merrin

24; they/them; self taught artist/cosplayer/writer; Star Wars, Critical Role, Willow, etc.; dungeons and dragons player this blog is a vessel for my hyperfixations

[hiddendruid]

I haven’t posted on here in a long long time but I’ve been writing fan fiction over on AO3, and I just posted my first ever Omegaverse fic with Alpha!Daniel and Omega!Armand. Please enjoy!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[carabinerdrawing]

The Keffiyeh will keep you safe, Benji Mahmoud

[mahmood7]

Please listen carefully Please listen carefully🙏 I need you to read this..🥹

On the seventh of October I am teacher Mahmoud Atta. I work as a teacher teaching secondary school students.

On October 7th, I was getting ready to go to school. On October 7th, while I was getting ready to go to school, my life was completely turned upside down. Israel declared war on Gaza. After that, they announced their entry into the roads and cities and forced us to leave the city from Khan Yunis to Rafah

.

We passed through a road called the Road of Death. Tanks were everywhere. Bullets were raining down. We passed through a road called the Road of Death. Tanks were everywhere. Bullets were raining down. If you survived, your brother would not.

We've all seen the end of the world movies on the big screen. We have all seen end of the world movies on cinema screens, but what we saw was real and not imaginary. I wish it was imaginary.

We finally arrived in Rafah Finally we arrived in Rafah, the safe city as it is called, but where to go? The sea is behind us, the weather is freezing, and the borders are closed with Egypt on the other side and Israel on the third and fourth sides. I found myself making a tent out of nylon for myself and my family.

No water, no electricity, no food, no place to go to the bathroom, no life. I wish I had died sooner.

We returned after a long time to our city.After a long time, we returned to our city. The first sight was that a giant monster had entered the city and left it in ruins, so much so that I did not recognize my house or my neighborhood. Oh my God, is this Khan Yunis?

fI searched to find my home, to find my apartment, which contained my memories and my most beautiful days, destroyed. I searched to find my home, to find my apartment, which contained my memories and my most beautiful days, destroyed.

Today I stand before you to search for Today I stand in your hands to search for any help to restore myself again thanks to you.. I am waiting for your help

Donate to Help Mahmoud and His Family Survive, organized by Jovan I

Hello, my name is Jovan, and I'm fundraising on behalf of my dear friend Mahmoud. Mahmoud … Jovan I needs your support for Help Mahmoud and

[mahmoud-ata]

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #365 )✅️

[mohfamily]

🌟 A Plea from Gaza: Rola’s Story 🌟

Hello, my name is Rola, and I am a mother of two children living in the Gaza Strip. Our lives were once filled with love, laughter, and dreams for the future. But everything changed on October 7th, when the war shattered not only our home but our entire world.

That morning, my family and I were enjoying coffee together on the balcony. Out of nowhere, an explosion erupted, shaking our home violently. My husband and son ran for cover, falling over each other in panic, while I stood frozen, still holding my cup, unable to process the chaos around me. When I looked out the window, I saw that our neighbor’s house, once filled with life, had been reduced to rubble. Ambulances rushed to the scene as people scrambled to rescue the injured and pull bodies from the debris.

The bombings didn’t stop. At night, the rain poured heavily, and the cold seeped into our bones. I stayed awake, covering my children to keep them warm and praying for their safety. But safety is an illusion here. Another explosion shattered the night, and our neighbors’ home was destroyed. Their children, who had been sleeping peacefully under a blanket, were found lifeless, their cover soaked in blood.

I looked at my children with tears in my eyes and thought, How can I protect you? We had to flee our home with nothing but the clothes on our backs. We left behind my children’s toys, their clothes, and their beautiful bedroom. Everything we had worked so hard to build is gone.

Our Current Reality Now, we are displaced and living in a nightmare. Food is scarce, and prices are unimaginably high—$10 for a kilo of sugar! The fear of death hangs over us constantly. My children deserve a life of joy and hope, not one defined by fear and loss. Why can’t we live like everyone else—go to work, visit family, and watch our children play in safety? Why do our children have to grow up surrounded by death and destruction?

