The Tiniest Gamer

A very smol gamer. He/They AroAce trash boy. Autistic. Feral little goblin. Probably cursed. Will fight you if you bring TERF shit. Just wants to love and protect their precious boys. Currently going through a Final Fantasy XIV flavoured obsession that will probably last literal years. Also loves anything small cute and fluffy. (Like G'raha Tia!)

[tinygameralec]

In the spirit of Yet More Shit happening behind the scenes at Tumblr, here:

Me on Mastodon

Me on BSky (literally only have an account to look at porn)

Me on Dreamwidth (literally haven't posted on it since 2012 but I use it to hang out with the das-sporking crowd so if enough people poke me I will go back to actually using it)

[mstr1892]

I made plushies of the Medic and the Hexer from Etrian Odyssey!

[drchucktingle]

tough but fair

[vetchtibbles]

I’ll never be ok with AI summaries on search engines etc because at the core of me I don’t even want my own computer to know what I’m using it for. my searchbar shouldn’t know what I’m typing into it. close your fucking eyes bitch I’m shy

[nights-at-crystarium]

hey i just want to say i find it so wonderful and relieving when other xiv fans also see emet selch as a gay man. from the very first moment he walked on screen, the energy of “bitter old Hollywood theater queen” was so strong and such blatant coding i never even had to consciously think about it, it was just a given. but lo and behold, i got into the fandom after catching up on the story, and found much to my shock that TONS of people are shipping him with their female wols??? i allow that fans in japan (and maybe other places, idk) might see him differently because the cultural tells for queerness are totally different there, but i have to raise my eyebrows at the americans playing the english version and still missing it. he’s literally an aging theater enthusiast in a fur-lined robe who quotes Lauren Bacall and wears noticeable makeup, whose signature body language is either a snap or a limp-wristed wave over the shoulder, and they’re somehow seeing someone who might like women? i just have to laugh. and yes, insert mandatory caveat that it isn’t that serious and there’s nothing wrong with how they’re playing barbies, but at the same time i genuinely don’t get how they aren’t seeing it. which is an extremely long winded way to say, thank you for seeing the obvious with me. i don’t necessarily expect you to publish this because it IS kind of swinging a bat at a hornet’s nest and i doubt you want that kind of attention, but i just want you to know some of us also get it. happy pride 🏳️‍🌈

Signing under every word. I hate to admit that I have to tone myself down and hold back on talking about something I have extremely strong, bottled up feelings about, just hope one day I grow "big" enough to stop giving a shit, and finally speak my heart out. For now keeping on my gay grind and trying to gather more people that agree with the above.

And sure, I'll post it. It's tumblr, so I expect people to behave, but my block button's ready anyway.

Fandom (in general, fandom spaces) used to be the pink people in this comic. It used to be predominantly queer before 2020s. I used to feel safe and at home. Then this happened. I still could not make my peace with it.

If you try to twist this as, or believe those users who twist this as biphobia, that's on you, and I have nothing to do with any bad faith reading of this post.

[emrowene]

Happy Pride! Have a short story!

This one's really special to me; it's all about a trans paladin and his feelings toward his former goddess.

READ IT HERE

[emrowene]

“If the gods let you choose, how would you die?” a woman asked, her voice drifting disembodied through the dark. Someone scoffed, and then a third voice said: “A light, Clemens? I can't find the damned door.”

A ball of flame suddenly flickered to life, illuminating a narrow hall and three figures: the first was an old priest who, with a wave of a bony finger, directed his flame to sit on a torch sconce; the second was a young fighter covered in blood, who leaned on the priest for support; and the third was a tired paladin, who stood apart from his companions and blinked owlishly in the new light. He nodded his thanks to the priest, then resumed his study of the walls. There, nestled so neatly into stone his gloved fingers couldn’t find its edges, stood a door.

“Don't be morbid,” Clemens told the fighter while the paladin gave the door a testing push. Firelight glinted off his armor; it was surprisingly barren, stripped of his god’s holy symbols. “I’ve already healed the worst of your wounds.”

“I’m not being morbid! I’m only curious,” the fighter said in reply. “Humor me.”

Clemens sighed. “Don't we all dream of dying peacefully in our beds?”

