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titsay
ojovivo
$LAYYYTER
Today's Document
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
sheepfilms

Product Placement
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todays bird
we're not kids anymore.
hello vonnie
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Peter Solarz
NASA
will byers stan first human second

roma★
Sweet Seals For You, Always

izzy's playlists!
Keni
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

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@azraiah
No transphobes allowed, only transborbs.
Check out my stuff!
✧Read Namesake✧ ✧Read Crow Time✧ ✧Store✧ ✧Patreon✧
You know I will actually
pride month!!!
Is that a miette?
Pride for you! Pride for a thousand years!!
you COME OUT to miette? you come out to her as queer? oh! oh! pride for mother! pride for mother for One Thousand Years!!!!
HAPPY PRIDE MONTH 🏳️🌈
To all of us who’re just a mess ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🤎
✨🌈 Mythical pride critters collection - whoo!
How it feels watching the news as a trans person in 2023
heavenly words
aliferous: (adj.) having wings
apricity: (n.) the warmth of the sun in the winter
aspectabund: (adj.) letting emotion show easily through the face or eyes
aurora: (n.) dawn
balter: (v.) to dance gracelessly, but with enjoyment
cafune: (n.) the act of running your fingers through the hair of someone you love
catharsis: (n.) release of emotional tension
charmolypi: (n.) a mixed feeling of happiness while being sad
diaphonous: (adj.) light, translucent, and delicate
dulcet: (adj.) sweet
ephemeral: (adj.) fleeting
ethereal: (adj.) extremely delicate and light in a way that seems too perfect for this world
eutony: (n.) the pleasantness of a word’s sound
halcyon: (adj.) a period of time in the past that was idyllically happy and peaceful
illecebrous: (adj.) enticing
irenic: (adj.) promoting peace
kalon: (n.) beauty that is more than skin-deep
kalopsia: (n.) the seeing of things as more beautiful than they actually are
lacuna: (n.) a blank or missing part
lilt: (n.) a pleasant gentle accent
ludic: (adj.) full of fun and high spirits
meraki: (n.) to do something with love or soul
nefelibata: (n.) cloud-walker; one who lives in the clouds of their own imagination
nepenthe: (n.) something that makes one forget their sadness
nubivagant: (adj.) wandering in the clouds
numinous: (adj.) feeling fearful yet awed and inspired
orphic: (adj.) beyond ordinary understanding
pyrrhic: (adj.) won at too great a cost
pulchritudinous: (adj.) breathtaking, heartbreaking beauty
scintilla: (n.) a tiny trace or spark of a feeling
selcouth: (adj.) unfamiliar, strange, yet marvelous
sirimiri: (n.) a light drizzle of rain
susurrus: (n.) whispering, murmuring, or rustling
sweven: (n.) a dream
temerate: (v.) to break a bond or promise
viridity: (n.) innocence
yonderly: (adj.) absent-minded
Biblical angels but they’re incredibly jealous. Oh? The humans enjoy that nude statue of Satan? Very well. I too shall bear my naked form of eyes and wheels. Why are you all fleeing.
Angels: humans enjoy looking at each other’s eyes, correct? God: yes Angels: therefore, i should form a dozen pair of eyes around my body. I will be loved 12 times as much.
A collection of winged reference sheet commissions I made from 2018-2019. None of these are my characters and all belong to their respective creators.
1 - Lumi Sommer (Spirit5678)
2 - Quill of Aubergine (Gogomechy)
3 - Zyana Quispe (Zellevia)
4 - Noelani (Zellevia)
5 - Zosk (Targo-Gryphon)
6 - Caete (Kiowakaykay)
7 - Keldan Kincaid (AlaskaDrawing)
8 - Rui Roubopao (Shiney-Eevee)
9 - Captain Luluja Harken (Calooloo)
10 - Ignacio (shufie)
If you’d like your own reference sheet commission or other works, my commission details are HERE
Kinda unhappy with this one, had too much story/ideas in my mind, but too few pages lol. Anyway, the message is still important. Rabbits often suffer from poor keeping and are often abandoned, especially around Easter time.
Full and finished short-story of the black cat. Please have a heart for black pets in general, animals do not deserve this kind of hostility. Please give credit when reposting, Thank you :)
Dream; 20190221
In the recent months I’ve been subject to harassment which has caused my PTSD to flare up resulting in increasingly unpleasant dreams. Last night’s dream was no exception. Caution, this entry includes strong language which may be uncomfortable for some readers.
