for @rosecored , based on this.

' i don't know why i keep on coming back to you, ' lorelei doesn't mean to sound so harsh, but the things they've been through brings it out in her as she remembers. ' and i don't know why you keep letting me. we're not good together at all. '

@cantfixyou​ requests ;;

❛  god, this is so embarrassing. i need your help, okay ?  ❜

[ stories unfinished. // accepting. ]

   --The first thing that leaves her throat is a soft, idle, yet understanding hum.

   The goal between them was surprisingly common; find him, kill him, make sure history never repeats-- haunted by the screams and cries of children who should have had the chance to grow up and have their own families ( morbidly, she wonders; would she have known their children had they lived? ). A finger thumps against the skin between her eye and the start of her hair as she sits there, eyebrows furrowed as she listened to the other's rather vague request-- Nova cannot be upset or mad at the other, not when they were alike in what they wanted ( two girls dead-set on justice in their own right, and in her eyes-- it was more the merrier! ). Blue eyes flick up to look at her, and Nova straightens her position from leaning with her elbows to her kneecaps to a back-leaning pose, knuckles placing themselves on her cheek as she sits there.

   But she smiles; despite her brash demeanour and her own chaotic tendencies, Nova still had her own soft spots; and as someone who spent her life around the dead, working in a place teeming with them and others-- others who may or may not know-- made her more understanding to everything. So the request does not give her too much surprise, as it could be anything, and instead, she tilts her head ever-so-slightly as she raised an eyebrow, smile on her face, before she opens her mouth.

   ❝ Don't worry, I won't find it embarrassin', I'd be happy to help! ❞ Is the response given, she beams, before continuing, ❝ Whatcha need? ❞

Who’s coming to the cookout?

Quick reminder since apparently it bears reminding in both directions: if bigoted people, closed-minded people overall, or your own internalized insecurities misinterpret a queer person’s message in a way that hurts/endangers you, yeah, it sucks, but it’s not the fault of the queer person in question, nor should it be a reason for them to silence themselves. They’re probably as hurt/pissed as you are that someone misinterpreted and misused their message to do harm.

Of course sadly there’ll still be queer people that actually DO mean harm and dismissal to other queer people – I ain’t speaking for those and it’s not the best way to ensure their and others’ wellbeing imo. I’m just saying – not all people will be like that. That’s what I want to believe. So hopefully let’s not put everyone in the same bag, keep supporting each other, WHILE allowing each other to advocate for our own visibility, without having to self-erase or self-censor to accomodate to what haters might say.

It’ll be tougher this way, maybe, because humans seem to like to draw extreme conclusions very quick, but I don’t believe there’s any better way for us all to be alright and stay alright on the long run.

🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌖

(happy eclipse day yesterday🎆🎆🎆)

"this is too raw of a line to come from—" shut up. beauty and meaning is everywhere

healing is when you have an intrusive thought and instead of having a meltdown you go “girl what?? shut up” and move on

ppl who r using poll results as a way to Prove Something about society or come to any conclusion.. i hope you are aware that tumblr users are one of the most biased population groups you could conceivably find. gob bless

I WANNA DRAAWW!! RAHHHGG!! Absolutely swamped with college work, im so tired TT (hence whatever tf this is lmao)

If Flertom had long hair as a child…

My body is a collection of all the parts that came before! 🌱🌱🌱

[Image ID: A drawing of a trans masculine person, nude except for underwear. The figure has top surgery scars, and no head, the bottom of a jaw bone with plants growing from it floating above the neck. There are flowers, mushrooms, and stars surrounding the figure, and a bird flying to the left of the canvas. /. End ID]

Drawing time!

𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗩𝗘𝗦  𝗖𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗞𝗟𝗘  𝗔𝗡𝗗  𝗖𝗥𝗨𝗡𝗖𝗛  𝗕𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛  𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗡  𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗕𝗢𝗢𝗧𝗦,  tired  feet  slowly  making  their  way  along  the  makeshift  trail.  the  air  might  be  crisp,  cool,  but  there's  no  bite  to  it,  a  welcome  reprieve  from  hours  spent  in  the  musty  diner,  short  staffed  and  rushing  about  (  𝘩𝘰𝘸  𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘺  𝘤𝘢𝘯  𝘥𝘰  𝘪𝘵  𝘢𝘭𝘭  𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩  𝘢  𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘴  𝘣𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘥  𝘩𝘦𝘳  )  but  it's  not  like  mila  can  complain,  she's  got  tips,  she's  got  her  cigarettes,  she's  got  eddie,  all  too  ready  to  go  on  a  late  night  walk  with  her.  they're  at  ricks  (  𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺  𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦  )  and,  for  once,  there's  no  stragglers,  no  muffled  music,  no  impromptu  kick  its.  just  them,  their  scattered  conversations,  and  the  chirps  and  shuffles  of  nighttime. 