The fighter's bark of laughter echoed oddly on the stone and earned her a sharp look from the paladin. “Not me,” she said. “I want to die at the end of a chase, just like this. I’ll spite anyone who wants me dead by doing it myself, and then I'll die laughing, seeing their face when they realize I've beaten them again.”

When her companions shared a worried look, she sighed and blew her bangs back from her face. “Relax, after all the pains Clem took to heal me, I won’t do anything rash. But if it comes to it, I won’t let them catch me, either,” she said, her teeth bared and her face spattered with blood.

“You'll answer differently when you're older, Tam,” Clemens said.

For a moment, the only sounds in the hall were his heavy breathing, a faint drip, drip, drip coming from somewhere above, and the scrape of steel on stone as the paladin shouldered the door open. None of them mentioned their precarious position, that when was more realistically if, but the paladin certainly thought it.

“What about you?” Tam asked him.

He gave her a tired look and brushed debris from his shoulder. His beard and long hair were streaked with gray, and the restless fire’s flickering deepened the shadows under his eyes. Despite that, and despite his empty armor, he stood tall and proud. He gave the question some thought, then sniffed disdainfully. “I have no preference.”

“Bullshit,” Tam said, limping after him through the darkened doorway and dragging Clemens along with. Her injured arm was slung over the priest’s shoulder, and his hand rested at her back. With the other, he grabbed the torch and held it up to reveal a hall so large even the grasping firelight couldn’t reach the other end. They both froze in the doorway, and Tam muttered, “A deserter, an apostate, and an oathbreaker walk into an abandoned temple. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.”

“Would they follow us inside, do you think? Abandoned or not, this is still holy ground,” Clemens whispered, hesitant to disturb the silence.

The paladin, who had betrayed a god before and lacked the same reverence, shrugged and said at full volume, “If they’ve followed us this far, yes. We should barricade the door.”

Beneath them, a fraction of a mosaic spiraled across the floor. It was set in dirty, dusty oranges, but through the years, green had risen to cover it. It tore through the tiles and crept up columns, vines and grass overtaking the splendor that once was. As he stepped further inside, the paladin was struck by the smell: it was the green of rot and forgotten places.

Above them, patches of stars winked down where the ceiling had collapsed. On their own, the stars provided little light, so Clemens held the torch while the paladin piled what he could in front of the door: a rotting wood bench, an iron brazier, boulders from the collapsed ceiling and columns. When he was satisfied, he wiped his forehead and stepped back so Clemens could cast a seal over it. As the holy magic passed from the priest's fingers to the stone, he sagged; in concert, Tam and the paladin steadied him, the latter taking the torch before it could fall.

“Come on, old man,” Tam grumbled as she half-led, half-carried Clemens to an unbroken bench. She tested its integrity with her boot, making sure it wouldn't give before dropping onto it and dragging Clemens with. She winced as the motion jostled the barely patched wound on her leg.

“We shouldn’t stay long,” the paladin warned. “They might catch up.”

“Give us a minute, at least,” Tam said. “Clem’s cast too many spells, and I need a breather.”

Clemens rubbed his temples. “I hope you had a nice night with this girl, Tam, for all the trouble it’s brought us.”

“Oh, I did,” Tam said with a toothy grin. “Even if I die here, it will have been worth it.”

“And what if I die here?” Clemens hissed.

“A sacrifice to a worthy cause,” Tam said, shrugging. While they bickered, the paladin slipped away, his torn cape sweeping behind him. With him went the torchlight, leaving the bench in darkness but revealing more of the strange hall.

“Well? Which god did we piss off this time?” Tam called after him.

“If we beg their forgiveness—,” Clemens began.

Tam cut the priest off before he could say any more. “I’m not begging a god for anything, Clem. Neither, I think, is he,” she said, jutting a thumb back at the oathbreaker.

“It depends on the god,” the paladin said, his voice soft but echoing in the quiet. Having finished a circuit around the perimeter, he moved now toward the center of the temple, lighting braziers as he came upon them. When he saw enough to realize what the mosaic depicted, he stopped: the swirling streaks were golden rays of a sun, spiraling toward something at the center that had yet to be uncovered. Cold dread settled inside him. He didn’t want to uncover it, but his companions were watching him, curious.