I found myself on the ground, surrounded by a group of screaming men. Each time I tried to rise from the dirt I was beaten again. Sometimes with their feet, other times with weapons that felt like bats and pipes. My body battered and sore, refusing to cooperate. I was not aware of my surroundings. Only the dirty ground beneath me as a clue of my whereabouts.
The cacophony was disorienting, the voices sometimes incoherently screaming but several specific words echoed out through the discord. Slurs. Some homophobic, some specist, all of their words slung with the intent to be hurtful.
As I laid there, illuminated only by the night sky and the stars, I felt alone. The men continued to beat on me, yelling how they thought I’d put up more of a fight. “Some angel you are,” they cried out, trying to egg me into fighting back. “Come on, let’s see those pretty wings you fucking faggot,” another one barked into the night as I felt a boot solidly pressed into my spine.
After several more strikes my body betrayed me. My wings flaring out like a raucous feathery umbrella to cocoon my broken body. This only fueled the men’s anger. I felt their disgusting hands grab at my feathers, roughly yanking at my pinions. Blood flowed freely with each they tore out.
I felt a hand latch on to the base of my left wing, harshly pulling against the joint causing my muscles to strain at the pressure. My immediate thought was they were trying to force me to look up at them. That was quickly dismissed by the sound of a large blade being unsheathed.
There was unbearable pain as the blade broke the skin and lodged in my left wing’s humerus. They took turns hacking at it like poorly trained boy scouts trying to clear forest brush. Each strike accompanied by more cheering as blood ran steadily down my back and arm, a sickening puddle of life amassing beneath me. As I tried weakly to fight back several of them stood on my outstretched right wing, anchoring it firmly to the ground.
I felt endless loss when the weight of my left wing disappeared from my back. With nothing more remaining than a shattered bone jutting awkwardly out of a dislocated joint, I succumed to the night as the unruly mob started on my right wing.
Not another soul, living or otherwise, answered my prayers for help. Alone, face down on the dirty ground, I was tormented by the worst of humanity.
I woke what I only assume was several hours later, to the feeling of warm sunlight and the stench of stale coagulated blood. My wings gone, no doubt taken as a trophy. Only scattered broken feathers, pockmarked with blood spatter, remain.
Done as a voiceover of a comment in a r/WritingPrompts thread on Reddit. As an interesting and added bit of awesomeness, the final mp3 came to 666 KB in size.
Writing Prompt
It's barely ass o'clock in the morning and there's a tiny human pouncing on my chest screaming something about the front yard. Lovely... What could she possibly want to show me at this hour of morning? I bet it's snow, I bet she's excited by snow... Yeah, that's it.
I send the child to find her outdoor clothes as I drag myself out of bed. Bathrobe in hand I demand my husband join me. "If I have to be up, so do you. Come on princess, the kid wants to show us something."
I throw open the front door and to my utter shock there's an obsidian stallion grazing in the yard, picking from spots where the snow melted exposing the bare ground around its flaming hooves. I shut the door, turning to my husband and sighing. "Honey, did you spell check our dear daughter's letter to Santa?"
"No, why? She typed it up all by herself. She knows how to use spell-check." came the passive reply.
I lazily throw open the front door, letting the kid out onto the porch and letting my husband marvel at the majestic armored horse in our front yard. "Be careful! Don't get close to it!" screams my husband, grabbing onto our daughter's shoulder. The steed looks up inquisitively before snorting hot breath and going back to grazing.
I sigh again, "It's docile" I reassure him. I wander up to the creature, one hand out, palm up, and it sniffs at me once before deciding I'm safe. I slowly pet the side of its neck, noting that it's unusually warm to the touch but not uncomfortably hot. Calling back to my still-in-shock husband, "What does the package by the door say?"
Quickly collecting up the box, I use the distraction to call over the kid and introduce her to the horse. It seems to like her immediately and dips its head down offering to let her scamper up on its back. "It's a 'Thank You' note" he starts, removing a modestly large bright red apple from the box before reading "whosoever feeds it the apple becomes its master until death", he pales immediately.
"What's the matter dear?" I ask, walking back to the porch to collect the apple and the note. Meanwhile, the kid is now fully on the beast's back, holding onto two large protrusions from its shoulders as if they're handles. The creature doesn't seem to mind the child at all as she pets its armor-covered neck.
I glance over the letter, immediately realizing what my kid managed to do. She got bit by auto-correct. Apparently this year, Satan is Santa. Oh well, no mind. According to the letter it doesn't need to eat and generally just munches grass when its bored. Seems like a pretty decent deal - the kid gets a pony and I get a living lawnmower slash weed-eater. I'm somehow okay with this deal. It might take some convincing for my husband though.
