Watch "Multifandom || Blood in the water" on YouTube
Watch "Multifandom || Blood in the water" on YouTube
If anyone is gonna take what c!Wilbur ssid about c!Fundy yesterday as canon before cc!Fundy says anything about it is now my enemy and I will come swinging a bat.
Please make it that c!Wil was just lying or having memory issues please don't tell me it's someone with no agency on Fundy's lore screwing up Fundy's lore again.
They don't deserve to look at you with their filthy eyes. I could just gouge them out. Oh if I see them staring like that again I will I won't even hesitate.
2007 naruto fics were WILD
i also forgot to say that i accidentally manifested c!tubbo having ptsd nightmares except i wrote him being haunted by the final control room instead LMAO
He stopped fiddling with the shirt sleeves under his armour. “That’s not what I meant. And yeah, it might have been months ago. But sometimes, it doesn’t feel like that,” Tubbo said. He looked around, as if he was afraid someone would hear what he was saying. When he spoke again it was hushed and slow. “Sometimes, I can still feel Sapnap’s netherite axe at my neck and I can’t breathe. And- And even now, Tommy still wakes up screaming his throat raw. I hear it at night when Wilbur runs down to check on him. But no one ever knows because he just walks around the next day pretending it didn’t happen.” Niki often forgot about Tubbo and Tommy’s experiences in the war, the one for L’Manburg’s independence. They acted like kids most of the time. That was something she was grateful for, that they still had enough innocence to run around, tease each other, play pranks despite everyone else’s protests. But in this moment, she didn’t see a kid. She saw a soldier. Just like Wilbur had, at the beginning of all this. “I wish I could forget what happened, but I can’t, Niki. I don’t think any of us can,” he finished.
Today marks 2 years since the El Paso Walmart shooting, the deadliest attack on hispanics and latinos in modern history. 23 innocent lives were taken, all because of the continuos racism in the U.S.
Jordan and Andre Acondo: Both died shielding and protecting their 2 month year old son
David Johnson: David died shielding and protecting his 9 year old grandaughter
Javier Amir Rodriguez: Javier would have entered his sophomore year the month after the shooting. He would have been entering his senior year now.
Angie Englisbee: Angie was a strong and independent mother who was known for her faith
Arturo Benavides: Arturo was an army veteran and a former bus driver known for being caring and loving.
Elsa Mendoza Marquez: Elsa was originally from Ciudad Juarez, Mexico but was visiting family in El Paso
Leonardo Campos and Maribel Loya: They were both shopping for their grandchildren's school supplies the day of the shooting
Juan Velazquez: Both Juan and his wife Nicholasa were shot, Nicholasa survived but unfortunatly Juan died at the scene
Maria Eugenia Legarreta Roth: Maria was originally was from Chihuahua, Mexico but was in El Paso to pick up her daughter at the airport. Gloria was at the Walmart as she waited for the plane to arrive
Gloria Irma Marquez: She was known for being a great mother, wife, and grandmother
Sara Esther Regalado & Adolfo Cerros Hernandez: Both were originally from Ciudad Juarez, Mexico and were known for being great parents anf grandparents
Margie Reckard: Margie was doing her usual shopping the day of the shooting
Ivan Filiberto Manzano: Ivan was known for being dedicated to his marketing career and for being a loving father
Jorge Calvillo Garcia: Jorge was outside of the Walmart helping his grandaughter's soccer team fundraise. He died shielding and protecting the girls.
Maria Flores and Raul Flores: The loving couple had been married for 60 years and had retired in the city.
Alexander Hoffman: Alexander was born in Germany but had lived in Ciudad Juarez for 40 years. He considered Mexico his second home.
Teresa Sanchez: Teresa was a retired biology teacher and had lived in the city for 30 years
Guillermo 'Memo' Garcia: Memo was helping fundraise for his daughter's soccer team that day. He unfortunatly died 9 months after the shooting after undergoing 50 surgeries.
I cannot describe how much these people did not deserve to die because of the persisting racism in this country. El Paso continues to mourn and honor them
El Paso Strong
posted: 08.04.21 | full: [TBA] [Preview I] [Preview II] [From Eden]
word count: 537
content tags: can be read as a short drabble/excerpt. a companion piece to from eden. some references to from eden. pre-vento aureo.
tw: blood. implied violence. smoking. prosciutto being a mafioso.
a/n: i miss prosciutto :( this is the last preview i’m going to post because if i post another one, i can’t surprise ya’ll haha (but i’ve been careful to not choose the heavy-hitters so far, except perhaps the snippet about pros’s past hit). anyways, cheers to oblivious pining!
Prosciutto hasn’t intended to come back to Sorrento for a year after being stationed in Naples.
Though you find him in the promenade of Riviera di Chiaia this time.