Reluctance making his steps heavy, he collected himself and pressed on, keeping his gaze downcast as he approached the sun’s core. The toe of his boot eventually hit the wall of a fountain; he saw his own haggard face reflected in its black water, but there was another, as well. He looked up at its owner. Though he’d known—suspected—what would greet him, the sight of the goddess still made him step back. Etched in marble, she stood at the center of a still fountain, her hands outstretched in invitation. Her gown hugged soft curves, and hair spilled over her shoulders, down to her knees.

The oathbreaker turned his face away so his companions wouldn’t see his expression.

Tam sighed when the torchlight fell on the goddess's face. “Just another forgotten beauty,” she said, eyeing the statue's full-lipped smile with open appreciation. “There can’t be much left of her, if she let her temple get like this. I wonder who she was.”

Beside her, Clemens went rigid. He hit Tam’s uninjured shoulder. “Watch what you say! And don't look at her like that! This temple might be abandoned, but this is no Isdon or Aais, appearing one day and forgotten the next. That’s the goddess Delidah.”

Tam, eyebrows raised and expression blank, only shrugged. “I've never heard of her.”

Clemens sputtered, but the paladin wasn’t surprised. After all their years traveling together, after all Clemens’s lectures, the paladin knew that when it came to the gods, Tam remained willfully, obstinately ignorant. “Delidah is the goddess of the sun,” he explained, the name heavy on his tongue.

Clemens wagged his finger at Tam. “One of these days, Tam, you’ll find faith.”

“Gods, I hope not.”

Clemens continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “It’s Delidah who wakes the sun each morning, coaxing it to rise above her mountain in the east and firing it with her bow toward the western horizon. Without her, we’d live in eternal night,” he explained. When Tam's face still showed no signs of recognition, he continued, a little desperately, “Twelve years ago, it was Delidah who saved our world from darkness. Surely, you must know that much? She descended from her mountains with only her sword and her closest disciple. The two defeated the entire shade army while the king’s men merely looked on.”

Tam snorted. “What, the King didn't want to help?”

Though he tried to keep his expression severe, the corners of Clemens’ mouth twitched into a smile. “Well, that's hardly surprising. I still served under him, then. I was there. I saw it all,” he said. His eyes had taken on a faraway look. “Delidah and her paladin were the loveliest things I’d ever seen…lovely, but terrible, too. They fought together like light dancing off broken glass: quick, sharp, brilliant. I’ve witnessed the gods’ power many times in my long life, but never again like that. You don’t realize how small you are, how insignificant. As easily as she defeated the shades, Delidah could have destroyed our entire army and the king along with it. Whether you die in your bed or in a chase matters little. To the gods, you’re nothing, and they will not mourn you.”

“Now who’s being morbid?” Tam asked. “Have you been sneaking drinks again, old man?”

“Be serious,” Clemens snapped.

“I am serious! I’m always serious! Let this Delidah strike me down here if I’m not.”

Clemens hastily lowered himself to his knees. “Oh, Delidah, forgive our trespass!” he cried, not noticing the paladin flinch. The old priest shot Tam an annoyed look and added, "And this one’s blasphemy.”

“I doubt she’ll hear you. That would require her to pay attention to this place,” Tam said, gesturing grandly at the overgrowth and broken stone. “If she’s so powerful, how’d her temple get like this?”

Clemens looked around, as if seeking an answer himself. “I imagine she's busy elsewhere,” he said, then adding defensively, “I don’t know; why ask me?”

“Because you’re a priest!”

“And I serve a different god,” Clemens sniffed. His gaze fell on the paladin, who stood as still as the statue he stared at. “Sampson! What do you know of Delidah?”

Sampson’s lips twisted into a rueful smile. He inclined his head so his long hair fell to hide it. “Delidah has limited time in our world, as she returns to her mountain each morning to greet the sun. She spends that time searching, not presiding over forgotten temples,” he said, finally answering Tam’s question.

“Searching? Searching for what?” Tam asked.

“Someone she lost,” Sampson said softly. “Someone who no longer exists. So you see, Clemens, the gods do mourn. They remember us, as small as we are.”

In the dark water, Delidah’s marble reflection changed. For a moment, Sampson saw another version of her: one with a teasing smile and twinkling eyes. Steeling himself, he stepped into the fountain and scattered the image, cold water rushing in to flood his worn boots. It bit at his ankles and numbed his toes, but he pressed onward, only stopping when he’d reached Delidah’s platform.