it's  during  a  lull  that  she'll  let  herself  cast  a  sideways  glance  over  at  him,  lips  quirking  into  somewhat  of  a  smile  at  the  sight  of  his  unruly  mop.  at  the  end  of  the  day,  the  doubles,  the  shitty  regulars,  the  stress,  it  all  melts  away  when  it's  them,  𝗶𝘁 𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀  𝗵𝗮𝘀.  and  now,  that's  something  she  can  finally  accept.  her  hands  will  drift  into  her  pocket,  fingers  fishing  around  for  that  tiny  piece  of  plastic,  but,  as  luck  would  have  it,  it's  gone  (  𝘯𝘰𝘵  𝘢  𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦,  𝘴𝘩𝘦  𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵'𝘷𝘦  𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥  𝘪𝘵  𝘪𝘯  𝘩𝘦𝘳  𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩  𝘵𝘰  𝘨𝘦𝘵  𝘰𝘶𝘵  𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬  )  with  a  huff,  she  lets  her  head  drop,  feeling  heat  rise  to  her  cheeks,  as  she  suppresses  a  groan  before  her  arm  nudges  his,  slightly,  ❝  i  lost  my  light,  munson.  help  a  girl  out.  ❞

umber  hues  meet  his,  missing  their  usual  edge.  there's  no  need  for  harshness  around  him,  and  while  she  can't  completely  let  those  walls  of  hers  crumble,  let  warmth  really  shine  through,  she'll  try.  she'll  swallow  down  that  grouchy  attitude  and  stubborn  pride,  stopping  in  her  tracks  to  face  him,  ❝  𝗦𝗢𝗥𝗥𝗬--  please help a girl out?  ❞

starter call ( x ) // ft. @thefvrious // mila gonzales & eddie munson

I can’t explain what blue eye samurai makes me feel…….its a typical revenge story, a man sets out on his hero’s journey to kill the four men who have wronged him. A lone ronin, wide brimmed hat and sword in hand, roaming Edo Japan on his vendetta. But he’s not a man. He’s a woman. And how has he been wronged? What’s she getting revenge on?

On the fact that she exists. She wants revenge on the four white men that could possibly have conceived her. Who got her Japanese mother pregnant with a blue-eyed child. And not just any blue-eyed child, but a girl child. How is she possibly supposed to live in the world like that? For the wrong of being conceived, for the wrong of being born, for the wrong of being birthed into a world that will never love or accept her, she will kill her father.

I don’t know what level of convoluted self hate that is. Is she a child of rape? Or a child of a whore? Halfway through I realise what she told herself at the start couldn’t possibly be true - it’s not really for her mother. Her mother wasn’t the root of her vendetta, she wasn’t really doing it for her. When she leaves that farm and leaves the chance to live a simple, legitimate life as a woman, she goes right back to hunting down the men. Those men personally wronged her.

And then there’s so much to be discussed surrounding the way she grew up, because as a boy child and a man she can afford so much more than life has dealt her. Her swordfather who took her in out of the love and care in his heart had no shame in teaching a mixed man his art. The face of a ‘demon’ is fine. But not the identity of a woman. Shh. Don’t say it. Don’t confess. He knows and doesn’t want to hear it.

And because she’s lived that way her entire life for safety and security, she’s so completely alienated from being a woman, perhaps she really is he. But not really by choice. Or is it? The thing she does best is the art of killing, the art of men. Gender is a prison and gender is a performance and she has to choose which to perform. The times cannot reconcile hatred and violence with a woman. So she lives as a man.

So she can get revenge on her father, for revenge on herself.

Saw your post and absolutely adore your art; could you draw any of the lifers with an oh expression?

he's going to follow that man until the ends of the earth isn't he