The both of you settle this coincidental reunion in a baretti called Il Vetro Rosso; exuding a vintage kind of sophistication, but also a warmth that closes around an intimacy found in preserved memory, encapsulating the room in polished wood, brocade and leather chairs, scintillating wall mirrors, memorabilia, and the spiced scent of wax, tobacco, and orange cognac. The flavors of a summer passed, a daydream.
Perhaps, it brings out something in you with the way you look at him, admitting to him that you’re here to visit someone from your college. He learns that you’ve studied in the University of Naples, that an old acquaintance has invited you for a christening, that no one truly knows about your affiliation to the underground here. Aside from him.
The alcohol must have mellowed you down, and Prosciutto thinks you’re careless for talking about these small personal matters, though he recognizes your sincerity when you reach out to him, as if the two of you are no more but a friend to another, persons meeting.
“Tell me about your day,” you say, idly twirling the straw of your drink in contemplative circles. “Doesn’t have to be serious. Or anything about what we do . . .”
Then your lips purse together; the color on them flakes a little, but there’s a wet sheen from the low misty light.
“I want to know how you’ve been, Prosciutto.”
Prosciutto doesn’t see you often anymore. He wants to amend that.
He won’t tell you about it, but he does ask for your phone number instead.
The first time Prosciutto calls you, he draws in a breath from the welcoming sound of your voice.
He feels more afloat from it than the nicotine in his lungs, the warm blood-rich tang in the air; almost tasting faintly of salt, like that of Sorrento’s. Not from the sea spray, but of sweat and spit clinging on the dry wall. He smokes out the veranda because of it.
The traitor’s teeth are still scattered on the floor for not fessing up information. Formaggio’s messy work. Like most new recruits, he doesn’t know when to curb his cruelty, doesn’t know how to refine himself just yet. He’s razor-sharp like a dagger, lips clever and cut into a sickle smile, easily drunken with power, though as an assassin, he still lacks organization.
Proscuitto won’t tolerate that. He’ll beat him up for it later.
He sighs, staring at the antiquity of Piazza del Ponterosso gleam in the evening, made brighter from the afterglow of the post-rain.
Prosciutto doesn’t tell you he misses you on the phone, but he wishes you’re next to him, leaning on the balustrade with a wineglass at hand. A Cartier Panthère quartz watch brandished on your wrist.
He thinks of your lips again, moving to greet him from the other line, and he stalls a bit to smoke, savoring the familiar curl of your words, like how he lets your name linger on his mouth in a calm brooding drawl. “Trieste is beautiful at night.”
i honestly can’t believe how many people don’t realize that part of transmasc invisibility is a lack of statistics regarding the violence we face
people assume that invisibility means we don’t face that much explicit violence despite the fact that the few studies we do have actually show high rates of violence, and they don’t realize that the invisibility is the reason they’re assuming that
because guess what happens when we’re constantly erased? violence against us either gets mislabeled as violence against women or grouped in as general trans violence without more specific statistics about just us
and that’s if it gets recorded at all - according to the numbers we do have, transmasc people tend to face high levels of behind-closed-doors violence (things like DV and SA), which often aren’t reported at all or aren’t taken seriously enough to record even if they are reported
as a result, the only close-to-accurate numbers you’re going to get are from self-reports, but those are often seen as less reliable (because people love not believing victims) so they’re talked about less, and even that’s only IF the self-reports are done at all (because not many people are interested in surveying a group of people that they already assume doesn’t face that much violence)
so numbers regarding the (actually very high) levels of violence we face are rarely ever shared, and when they are shared it’s usually by us within our own spaces, allowing non-transmascs to keep living in ignorance about that violence
and the reason i bring this up isn’t just to say “we get hatecrimed too!!” - obviously, awareness is important, but it goes deeper than that
the reality is, when you ignore and/or actively deny the prevalence of anti-transmasc violence, you allow it to continue both by failing to speak out against it AND by failing to call for the proper supports to be put in place
and that brings me to an important question: non-transmascs, do you want this violence to continue? because at this point, refusing to acknowledge it means actively supporting it, and if that’s the choice you’re going to make you absolutely DON’T get to deny that you made it
I wanna fuck some guy with him on top of me and stab him to death while he's still inside, then flip him over and ride him after he's dead. Hopefully he wouldn't go soft too quickly and maybe if I timed it right he'd still cum which would be nice and a total power trip
Been stewing over the implications from the Venom 2 trailers
The end of V1 has Eddie talking to Anne about how powerful it felt to be bonded to Venom, meanwhile Venom is rather possessive of Anne. “She has no idea we are going to get her back.” Followed by the scene of eating the guy threatening Mrs. Chen, which Eddie was disturbingly nonchalant about. They leave discussing the circumstances where Venom might be allowed to eat someone again.