“I don’t know about that,” Clemens hemmed, his standard rebuttal when he had nothing he could say. “Sampson, what in the world are you doing?”

“I don't know about any of it,” Tam said. “She is pretty, though. If it weren’t for these injuries, I’d be climbing into that water, too.”

“Ha!” Clemens said. “If there was any god you'd take interest in, I should've figured it would be Delidah. She’s also the patron of young maidens, you know. Her daughters and disciples live with her on the mountain: only women, all exceptionally beautiful.”

Tam whistled. “Tempting, but in my experience, religious girls are nothing but trouble.”

“And governors’ daughters aren't?” Clemens snapped.

Ignoring him, Tam continued, “Besides, I don’t like the soft, motherly type.”

It was Sampson's turn to laugh. He tore his eyes from the goddess to look back at his friends. “Delidah is also goddess of the hunt. Her disciples are warriors, and so is she. This is a poor likeness,” he said, turning to the statue again. No sculptor could capture Delidah’s beauty, her clever smile, the intensity of her gaze when she looked at you—seeing you, seeing through you. Still, this approximation was near enough to make him ache.

Tam and Clemens both went silent, watching Sampson stand in the dark water and reach up for Delidah. He ran a gloved finger along the curve of her forearm, where a crack ran through the stone. While cold seeped through the leather, he remembered warm fingers running through his hair instead. He remembered soft lips on his forehead, his eyelids, his—

“Sampson?” Tam asked, hesitantly.

Sampson never spoke of his broken oath. In the ten years these mismatched vagabonds had traveled together, they’d spoken of everything and nothing. Each of them had pasts they preferred to forget; each understood the others’ needs for secrecy. So when their oathbreaker refused to draw his sword, fighting instead with shield and fists, the most Tam and Clemens had done was shoot him a sympathetic grimace and carry on.

They had both seen his scars, of course, the jagged ones that cut horizontally across his chest, left not from an injury but from a liberation. That part of him was no secret. Seeing him standing before Delidah now, a man with barren armor and a face full of longing, he was sure many of their questions were answered at once. Still, Tam asked, “Sampson, the god you were sworn to. Was it Delidah?”

Before he could answer, something heavy slammed into the barricaded door. Tam jumped up, her hand flying to her knife, and Clemens swore. Out in the hall, voices shouted. Hooves rattled on stone. Their pursuers had found them.

“We need to find an exit,” Clemens warned.

“There aren’t any,” Sampson said. “I checked.”

“Why didn’t you say so sooner?!” Tam asked. Ignoring them both, Clemens pushed to his feet with a creaking groan and circled the hall to check for himself.

“If we had turned back, we would’ve met them in the hall. This is a better place for a fight,” Sampson explained. While he spoke, he knelt in the dark water.

“Who’s fighting?! Sampson!” Tam cried. “Sampson, why are you praying to her? Didn’t she cast you out? Strip you of your armor and power?”

Sampson closed his eyes. “I chose this,” he admitted. He had asked Delidah to cut his hair. Though he’d refused to explain why, he’d cried as each lock fell. She’d leaned over his shoulder, then, her curls tickling his cheek, and tried to comfort him with compliments and soft kisses. She’d asked if she should stop, but it had never been about his hair. It was knowing what he was giving up, knowing that he couldn’t stay.

And worst of all was knowing that he would stay, if she asked. He would stay by her side and deny who he was forever. But he was a coward, at heart, so he’d placed the object of his own destruction—a simple pair of shears—into her hands.

When his mothers and sisters and friends figured out what he was and came for him in the night, he didn’t fight. They said he no longer belonged, and he didn’t argue. He let them throw him down the mountain, only grateful they’d done it when the goddess was away hunting, so he wouldn’t see her face when she realized how he’d used her.

As he tumbled down, he’d been grateful for every bruise and cut. He only regretted not saying goodbye to her—and having to say goodbye at all.

“This is how I’d choose to die,” Sampson said, gazing upon his goddess as he finally answered Tam’s question. From where he knelt, the statue of Delidah seemed to offer him a hand out of the water. “We’ll fight here, whatever may come.”

Another crash echoed through the hall; another weight slammed against the door.