How You Can Help I am pleading for your kindness to help us rebuild our lives. We need your support to: 💔 Rebuild our home, so my children can feel safe again. 🌍 Evacuate from Gaza, seeking a future where my family can live with dignity. 🩺 Provide urgent medical care for my children, who need protection from this nightmare.

Even the smallest donation can make a difference. If you can’t donate, please share my story. Every share brings us closer to hope.

What Your Support Means Your kindness is not just about helping us survive; it’s about giving us a chance to dream again. To rebuild what we’ve lost and to ensure my children have a future filled with possibilities, not fear.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. Your support means the world to us. Let’s work together to rebuild hope, one step at a time.

🌸 Please share our story and consider donating today. 🌸

Donate to From Despair to Hope: Help us to rebuild our life., organized by Fatima Rajwani

Hi I am Fatima and live in London UK. I have known Rola now for appr… Fatima Rajwani needs your support for From Despair to Hope: Help us to

Together, we can create a better tomorrow. 🌍❤️

[hiddendruid]

IWTVTober Day 1: Church

Challenge Credit goes to @TAZAT0UILLE on Twitter.

Although many vampiric myths, especially those about how to deter a vampire, are patently untrue, the striking image of a cross is certainly one that drives into the heart of many a creature of the night. Though not because the great image of Jesus’ suffering stands a chance of cleansing the darkness from a vampire’s soul, not at all. Perhaps it is something as close to empathy as a creature of no human-like heart could feel.

Armand is not a Christian, never was. He had played at Muslim for a few weeks when he was Rashid. The sprawling urbanity of Delhi had been muddled with persons of many faiths: Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, Christian. All walks of life. He does not remember what his family worshipped, when he had been Arun. But it was certainly not God, or Jesus, or whoever. No sight of a man strung up on two pieces of crossed wood had ever conjured in his mind a reason to be sorry for the sins he had committed, in both body and mind.

In Europe, the cathedrals loomed above the cities, stone giants with thousands of watching, carved eyes. Armand had never stepped foot in one, let alone went to bow his head to rattle off a prayer or two. Though his French coven had dwelled deep in the catacombs, nestled in the bowels of some church perhaps, he had refused to take any of the routes that exited into those echoey, marble halls. One evening, in the late spring of 1949, when the last of the freezing mists clinging to the streets of Paris were infused with the amber haloes of the streetlamps, Armand had listened to Louis muse about the oddity of churches here in Europe, how they were less grand in America, less tall. Louis had said that, in many ways, cathedrals were like vampires: cold and ancient, with the feeling as though every crack in the stone facade held secrets.

Deep in the black, twisted thing lodged between his ribs, Armand had felt as though that statement was aimed at him somehow.

Now, almost 80 years later, Armand sits in the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine one evening, eyes boring a hole into the back of a dark wooden pew as the others around him have theirs bowed in prayer. Why he decided it was here that he needed to sit, he can not answer. Truly, that evening, it was as if his feet had driven him to walk to this particular spot, wavering as he watched the parishioners make their way into the building for a midnight mass. Thoughts and whispers diffused the air, filling Armand’s head like a heady perfume. Inside the cathedral, packed in with the cattle, his head swims with the latent notions tickling his subconscious, sinking into his synapses like a balm that infuses into the skin.

Throughout time, he had found that human thoughts were at once both base and alight with something that even he, in his five hundred years of unlife, had failed to grasp. But then again, he also knew humans to be subtly manipulative with their thinking, as if they were aware that he - and supposedly an Almighty - was listening. He categorized and memorized the various shades and aspects of postulations that trickled from the cloud of human subconscious around him at all times. When the parishioners had their heads bowed in prayer, for instance, Armand felt himself awash with all kinds of soft, wishful desires, flowing through his veins and numbing his senses.

