Sorry if it’s a little cramped- had to make this all fit in ten photos (I normally post to Imgur and have loads of room) . Hope you guys like it….. and again…. sorry Andrew
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WOW I CANT BELIEVE HOW MANY PEOPLE LOVE THIS- thank you so much. Since a few questions have been brought up about seeing my comic elsewhere- I’m happy and grateful to finally have a platform to address it.
Andrews Window Shit was first made in September of 2014. I posted it to my Imgur/DeviantArt and it has since traveled the world. It has also been stolen more times than I can count. I never thought anyone would steal someone else’s embarrassing childhood memory, but I guess that’s the world we live in.
I have seen it on 4chan a few dozen times, Imgur (which is hilarious as that’s my original posting place and I never understood their theft when I litterally was a constant member there), 9gag, funnyjunk and so on. Sadly these weren’t people reposting my work- these were people actually claiming it was theirs.
The nice thing about my childhood is it was pretty fucking unique. Because of this, and thanks to helpful people out there, it’s been relatively easy to track my stories through the web. This doesn’t always mean I get them taken down or credit given. More often than not I don’t. When I first posted these, “ristay” was not wellknown- I was a nobody but had created (apparently) some catchy stuff pretty quick. I found out pretty soon how easy it was for others to take my work- so easy because no one really knew me.
The one nice thing about the Internet is everything has a date. Whenever someone pushes me about “Ive seen this before at _____ it’s not yours” I merely ask “what was the date posted” and give them my old ass comic.
This is one of the first times (besides its first appearance on Reddit in 2014) where my comic is trending again and it’s actually under my name- I’m actually getting the credit this time.
I am so thankful for you all for sharing this. Not just because it feels good to have such support but also to finally have my own work in the light again but under its rightful author.
4. The author's formative trauma(s), unrecognized until after they hit post and then reread it for typos, only to blink in shock and say, "Oh. Oh. Oh fuck."
6. The author's favourite bit of historical, cultural or scientific trivia or other academic obsession that they only stop talking about to eat and maybe breathe in if they can't get circular breathing down
Hello Everyone,
I am Nour Al Madhoun, 30 years old, a computer engineer from gaza, my h… Tahir Awad needs your support for Help my family r
I want you to know that my ezzdeen is "ADHD" and very picky in his food, and now he is suffering from huge weight loss, because the crazy expensive prices for the food ,so that we can't afford to buy what he accepts, without you ezz will not regain his health.
We needs your support more than ever, the daily costs of living, the expensive treatments, I hope that through your support I can reach safety with my family.
I think it's important to understand that discussions around amatonormativity usually aren't (or shouldn't be) asking people to see their individual romantic relationships as less important, because wanting a long-term monogamous romantic relationship isn't inherently amatonormative.
Amatonormativity is about the bigger picture of how society treats romantic relationships. It's about placing romantic relationships at the top of a hierarchy and then claiming that most meaningful close and intimate connections to other humans are only accessable through them. Amatonormativity is the assumption that everyone wants to end up in a monogamous long-term romantic relationship and then decrying anyone who wants a relationship that doesn't fit into that very narrow category.
Every individual person has to figure out for themselves which types of relationships they desire or don't desire and how much importance they want to give them. Amatonormativity criticizes the fact that that's not a question you are normally asked in the first place, because the answer is always assumed.
I think if in the end someone decides to prioritize their romantic relationships, they will still have defied amatonormativity simply through consciously making that decision, and through not assuming the same for everyone else. To me, dismantling amatonormativity is about deconstructing the assumed hierarchy of relationships, giving people the chance to actually think about what they truly want, and opening the pathways for those possibilities.
In case people don't realize everyday things that are amatonormative
This is not a comprehensive list, just some examples.
Making fun of people who've been married multiple times.
Giving preferential treatment (first choice on holidays, no overtime requirements) to married persons or people in long term relationships.
Expecting people to bring romantic partners to functions for work, social groups etc. rather than a person who would enjoy the event best.
People respecting "I'm seeing someone" more than "I'm not interested".
Asking new co-workers, strangers, etc. about their marital status, which assumes 3rd parties have a right to such info (they don't) and that everyone has an interest in marriage.
Laws that prevent non family from supporting single friends but allow spouses and romantic partners to do so in times of crisis.
Laws that give financial benefits to the married for no reason other than they're married.
Laws against poly marriages and relationships even if all parties involved are happy in the relationship and want to get married.