Keep that in mind with Trailer #2. Venom is complaining about not being allowed to hunt and eat people. Eddie is rightfully paranoid about getting caught, but Venom gets to physically abusing him. I wish we had more context to this scene, whether this has become routine or is just the culmination of an argument that’s been brewing. The trailer ends with Eddie trying to congratulate Anne and Dan on their engagement and Venom making Eddie punch Dan in the face. Dan quips that the pair need relationship counseling.
Based off Riot’s behavior in V1, movieverse Klyntar hierarchy is very much based off strength and skill in combat. Intraspecific cooperation likely happens under threat of violence. And now we see Venom threatening Eddie and knocking him around. Cycle of abuse, anyone?
Which got me wondering if Venom was even sincere during their walk through the woods in V1, where Venom confessed to being “a bit of a loser” (probably true) and that Eddie changed him. Or did Venom finally figure out how to manipulate Eddie? Downplayed their chances against Riot to appeal to Eddie’s suicidal tendencies and his instinct to support the underdog?
Was it all a con to become the metaphorical big fish in a small pond, the only Klyntar on Earth? But why even leave Eddie with independance, when we saw how Riot could completely control his hosts?
I’m hoping that V2 isn’t going to play the male domestic abuse victim thing as a joke. I’m hoping Eddie and Venom end the movie with a healthier relationship.
MY BODY WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU
hey hey! i’m momo. living on the east coast with a cat, lots of rain and a nintendo switch to keep me company. i haven’t been roleplaying on tumblr for very long, but i've been around on other sites for a while. omar is my first son here. he reminds me of driving over the speed limit, the carelessness of walking through the rain without an umbrella and smiling into kisses. he’s all devilish smirks and criminal amounts of sarcasm, but i hope you all like him! give this a like if you’d like to plot with him!
I saw [OMAR REYES] at a coffee shop in [THE BRONX] today. I forgot how much [HE] looks like [CHARLES MICHAEL DAVIS]. They are a [THIRTY-TWO] year old [TAXI DRIVER] who’s been in NYC for [TWO YEARS] now. Every time we run into each other, they are always [RESOURCEFUL AND CHARISMATIC] but I’ve heard people say they can also be [EGOTISTICAL AND ENIGMATIC]. [ELEMENT BY KENDRICK LAMAR] reminds me of them every time it comes on the radio. — [momo, she/her, 28, est]
links ! pinterest , google doc / (@villagestart)
tw: abandonment , violence , death , suicide , guns , long post
omar grew up in oakland, california knowing several things to be true: that his older sister was full of warrior spirit, that his brother was the picture of book smarts and wit and that he, despite being a combination of both of them, would never truly fit into the mold that his parents carved out for their lives. his siblings were welcome additions, their entire lives planned from beginning to end; every intricate detail from their names to their interests were drafted for them and they were compliant. elijah and eliza were the perfect children. omar, however, was trouble from the very beginning. he was their mistake, a ten year age gap existing between him and his next sibling with no plans or aspirations for him to inherit. his parents already had a daughter ready to go into the military to continue his mother’s legacy and a son being sought out by universities all over the country. there was very little time and patience for a boy that wrote poetry with bruised and bloody knuckles; a boy that never slept but could somehow still dream.
there was a disconnect between him and his family. he was the unruly younger sibling that wanted nothing to do with the frequent moves and impossibly high expectations that came with belonging to a military family. a part of him wanted to believe that circumstances could change for him—this part of him disappeared when his family went one way and left him in the opposite direction. they moved overseas for his mother’s next assignment and left omar in oakland with his aunt. at first, communication was frequent. there were video calls and care packages sent, but as life took over omar saw that there just was not time for him. he grew resentful as the calls slowed from everyday to weekends to only holidays. he felt abandoned.
he would be absent from home for days, only showing up for a meal when he needed it. he refused to answer the phone for anyone and went on his own, tumbling down a dark path. his aunt passed away leaving him nowhere to go. he had no connections to the family that left him and, as sad as it was, he almost preferred it that way. he did not even go to the funeral.
during his young adulthood in the streets of oakland, he survived with his wit and learned to run from the fights he started because there was no honor in being another nameless casualty. he had no one to care about him so he decided to care about himself as he began uplifting himself and developing a confidence that made him feel untouchable. despite his intellect, he swore by the motto of ‘it’s not what you know, it’s who you know.’ and he went on to make many friends along the way. before he knew it, he was the guy. the one that everyone went to when they needed to find someone. the connect or plug or any other name people called him. he did not care, he answered to all of them, as long as the money was right. that was how he lived. as the person that connected people to the ways to ruin their lives and it never unnerved him even a bit. he never checked in on the people he use to see when he stopped seeing them around, it was simply none of his business. it did not bother him, he would tell himself. ‘it doesn’t bother me.’