‘Please, Lord, help my wife to see that I love her.’

‘Lord, I don’t know if I have the strength, give me a sign.’

‘Please let him be okay.’

Notions of things that were surely not so out of their control, less the weakness of cattle had been underestimated. They always left a bitter sugary taste in Armand’s throat - at least how he’d remembered sugar to taste anyway. 

As the priest at the front of the cathedral begins his sermon, and the parishioners raise their heads, Armand can sense the thoughts becoming less fanciful. Brutish and honest, they bubble in and out of Armand’s ears and bounce through his brain like a spring, wound tight to be released at a moment’s notice.

‘I wanna get out of here so bad. I’m exhausted!’

‘Can this man hurry up so I can take a piss?’

Armand’s eyes remain forward, the buzz of human need around him boring into his head and nestling into the nooks and crannies of his skull. If it had not been for the unlucky loud man that had been stumbling around at 2 a.m. that he had drunk the other night, Armand would be - what was the lovely term he’d learned from Daniel? - ‘jonesing’ for the pumping, raucous blood of someone from this congregation. Maybe somebody in the back, who is thinking something along the lines of ‘where’s the nearest McDonalds?’ as they itch to type it into their phone.

Then, among the rabble, a singular wish, familiar from before, still held in that hopeful glow that lingers from the silence of prayer.

‘Let him be fine. Dammit, he better be, or I’ll. . .oh I don’t know.’

Armand’s head whips to the middle aged woman sitting just in front of him, brown curly hair tied back away from her face. In the unmistakable slump to her shoulders, the severe angle of her nose, and the streak of anger that laced her words, even as she speaks them in her head, he senses a familiar territory that he once hoped to claim, but let slip away. Of a young man twitching on the floor of a dingy apartment fifty years ago. Armand watches her intently, head tilted as he pushes into her mind, looking for more. His power digs into the woman’s brain like claws, dredging through the fluff of whatever latent thoughts she was holding before -

A flash. Studio lights on a book, sitting on a table between two large mugs of coffee and two men. One of whom rants and raves, familiar acerbic syllables decorating each explicit insult.

Daniel. 

Silver halo of curls surrounding his lined face, perpetual smirk lining his mouth, sat between the deep, carved lines of age adorning his cheeks and chin. Sunglasses perched on his severe nose, hiding his eyes.

Daniel.

As he spits words of contempt at the interviewer sitting across from him, the unmistakable shape of the words ‘Blow me’ plastering his lips as a loud bleep censors him. The smug confidence of someone who relied on the silver tongue and quick fingers on a notepad or laptop to survive, who would probably give a better sermon than the guy giving the sermon here, now.

If he were here. . .now.

‘Daniel.’

And, suddenly, like being thrown into the concrete wall back in Dubai, Armand is shunted back into himself, suddenly realizing that the woman who bore Daniel’s face is glaring at him, eyes laced with familiar ire and annoyance. She doesn’t speak, instead, she hisses softly under her breath, pushing the sound out between her teeth quiet enough so that it does not interrupt the priest, but sends the message nonetheless. She must think, perhaps, that Armand spoke the word aloud, and did not project it into her head like a volatile spear. With a look of what he hopes is remorse, Armand lowers his eyes, thinking that - in another lifetime - the tops of his cheeks would be warm with an embarrassed flush. 

When the service finally ends, Armand makes his way along with the stream of late-night parishioners out of the cathedral’s double doors. He eventually divests himself from the crowd and lays his back against the cool stone, head tilted up towards the sky. As he wallows in the aftermath of having his mind surrounded and infiltrated and filled with Daniel once more, he catches the woman from before exiting the building and striding towards a nearby side street, hands fumbling for a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and a lighter.

Armand peels himself from the stone wall and strides after her, his feet as silent on the stone as a cat’s paws, despite the low heel of his boots. The shadows of the night swallow him, swathing him in a cradle of darkness that allows him to track the woman as she continues smoking her cigarette and shivering in the night air.

