#and I miss that man so goddamn much

[sexyzuka]

I wanted to make a motivational poster for my office, but an hour later it turned into this.

Kiba believes in you, don't give up!

[dadrielle]

I see you reminding Laura about Imogen's deranged mixed-our-blood-together-vial, Aabria, and I appreciate you SO much

[wp100]

wonder where khadgar's been :p

[mostlyanything19]

I’m trying to write something down about the scene where Orym sends to Dorian, and then Ashton, having slipped out on the group to look for him, comes and joins him there, but I’m not feeling eloquent enough rn for it. Just. Ashton looking out for people -- all of them, he’s doing it for all of them, he’s been doing it for a while, the cheking in and the noticing and the trying to find some words, whether they’re any good or not. Telling Orym that he can reach out, if he needs something, that he doesn’t have to fold it all back into himself. Ashton sharing so much of himself and how they’re feeling and what they’ve been thinking about. I don’t feel like who I was. Always been... not big on new people, not big on human contact. General... anything. And now - this. And ...and by telling Orym this, especially in that quiet, introspective moment just between the two of them, he’s almost deliberately leaving a door angled open just so, and Orym responds exactly like I knew he would. Because... because he’s been reaching out to Ashton, physically. He has, in fact, been touching him a lot - just small things but very frequent, a tug on his hand or a pat on the shoulder or an attempted noogie or what-have-you. And Ashton has grumbled about some of those, but always good-naturedly, and he’s always let him, and has also been reciprocating. And then here is Ashton saying, in not so many words, I think I want to be touched more than I let on. And here is Orym, turning to him and very deliberately just reaching out a hand and waiting, silently asking if he’s understood this right, and Ashton says yeah. Yeah. We’re good.

[lululeighsworld]

SIR YOU LITERALLY STARTED IT !!!!!!!!

[the-kipsabian]

[ladyimaginarium]

i swear to g-d im& not even the jealous type but jfc i HAAAAAAATE this feeling when im& just lowkey like. who's :)))))) this :))))) bitch 👀👀👀👀🔪🔪🔪🔪 :))))))

[applecherry108]

I…

So I grew up watching The Simpsons. And maybe I shouldn’t have, but hey, it was the 90s and parent-sanctioned family time to watch a show that was definitely inappropriate for little-little kids.

Anyways.

I knew Phil Hartman, voice of Troy McClure and Lionel Hutz died in 1998, when I was seven. I knew he died and was sad about it. I missed his characters.

MOTHERFUCKER I WAS TODAY YEARS OLD—30-FUCKING-2 TO BE EXACT—WHEN I FOUND OUT, FROM A YOUTUBE THUMBNAIL, THAT HE WAS MURDERED. IN HIS SLEEP. BY AN EX-PARTNER.

WHAT THE FUCK

[stillflight]

Finding the new meme language so funny that I've started referring to the Entity that lives in my walls and vanishes mildly important items like $5 bills and pieces of my work uniform "the thieving taker" which makes it so much less threatening

[truckstoptigers]

I think the worst part about remembering is that at this point, nobody is off-limits. i was constantly surrounded by people who were abusing me/letting it happen when with my father. in the first few years of trafficking me, we lived in a tiny apartment that barely fit two people, let alone four. my little brother & i slept on a mattress on the floor while our father & his girlfriend slept in the bed. half the time we didn't even get sufficient covers or pillows. and his girlfriend didn't even seem to think anything of it. never tried to help us/provide bedding, never offered to turn the heater on for us, nothing.

we were in such close quarters that I don't know how she WOULDN'T have noticed something was wrong, but. that's the same woman that knew I was sick and had a borderline dangerously high fever, but still drove me to goodwill so she could try on clothes - I was literally sitting on the floor of the dressing room with my head leaned against the wall, fighting to stay conscious. we were just down the street from where my mom lived and she knew I was sick, but she didn't seem to care. neither of them did. my mom was FURIOUS when I got home and she took my temperature. all she had to do was look at me to know I was really sick, and she was pissed at my father & stepmother for knowingly disregarding that. my mom & her side of the family are the only reason parts of my childhood were good. they care about & love me so much, and I'm so grateful for that.

but.

I'm scared because I think my stepmother's brother did something to me too, but I can't fully remember what, and I don't know that I'll ever have all the pieces to put that one together. I'm scared because my uncle (father's half-brother) always scared the shit out of me and I can think of only one reason as to why that could be, because he was never physically abusive - he could yell, but he never raised a hand to me or his two daughters.

we lived with him for a while, on two different occasions. I was terrified of him. I didn't feel safe if his wife (my aunt) wasn't around. I don't remember enough to know for sure though, which is the only thing keeping me from losing it tbh. that bedroom down the hall in that trailer was the first place my father raped me. they might've even been home at the time, my cousins & their parents. I just - how could that stuff happen so closely around other people and NOBODY noticed? it makes my chest hurt. how did nobody think anything was just a little bit off? I'd scream & cry every time it was my father's weekend because I knew what was coming, but no one else did, and I was too scared to tell them.

it's hard not to feel a little bit bitter about that. it's even worse to have to seriously consider the idea that yet another family member was abusing me around the same time. and if my uncle really did do something to me, that terrifies me. my cousins are both girls. their mom lived with them for a while, but at some point she seemingly got fed up (she wanted to live a very different life) and walked out, which left my cousins alone with him.

