#this hurts guys

[jaysgirlx]

just got some bad news guys, i didn't get the scholarship from my dream college that i was really hoping for. i still got in but my parents probably won't let me go there since i didn't get the money, i worked really hard for it so it feels like my efforts are in vain :(

[popcorn-plots]

Febuwhump day 29: Not allowed to die/alt -- Immortality

Title: eternal

Words: 682

Summary: Stephen Strange gets cursed.

Well at least the blorbos get a bittersweet ending after being tortured for a month straight.

~~~

He was cursed. It was as simple as that.

It was a new curse, something he had never seen before. It was irreversible, as far as he could tell. No one knew what it did. Stephen forgot about it.

It only took a few years to realize that he wasn't aging. Wong, well into his 50s, had a head of silvery-white. Stephen had his gray temples, his hair still jet black. He finally realized after so long that he couldn’t die. It shook him to his very core, but he pressed forward. He cherished the time he had left, the time his friends and family had left before they faded from the world’s memory.

Stephen watched as Wong aged. He watched as the man he loved started to forget. At first, it was simple things. He forgot words in English. He had to refer to spell books more often than not, forgetting the more complex spells. Then he began to wander, forgetting the names of his apprentices, and Stephen finally recognized Wong's behavior as Alzheimer's. It worsened rapidly, and before he knew it, Wong couldn't recognize Stephen. He couldn't even get out of bed. Stephen was with him when he finally passed, slipping away peacefully in his sleep.

Stephen grieved. Kamar-Taj grieved. Years later and most of the Masters he met when he first arrived were gone. They may have longer lifespans than the average human, but they were still mortal. Fragile.

Stephen continued on. Hundreds of years passed. He watched generations rise and fall, attempted to keep track of his and Wong’s descendants. He tried to smile at the spring-time Novices, all bright eyed and bushy tailed as he forced himself out of faded memories of warm afternoons at Kamar-Taj, laughing with the Ancient One over tea, bugging Wong in the library until the older man peppered his face with kisses, grumbling about the noise while hiding a smile behind his book. Summer nights spent studying in the courtyard, lit by the dim glow of lanterns, the stories in his books accompanied by the soft hum of magic, the chattering of students, and the symphonies of crickets. The frigid winter mornings spent cuddling with Wong under their thick covers, giggling as they basked in each other’s warmth.. 

He witnessed the rise of flying cars, produced not by Tony or Peter, but Tony’s granddaughter, Antonia Michelle Pepper Parker, named after her mother and grandmother. (He had visited Stark's grave, surrounded by the resting places of his family. Peter, MJ, Pepper, Happy. The grove was clean, cared for, but no one alive remembered them. No one but Stephen. He left without a word.) 

Stephen became known as The Doctor to his students. A student needed something? Talk the The Doctor. He knew everything.

He became as old, although never quite as wise, as the Ancient One herself, leading those who seeked the secrets of Kamar-Taj. He watched his students grow, blinked away tears at their graduation.

Dates faded into a thing of the past. Stephen spaced out more and more. People still came to him, he was still the Sorcerer Supreme. He wished someone would call him 'Stephen'.

It had been a long, long time since Stephen felt... anything. Yet he smiled, free from his burdens and laughing at the irony, as his last moments on Earth were spent free-falling from a misplaced portal.

~

When he woke up, it was to Wong, youthful and grinning. "Stephen.." he breathed, kissing him deeply when he got his bearings. Stephen nearly burst into tears. "I've waited so long for you. Come, come, everyone is waiting."

Stephen followed his lover through the empty halls of Kamar-Taj. Laughter bubbled through a door, a sliver of light cutting through the dark of the hallway.

Wong pushed the door open to reveal... everyone. Stephen finally cried when the Ancient One wrapped him in a hug, pulling him close to her chest. He was home, free from the expectations of his long, long life.

He was home, with Wong, with the Ancient One, with his family.

He could rest at last.

Ao3

Guys. We finished Febuwhump 2024. Holy shit. Been a long journey and I'm really proud of myself! Masterlist will be up sometime tomorrow--

See y'all in March!

[little-meowyao]

I was thinking about that one JGY edit to All You Wanna Do and something came to mind

It could ve argued that LXC doesn't fit because he never abused JGY. It could be argued that he does because he hurt him in the very end. Doesn't matter because that's not my point (I think it does fit)

But you know who really doesn't fucking fit with that song in relation to JGY

Wen Fucking Ruohan

And don't get me wrong, the description on the part he's put on actually fits him pretty neatly. If it were with anyone else. But not with JGY

I guess my point here is that the song is, in the end, about being abused and only wanted for her body, but that's not how WRH behaves towards JGY

I know we know next to nothing about WRH but the Fire Palace scenes show that he 1. Cares for JGY, 2. Cares for him as his own person, 3. Worries for him, 4. Values him. The Implications!!!!

And WRH, in the end, really did not harm JGY. In fact he looked fucking devastated (in the mahua) at being killed by him.

I will NEVER get over them your honor. Never. Ruoyao my silly beloatheds. My meowmeows.

[inkskinned]