“Who’s we?” Tam asked, a little wildly. “Clem doesn't have any spellcasting left in him, and I lost my axe in the chase. What will you do, oathbreaker? Threaten them with a sheathed sword?”

Oathbreaker. It was a title others had ascribed to him, but had he broken his oaths? He felt as devoted to his Lady as he’d ever been. He knew he’d lose her if he embraced himself, but he was never the one who’d turned away. He’d always kept her in his coward’s heart.

Tam grimaced, regretting her words when he stayed silent for too long. She stomped her foot. “I’m sorry, Samps. I didn’t mean it. It’s just—I was only joking, before. I don't actually want to die here. Come on.”

Sampson closed his eyes. “My Lady Delidah,” he prayed aloud.

No one answered.

Clemens rejoined them, then, his wide mouth pulled into a frown. When he saw Sampson kneeling before the statue, a furrow appeared between his brows, too. “It was you, wasn’t it?” he asked. “On the field that day, beside Delidah?”

Not having the words, Sampson only nodded.

“Ah, my boy…” The priest trailed off, words failing him as well.

“Clem? An exit?” Tam prompted.

Clemens shook his head. “Sampson is right. There’s no way out; all we can do is hope that She answers.”

“I’m not leaving my fate in her hands,” Tam said, slashing her hand through the air. She looked around, her gaze landing on the vine-covered columns. “We’ll climb through the holes in the ceiling.”

Clemens laughed. “Using what, vines? With my arm and your injured leg? Maybe Sampson can carry us both on his back, hmm?”

The door was rattling, screeching across the floor as it inched open. Only Clemens’ seal saved them, the silver runes shivering through the air with each blow of the battering ram, their edges slowly wearing away under their foes’ persistence. Their enemy must have had a mage with them, too; after a conspicuous silence, the next crash was an explosion, shaking the earth and sending dust raining down.

Clemens’ seal fell. Tam drew her knife with a shaking hand, her expression grim.

“Delidah!” Sampson shouted, voice breaking on her name. Perhaps his goddess really had abandoned him, like they all said she would.

Tam shook her head and opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, a woman’s laugh echoed through the temple. Tam and Clemens whirled toward the door, but for now, it remained shut. The sound had not come from there.

“There you are,” came a voice, from everywhere and nowhere. Sampson drew a shaky breath at the sound, his heart beating at a wild pace. It was just as he remembered it—just as warm, just as fond. A warm breeze rustled through the ferns and the foliage, carrying with it the smell of summer and warmth and sunlight.

“My Lady,” he murmured, an old prayer rising like a memory to his lips: “I ask that you lend me your aid, so I may protect those in need.”

The wind blew again, circling Tam and Clemens, ruffling Tam’s hair and Clemens’ robe before returning to Sampson. Sampson held his breath, fearing what answer may come. “Very well,” Delidah said, this time only for Sampson to hear. A peace overtook him, then, one he hadn’t felt since he last rode with his Lady into battle, the two of them against the world.

He stood in time for the door to blast open.

Stones and shrapnel hurtled through the air, straight toward where Tam and Clemens stood. The two only had time to close their eyes, not even to shout or pray or brace themselves. They felt a rush of air, heard a great clash and scrape, and when they opened their eyes again, Sampson stood between them and the soldiers that flooded in, his shield proudly raised. Boulders and scraps lay to either side of them, bifurcated by the light radiating off the paladin like wings.

Two dozen soldiers rushed in, guards of the city whose favorite daughter Tam had coaxed into bed. They bore an array of weapons, some with trinkets of various gods under and on their city uniforms. Among them, Sampson glimpsed Delidah’s crest. He glimpsed faces of women who thought Delidah would abandon him purely for who he was.

They thought they knew the Goddess of the Sun, but so had Sampson. He could weep, knowing now he’d been wrong.

“Sampson,” Delidah called, testing the weight of his new name.

As he stepped forward, he loosened his blade from its sheath for the first time in years. He let only a sliver show at first, but light burst from it in brilliant streaks, bright enough to blind anyone who looked at it directly. The blade shrieked as it inched out of its scabbard, loud enough that their foes covered their ears.

“My Lady,” Sampson breathed, “Forgive me my lack of faith.”

“Sampson,” Delidah called again, laughingly, the warmth from before returned tenfold.