I can only pray that the only man that did anything to me was my almost stepmother's brother (the woman we lived with in the apartment; she & my father broke up eventually) and not my uncle too. I highly doubt he'd only abuse me and not his daughters in that case, and that scares the shit out of me. what I learned in those eight years my father abused me is that no one - and nowhere - was safe. sometimes the men would pay my father in drugs, which I now know they probably did together because she developed a nasty addiction while she was with him - I'd seen him do hard drugs pretty often, and she did them too. I wonder if she knew where they came from. I can only hope she didn't bother to ask, but I doubt he would've told her if she didn't already know.

she didn't protect me. she didn't ever try to get between my father and I, even though she'd witness him screaming at me & sometimes hitting me. I was eight fucking years old. I still remember the time I innocently tried to help with my brother when he said a cuss word & getting smacked by our father because I "was not the parent." I sure fucking felt like I was. even my brother's own mother didn't take care of him the way she should've, and even if she does now, that's not something I can just forget.

I don't know. I really hope it's just my brain being paranoid, but I can't know for sure right now. I want to be able to say my uncle only intimidated me with words/yelling frequently, but I don't know. I don't know. and I hate that. I hate that the memories come back with no real consistency, and that I might not even be done recovering them. I want it to be over but I get the feeling it isn't, yet. I don't know if it ever will be.

I just hope I'm wrong, because that would make things so much worse. the one place I felt safe/like I could get away from everything was the same place I was raped for the first time, and in that case maybe it was never truly safe. maybe I'm an idiot for thinking anywhere with my father was safe.

at this point, all I can do is hope he didn't hurt me, but I can't even be sure he didn't.

[silverselfshippingchaos]

good morning! i just put a.khos on the f/o list!

[roamingzombiz]

im still so pissed that capcoms only poc characters in resident evil have just disappeared out of existence

[noxtivagus]

thinking abt the fair rn n i want more oh my goddd

[funkypoacher]

From your pinned prompt list: Ghosts I Have Seen

fiiinally getting back into my prompts list (and thank you so very much for sending this). This is a bit of a 'look behind the scenes' -- this scene, in fact.

It's from the second half of the first chapter of my Honest Hearts fic which still doesn't have a title (ffff). This half of the chapter is from July's POV, meaning you wouldn't get to see what's going on in Daniel's head, except, thanks to this prompt, I've now written it. dundundun.

With a setting sun, supper dishes soaking in the river, and a full stomach satisfied, it’s a strange time to see ghosts, but there they are. They aren’t in her boldly-wondered question. They’re not in its answer, either. What happened to New Canaan? passes quickly between them, the faces of those murdered on Daniel’s mind as opaquely as what he says next.

‘They were lost.’

While not exactly illuminating, it’s transparent enough; however, that’s still not where his ghosts lie. They’re here; they’re her. Miss Wells talks about what a higher power might do for the Sorrows—what the NCR can offer them: protection, education, and a support net—and all these beautiful, democratic notions plucked from her teacher’s lecture-books which she clearly takes as gospel. And in every passioned breath—in the piqued pink of her cheek—Daniel sees his ghosts. He sees the ghost of himself setting out on his first mission, full of joy, and generosity. He sees himself some years later, returning to the Sorrows, continuing to preach God’s love. He sees himself, again and again, propelled by optimism and yet destined for where he ends up: losing the people he loves to grand ideals, all of them victims of sloth.

It will not happen again. New Canaan’s fate cannot be mirrored in Zion.

“What the NCR wants from Joshua would never be justice,” Daniel says, entering the conversation she just accused him of half-listening to. “What you want is vengeance. To rain wrath upon a man you have no right to judge. Only God has that right, and He will judge Joshua. In the end.” Daniel looks her over, not bothering to interpret her expression as that of either indignation or confusion, while saying, “we’re done here,” and he motions to the last of the dinner dishes in his hand: a dried, chipped cup.

“Right. Well.” Miss Wells stiffly collects her washing rag and the tallow soap. “Thank you for helping with these.”

“No. Thank you.” Daniel’s voice softens. As he looks at Miss Wells, he thinks of himself those years ago, and knows he must be better. He cannot simply debate with Joshua over the morality or spiritual weight of what must be done—he has to do more for the Sorrows than wonder what would have happened if those old roads had remained forgotten. And he now has a good notion of the actions to take. 

Seeing a clear path before him, Daniel realizes he’ll be able to bury his youth’s hubris. It makes him—well, it makes him rather forgiving, just then.

“I have something for you,” Daniel says as Miss Wells is walking away, the softness of his tone an offering in itself. “Back at camp.”

and sadly it's not even his penis :(

[thecatboyfriend]

i really hate camping

[kairakeiji]

i am absolutely folding for the harbingers rn who’s with me😭😭