#to live life on my terms

[beebfreeb]

[knifearo]

being aromantic is like. hey btw you're going to live a life that is the culmination of most of society's worst nightmares. sorry lol ✌️ but then you turn around and take a really good hard look at it and it turns out that living in that nightmare is fucking awesome and you get to wake up every day and take that fear that other people have and laugh and hold it close until it's a great joy for you instead. and being happy is a radical act that you define instead of someone else. and you're sexy as fuck that's just a fact of life i don't make the rules on that one

[justafriendofxanders]

call buffyverse the bermuda triangle because no ship made it out of that shit alive. no marriage finale, no kids, no epilogue. the ideal ending for me where it's just a whole bunch of exes and dead exes in a world where people are constantly coming back to life. multidimensional divorce FOREVER.

[gibbycat]

there are not enough words to describe how much mithrun means to me. there is something wonderful about a character who has to rediscover themselves after having their sense of identity stripped away from them except for one thing that they have for their reason to keep going.

as someone who was in a similar position, mithrun's journey means a lot to me. someone who acted on a desire that, at least in the short term, provided some semblance of direction but would inevitably burn out in the long run. desiring revenge wasn't sustainable, yet it was the only thing that kept mithrun going. because that was all he had left of his identity.

but in the end, when mithrun realized that he wanted to do something else? that he wanted to live? i cried so hard.

[symbologic]

Will Zoro leave Luffy after they achieve their dreams? Not likely

Saying Zoro's gonna voluntarily leave Luffy at the end of OP so he can "live his own life" (i.e. get married, open a dojo, hang out in bars) is so wild to me. That's like saying Luffy's gonna give up adventuring so he can sit around and gorge himself on meat

First of all, it ignores that Zoro genuinely enjoys traveling with Luffy. Luffy (who's always getting into trouble) gives Zoro the chance to be his best self. And Zoro (who very much wants to be his best self) will always seize that chance with both hands

Second, both characters are like...the poster children of wanting to have their cake and eat it too. If you're Luffy or Zoro, you rarely need to make either/or choices. That's what makes them unique. It's why they've both got conqueror's haki! Basically: If Zoro wants to drink until he blacks out? If he wants to nap all day? Hell, if he wants to get lost in a paper bag?? He is like a big cat. He will do what he wants, wherever he is. He doesn't need to leave Luffy to get those things LOL

Third, Luffy's made it clear the Pirate King needs no less than the Greatest Swordsman by his side. Why would that suddenly stop once they've both achieved their dreams? Is Luffy going to quit being Pirate King? Why would he? Luffy wants to be the most free in the world, so he can live the life he wants...with the people he wants to live it with

In other words, Luffy isn't letting Zoro go without a fight — not unless Luffy genuinely feels he's no longer the type of man Zoro would want to travel with. And wouldn't that be the worst ending for both of them?

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Aftermath

After waking up from a ten year stasis, Gordon finds himself back in the ruins of Black Mesa.

Notes: Hi half life fandom this is my first fic posted for HL. Also this is the first reveal of my HL au: Aftermath! So thats pretty neato, anyway hope you enjoy this short little prologue thing

Blackness was all he saw; darkness for miles, with pure nothingness filling the gaps. He couldn’t feel, see, or hear, and even trying to think of a single thing was proving to be a greater challenge than he’d expect. His thoughts blurred together into a sludge of meaningless ramblings, leaving him unable to process where he was, or how he got here. He had vague memories flashing in his mind, glimpses of concrete corridors and alien fauna. It was maddeningly barren, with the silence being enough to drive a man mad. How much time has passed since he arrived here? Has it been seconds? Days?  Time itself felt nonexistent at that very moment, simply a construct that meant nothing in this place. It felt as if he was in a dream, trapped in his own head as he traversed his own subconsciousness, floating in a vague void, unable to act or react to anything that could possibly be in there. He all but gave up hope of escaping this dark Hell he had found himself in, until he felt himself being pulled by an invisible force, and abruptly, there was light.