Sampson tightened his grip on the sword, feeling the warmth of his goddess’s hand covering his. He looked back at his companions and said, “Close your eyes.”

The soldiers charged. When Sampson finally drew his sword, it was with all the force of the sun.

[komorebigold]

Question, Miss Koremobi! (no im not one of your irl students) Do boy slimes exist? If so, the gender of slime you turn into when metamorphosized depends on the slime that changes you?

Slimes are sexless! Gender is made up and the rules don't matter! Shape yourself however you'd like.

[star-mom-selkie]

happy pride month

[nights-at-crystarium]

also idk who needs to hear this, but being a gay man and supporting gay ships isn't biphobic or misogynistic. you're just grasping at straws and trying to use anything as ammo against gay men. you're the problem.

[nights-at-crystarium]

i hope to see more gay art and gifs and memes this pride month. it can be terrifying to be loud and visible in the current climate, and yes, it WILL paint a target on you. tanking means receiving damage. but i can't tank alone, i need a cotank and healers and dps too

[serifyism]

Let me put this out there real quick. Only once.

We are all in this together. I don't consider myself a very prideful person a lot of the time, but I know that we are fighting together. There is no room to 'punch down' in this environment, there is no room for hate between ourselves. If you demonize just one of us, they will eventually demonize you. We have to love each other, that's what pride is. If you feel hate for any one of us then you are a traitor to pride and a traitor to your brothers, sisters, and siblings of all kinds. Especially now, when so many of us are still well and truly fighting for the mere right to exist as we are.

Hate has no place in the word pride.

[threefill]

In which my uncle is the best de facto parent of a queer kid ever

It’s Pride, and also the first anniversary of my uncle’s death, so I want to type up a story about him. (NB: my aunt, his wife, is equally cool, but she’d want this story to be about him too.) So here goes.

I skipped town when I was 16. Nothing interesting about that part; just standard queer kid in a conservative place in the 1990s stuff. I’d just gotten my driver’s license (this took a while; I’m good at other things), it was the beginning of summer break, and my parents had recently bought a new car and were planning to fix up their old one to sell. In the meantime, the old car (whom I’d named Harold Godwinson because one of his headlights kept exploding) was sitting all by himself in a corner of the driveway, and I thought he might be down for a little adventure. So, one night, I threw some stuff in my backpack (documents, journals, a few changes of clothes, my $235 in babysitting cash) and snuck out after everyone else in the house had gone to sleep.

Harold Godwinson and I hit the highway. The thing about him was that he started shaking violently at speeds over 57 mph, but in fairness so did I – I’d driven on the interstate in driver’s ed, but, like, twice, and for 5 minutes at a time instead of several consecutive hours – so we made a good pair. We were lucky enough (seriously: I cannot stress enough how lucky we were in this) to have a destination in mind, and we reached it just as the sun was coming up.

My uncle was in the kitchen making breakfast for my aunt, who’s not a morning person, and he did not look surprised at all to see me coming up the path with my luggage. He met me at the door and said, “Well, hey there babygirl, we were just thinking you might want to come and stay with us for a while, and I’m so glad you read our minds.” I ate my aunt’s breakfast and then faceplanted in the attic bedroom while he called my parents to tell them where I was and that I’d be staying. (I could hear the yelling even through the adrenaline crash; I think that’s the only time I ever heard my uncle yell and, believe me, I did a LOT of dumb shit in front of him over the years.)

The next week my uncle and I went out to run an errand. I’d thought we were just going to the hardware store – we were forever putting up shelves together – but instead we drove 45 minutes to the state’s only “alternative” (plausible-deniability term for “gay and lesbian”) bookstore. He walked me inside, poked his head into every room while I watched, confused, from the entrance hall, and then came back over. “Okay, babygirl. Here’s a twenty, you should, uhhhhhh, buy yourself some, uhhhhhh, alternative books. Back in one hour, I gotta go to the grocery.” At this point he looked around and realized that the cashier (who, I was about to learn, was permanently cosplaying Mo from Dykes to Watch Out For) and a nice middle-aged lesbian couple were trying very hard not to stare at him. He bowed slightly toward them, said “Ladies,” and then backed out the door in what might have been the most awkward little shuffle ever.

