FREE SPIRITS - Cornerstone Park, Henderson, Nevada

in 2024 i want to see more songs sung in t voices, more grown-out t scruff, more hairy tits and top surgery scars, more gay sex involving t dicks and pussies, more cutting each other’s hair when the hairdressers can’t get it right, more helping each other with t shots and sharing extra bottles of t gel, more passing down binders and post-surgery pillows like family heirlooms, more crackly laughs and excited voices that don’t know how loud they are now, more proudly showing off phallo scars like we show off top surgery scars, more teaching each other how to shave and tie a tie and all the other things our dads didn’t teach us, more sheer shirts over post-op chests, more skirts and short shorts on hairy legs, more moving the fuck out instead of living with transphobic parents, more breaking up with partners that wanted girlfriends not boyfriends, more pregnant dads, more twinks turned into otters and bears by t, more scars and binders on the beach, more romanticization of t dicks and meta dicks and phallo dicks, more rage and resistance against anyone who would try to rob us of our history or our ancestors, more pride in complex manhoods and queer masculinities, more getting louder every time someone tells us to shut up about the things that are important to us, more searching for transmasculinity in every piece of media and injecting it into anything that failed to consider us, more cuntboys and boygirls and transfags and butch dudes and transsexual men, more jumping headfirst into masculinizing transitions, more delighted reactions to realizing “holy shit i think i’m actually a guy”, more trans manhood and transmasculinity as force of nature and fundamental truth and fact of life that cannot under any circumstances be ignored.

Prompt 214

“I did an oopsie.” 

Clockwork paused in his work, gaze turning from his work towards his ghostling (it didn’t matter if he was an adult, he’d always be his ghostling) who was smiling nervously, avoiding his eyes. 

“Oh?” He kept his tone light, even as he worked on untangling a time knot. Honestly at least Danny was immune to any effect of time, even if he couldn’t look into his timelines in exchange. It came with being the other half of Infinity. 

“Yeeah… you know that corner of the multiverse you told me not to go to because you’re working on some time problems? I might have stumbled into one of the worlds in the corner…” 

He stopped his machinations, fully turning towards Danny- Space, his Core whispered and quivered in utter delight at having an Equal in power- with a raised eyebrow, leaning on his staff and silently telling him to explain. 

Danny poked his fingers together, giving a nervous laugh. “So uh, I was just exploring right? Well me and Ellie, you know how she gets when she can’t wander, and um… I er, we might have messed with some things in the creation of it… I didn’t know it was part of that universe, I swear! It was so far at the fringes and halfway into the Zone and I couldn’t just let a universe die before it began and-”

Oh- Oh! His ghostling (and his grand-ghostlings it sounded like) had claimed his first universe! He could put off these time knots, this was a grand milestone for any Ancient, nevermind such a primordial force as one of theirs.

And this is how a DC world came into being with humans evolving with more avian traits. Like wings. And claws. Look, Dan thought it’d be funny if they gave baby humanity wings and Ellie started rambling about how much farther they could travel if they had them and Danny thought it could be cool. Oh well, time to keep an eye on their itty baby world now…

Loaf! Loaf! Loaf! Loaf!🍞

When your big brothers steal your kiddie pool:

Earth is not angry, just disappointed.

(Loaf image here:)

Ghost distribution system giving me a big military man to feed and keep warm.. I would be making him a spot on the couch in my living room immediately

He has his own little spot in your house, somewhere that feels warmer than his house ever could. Your couch has blankets, has wear on the cushions, has pillows that squish when he leans against them, and he has a place there. There's room for him in your warmth, under the umbrella of your care, room you made for him. Even when he's forced himself into your outstretched fingers, you've held tightly to him. It's like you want to feed him, like you enjoy his company.

But that can't be right.