Gordon’s senses came back to him as fast as a train crash, the feeling of barely healed fractures and lacerations coming back to him as his nerves fired. Ringing flooded his hearing, with the HEV’s computer voice, an artificial voice he came to despise, sounding muffled and making it hard to process any of the words being said to him. He couldn’t move, his limbs feeling as if they were being pinned down by a massive weight, as if he was on the bottom of the ocean. The numbing pain shot up his legs and arms, though despite his wishes, there was no way he could even scream, with his throat tight and his vocal cords useless. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, with the weakness draped across his body making even that menial action nearly impossible. He began to wonder if the infinite void he was in before would be better than reality, with the idea of feeling nothing rather than feeling everything to a painful degree seeming like a better option than what he was forced to bear.

As he laid on the rubble, he began to hear something new past the waning ringing; footsteps approaching him. Gordon desperately wanted to move, to protect himself from the new danger, yet as much as he tried, his limbs refused to budge. Soon he realized it was multiple sets of footfall coming near, and soon, he began to make out a voice.

The words slurred together in his mind, making the message hard to decipher, but a few words cut clearer than others:

“Breathing. Freeman. Alive. Help. Out.”

Gordon felt his limp body being moved, raised from the ground by someone, or something, being dragged across the concrete floor to somewhere else. Despite his foggy mind, Gordon couldn’t help but consider the worst; Xen creatures dragging him elsewhere to slaughter him as he did to them, and Military personnel taking him somewhere to question, torture, or even execute him were among the possibilities his short-circuting mind had come up with. However, before he could even do anything to try and prevent whatever fate might befall him, he felt himself drifting off, falling unconscious yet again.

He slowly stirred awake once again to hear the sound of an engine running and tires rolling across a gravel road. He was almost afraid to open his eyes, yet when he gained the strength to do so, his eyelids opened and he took a brief glimpse around. Through his blurred vision, he saw he was in the backseat of some sort of vehicle, laid across the seats. His metal HEV pressed against his body awkwardly, making any movement he could make uncomfortable. His head was supported with a wadded-up hoodie, and his body was covered by a thin blanket that had been thrown onto him. It was strange to see simple kindness extended to him, though he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a trick to make him let his guard down. He glanced towards the front seats, seeing the back of the drivers head, but not who was in the passenger seat. They were speaking to one another, but yet again the words fell out of Gordon’s grasp. He felt himself beginning to drift off again, and despite his wishes to stay awake, he grew limp as he fell unconscious yet again.

When Gordon next woke up, he was greeted with cold air around him. As he was pulled out of unconsciousness, he began to hear rhythmic beeping beside him; something he immediately recognized as a heart monitor. Gordon felt as if a weight was taken off of him, and when he gained the strength to open his eyes again, he saw the reason why. His HEV suit was missing, and he was instead wearing a pale blue hospital gown from what he could gather. He was laying in a bed, with its stiff mattress, albeit uncomfortable, feeling like heaven compared to laying on the cold concrete floors of Black Mesa. He saw bandages covering parts of his body, old blood seeping into them. Past his bed however, he could barely make out anything, with everything being blurry and hard to make out. He must have lost his glasses somewhere, but it was the least of his worries as the pain began to seep in. 

All his limbs felt sore, making it hard to move a single finger. His leg had a throbbing pain in his knee, and he felt as if he was being slashed with knives whenever he attempted to move his arms. His heart felt heavy and his lungs stinged with every breath. When was the last time he took a break to breathe? It felt like the days worth of fighting for his life hit him all at once, making him feel nearly paralyzed, and too tired to do anything to fight it. He began to wonder if it was best to be asleep; at least he wouldn’t have to think or feel. He began to wonder how he got here, racking his brain to try and bring up any clue of what had happened. The last thing he remembered before he woke up was being knee-deep in what he could assume was blood, staring up at something…he couldn’t even begin to describe. He killed the thing keeping the portal between earth and the border world open, so why did he feel so…empty? It felt as though his accomplishment meant nothing, as if he was missing something deep inside. He closed his eyes, attempting to fetch his blotted out memories for a shred of explanation, all before he shot his eyes open, a single image returning to his consciousness.