Had I known it was that easy to get a Dreadsteed of Xoroth I would have saved myself the grind and just written a letter! When I was a kid I had to grind mine the hard way, summoning one myself then taming the damned thing. My kid just writes a letter and poof wish granted.
I hand the kid the apple and nudge her hand toward the horse's mouth. It sniffs once, its eyes glow brighter with excitement and the apple gets munched right out of the kid's hand. The kid is delighted, her father is horrified, and the beast seems to enjoy prancing about the yard.
I gently direct the kid-laden horse toward the back gate, "Go take your new friend to the back yard so it doesn't scare the neighbors. Wouldn't want this to end up in tomorrow's paper, would we?" That takes care of the kid and gets the flaming pony out of public view. Now I need to do some adult damage-control.
"But its hooves are on fire!" Yes, yes, got that part... That's really the only thing that threw you off about a dreadsteed? Not the horns? Or the armor plating growing out of its neck? No, you're fixated on the flaming hooves...
"Perhaps it's time we have a discussion about why your side of the family doesn't talk to my side of the family after the wedding..." Oh this is going to be a great conversation. "Or why we generally don't get random visits from my side of the family?" How do I approach this without breaking him? "It wasn't a typo on the wedding seating chart, or on the RSVP list, or really anywhere at all dearest." Another sigh. I feel like there's going to be a lot more of those to come in the next few days. "In fact I'm honestly shocked he managed to keep his behavior civil throughout the event." I drape my hand over my face. I'm getting off topic, he's going to notice I'm stalling... "My grandfather's name isn't Samuel, it's Samael."
A missed promise
This weekend is my 10 year college reunion. I should be happy, but instead I'm crying at work on a Friday morning.
When I went to college, my father was so proud of me that he would brag to everyone who listened. Somewhere along my college journey, I got him a 'Dad' mug from the college bookstore. He loved that mug. He used it every day. It was his favourite.
One day, long after I'd graduated, he accidentally broke the mug. My mother called me that morning to tell me that my father was so upset he cried and that she was driving to my old campus, an hour's highway drive away by car, to buy him a replacement mug. But she couldn't get him exactly the same one. I promised him that one day I'd go to campus and find him the right mug.
But more years passed and I forgot about the mug. I was always too busy, my calendar stretched too thin.
My father died in Novermber of 2015.
I'd forgotten about the mug.
Until this morning.
This weekend will be my first time back to campus since I graduated. This morning, I remembered the mug. I remembered my promise I waited too long to keep.
I'm sorry, Dad. I will buy you that mug this weekend, even if I break down crying in the middle of the shop while buying it. I will use it every day, just like you did. I will probably cry everytime I look at it. I miss you.
I was tired of pretending that I was someone else just to get along with people, just for the sake of having friendships.
Kurt Cobain
Reverie; 20180718
I’m walking along a crowded dirt boardwalk. Vendor stalls litter both sides of the pathway, each hawking their own brand of entertainment to the masses. A strong southern drawl barks out from one of the stalls as my partner and I pass; the yelling voice needed no amplification to be heard over the crowd.
“Hell is a literal place of torment,” cried out the voice, “Hell is a literal place in which the unsaved person shall eternally dwell.”
I gently nudged my partner to walk further away from the mass of revellers cheering at the preacher’s stall, they hung like zombies on his every word.
The preacher’s voice billowed out again, louder now as we navigated behind the crowd. “The only way to heaven is through Christ!”
I chuckled as the crowd cheered like sheep baaing in a field for their pseudo-shepherd.
The preacher gasped loudly, screaming “STOP EVERYTHING!” at the gathered mass. “There’s an angel among us!” The crowed oohed at his exclamation, some dropping to their knees with hands outstretched and folded together toward the sky.
I stopped my forward progress as well, snagging my partner by the shirt sleeve. This was now interesting.
The preacher’s voice became urgent. “God has sent an us angel! To prove He is watching!”
I looked over my shoulder at my partner, they shrugged. “I swear I didn’t RSVP to this,” I say. Another shrug. My back begins to itch, the urge to flash feathers and invoke some corrective justice upon him and his ‘flock’ is very tempting.
The preacher’s urgency deepens as he points over the crowd’s head, finger deftly pointed in my direction. “God sent an angel to judge each and every one of you on your sins! You must repent or face fiery torment!”
The crowd turns, looking for the source of the preacher’s exclamations. I question whether or not they can see into the astral plane as some of the crowd begins crying out for forgiveness and rush toward me. I take my partner’s hand and flee, blending into the rest of the unwashed masses.