You should know better than to take in strays, should cower in fear of him. Can't you see the points of his teeth? The scars? Don't you see the blood soaked into his fingers? Your kindness is so foreign to him, and yet Ghost can't get enough of it. He sits on your couch and takes the offered meal, shifts his shoulders when you lean against his side. He feels stiff, feels you cuddle against his side like a spooked horse. You don't look at him, not the way other people do: don't try to peak under his mask, don't try to count his scars or the medals that always seem to weigh heavy on his chest. You meet his eyes with a smile, and Ghost thinks of the way your teeth would sink into his throat, the way you could rip into him. It would be painless compared to the soft brush of your fingers against his when you take his plate.

Don't you know? Don't you suspect? The monster you've let into your home, the one that holds its arms outstretched when you come back to the couch and begs for your touch, is the same as the wolves that fight over corpses, that starve in the cold wild, that pant at the edge of man's fire begging for domestication. Can't you hear him howling?

pathologic fest day 19

"In the Darkness"

where nobody dwells but the earth herself

please watch cunk on earth

cheers to the future of humanity (and the future of us)

[ID: Digital illustration in color of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun. The illustration takes place during the ship/home arc, specifically chapter 21. At the center, Vash is grabbing Wolfwood by the collar and pulls him into a kiss in the middle of a celebration. The pair is colored in vibrant warm hues while their surroundings are colored in cooler colors like green and teals. Luida, Brad, Meryl, and Milly are shown amongst the crowd, occupied in the celebrations as Vash and Wolfwood share a moment by themselves at the center. END ID]

to love the world even whan you have no stomach for it, etc

e.e. cummings, from "you being in love"

Gjon Mili, Siobhan McKenna in Ireland, 1956

ph. by Harry Gruyaert, 1974

Victor Meeussen, "Mother with Child at Fair, Spain, 1956"

ph. by Brandon Stancielli

Clarence Clemons and Bruce Springsteen

ph. by Crawford Barton, 1976

soulmark au sketches. the idea of sokka in proven ‘soulmates are real’ universes consistently intrigues me—how would that impact his skepticism/interpretation of fate/destiny/free will? personally i think he’d be very angry for a very long time and probably not even understand why

lunch date

#a man who DESERVES A SLICE OF PIE

tommy was saying that he always considered himself the Good Guy on smp earth and only recently realised by rewatching vods that Yeah No he was in the wrong All of the Time

As I looked, the eyes saw the sinking sun, and the look of hate in them turned to triumph. But, on the instant, came the sweep and flash of Jonathan's great knife. I shrieked as I saw it shear through the throat; whilst at the same moment Mr. Morris's bowie knife plunged into the heart. It was like a miracle; but before our very eyes, and almost in the drawing of a breath, the whole body crumble into dust and passed from our sight. I shall be glad as long as I live that even in that moment of final dissolution, there was in the face a look of peace, such as I never could have imagined might have rested there.

I don't know what's getting to me about this scene this time around, but I can't help imagining a cinematic beat in which Dracula, head cleaved from his shoulders, steel through his heart, looks to Jonathan. Fire-eyed, white-haired, triumphant against his personal nemesis and would-be keeper at last.

For just a moment, Dracula is whoever he was before he was an inhuman monster. A great man? A warlord? A hero or a horror in human flesh depending on the history. But a man again, whatever else. He looks at Jonathan.

Maybe he sees him.

Maybe he sees someone else. Some long ago youth who lived and died and was remade in profane immortality for the sake of supernatural strength, taught by ancient Powers beneath a distant mountain. A youth who would sell his soul to accomplish his goal.

As the sun sets red, Dracula sees that long-ago youth victorious but not yet damned--the man conquering the monster--and, for the first time in centuries, thinks he sees his reflection. The hunter, the warrior, the victor. How strange not to see him in armor. When did you change your sword? Ah, well.

You did it just the same. You did it...

(What was his name before all this? Memory is cracking, turning to powder in his mind. His name is...his name was...)

((No, no, old man. He is not you. You know. You know he is--he's--))

Voiceless, his lips move. Red a final time as his throat's foam bleeds up and out of the stained mouth.

Thank you, my friend.

There is time enough to smile before he crumbles away to sleep.