#thankful in every circumstance

[dwuerch-blog]

Governor Abbott's Prayer Breakfast

In Monday morning’s early hours, amidst the camaraderie of fellow Texans, my heart swelled with gratitude as we attended Governor Greg Abbott’s Prayer Breakfast for the second consecutive year. Surrounded by 690 fervent souls, we gathered to honor our state, our leader, and the profound impact of prayer in our lives. Governor Abbott, a beacon of strength and resilience, shared his deeply held…

[h4unted-d4rling]

unfortunately me

[tetzoro]

the day the earth stood still is the day i felt your presence leave it, and then every day after that.

[hikaruchen]

Commissions!

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The Process ✨

[lazaruspiss]

characters that make sense to be living in wayne manor without much if any explanation: bruce, alfred, damian, tim, cass

[lilacerull0]

the fact that this student went looking for me specifically to ask for advice and the fact that other first year students stopped to listen to me and thanked me for encouraging them instead of downplaying their importance...

[vampz-on-the-block]

Hehehehe guess what i did first thing after i woke up, (@eyes-of-the-rave)

[burning-academia-if]

Hi! What are the powers of each ro? what makes them "special" and mc?

I won't give a super detailed explanation since Rhea already went into all of it in Chapter 1 but a quick recap: You're either born with magic or you aren't.

If you are, you're a magician. There's three types; Soul magicians (magic comes from intentions/morals/beliefs, considered the most powerful, magic can have harmful effects on their body), Heart magicians (magic comes from emotions, less powerful, magic can visibly be seen in use), and Luck magicians (have magic in their veins but can't use it, since they still have magic the world seems to like them and 'lucky' things happen to them, hence the term).

BA has a pretty soft magic system, so you can theoretically do w/e you want with magic with certain limits. Soul magicians can't use magic at all if it goes against their beliefs + it can hurt their bodies. Heart magicians magic is as powerful as the emotions they're currently feeling. Heart magicians are also the only ones compatible with Death Creatures (ghosts, wraiths, poltergeists, etc), although that's pretty rare and no one knows why. With all that said:

Soul Magicians: Rook and Rhea

Heart Magicians: Beck and Lars

Luck Magician: Zoe

Not a magician: ??? and MC

Beck and Lars are both special because their magic is compatible with Death, but they're still Heart Magicians and so their magic is seen as weaker. Rook's magic...isn't strong, and Rhea's magic is average. ??? isn't a magician and can't use magic at all. What MC can do is up to you since there are a few options. You can find a magic item to use (making you a mage), you can get into necromancy, or you can pick the terrible decision to make a deal with something to use magic (making you a warlock). You can also not do any of that and remain without magic/death abilities. Each decision has their own unique consequences.

It should also be noted Death and Magic are opposites of each other, so necromancy isn't considered magic in this world. If anything, it's just blasphemy lol

[mettywiththenotes]

I believe that AFO could be still telling his own story from a external pov because even in current times he sees his own actions from a third pov, like it was all a part of a comic book

And it could also be that he internalised prejudiced views on quirk users because the period of time where he was born was really ruthless for quirk users 🤷

Yknow what, that would make sense and is more interesting than anything I thought was going on with the narration. The idea that AFO is the narrator talking about himself like a comic book villain is so compelling, I love it. Also fits in with the pattern of villains talking/showing us their own experiences and backstories, just in a different way

And yeah, now that I think about it, the prejudiced view thing sounds like something he would have. With the way he's lived, how could he not internalize the way the world has behaved towards him from day one? It fits for how he seems to view the world and himself

[milkbreadtoast]

thinking abt how the original QPB trio wouldve been just 3 mentally unwell adults w lifetimes of trauma and KdjfksjdKFJJS...

[none-sex-left-gay]

You bought a house at 25?? How.. (genuine question)(im so envious)

The short of it is im extraordinary lucky

In college i got in an accident that totaled my car (other guy was at fault, his insurance gave me enough to buy a nice used car without taking a loan out)

I was a Gifted KidTM so i got a really good scholarship (still literally gave myself hives trying to keep it but shhhhhhh its fine its fine) and the hospital i work at had a 1 year masters program which gave me a promotion at the low low cost of signing a contract to work for them for 3 years (they kind of underpay us but still no debt so evens out)

My parents were smart enough to teach me how to use a credit card at 18 so i could accumulate credit for -checks watch- 7 years which actually helped a lot

And finally i live in a state that has really cheap living expenses at the cost of The Hell but idk my cat needs more space to play and i dont have any other place to go so mortage here we go!!!

[croziers-compass]

Was Brought to my attention that the OP user that Posted this Post:

https://www.tumblr.com/lollobarcollomanonmollo/737352401923833856/women-artists-that-you-should-know-about?source=share

Is a TERF with Posts that look like this:

@lollobarcollomanonmollo is a Terf and will be blocked accordingly of course but for your convenience everyone, here is this for you.

