Category: Uncategorized

ko-fi time

Alright so I’ve been kinda thinking about it, kinda tossing the idea around, and I finally decided to make one! It’s for Endymion, my lazy as fuck Tuxedo boy, to help with any medical bills he might incur in the future*

There’s no pressure or anything, just putting it out there in case anyone wants to drop a couple bucks for him. If you want like a picture of him, or maybe a short video of me giving him some head pats or something just for you, maybe a quick sketch? I can do these all of these things, no problem! Just like let me know what you want, and I’ll either post it here or on ko-fi, your choice. Thank you in advance to anyone who shows interest in this ❤

Here’s a link to the ko-fi, for some reason tumblr isn’t letting the link on my actual page work?? I’m trying to fix it but it is being Unreasonable.

*he’s a cat with a history of an upper respiratory infection and a kitty uti so, it’ll happen.

ancillaechristi:

charlesoberonn:

Writers: Bad people are still people with their own problems and emotions, even when they cause problems and distress and hurt other people.

Tumblr Gremlins: Problematic. Blocked.

Writers: Good people are still human beings with their own problems and emotions; even a good person will cause problems and distress and hurt other people.

Tumblr Gremlins:

Silverleaf 10: Flicker and Glow

docholligay:

Hey everyone! Hotaru and Chibs folks will be delighted by this edition of Silverleaf! Sponsored by our excellent Ben! Please thank him below, so far as I know, he doesn’t have a tumblr! Thank you for reading! All of Silverleaf is here. 

Hotaru was beginning to doubt herself completely. All of this seemed like a nice enough idea, when she’d been sitting in her room, writing and rewriting the letter, wanting to figure out what to say to Chibiusa, trying not to sound as weird and awkward as she felt.

In her mind and her heart, there was poetry. There were descriptions of how Chibiusa’s hair shone in the sunlight, and they were rich and deep and Chibiusa would blush with delight when she read them.

On the actual paper, she had compared her to a pink Starburst. Those were the best, everyone knew.

The best she could do was a Starburst. 

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bunjywunjy:

wigmund:

kedreeva:

end0skeletal:

by

Georg Scharf

birds were invented by sticking a bunch of weapons and feathers on a ball of pure hubris and bringing it to life by the power of spite and fight alone, they are completely lacking in the ability to regret bad decisions like the ones about to be made above

I like how the second heron is just hovering in the back like GREG. GREG, NO. LETS JUST GO HOME, COME ON

A Stopped Clock: Chapter 9–Tick

docholligay:

Here we are, my pineapple upside down cakes, at the end of this series. I have LOVED writing this, and I hope you’ve loved reading it! I want to give a special shoutout to @katrani who besides being a lovely person I’ve had the fortune to meet in person, made this whole thing possible, and I feel very spoiled and lucky that she let me write this. DOC WITH A HAPPY AND HOPEFUL ENDING WTF (oh please, I do it all the time you big babies) 

The entirety of my OW universe, including the first 8 parts of this story, can be found here. 

ET FINI

A pause, like a breath, and the sound of breaking laughter, and then, Tracer’s cry.

“Bloody ‘omophobia, this is!” Tracer leaned across the table, eyes sparkling, “‘ere among me own family!”

There was a certain amount of general din that followed any occasion where the Oxton clan got together, and the June occasion of a wedding was more excuse than they had ever needed to drink and dance and carry on. Six months ago, Winston had been sitting alone in a laboratory, sending a pulse out into time and hoping it could be heard, lonelier than he had ever been in his life.

“‘Ow do you figure, Lena?” Her aunt Lily sat across from her, laughing into a cocktail shrimp.

Then, he’d looked sadly into the little bug jar room he’d filled with her belongings–Biscuit, her blanket, a worn and loved Hammers shirt, a few RC planes, a picture of the two of them in London, as if he could coax her home like a cat that’s gone out, tucking a familiar towel into a box–and hoped he could find her again, knowing the odds were against him. Knowing no one believed, not even gentle, kind Mercy, who had brought him coffee every morning.

But no one knew Tracer like Winston did.

“I don’t like it, and it ‘urts me personally!” Tracer exploded in a bright laugh, rocking back into the chair and taking a drink of her beer and tapped Winston on the leg. “Win, defend me ‘ere!”

When she had returned, it had been Winston again, in the little bug jar with her, coaxing her to try to eat, to try to talk, to try to live, while others looked on sympathetically or pityingly or resentfully or those that didn’t look at all, just wrote cold words on forms that sealed her fate. But he sat with her, knowing no one believed, not even generous, soft Mercy, who brought a little basket of Tracer’s favorite foods and smiled sadly.

But no one saw Tracer like Winston did.

“As a fellow ‘omosexual, I ‘ave to tell you–” Her Uncle Mark leaned toward her, shaking his head, taking his arm from around his husband’s shoulder.

“Misogyny!” Tracer laughed again. “Assailed from all sides, I am!”

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