she's singing in another room and my dog is asleep at my feet. my grandma asked me why i haven't found a man yet and i laughed. oh, you know. i like my house clean.

my girlfriend is also my man is also "my partner" if i'm in a professional setting. yesterday we went to a ren faire and a man mimed at me - you're together? and at my delighted nod, his baffled, you're gay? made me laugh. a woman with rainbow hair said i love the two of you together. you're both so beautiful it's absurd.

my dad introduced my partner as my "..... friend. or whatever" the other day. he knows we're dating. in the same way, i was never able to get my sister's husband to stop saying that's gay like it's 2008. he still uses the word fa***t, and my sister's defense of him has always been well, he's just kidding.

my lover and i dance to old music in a tiny kitchen. we judge new music together and take food critique very seriously. we watch love is blind before we fall asleep and agree that if they had a queer season, it would be bloody but also make for excellent tv. of fucking course queer people would know someone for only 2 weeks and agree to get married. what are you saying.

at a bar with friends, a man puts his hand on my wrist. got a boyfriend? and yes, i do have a boyfriend, she's amazing. i am texting her while i wander around a gas station named after geese. i am visiting a swing state for a wedding. in the candy aisle i overhear: she's actually like a lesbian it's disgusting. two teenage girls with packaged sandwiches in their hands, giggling. no literally, like. i'm not, like. okay with her being there while we're all, like, naked and changing.

my girlfriend and i tailgate, drink gin and cider out of cups. from the frat group beside us, a man corrects himself with one of his friends: bro, i mean, nonbinary entity, and it makes everyone around him laugh, myself included. he razzes his friend the same way i would have killed for at 19 years old - like nothing happened, he continues: you apply sunscreen like an alien. he does a little sassy (and fairly accurate) dance interpretation of the motion. his friend is laughing so hard they're crying.

i am lucky, i live in a safe neighborhood in a safe state. my masc passenger princess comes up from DC. i drive her for an hour to where all the leaves are a violent arrangement of color. we walk along the trails, letting autumn into our blood. in this part of the state, there's a lot of pickup trucks and trump signs. when we chastely kiss before getting into the car, i accidentally make eye contact with a woman holding her child's wrist. she looks disgusted. she looks fucking pissed.

two hours later my girl and i are eating dinner on a patio, soaking in the last warmth of new england sun before the chill of winter sets in. we are giggling and trying to talk through plastic vampire teeth. at another table, i see a young woman sit up straighter. i watch her watch us. she blushes and takes her partner's hand from across the table. shy, like the taste of evening has just become something deeper.

it's worth it for this moment, i think. my lover is still humming the same song she's been singing for four days straight and i don't want to kill her for it. her guitar is beside my bed. her toothbrush is in my bathroom. in a few moments i will make us lunch. we are lucky enough to have found each other. it is lucky enough to be in love.

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

shattered glass B-127

[valtsv]

this is entirely petty and personal but i cannot stand the word "whump" it's like unalive to me. just say you enjoy torturing your favourite character so that you can nurse them back to health again like a sickly baby bird they're not real it's okay.

[pangur-and-grim]

I think he likes me

[wasyago]

tango doodles

first you make up a guy and then you struggle to draw him correctly

[bunnyboy-juice]

you guys know butch =/= taking T right? you guys know dyke masculinity is not correlated to being transmasc right? you guys know that even your silly jokes where you flatten butchness to taking T/being transmasc is extremely transmisogynistic right?

[chloesimaginationthings]

How helpy tested out the FNAF pizza sim attractions

[0039pf-third-blog-hooray]

another wip. today i'm going to do this one, or the wip i showed last time... we'll see 🪩

anddd some coloring process! the song is plastic mode - mi amor

[hinamie]

brighter days ahead

[nedlittle]

genuinely i think it's important for adults, especially in the plague times, to play pretend in our day-to-day lives. when i rub my back down with tiger balm so i can sleep without pain, i imagine i am a valiant knight tending to an old injury i received from a dragon. when i go to the store to pick up eggs and milk, i am a lone cowboy riding into town on a mission. when i turn my collar up against the wind i am a femme fatale who's killed 4 husbands and is scoping out a 5th. when i stomp around in the snow i am a doomed polar explorer. if being a little bit silly about my walk to the pharmacy helps me remember that life can be full of joy and whimsy, then so be it.

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[demaparbat-hp]

Post-blood fears

[egophiliac]

well, I can't say I expected the new chapter to feature Idia (metaphorically) going to (metaphorical) hell, getting a pep talk from his (metaphorical) Phantom brother which helps him finally move on once and for all from his brother's death, and (metaphorically) overblotting again to fight his way back out of (metaphorical) hell, only to have his darkest fear (non-metaphorically) come true when his mom goes through his computer and finds all his secret files. but I am glad it did!

also this is all a flashback for the purpose of explaining to our group what the heck is going on (whether or not any of it is getting through is another matter)