that was until it did.
there was a young man, he could not have been more than twenty-two, but he was troubled beyond his years and running from something. from what, omar never asked. when the kid asked for a place to buy a gun, the stains of dried tears on his face, omar gave him one and even filed the serial number off himself. he learned not to ask, not to get involved. it was how he had managed to stay alive that long.
it is all a blur to him now. fractured memories with sharp edges that pierce his thoughts. he got a frantic call from the young man and against his better judgement his rushed to the scene. he opened the door to an apartment where two bodies littered the floor. omar tried to talk the young man down as he trembled, holding the gun towards omar with wide eyes. he could have stopped him. he should have stopped him; it plagues his thoughts even now. omar was close to saving his life. he took slow steps as he talked the other down, approaching with patience until he was close enough to gently grasp the gun in his hands. there was a short lived sigh of relief followed by a sharp shove and the man turning the gun on himself.
omar froze at first and it was not until he heard rapidly approaching police sirens that he snapped out of his trance. he knew how this looked and could not afford to rot in jail, especially not when half of the demons of his past resided in there. his body moved before he could think, grabbing the gun, jumping out the window and rushing down the fire escape. his silhouette was seen fleeing the scene and soon news networks were flooded with descriptions and police sketches. how hard would it be to find the guy that knew everyone? he wondered for only a moment before he left everything behind in oakland.
he traveled for a while, never staying anywhere longer than the amount of time it took for him to fill up his tank and get a decent meal. with nothing but the consequences of his bad decisions tying him to oakland, omar drove all across the country. when he arrived in the bronx, it was only with the intention of staying a few days, but the state of new york comforted him. it was easy to get lost there, to be just ordinary or one of many.
he could start over.he got a job as one of the many cab drivers in the city and an apartment on the top floor of what use to be a warehouse. he spends his nights working and on the good nights where he makes a good amount, he rents a motel room. something about the flickering lights and pillows that smell of menthol help him finally pass out when the insomnia has had him awake for days. he’s trying to embrace his fresh start, but old habits die hard and he works a job where he gets to meet hundreds of people a week. fair to say he’s on his way to being the guy again. hopefully it works out better this time.
- sARCASTIC. please don’t take him serious ever, however, if your muse is gullible enough to do so, then he’ll think they’re cute. if they can match his energy, then he’ll really think they’re cute.
- charismatic. he can hold an interesting conversation with all that he’s seen in his travels. it’s possible to talk to him several times and never hear the same story twice. he’s a people person and can get a smile out of most people and keep them entertained. yes, he’s very fun at parties.
- resourceful. he a goldmine of connections and random facts. more useful than a swiss army knife. he’s the person to go to if you need help, rather it be with where to find the best pizza or a map of the tunnels. if he doesn’t have it, he knows someone who does.
- secretive. won’t tell you aNYTHING. he’s never been an open book. he doesn’t like talking about his past or his future or anything about himself. instead he’ll derail the conversation and make it about literally anything else, but specifically about your muse if he’s curious.
his mother, leona, is a combat medic in the army. his father, terrence, was a physics professor before becoming a stay at home dad. his mother got her citizenship from joining the army after leaving her home of manilla. she met omar’s father on a blind date. they really only planned to have two children and she was more or less devastated when she became pregnant with omar ten years after having her middle child. leona also suffers from insomnia. omar has her eyes and his father’s smile.
his sister, eliza, also went on to become a combat medic, her life essentially clone their mothers. his bother, elijah, is a professor with a PHD in mathematics.
he lives in quite possibly the worst apartment in the bronx. the building use to be a warehouse so the ceilings are high and it’s spacious, but the benefits end there. the roof leaks when it rains so he has plants all over to catch the water when it rains.
he has discovered that he has quite the green thumb. he loves plants and owns well over a hundred in his apartment. he names every single one and has yet to have one die on him.
he’s superstitious so he just knocked on wood after hearing the above statement.
he has loved poetry since he was a child. he writes poems in his free time inspired by the people he meets and the many events he sees. he’s unpublished, but has a dream of being able to walk into a store and buy a book of his poems one day.
he has befriended literally every stray cat in new york at this point.
he plays music on his cab and if you don’t like it then you’re more than welcome to get out and walk.
Just so everyone is aware, my boyfriend's real name Salfrien Glade. He though, prefers to be called Sam, and you people better resepct that, or will kindly rip your head off, with my bare hands, and throw into the closest river. Thank you for your time.
Cheating Death: Shall we count the ways?
the clip of hns where itsuki hits the guy with the racket lining up perfectly with the 19 dollar fortnite card thing lives in my brain and is thriving