its like a story

I remember when I was 9 years old neopets taught me what cum meant. Not what an orgasm is, but what the word cum meant. I was postin on the neoboards, doing my 9 year old thing, and all of a sudden I was kicked off the forum and blocked????? I was like what the fuck I’m 9 I just want to talk about my jubjub?? (his name was JubInATub how clever is that I know). So I investigated and it said I had been soft banned for using inappropriate language, and it had the word like censored and I had to click on it to see what it said, so I do and I see the word CUM written in bold red letters, plain as the morning sun, strung up and exposed to the brisk wind like freshly laundered linens, and was understandably offended like??? Cum on guys this has to be a mistake I was just asking what was the best time to cum to the ice caves and try to sneak some free shit from that ice snake bitch, that thing was ALWAYS awake. So my bitty 9 y/o brain was like what the hell neopets, maybe they just don’t understand Internet Lingo like obviously I was using a Hip and Cool instant message shorthand to save my precious 9 y/o time (a girls got shit to do like damn). So I was like let’s lay this to rest, I’m gonna google search this shit, screen shot the definition and send it in an email to the CEO Mr. Neopet himself, lay down some knowledge on these fogies. So my sweet little innocent fingers pull up Google dot com and type in the letters C-U-M expecting validation and let me tell you friends, what I found shocked my innocent child psyche to the core. The root of who I was got ripped to shreds, obliterated by the wood chipper that is this cruel and disgusting world we live in. That day changed me, it was a crossroads of my life and I was thrust down a path that I have yet to return from.

at hunk & lance’s 5th grade graduation every kid had to get up and say what their favorite school memory was. hunk’s was “my favorite moment was when i met lance” and lance’s was “my favorite moment was when i met hunk” and while each of them was speaking the other was in the corner dabbing. 

5

Originally, I wanted to draw an AU where Link and Zelda were normal human kids in a world like ours, but then I started thinking about Zoras and I got excited and a new AU within an AU happened?? I’ll probably make more of this.

youtube

NEW VIDEO: “A Matter of Life or Death: LGBTQ+ Refugees”: Being LGBTQ+ in the United States can definitely be difficult, but in some countries around the world you can go to jail or even be killed if you are out of the closet. For part 5 of my Pride Month series, “Chosen Family: Stories of Queer Resilience,” I met two incredible members of our community, Shadi (from Syria) and Sharifa (from Uganda) who went to incredible lengths to flee their home countries to avoid persecution. You’ll love them.

4

Every time I come back to this AU, I get reminded of how pure these two are??

I adjusted Mika’s appearance slightly by adding more scales/fins on his body!! Yuu loves wearing his khaki shorts and fave matcha-green hoodie :-)

Mirror Mirror: I’m the loneliest of all. 

Mirror Mirror Pt. II: I’ve been so lonely…but maybe I can change things?

It’s My Turn: Yeah, now’s where my life starts! I can do this! 

This Life is Mine: FUCK YOU DAD I’M DONE AND I’M GOING TO DO AMAZING THINGS CAUSE THIS LIFE IS MINE NOT YOURS ALSO FUCK YOU

All the urban legends came true at once.

Of course, I was six pages deep in a tax audit at the time. Chewing a pen when a rash of mothers with broken backs were rushed to the hospital, courteousy of uncareful feet smashing on cracks. Doctors, unsure at the time, blamed osteoporosis.

It was watched pots that remained cool. Or salt thrown over a shoulder that - for a second - showed a devil’s eye. Or it was the alligators. Don’t get me started on the alligators.

But something was the first whisper of what we’d woken up. Nobody wanted to say it out loud, because it sounded so ridiculous. It was a secret that swelled in our cheeks. Phrases we had always said that went silent.

All the hauntings came true. We had photograpic evidence of spirits. That’s probably what started the mass hysteria.