Single people not being permitted to carry friends on their insurance while married people can carry their whole families (this essentially creates a pay gap as the married person is getting more benefits than their single co-workers are permitted)
Discrimination against single people in the rental and housing markets.
And things that are not amatonormative
You being in a romantic relationship with one other person and being happy and prioritizing that relationship in your life.
#you know how people joke about unlocking cis+ if you question your gender but end up back at cis #i think we should make allo+ a thing
#if you do your unlearning amatonormativity homework and still end up wanting an exclusive romantic relationship as your priority #then good for you! genuinely!
#but please do think about this stuff. it's not just for aspec folks to care about and we aren't the only ones it hurts
#i mean you should care about stuff that hurts only aspec ppl. but amatonormativity sucks for just about everyone
#the list above has some excellent examples of that
#as with any queer group whether we have civil rights is a lot more important than what any individual person does with their life yknow
a lil write set very late pact, pre-silverwastes. uhhh tagging for disordered eating, and light praise k!nk ig lmao (nonsexual)
Winter brings with it many things. The cold. Unsatisfying trysts in Fort Trinity’s storerooms that everyone above can definitely hear. A lack of sunlight.
All things pertinent to Roza at the moment, in ascending order. He has been shifting his seats closer to the windows, but he can do little to catch the sun when it flees in the middle of the afternoon. Also, Trahearne had seem mildly hurt exactly once when Roza had moved the chair in his office away from him, so of course he can never do that ever again. And now misfortune is collecting its weary toll from him in the form of an assault on his wellbeing.
Roza is feeling mostly fine, save the fatigue and dizziness and bodily aches. He faces a conundrum: whether or not to tell Trahearne. On the one hand, it is not yet severe enough that he requires rest. On the other, Trahearne has explicitly expressed that Roza is to be honest about his health when questioned. The solution to this, of course, is to not be questioned, and thus not be noticed. This poses a further point of contention, since Roza’s high station in the Pact necessitates his presence in a variety of matters, half of which involve the marshal. He has decided to write everything down in order to work it out plainly, and is currently mulling over his journal as he lets his breakfast sit uneaten.
A messenger deposits herself in front of him. “Meeting with Marshal Trahearne in fifteen, Sir.”
“Is it urgent?” Roza asks.
She hesitates, perplexed. “I… didn’t ask, Sir.”
“Tell him I am indisposed.” Roza scribbles down: Avoided third meeting – suspicion low. “I will review with the transcriber later.”
The messenger stares at him as if he has just cost her her job, but eventually runs off. Roza adds a question mark—nothing has happened yet, but he will adjust as needed.
The words in front of him blur into each other, and he shuts his eyes his headache returns with a vengeance. He opens them when someone clears their throat in front of him.
It is the same messenger. Nervously, she says, “Er, Marshal Trahearne wants to know why you are indisposed. Sir.”
“I am still working on that very important project from last time.” Roza stirs his breakfast bowl aimlessly. When she doesn’t leave, he pauses. “Is that all?”
“He… wants to know why what you are working on is more important, Sir. He wants to know what it is, because you didn’t tell him last time.”
“Oh, for fuck’s—” Roza tears a page out of his journal and scribbles down a handful of jargon that have a vague relevance to Pact political matters. He ends it with, I am sure you are competent enough as Marshal to handle the Pact without me to hold your hand, because the headache is making him irritable. He folds the paper, hands it to the girl, and waves off her and her trepidatious stare.
Suspicion medium, he rectifies. Warded off for now. Will have to come up with outside project. Fitting rockets to battlements? Return to giant cauldron idea.
This time, he sees the poor girl coming from across the hall. She is nibbling on something in one hand, and clutching the torn journal page in the other. She reaches him and stops. Takes a deep breath.
Roza spreads his hands. “Begin.”
“Marshal Trahearne requests you come to his office immediately,” is all she says. She thrusts the paper towards him.
Roza takes it from her, flipping it over. On the other side, Trahearne has written,
Commander,
Your progress on integrating an ancient Krytan blood-letting ritual into a Nornic spells of warding for the spirit world to strengthen the Veil in Jormag’s territory would be impressive, were it actually possible and not simply many random words mixed together that make no sense arcanimically. Your presence is required here, now.
T
Below the note is his signature and seal. Roza hides a wince. Alright, ‘Medium’ might have been a bit of an understatement, but he is still working out the kinks in his plan. Underestimating Trahearne’s ability to perform basic logic might have been one of them.