Objectively, Armand knows he is not hungry and that if any passersby were to see him - not that they would, unless he chose to let them see him - they would think he was stalking this poor woman like a creeper. But her face, the slope of her neck meeting the collar of her jacket, the way the muscles in her jaw jumps as she exhales a cloud of smoke into the air, conjures psychosomatic memories in the all powerful mind of the ancient vampire. Rational thought has left his head. He is drawn like a poor, unsuspecting moth by the light of a jumping, roiling ball of fire trapped behind lantern glass. 

Then, the woman stops. Armand’s trajectory shifts as he ducks behind the corner of a nearby building. He watches her take one last drag and throw the cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with her shoe. Then, she swaps out the cigarette pack in her hand for a cellphone she pulls from her pocket, on which she types out a number quickly and with fumbling fingers. She puts the phone to her ear, turning in small circles like she’s expecting someone to leap out at her at any moment. Armand watches. He hears the phone ring and ring and ring, until a voice he would know and pick out from a crowd of thousands, even if he was blind, emitted from the speaker in a tinny, garbled tone.

Daniel Malloy’s inbox. Call me again, I fucking dare you. 

Beep. A soft sigh from the woman’s lips.

“Hey Dan- Dad. I mean, Dad. Hi. It’s me, you know your kid. The first one. Um. Yeah, just, thinking about you. Wanted to speak to you, I guess. You never answer, so I don’t know why I bother. Call me, please. Thanks. Bye.”

She hangs up the phone and keeps walking. Armand stays right where he is, watching her figure disappear into the night. He then turns his head to the towering silhouette of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine against the haze-coloured midnight sky, towers piercing the air like teeth. He feels a clump weight down his heart, like he’s listening to Louis ramble about churches again.

Louis. Daniel. . .

With a flick of his black coat - dramatic but necessary - he strides down and away, directions lost to him in his state. He just hopes his feet take him somewhere he needs to be. Away from what he’s thinking.

[greyheadedjaco]

[hiddendruid]

New Willow Fan Project Alert!!!

Hello Questies! Do you enjoy the show Willow (2022-2023)? Are you angry that D*sney removed it from their platform? Do you want to join an initiative to return it to the platform so more people can see it and (hopefully) be given the second and third season that we were promised?

Then PLEASE check out the newest podcast gracing your ears. It's called the Save Willow Podcast. I am one of the hosts, along with my buddy Matty (who you can find at @TildeProduction). The first episode is coming out later this month and I want y'all to come along on the journey with us!

Find our social medias below!

Welcome back to Instagram. Sign in to check out what your friends, family & interests have been capturing & sharing around the world.

[hiddendruid]

Hello Willow fans! Our first episode of the Save Willow cast is out!!!!

[emliyarmstrong]

#the want #the thirst

WILLOW (2022-2023) | 1x08 "Children of the Wyrm"

[hiddendruid]

New Willow Fan Project Alert!!!

Hello Questies! Do you enjoy the show Willow (2022-2023)? Are you angry that D*sney removed it from their platform? Do you want to join an initiative to return it to the platform so more people can see it and (hopefully) be given the second and third season that we were promised?

Then PLEASE check out the newest podcast gracing your ears. It's called the Save Willow Podcast. I am one of the hosts, along with my buddy Matty (who you can find at @TildeProduction). The first episode is coming out later this month and I want y'all to come along on the journey with us!

Find our social medias below!

Welcome back to Instagram. Sign in to check out what your friends, family & interests have been capturing & sharing around the world.

[neil-gaiman]

big good omens fan me. just wondering were there anymore seconds or minutes of the s2 intro that didn’t air? any deleted scenes or extended scenes you might be able to share one day, or at least explain, please? or any ideas you had surrounding that scene with angel crowley and younger aziraphale?