[whaleiumsharkspeare]

Last night I had a dream that I met timothee chalamet at a grocery store and told him he was tall, but then immediately pointed out that my sister’s boyfriend was even taller than him (which is true, her boyfriend is like 6 foot something I think) and then he casually said “well, I’m not your boyfriend” so the moral of the story is don’t slightly insult dream timothee chalamet because he’ll clap back without even thinking about it

[flownwrong]

expectations (a due south fic)

F/K, 1.5k words, additional tags: first kiss, stupid phone conversations, drama over a duffel bag

I'll tell you what I told ao3:

"My writing hit a wall a while back. To deal with it, I decided I'd write the only way I can now—short fic I can seat-of-my-pants in one day. A piece for each ship/fandom/idea where I have wips or thoughts that I can't make into actual works. This is the first one.

Thanks to @nigeltde-fic for dragging me down with this ship, and generally being a champion. <3”"

read on ao3

Maybe it really is a damn Groundhog Day type situation. Only twice as boring and nobody gets the girl, like, ever.

One thing he never pictured when he thought of the after-fraser-life, which he didn’t do very often, or, well, maybe he did, but he didn’t like doing it, point being—one thing he didn’t imagine was that it would be the same. As in, poof, never happened, must have daydreamed it, off you go, Stanley, play well with the boys.

And, well, it isn’t really a never-happened kinda deal, because Fraser, he just lives in a pocket in Ray’s head now, twenty-four-literal-seven, like friends do, you know, or something close. And what with Vecchio and Stella fucking off to Florida and Frannie doing her thing all while they were still doing the big adventure stuff, between all that it’s hard to not notice the change. But other than that—it’s the same job, the same desk (his desk, The Kowalski Desk), the same bottle in the cabinet above the sink and the same—the inside of his head is the same, too, giving him trouble like always.

The way they left things—if that’s even what happened, left things, huh—it’s not what he feared. Not what he expected, either—and it took him many, many frozen-through adrenaline-drunk days to put a finger on it, that there was an expectation. And now back here, it’s like one of those tip-of-the-tongue moments he’s so familiar with, only with that expectation; it circles him all predatory with every lonely shuffle around his dance-apartment-floor and every stupid late night reruns session and every finger of drink he takes with that, and then it wafts away on the wind, leaving him feeling like he missed a step and twisted his ankle. Which is kinda stupid, when you come to think of it, since it looks like all his worst-case scenarios solved themselves and left him with a cushy little offering while he was playing explorer, and wasn’t that what it was all about.

And maybe it wasn’t, because Fraser calls, like he does, which floors Ray a little every single time for reasons he can’t even begin to articulate, he calls on a Friday and brings him up to speed on Dief’s aversion to the nearest Tim Hortons (nearest being a few hours’ trip to Yellowknife) because quote he says it’s cheating and Chicago ones tasted better and frankly it’s insulting end quote and how you pay and pay and pay and how he fixed up the cabin now and the second bed is new and really much better than the one Ray had to deal with up there, he made sure of that (felled the best tree he could find, Ray wagers), and Ray finds himself nodding and humming and gripping the stupid station handset, knuckles gone white, biting his cheek, hell if he knows why, not like his smile could do any damage at this point. “There isn’t a waiting list for that bed, is there?” he says, no reservations worth stopping for. And, “no,” says Fraser, and there’s that expectation, clarion as you please, ten-four, roger that. “Greatness,” Ray says, and hangs up, and does a little shimmy he’s not even ashamed of.

And then Fraser doesn’t call for three weeks, in which Ray is very productive, managing to vent drunkenly at Turtle who looks so unimpressed Ray thinks he actually hears him sigh, pack the bag, unpack the bag, consider terminating the lease, call in with Welsh then come in anyway, chase the latest case into almost three whole days awake and get sent away by Welsh anyway once the Bonnie and Clyde of small-time food truck GTA are locked up, pick up the phone roughly thirty-seven times, put it down thirty-six, and that last time, Fraser picks up and calls out for him softly and he’s too much of a chicken to do it back. Where exactly they tripped in a dance Ray felt resonate in his bones, he can’t guess.

Week four, Fraser calls, only it’s Ray’s doorbell that rings this time, and he picks himself up faster than he would the phone.

“Fraser,” he says first, then swings the door open, “Frase,” gripping his wrists way too tight, “what in god’s name was that—scratch that, don’t say, one thing it was is not buddies.”

“I don’t see what you mean, Ray,” Fraser says, and it’s supposed to make him angry, this far in, only this time Fraser is wrapped up in a soft green-gray flannel instead of the red walking coffin and he has his beat-up bag and the stupid hat on, so even Ray can see through the reflex of it. Fraser tugs gently at him. “Ah, Ray, if you could just let me put my bag down—thank you kindly.’