He makes his way to the office slowly, taking in the sights and trying to absorb as much sunlight as he can along the way in a futile attempt to mask his condition. If he acts normally, he can dial the suspicion aroused all the way back to nil. It is maths, really—one variable affects all the others. Roza is a master at deception and manipulation. If he stands exactly five or more yards away, he should be able to conceal any sign of illness. If he raises his speaking voice by about five decibels, it should remain in its regular range. He straightens his back as he reaches the door and raps on it. Yes. He knows what he is doing. Nothing can go wrong with his plan.
Trahearne himself opens the door, and makes direct eye contact with him. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he says.
Damn it.
“I am sure I do not know what you mean, Marshal,” Roza says in his most aloof voice. He strides to the window, gazing out of it with a pensive and mysterious air.
“Why have you been staring out the window all week?” Trahearne asks. “Are you waiting for certain weather? A flash snowstorm? Hail? Another Elder Dragon? A messenger bird bearing a royal decree to excuse you from all meetings forthwith?”
He sounds a tad piqued. Roza clears his throat delicately, folding his hands behind his back. “Such injurious remarks do not become your station, Marshal.”
He can feel the ripple of Trahearne’s reaction to that in the Dream, and he winces. Oops. Perhaps he should attempt to speak in a more modest tone, to soothe his marshal’s humours—
“Do not become my station?! What exactly do you call this, then?” Trahearne snatches the paper from him and holds it up.
Roza is calculating a perfect response, which is a brave endeavor with his current mental afflictions, though he is a precocious sylvari who rises readily to any challenge—when the piece of paper violently waggles itself in front of him as if to make a point of its existence. Roza resets, changing his response—and Trahearne dangles the paper again.
“Stop that.” He snaps his head to the side, aborting the gesture halfway.
“Finally, you are acknowledging me.” Trahearne throws up his hands. “What in Pale Mother’s name is going on with you? You have been avoiding me all week. Did I do something wrong?”
“No!” Roza says instinctively, and then, “I haven’t… been avoiding you.”
“Then explain to me why you are suddenly too busy to meet with me.” Trahearne crosses his arms. Lowering his voice, he adds, “Both on and off duty.”
Thorns. This is going to turn into another immovable chair situation, isn’t it? Roza swallows and begins, “I have been inspecting our battlement artillery and I believe that replacing them with rock—”
“Roza,” Trahearne says flatly.
Roza’s eyes dart around, searching for another excuse. Trahearne steps closer to him, boxing him in against the window. He lowers his head, and Roza desperately tries not to notice how purposeful the movement is, or how it feels to be the focus of his attention. He fails.
“Tell me the truth,” Trahearne says. He shouldn’t say that, not like that, not while Roza can barely form a coherent thought. Or while he is ill.
His meticulous mind falls back on a singular equation. Give Trahearne what he wants, and get what Roza wants in return. “I am sick,” he reveals, his desire for the thrill of the end result overtaking him.
“You are sick.” Trahearne sighs, his breath fanning out over Roza’s face. “And so…?”
“Didn’t want you to notice,” Roza admits, and quickly rectifies, “Couldn’t lie to you about it if you caught me.”
Is that enough? That must be enough. Trahearne looks him up and down, most traces of his annoyance slowly draining away.
“Why couldn’t you… ah, it matters not. Thank you, Roza. You did well to tell me.”
It is not quite Well done, but it has the same soothing effect on Roza regardless, and he calms, feeling much like a cat that has been pet.
Trahearne is examining him with a frown. “Follow my finger,” he requests, and Roza sluggishly complies.
They run through more basic checks, and Roza tries his best, confident that his marshal will deem him fit for duty. This is simply a slightly worse version of his normal, after all. He cannot very well go on leave for the entire winter.
“The season is harsh on you—I should have foreseen this,” Trahearne mutters. “You have not been eating well either, if I were to guess. At least you are sleeping fine. Are you experiencing any weakness or fatigue? Loss of cognition?”
He should open Roza’s shirt to touch him again, like he did last time. He undoes the top button of his collar, and Trahearne’s gentle hand stills his wrist.
“What are you doing?” he asks softly.
What is he doing? Executing another brilliant plan. “Helping you,” Roza explains.
Trahearne looks confused for a moment, before he says, “You can help by answering my questions, my dear Roza. Tell me your symptoms.”
The endearment melts some of his headache. “I… am tired,” he decides. “Even more so than usual.”
“Yes?” Trahearne’s hand sweeps past his temple, and he leans into it with a heavy head. “You feel tired. Are you hungry?”