Some things took longer. Rubbing a statue for luck or breaking a mirror. Delayed response. One bad day turns into a bad month. Then you’re at the local witch place begging for a respite - seven years of bad luck?! - and she’s shaking her head. Nothing to be done.

Oh, the witches. The funny thing is that when people have always called you a witch, they’re surprisingly needy when you turn out to be one. When the world shifted, little towns who avoided one woman for her witchiness were now flocking to her because their legend had made her become one.

Pens mightier than swords. Avoiding groups of certain numbers. When a knife drops, we all hold our breath for the fight. A fork means company will show up, confused how they arrived.

It got better for a moment, for a breath, while we figured out the rules of it. What was a legend and what was myth. What kind of faith was big enough and what was too big. Some legends only effected certain areas. Some only certain people. We sunk money into infrastructure for once to clear up cracks. Stepped over salt in every building. Sold amulets like trinkets. For a second, we almost got our feet under us.

And then it got worse. Sometimes the company you invited was strange, unhuman. You had to wear iron. We had loved our cryptids until they came down from the mountains, worse than we could have predicted. Bowls of milk were on every window sill but most of them rotted.

In the books, we had all read about the end of the old ones. The unspeakable ones, who went off into the hills one day. Who we cannot say the name of. Who did not exist in the land of buses or planes. Who can steal you if they know your name, who can never lie but do a good job of it anyway.

We were not ready. The Folk showed up through the thin veil, and they were already laughing.

And they were just the beginning.

2

Anon said: Ok but, what if the Bakusquad except Bakugou, became babies?

For you, and the other dozen people who’ve asked about one or another squad member as a kid  (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧ 

anonymous asked:

Your greek mythology fics are absolutely beautiful, I'm speechless. Your writing captures the like dark/horror-esque tone of old fairytales and then blends in something more modern? It's brilliant and incredible and I love it. If you have the time/inspiration, could you write another? Preferably with lesbians and/or Artemis but literally anything at all is totally cool I just want so many more of these

Artemis is born first. She’s a babe for only moments, springing into gangly-limbed childhood between one breath and the next.

Her mother is red faced and sobbing, prostrate on the ground and reaching for her. “He’s too big,” she sobs, “He won’t come out – I’ve failed! Hera has won and I have failed!”

There’s blood, too much blood, blood that she herself is still slick with. “No,” she says firmly, kneeling in between her mother’s legs, “We have not failed.”

It takes too long, too much blood and screaming, but hours later Leto sleeps, exhausted and pained but alive.

Her brother does not grow as she did, and she cleans him and swaddles him and hold him against her chest. There is too much intelligence for a freshly born-babe in his eyes. She pets the soft golden curls on top of his head.

She looks to Leto, bloody and torn and nearly forced to die with her son inside of her, and decides that her mother’s fate will never be her own.

The only man she’ll ever love is the one currently in her arms.

~

Apollo grows, faster than he should but slower than her until they match, until they are not-quite adults, beautiful adolescents in a godly package.

Her brother worries her; sometimes he reminds her too much of their father and she fears for him. She’s never afraid of him, her golden twin brother, but in that regard she thinks she may be alone. He’s too smart and not careful and feels as if every beautiful thing is his to possess.

The first time he forces himself on a mortal woman, she shoots a silver arrow through his shoulder. It bleeds, an arrow shot by her, more than it would if any other goddess had done it. “They are mine,” she declares, standing in front of the scared girl with her torn clothes, “You will not touch what is mine.”

Apollo says, “Very well, sister,” slick with blood, and she wants to go to him, to heal him and take care of him as she has their whole lives, but she stands her ground. In this she will not be moved.

He leaves, and when she turns to comfort the girl she’s already gone.

~

Her brother doesn’t touch any other unwilling women after that, although there are still plenty of willing women. And why shouldn’t there be? Apollo is gorgeous and strong, brave and just when he forgets to be selfish and petty.