“You do, Frase, I know you do.” He lets Fraser’s wrists go for half a second it takes for the bag to thud onto the floor—other side of the threshold, damn it—and not a moment longer. “Did you come to stand outside my home and bullshit me?”

“Yes. I mean, not for that, no, but yes, I forgot about—oh, darn,” he says and tugs one hand free to take his stetson off, which is how you know, if you’re Ray, things are afoot. Big things. Momentary events in history. So when Fraser steps one foot in and leans back against the doorjamb and pulls him near—with hands snaking under his arms to land just below his shoulder blades, one half of a hug not yet given, a freakish way only Fraser would go with, which fires Ray up instantly, heat flooding his face like a punch he has to close his eyes against—when that’s done, Ray can find his mouth blind he’s so ready.

“You’re off,” he mumbles, because Fraser is the one with eyes open and he still landed somewhere around where Ray’s lips turn into his cheek, and then only corrected half an inch down, catching the corner of his open-eager mouth.

Fraser presses a kiss there, with intent. “Not,” he says, and then, then he hits the bullseye, fucking A, bingo, job done, you get a sticker—or a mouthful of tongue, because that’s faster where they stand.

“Momentous,” Fraser says into Ray’s hair, some breathless minutes later, and Ray says, “wha—’ and Fraser says, “you said, or rather mouthed, something about momentary events, if my memory serves—well, it must, it’s only been three minutes. I suppose you meant momentous, given the context.”

“Jesus, Shakespeare, come the fuck in, what do I have to offer to get you both feet inside.”

Fraser straightens but doesn’t move an inch to displace Ray where he’s giving him the second half of a hug. “Well, Ray, I didn’t mean to stay, per se.”

Ray disentangles them and tugs at the lapels of Fraser’s really very soft shirt, whenever he’s grabbed those, huh. He blinks once, twice, and thinks about how many bottles he will have to get for that cabinet now, because fucking hell. The bastard didn’t even have the courtesy to rub at his eyebrow, so to him it all makes sense somehow. He looks down and frowns.

“What’s with the bag?”

When he looks back up, Fraser smiles, an honest to god I’m-back-in-ten-foot-snow-and-alive-again grin, eyes kind of superglued to Ray’s face. “Promised Dief to get some of those Chicago donuts, which are, apparently ‘the right kind’.”

Ray steps back, shoves at Fraser’s chest, no way-like, and folds in two with laughter. Fraser looks at him all affectionate, and the absurdity is so familiar it gives Ray a headrush. Or maybe that’s all the wheezing he's doing.

“A bag? A whole bag of donuts?”

Fraser gets this look where his eyes get all liquid and light, and now that Ray’s got the manual he knows that translates to scared and hopeful in downright unhealthy measures. “I didn’t count on being back to Chicago soon.”

Ray can feel he’s doing the superglue thing now, too.

Fraser clears his throat. “Oh dear. Unless—I didn’t mean to presume, it’s only that on the phone—”

Ray cuts him off in a voice that’s too rough to seize the reins of, so it will probably break in there somewhere but it’s all a-okay now, isn’t it—says, “You’ll have to get in here, Frase. I think I’ll want some pants with my donuts, and I’m now in the bag-unpacked phase—uh, anyway.”

He heads inside and hears Fraser shut the door and toe off his boots. 

So maybe there was no tripping after all. Just Fraser and his insane moves Ray always learns, dancing skills be damned. Good thing he isn’t Bill Murray—would be awkward to explain this to the girl.

[katboykirby]

all your merch !!! how long have you been collecting? do you have a favorite item?

asdfghjksks I am so sorry it always takes me forever to answer Asks 😭 I have no idea why but Tumblr literally never gives me any notifications when I get them and I don't even know they're there in my inbox 💀

But anyway, thank you so much 🙏

I guess, technically, I've been collecting (in general) since I was really young - the earliest that I can still remember is being around 8 or 9 years old and obsessively hoarding every single piece of Pokémon merch that I could get my tiny little hands on. I do not know why my parents enabled this, but hey.

I still collect Pokémon stuff, since I still adore the franchise just as much as I did back then. But nowadays I usually stick to the merch that you can find at the real Pokémon Centers. I do have this fat Pikachu from like 1996 though, and he's completely unrecognisable

To be loved is to be changed

Obviously, my biggest collection and "main" collecting target is Obey Me! and OM: Nightbringer merch. At this point, my Satan & Solomon collection has consumed my entire house.

Here's a video tour of my collection

And that's not even the complete collection in full - I still have merch that I've yet to unpack and display, and I still have merch that I bought/ordered online and am waiting to receive when it's delivered in the mail 🥲

Thank you so much for your kind words! Whenever people tell me how much they love my SoloTan Shrine, it makes my entire day ☆

I hope that these silly little guys that I like to fill my house with can continue to make people smile 💚

[frosty--giants]

Obviously fuck English and all that but I do think we've got one thing over every other language on the planet: the Captain Underpants song.