“Your dad is really sweet,” said the cashier. I didn’t bother correcting her.

[threefill]

Okay so tis the season to reblog this and I have a key addition to the story, which is:

We were all hanging out at my aunt’s house earlier this month to celebrate my uncle. We drank a toast – cheap scotch, his favorite – and after a while of telling stories about him I asked something that should’ve occurred to me a lot sooner: how did he find out about the queer bookstore? It was so obviously not his natural habitat.

My big cousin swallowed his scotch the wrong way and my aunt said, “Oh, you’re going to love this. He asked around at church.”

Back up for a second: most of my side of the family is Catholic, but through various plot twists in her life my aunt became a member of one of the earlier groups of women to be ordained in the Episcopal church. Not one of the Philadelphia Eleven or anything, but pretty early on. Of course, not everybody – particularly in more conservative parts of the US (like, say, the south) – was cool with women priests right away, and things could get a little hostile at times. My uncle never had much truck with any form of religion or philosophy whatsoever, but he did believe in my aunt, so he would periodically show up at whatever church she was assigned to and stare down anyone who was looking at my aunt in a funny way.

Fast forward again to just before I showed up at their house: my aunt and uncle figured they might ask me to come stay with them, and my uncle, in preparation for this, decided to find some places I might like to hang out. He didn’t find anything in the immediate neighborhood, so one Sunday he tagged along with my aunt, who was then working in a church about 45 minutes from their house. During the coffee hour he approached a group of random church ladies and this happened. (Bear in mind that these ladies saw my uncle only once a month or so, when he showed up for his periodic glaring at the conservatives.)

My uncle: Morning, ladies! What a nice service that was. [Pause while they all stare blankly at him.] We hope that our niece will be coming to stay with us soon. [More blank stares from the ladies. Uncomfortable pause.] She has always been a tomboy, and –

One of the ladies, who was about to become my friend Amelia: OHH!!! Okay. [Turning toward the coffee urn.] HEY! POLLY! WE NEED YOUR EXPERTISE AND GUIDANCE!

Polly – imagine the woman from “Ring of Keys” and you’ll have it – came right over and said: Oh, a tomboy? Okay, I’ve got you. Let me just get some paper.

Anyway, happy Father’s Day to those who celebrate.

[tinygameralec]

My fellow Zenos fans, I call upon you!

I once saw a really good fanart of Healer Zenos, embracing the role because if he can heal himself then the good fights get to go on longer! I remember it had his fairy tying up Selene and Eos, and one of his more manic smiles.

HOWEVER I was not yet a Zenos fan, because I hadn't met him yet! I didn't understand! So I didn't save it or reblog it.

Does anyone know that art? That post? I HAVE A MIGHTY NEED.

[lindleart]

£15 EMERGENCY POKEMON COMMISSIONS

Currently suffering from a chronic illness that I'm still trying to find proper diagnosis and treatment for - am currently unable to work and bills are piling up. Any support would be a huge help.

Just tip £15 and name any Pokemon you would like me to draw, and I'll do it.

(If you would like to be tagged on here please provide your url in the tip. If you are tipping for multiple Pokemon, please specify if you would like them in the same image or seperate images).

[pokemonheritageposts]

Rent is due tomorrow and I'm £200 short - anything you can contribute would be a huge help at this point.

[pokemonheritageposts]

£100 down! I'm halfway there and have 18 hours left. Huge thanks to everyone who has contributed or shared this so far

[foxes-in-love]

[skelotom]

Ideally I'd make a post like "It is pride month! Yay! :D" ...But it is getting increasingly hard to exist as a trans person, let alone celebrate it.

We should still celebrate it. That celebration doesn't need to be loud. It doesn't need to be noticed by anyone except yourself.

They want us to feel shame at who we are. They want others to fear what we are. Pride in yourself is the antithesis of shame. So please, now more than ever, make sure you celebrate pride. Celebrate you.

You are worth celebrating. Happy pride.

[eyelessfog]

a character who truly, legitimately goes “but why does that matter?” about their feelings when someone who cares about them asks. and the sudden falling of everyone around them’s faces as they realize that this person doesn’t recognize themself as someone who needs or should be taken care of. i want Everyone to hurt. surprise at the idea, worry for them, horror at not having noticed. do you see this person who doesn’t think of themselves as a person?