There are men, however, whom are not always so willing. Nothing so harsh as that first time with that girl, nothing that dramatic – but enough that it pains her to see the callous way her brother treats them. Artemis stays silent on that. She is not the patron god of all of humanity, and she can’t hoard them all.

Her brother is a warrior and a poet and harnesses his chariot to the sun so that he may bring light to all the world. She loves him, but sometimes – sometimes she hates him. She is a huntress and a midwife, a bringer of life and a taker of it, and there is something terrible in her power. She thinks this is what Persephone must feel like, as the goddess of spring and queen of the underworld. It’s intoxicating. But it is a quiet sort of power, a harder one.

He is the sun and she is the moon, and there are times she fears that is all she is – a reflection of her younger brother’s brightness, cursed to be nothing more than a poor imitation.

~

She’s fully grown the first time it happens, older than many cities and twice as beautiful as her brother’s sunrises.

She’s sweat soaked and blood covered, but the mother and her sons sleep soundly and safely after the difficult birth. If she were to tell the other gods this they would not believe her, but being the goddess of childbirth is her hardest job by far.

“Come,” the sister of the mother says, a pretty young thing with large eyes and a wide mouth, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Artemis could clean herself up just fine, but allows the young woman to lead her to her room, to remove her blood stained clothes and run a warm cloth over limbs that are sticky with dried sweat. The woman goes to her knees before Artemis, running the cloth over her legs, and then the woman touches a place no one has ever touched.

Artemis jerks with surprise, looking down, her mouth agape. “My lady goddess,” the woman murmurs, parting her wide mouth and licking her lips, “I would thank you for aiding my sister, if you be willing.”

There’s a low curling heat in the pit of her stomach and something fluttering high in her chest. It’s something she hasn’t experienced before. “I am to remain a virgin,” she says, blank, because many men have looked at her like this woman and she was revolted by all of them. She’s not revolted now.

“Virginity is a man’s invention and a man’s concern, my lady,” the woman says dismissively, beginning to move her hands in way that makes Artemis flush all over, “There are no men here.”

That’s the last bit of talking they do until morning.

~

Artemis has many more eager women coming to her, offering to worship her. She accepts, again and again, and there’s never anything more than temporary sparks of desire, yet she enjoys all the women who seek her out, is delighted by them and seeks to delight them in return.

She is bathing in a lake one evening, golden hair having grown longer than she usually keeps it and brushing past her shoulders. She’ll have to cut it soon. She ducks beneath the serene, smooth lake, and when she pops her head up there’s the sound of rustling and footsteps, then clothing being shed.  

There’s a man dipping his toes into the lake, and Artemis rises, ready to kill him for his insolence.

Then she meets his scared eyes, and she’s done nothing to provoke his fear, not yet. Then she has to look again, eyes raking over his naked body, and this person certainly looks like a man. Yet –

“Who are you?” she demands, hands on her hips.

“Sipriotes, miss,” the person says, and bends to pick up the discarded clothes. “Apologies, I did not expect anyone to be here. I’ll go.”

“Why?” Artemis asks, taking a guess, “There’s plenty of water for two women to share.”

She knows she’s guessed right when Sipriotes’s mouth parts in surprise, and then widens in a pleased grin. “Thank you, lady,” she says, dropping her dress back at the lake’s edge and stepping into the water.

“Your hair is a mess,” she observes, looking at the tangled bun on top of Sipriotes’s head, “Let me help you with that.”

“It’s okay, miss,” she says politely.

Somehow this woman hasn’t figured out she’s a goddess yet. Artemis is in no rush to tell her – she’s scared enough of her as it is. “I insist,” she says, swimming over and twisting Sipriotes around so her back is to Artemis. The woman’s muscles are tense, and Artemis runs light fingers over the pale, criss crossed lashing scares. Artemis is smart, so she doesn’t ask the obvious, stupid question and undoes the woman’s bun. Her tangled long black hair tumbles down to her hips. “What a mess,” she says quietly, not explaining whether she talking about her hair or her back.