The man.

Gordon’s memories became clear as day when he remembered the man in the dull, navy blue suit. He remembered its unnaturally piercing eyes, staring deep into Gordon’s very being as if it was examining his very soul and regrets. He remembered its face, with it looking aged, yet it felt ageless at the same time. He remembered the unnatural way it stood, as if it was being held up with strings. He recalled the way it spoke to him as if it never spoke in its entire life before that very moment. He never got its name or its motivations, but something about remembering the man and its almost human facade caused his heart to skip a beat. Paranoia crept up in his mind, and the feeling of being watched began to be overwhelming. Something wasn’t right, as if something he didn’t see was coming after him. He needed to get out of here before it arrived.

Gordon forced his arms to move as he sat up in his bed, wincing before he turned to step out of bed, clasping the side of it with one of his shaking hands. As soon as he put weight on his leg, however, he collapsed onto the linoleum floor, ripping his IV out of his arm in the process. He let out a small squeak; the closest he physically could get to a scream, a pathetic noise that reminded him just how helpless he truly was at this moment. He pushed himself up as much as he could, arms shaking at the exertion, but he couldn’t get back onto his feet. As he tried to get off of the floor in vain, the door to the room opened, and a person appeared in the doorway. It was a nurse, coming into the room only to be greeted by Gordon unsuccessfully escaping his bed. She appeared surprised, immediately approaching him to help with getting him back onto the bed, despite his best tries to escape her grasp. She said a few things to try and comfort him, but Gordon couldn’t process the words before she quickly left the room, coming back with another doctor, presumably for help.

Gordon hated the fact he was back in the bed, with a new IV being attached and bandages being replaced. He wasn’t sure when the next threat would rear its head, and he needed to be prepared for when it did. Yet, he was all but incapable of doing anything of use, and he had to accept it. He could barely even move, less shoot a gun or swing a weapon at anything. 

“Dr. Freeman?”

Gordon was surprised to finally make out what someone was saying, looking up at the doctor who had just finished reattaching his IV. 

“You’re lucky to be alive,” He stated, almost smiling slightly. It was unclear if it was to try and make light of the situation or if it was relief. “Even more lucky to be awake right now. Though please, don’t try getting up again, alright? You might reopen stitches.”

Gordon stared at the doctor’s face blankly before leaning back and staring at the ceiling as the doctor continued talking.

“A couple of scavengers found you back at the ruins of Black Mesa, or, at least that's their story. You’ll have to speak with the police about the entire situation.” the doctor continued, “The Vortigaunt said you were lucky to be found in there, apparently had to drag you out of there.”

Gordon’s brows furrowed, not recognizing the word “Vortigaunt” despite the doctor bringing it up so casually. He looked back at the doctor with a puzzled look on his face. 

“I’m sure everyone will be happy to see you’re alive,” The doctor chuckled, trying to make light of the situation despite Gordon not reciprocating the cheerful atmosphere. “You’ve been gone for a long time, so a lot of us thought you would never return.”

Gordon’s puzzled expression turned to a look of borderline anger, wanting to ask so many questions but being unable to; he didn’t even know if the doctor knew sign language, and he didn’t have paper to write on, that is if he had the strength to hold a pencil.

“You look…upset,” The doctor said, his smile fading, “I can understand why, but if it brings you any comfort, you have hundreds of thousands of people who were wishing for your return. You’re a hero, you know.”

Gordon doubted that sentiment.

“We…believe you were in a coma, sir,” The doctor glanced at his nurse, as if he wanted help breaking the news, “...one that lasted ten years, so you're...lucky to be alive at all.”

