'd have to tell her that you weren't her actual mama. but you were raising her and her little brother too.

"see there's mama." simon said in that grumbled voice of his, pointing in your direction.

you didn't imagine that you would've ended up as a stay-at-home mother to two children who were than a year apart. but as you felt the shift of your 'second' baby inside of you, you smiled.

you heard winnie make a little noise to get your attention. you checked on the pot of sauce on the stove before you turned away to check on your little girl.

[this-doesnt-endd]

Why am i having shipping issues lately? Like i've had a few things i've order/preorder that have supposed to ship already or things that have shipped and taken days past expected delivery dates to arrive and im not like calling being like wtf or anything but its like damn, this is the timeline it's given me i assume i can expect it to be correct

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.