There is a small tray of biscuits on his desk, but they are not appetizing. Roza shakes his head.
“Can you tell me the difference between extracting a soul’s essence for corporeal reanimation as opposed to meta-physical? How do the two operations differ?”
Roza groans. The words make sense, in a distant corner of his mind that he cannot be arsed to access at the moment. “The fuck do you mean? Go act out your mentor fantasies elsewhere.”
“I will take that as a no.” Trahearne moves away from him—o dreary day—to his cupboard, taking out a bottle that he presses into Roza’s hand. “This is the medication I used when I roamed this land. Take a double dose minimum, and more if you need it. I will get you your own prescription. You do not need to spend a quarter of your life feeling like this.”
An unexpected bubble tightens Roza’s throat. “I… don’t?”
“No, dear one.” Trahearne’s touch returns to his weary bark once more. “In fact, I’d wager that you are deficient for most of the year. We will attend to that come spring. For now, I’m giving you the rest of the day off. Go get some rest.”
Roza wrinkles his nose. “I am not an invalid.”
“No, but it would put my mind at ease. Would you do it for me?”
Roza tugs at his sleeve. Yes, of course he would. He nods, and Trahearne rewards him with a smile. “Thank you. I will see you in the evening.”
The rush of endorphins is halted by a feeling of uncertainty. “Do I—” he says, and stops, worrying at his lip.
“Retire to our—to my chambers, yes, if you’re comfortable with it,” Trahearne answers. “I would like to keep an eye on you, if that’s alright.”
It is more than alright. Roza nods again, and reaches out for—for something. Trahearne squeezes his hand. It is not enough—he holds his breath and initiates a tight embrace. Trahearne is warm and has a comforting smell. Roza scurries out of the office when his lungs fail him, cheeks aflame.
~*~
He thinks about it, in the space between dozing and staying awake. Our chambers, Trahearne had almost said. Like our house. Our Pact. My dear Roza.
Roza presses his face into the mattress. It is ridiculous. He is not owned by anyone, and his marshal would never hold him hostage. But—My Marshal. My Trahearne. He wants it. More than anything, he wants that.
He gets up and opens the drawer where Trahearne keeps his extra blankets. There it is—the blue woollen one that he had given to Roza almost two years ago, when they had barely known each other. Roza has tried to give it back many times without success. Now it is only here because he is, too. He hasn’t slept in his own bed for nearly a month.
But what does it mean? Trahearne does not make him do anything. He only offers, and Roza takes. And then he offers more, and Roza takes that too. And Roza pushes, and he gives. Now they practically share a suite.
He is reading when Trahearne enters later, some text about skritt anthropology that makes less sense the more he stares at the pages. It is early in the evening, hours before he would usually retire, and Roza does not mask his surprise at seeing him.
“What, can’t I mind the clock like a normal person?” Trahearne takes off his outerwear, hanging it by the fire Roza has started with an appreciative nod.
“You? Never.” Roza dog-ears the page and sets the book aside. “You should be in your office at this hour, ignoring your dinner in favour of some stuffy old scroll.”
“Without my evening’s entertainment?” A smile and a glance in Roza’s direction.
“I—wh—,” Roza stammers.
Trahearne laughs softly. “I mean nothing so crass. ’Tis boring at work without you, my dear Roza.”
Roza is keenly aware of how this separates them from their morning selves, even from the marshal that had touched his cheek so gently and told him to take rest. He wishes there was no separation. He is afraid of there being no separation, and of what that would mean for them. He would not know how to behave, or how to react to how Trahearne would behave, much like he does not know how to react now.
Trahearne kneels at his side and beckons with one finger. Roza obligingly lets himself be examined, fueled by some feeling he cannot quite identify. It is different than the morning, somehow. Trahearne is more purposeful with him, more firm, yet somehow indelibly softer. He releases Roza’s chin after a minute.
“It is hard to tell after barely a full day, but I believe you are doing better,” he says. “Did you finish the lunch I sent up?”
Roza looks away, ashamed.
“It’s alright,” Trahearne says, in a way that he wants to trap and keep forever. “You don’t have to force yourself. Dinner is coming in half a bell. Are you hungry?”
Roza sighs. “I do not know,” he says truthfully.
Mischief twinkles in Trahearne’s eye as he puts his boots away. “Would it help I handfed you?”
“Hardy har.” Roza rolls his eyes, puzzling at the odd turn in his stomach. It is probably from his illness.