The doctor continued to explain the situation, claiming that Gordon was lucky to have his brain still functioning despite being asleep for that long, but the words went through one ear and out the other. Gordon didn’t process the doctor trying to speak to him, only staring into the wall behind him as he leaned back in his bed. He didn’t even blink once as reality seemed to become meaningless, dissociating as his brain wouldn’t even allow him to process the time lost. To him, he was gone for a few mere moments, but an entire decade had passed in the time it took him to escape the void he was in for a brief, yet agonizing time. He wondered if his friends had forgotten about him, if they were even alive after the Resonance Cascade; they almost certainly believed he was dead at the very least. Gordon had been dead to the world for so long, he felt surprised anyone came to rescue him at all. After all, who would rescue the man who caused so much death in the span of a few days? Was he supposed to go back into normal society after everything? Was he supposed to be praised as a hero, despite the fact he was just a lowly scientist who just wanted to survive?

Gordon wished to go back to sleep. Being awake felt more agonizing than the temporary stasis ever did.

[alicelufenia]

The Court of Eilistraee

The Drow City Imberlur

When the fuck was anyone gonna tell me Ed Greenwood had a youtube channel [x] where he does shockingly well produced lore videos on little tidbits of the Forgotten Realms, straight from his home campaign to the greater rpg community.

Both of these videos related to Eilistraee and non-Lolth sworn drow settlements are a godsend. Visiting Imberlur someday would be a dream come true for my Tav, and I can totally see an astral projection trip into Eilistraee's court when she reaches the climax of her story, similar to how Gale had a one-on-one with Mystra towards the end.

Thank you Ed your little side stories are worth their weight in gold while WotC continues to do nothing with these elements that have been around for literally over 30 years.

[angelsdean]

thinking abt the "i'm 26 dude" scene and sam's incredulous "dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?" and thinking about the fact that sam was still in contact with dean after he left up until 2 yrs ago. thinking about dean lying to sam whenever they spoke on the phone, saying he and john were working some case when actually john had ditched him to follow some lead or sent dean off on another case. but dean didn't want sam to know, didn't want sam to think even less of john, since all dean wants at this point is for his family to be together again, and that hinges on sam and john burying the hatchet and making up. so he pretended he and john stuck together, that everything's fine, offers to swing by and visit sam sometime, trying to mend their awkward relationship beyond these here-and-there phone calls, but sam continues to shut down and evade dean's offers to visit. it's not a good time right now, dean. midterms. finales. my roommate has someone visiting. i'm busy with an internship. work study. etc etc. until eventually dean gets the hint. eventually sam stops calling and picking up the phone for dean.

[sprinklersart]

they should show up to kazansky family events together occasionally over the years and do fun family things like share an air mattress in the living room with ices 19 year old cousin and take a 4 hour trip to the grocery store just for milk and chainsmoke behind the shed with ice’s sister. they deserve it ❤️

[raionmimi]

Hi! I simply wanted to say that tour Symweaver stuff is beautiful, and also, What do you Think about "Sunflower" (by Post Malone and Swae Lee) as the theme song of these two? I think it's perfect for them!

I'm so sorry but the song is hardwired into my brain to think "that's the Miles Spiderverse song" to think of anything else 😭 I'm glad you're able to pull Symweaver out of it! I do enjoy listening to songs with ships in mind when I'm drawing, so I'll try to revisit it with them in mind

It's a common shippy song, but I really enjoy "From the Start" by Laufey for Symweaver because I love the idea that either they both of them thought their feelings were unrequited until they were adults, or that Lifeweaver was always aware of her feelings and just let her vibe until she was comfortable expressing it

[woman-respecter]

i hate the fact that i can’t drive so much, it makes it impossible to live almost anywhere in the country. like my only optioons are to get a job on wall street and move to nyc or kill myself asap

[cuubism]

as much as i love traditionally married dreamling - and do i - i also have this bruised softness in my heart for 'what we have is outside relationship constructs, define it at your own peril' dreamling, for 'drifting in and out of each other's orbit with each other as perennial anchor point' dreamling, 'i haven't seen you in sixty years but what's that to an immortal, you are always in my heart' dreamling, 'our lives are not quite one but neither are they apart' dreamling. drop in on me, i am always ready to welcome you. and i will always let you go.

hob as a fixture, a constancy, a hearth, and dream as a wild creature coming in from the cold. it cannot be kept, and you would commit no such sin of trying to, but it can be held, warm, before the fireplace for a while. let it go, and trust that it will come back.

hob as a wanderer, life to life to life, and dream as an ancient, enduring kingdom whose protection is reachable just by closing your eyes. continuance impossible in the waking world but offered as easily as a kiss on the cheek.

there is no keeping a dream, is the thing. and dream does not want to be kept, but he does want to be held, held and let go and held again with those arms always open to him. there is no keeping an adventurer, either, and hob is an adventurer at heart, always ready to see, do, the next thing, but adventurers need a home, too, one that doesn't mind when they come back a little bit different.

go where you need to, when you need to. carry my love with you. and come back to me.

that kind of dreamling.