:)

There was one bit of their conversation that we cut for pacing. I'll let you find it here:

[hiddendruid]

If this line had been kept, I would’ve combusted /pos

Aziraphale talking about breeding 😭

[neil-gaiman]

Neil my dude, after showing my mother season one of Good Omens and my dad seeing a bit of it I mentioned you also wrote Coraline and either my mom or dad (don't remember which one said it) said you must have been a weird kid.

Could you please confirm or deny whether or not you were a Weird Kid™?

I was a weird kid.

[docdust]

Reblog if you were a weird kid.

[thegleampt2fromtheglowpt22001]

I know it’s not hard to point out reactionaries hypocrisy when it comes to like safe spaces or hug boxes or whatever but genuinely how much of an echo chamber do you have to exist in for you to think this is a reasonable thing to say

[apisashla]

reblog if attacking fascism is really the hill you want to die on

[alpine-insurrection]

this is literally like one of the most justified and honorable hills you could die on??? lol??

[harostar]

[lilithtransrights]

Quick someone reply with the gif™️

[burnt-to-cynders]

[lilithtransrights]

[momusu-saval-deactivated2024010]

Always reblog this if you are cool

[drchucktingle]

the absolute most melted-brain take from anti-boycott goofs is the inevitable 'oh you dont like THIS where were you for THAT?' i dont know maybe because THEY ARE TWO DIFFERENT THINGS FROM DIFFERENT PLACES IN DIFFERENT AMOUNTS AT DIFFERENT TIMES

i know this is usually bad faith argument from conservative scoundrels but i see others trot it out sometimes and it is biggest eyeroll. the ‘all things need to mean the same amount to you at all times or you are WRONG AND ILLOGICAL about your convictions’ crowd is such a mess

‘youre vegetarian now? where were you in 4th grade when you had cheeseburger?’ ‘oh you boycott this ai thing? where were you when other thing youve never even heard of happened?’ absolutely braindead trot. sorry devil its ok for buds to start taking action they didnt take before

goofballs: 'HOW DARE YOU START CARING ABOUT THIS THING? THE ONLY LEGITIMATE BOYCOTTS DEFY SPACE AND TIME EXISTING IN A PERPETUAL STATE OF UNDERSTANDING EVENLY DISTRIBUTED ACROSS ALL TIMELINES ENDLESSLY INTO BOTH FUTURE AND PAST'

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil, I just wanted to show you the Aziraphale and Bildad cosplay my friend and I did 😊

Wonderful!

[hiddendruid]

There are so many hilarious details in this cosplay the more you look.

The rainbow fishnets, the David Tennant shorts, the Michael Sheen slippers, the fake goat (which I honestly didn’t notice at first) having wayyyy too realistic eyes…

I love cosplayers, man 😭😭🖤

[stroebe2]

Montagne de Bueren staircase in Liège, Belgium

March 18th 2024

[spectrometrie]

Nantes, earlier this month!

[hiddendruid]

hello, so now that I am once again falling into my pjo/riordanverse hyper fixation (aka I finished reading the Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard series) I need people to understand that I am totally normal about them*

*Blitz and Hearth

That's all.

[ladybracknellssherry]

Well folks, it happened.

Today I had the talk.

With my therapist.

About Good Omens.

Did I get any advice on how to manage my hyperfixation that has taken over my life to the point that it has become a problem?

No.

Did he pull out his phone and Google "Good Omens" and say "Oh, Neat. There's a lot of famous people in this. Oh, Neil Gaiman! I'll have to watch this."

Why yes, yes he did.

Me:

[hiddendruid]

No joke. My therapist and I were talking about my inner critic and she suggested I personify it so I could tackle it better. But because she used the image of a “devil on my shoulder”, I now imagine a little Crowley and a little Aziraphale on my shoulders, where Crowley represents my doubting, anxious side and Aziraphale represents my more logical, gentle side. And this behavior was ENCOURAGED by my therapist??!!