Sipriotes relaxes, tilting her head forward as Artemis gently untangles her hair until it lies smooth.

~

Artemis tries, but she can’t get the woman from the lake out of her head. She lives alone at the edge of the village, doesn’t bathe with the other women because they don’t welcome her. They don’t shun her, but they don’t wash her hair or her back and it makes Artemis’s blood boil.

She expects better from those she has claimed as her own.

The sun’s just setting when her brother appears at her side, watching her watch Sipriotes gather water from the well. “He’s not your usual type, is he?” he asks, leaning against her and tangling his fingers in hers.

“Yes,” Artemis says, “she is.”

~

For the first time in her life Artemis feels uncertain, but kicks at the door anyway.

It opens. The wariness on Sipriotes’s face is replaced by confusion. “Hi,” Artemis says, “Do you like bear?”

The creature is slung over her shoulders. She’d just killed it, and it occurs to her too late that a normal woman wouldn’t be able to casually hold a bear across her back. “I like you,” Sipriotes says, stepping aside to let her in, “you can bring the bear if you like.”

She offers Artemis warm wine and insists she sit as she skins the bear, sticking chunks of it on a spit and salting the rest of it. This time she keeps up a steady stream of conversation, eyes warm and smile soft, and Artemis wishes she could blame the wine for the heat on her cheeks.

“I like your shoulders,” Artemis says, watching her finish up preparing the bear meat.

Sipriotes pauses and turns to Artemis, eyebrow raised. Her dress is stained red with the bear’s blood and her silky black hair is braided to the side. Artemis wants to run her fingers through it. “You do?”

She stands, moves slowly in case this isn’t what Sipriotes wants, and presses her hands to her back the same way she had in the lake. “Yes, they’re broad. Strong. Like mine.”

Sipriotes turns, and Artemis trails her hands from her shoulders to her face, pressing her thumb against Sipriotes’s bottom lip. “The bear will burn,” she says, eyes dark.

“I’ll bring you another one,” Artemis says, walking her backward until they reach the bed, until Sipriotes’s knees hit the edge of it and she falls back, until Artemis can climb on top of her and straddle her waist.

Sipriotes holds up a hand, and Artemis captures it in her own and turns it so she can leave a butterfly kiss on each knuckle. “I know who you are, Artemis,” she whispers, “Are you – are you sure? No man can touch you.”

Artemis leans down, pressing more kisses across Sipriotes’s collar bone, and says, “There are no men here.”

That’s the last bit of talking they do until morning.


gods and monsters series, part v

I was never really into Homestuck, but I still miss this little bean…

anonymous asked:

i'm in love with your story and i've been wanting to make one of my own but don't know how to get started, both story wise and gameplay wise. any tips?

Sandy’s Masterpost for writing a Sim Story!  ✍

I’m so glad you like my story! But I know how it feels not knowing where to start when it comes to writing, it’s so frustrating. So, below I’ve put together a bunch of helpful links that I’ve either used in the past or believe will be useful to you, and any other aspiring storytellers! 

🌸 Inspiration: 

🌸 Planning:

🌸 Plot Developement:

🌸 Character Development:

🌸 Dialogue:

🍁 Pose List Rec:

🍁Lot List Rec:

🍁 Mod List Rec:

🍁 Tutorials:

🍁 Reshade:

❄️ Character Page Rec: (for your blog)

❄️Editing:

❄️ Some Stories/Legacies that Inspire Me:

This is everything I could think of nonny! I am by no means a great, or even a particularly good storyteller, but I sincerely hope this post helps you, and others, get started! If you ever want to chat more, come off anon and we can talk story ideas! And that applies to all of y’all! 💖

Writing things that are self-indulgent is *GOOD* for you. Write self-indulgent stories. Writing stories that are huge and complex and world-shattering is amazing and very fun, but sometimes you just gotta sit there and bang out a trope-riddled mess where you get to kiss a character you find hot.