[bitchfitch]

tbh I'm never going to stop being mad about the Manx syndrome that makes Manx cats manxes. It's an easily, Visually identifiable trait that causes the afflicted animal life long discomfort and mobility issues so severe many need specialized care and equipment to give them a normal life. And that isnt even taking into account how many die as kittens or who need to be put down because they'll never have the minimum quality of life needed to subject them to their difficulties.

there's 2 genes that can cause shortened tails/no tail in cats and while it's debatable how ethical the other one is, due to how important tails are for cat communication, the bobtail Gene is at least not devastating to the animals welfare. Unlike Manx syndrome it just causes the kittens to be born with fewer tail vertebrae. All the other vertebrae are unaffected.

Manx syndrome, in the more severe cases, which to be clear are the breed standard and are considered Desirable, cause the back half of the spine to fail to form correctly. This causes the cats to "hop like bunnies" bc their hind legs are partially paralyzed. they have severe nerve issues bc their spinal cord isn't fully encased in bone like it should be. The paralysis effects their guts too, making many of them incontinent or unable to relieve themselves properly. which leads to chronic UTIs and them needing frequent baths. which, they are cats, they do not like baths.

The main defense of the continued intentional breeding of manxes is that it is a naturally occurring mutation, as in its a landrace breed that initially happened on its own in the feral cat population on the island of mann. "if they were able to survive and reproduce under those conditions then surely it's ok" type of argument. A dominant trait spreading through a feral cat population on a small island that has no predators and plenty of small animal prey to eat, is not a defense. it's the law of large numbers.

[rudnitskaia]

yay a week until my 29th bday ✨🔥😎🔥✨

[uncanny-tranny]

By implying that children are too stupid and rude to learn about the world and learn how the world works and how to interact with others, you are casting responsibility away from the people who are responsible for that child's upbringing and placing the blame on the children (who don't have the autonomy given to them to be allowed to decide what they want) who can't help what they do and do not learn, often.

If the children aren't okay, then investigate why before turning to thought-terminating clichés of, "Well, the kids are just stupid and dumb and aren't even worth the effort because they're lazy!"

[wonder-worker]

"It is too easy to dismiss [Leonor of Navarre] as an overambitious schemer who would do anything to obtain a crown, shedding the blood of her own siblings and her subjects in order to attain the throne. However, a deeper investigation of her long lieutenancy and ephemeral reign shows a woman who fought tenaciously to preserve her place but also worked tirelessly to administer a realm which was crippled by internal conflict and the center of the political schemes of France, Aragon, and Castile. She tried to broker peace, fight off those who opposed her, repair the wounds caused by conflict, protect the sovereignty of the realm, and keep the wheels of governance turning. Leonor was not always successful in achieving all of these aims but given the background of conflict and the lack of cooperation she received from all of her family members, bar her loyal husband, it is a huge achievement that she survived to wear the crown at all. Many writers have argued that Leonor deserved the troubled lieutenancy, personal tragedies, an ephemeral reign, and a blackened reputation, basing their assumption that she committed a crime that cannot be [conclusively] proven. However, a more fitting description of her would be that of a resolute ruler who successfully overcame a multitude of challenges in order to survive in a difficult political landscape and gain a hard-fought throne.”

-Elena Woodacre, "Leonor of Navarre: The Price of Ambition", Queenship, Gender and Reputation in the Medieval and Early Modern West, 1060-1600 (Edited by Zita Eva Rohr and Lisa Benz)