“I wish to shower,” he announces. “I have been surrounded by your germs all day and I feel disgusting.”
“No one was forcing you to stay here,” Trahearne reminds him. He dips his head towards the ensuite. “Go on, but don’t take too long. I have been surrounded by my germs too.”
Roza sniffs disdainfully and plods off towards the shower. The hot water melts into him and he closes his eyes, pretending for a precious few minutes that he exists only in this moment. Then it is over, and he shuts it off. His towel and sleep clothes are draped neatly over the changing screen.
“I’m naked behind here,” he calls out, for what purpose he doesn’t know.
“So am I,” Trahearne replies.
Roza quickly pokes his head out. Trahearne is sitting on the bed, fully clothed. He looks up.
Roza darts back, scoffing to himself. Firstborn and their little games. Roza can play games too. He prances out, half dressed, and Trahearne breezes past him, pausing to plant a small kiss on his forehead.
“I hope you didn’t use up all the hot water,” he murmurs, and then he is gone.
Roza gapes at the bathroom door. That… he… what was that? How in Tyria is he supposed to react to that?
He sits heavily on the bed, touches his forehead, and thinks about it for the entire ten minutes it takes Trahearne to shower and get dressed. Soon enough, their dinner arrives, and he pushes him to go answer the door. He has no wish for them to be the talk of the fort.
Trahearne brings the plates over and lounges on the bed. It is unusual—he is ordinarily meticulous about crumbs.
“We are going to make a mess,” Roza points out, making himself comfortable. He is thankful Trahearne is taller than him sometimes—sometimes—since it means he can be fully used as a backrest. (He is also useful for reaching high shelves, but Roza will only admit that on pain of death.)
“Mm?” Trahearne’s arm settles over his waist. “That’s alright. You are taking a sick day.”
“Does that mean you are going to handfeed me?” Roza asks.
Trahearne chuckles. “Do you want me to?”
“If you are tending to me tonight, I do not see why not.”
Trahearne considers him, amused, and then tears off a piece of bread. He holds it to Roza’s lips. “Open.”
Roza feels that gut-clench once more, that rare feeling that tickles the corners of his brain. He wonders if Trahearne can sense it from him. The thought makes the feeling squirm its way further into his insides.
Trahearne lowers his hand. “You do not have to—”
Roza gently bites the bread from his fingers. They make an odd moment of eye contact, before he forces his gaze downwards, chews, and swallows.
“I am sorry,” Trahearne says softly, needlessly. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Oh, shut up,” Roza grouses. “I wanted you to.”
“Still,” Trahearne insists. “I never want to take advantage of your…”
He pauses. Roza pointedly jabs his bread in his broth. “You don’t,” he says, and then, “Of my what?”
Trahearne’s prolonged hesitation only makes him more curious. “Trahearne,” he asks, prodding him in the chest. “Of my what? Go on.”
“Your, ah… desire to please,” Trahearne tells the far wall. His cheeks darken a deep green.
Roza feels as if someone has lit a match inside his head. He stares, and Trahearne diligently refuses to look at him, and he provides both of them with a three-second lightshow.
Trahearne winces. “I-I—didn’t mean to embarrass you. You, ah… I appreciate it. I try not to take advantage.”
“It’s not a sex thing,” Roza blurts out.
Trahearne breathes out a small laugh of relief. “No, I gathered. Even if it were, that would be alright by… I mean, if you were alright with it, then I would be as well.”
“Oh,” Roza says.
“It is, ah, just you,” he admits a minute later. “I do not know what that means.”
“That’s alright. We do not need to decipher everything about ourselves. Roza… I truly do appreciate being given your trust. There is not a day that goes by where I do not treasure what you have placed in my hands.”
“You deserve it,” Roza replies without a thought.
Trahearne looks at him achingly, and Roza is driven by a strange compulsion to kiss him, which he does not follow through.
“Thank you for being here,” Trahearne says eventually. “With me.”
Roza relaxes into him, and the arm around his waist tugs him close. “Thank you for taking me.”
playing gw2 is like. did you know many of the main characters have introductory short stories you can read online from ten years ago. did you know they make cute episode trailers for youtube and one of them is a mission impossible parody and one of them is the most heartwrenching scene acting in a video game, but it's. it's on youtube.
did you know there's short stories on their website about caithe finding herself after heartbreak, and zafirah coming to terms with misguided faith, and rytlock finally understanding his inferiority complex and the crutch he's used to overcome it at the expense of people he should've been there for. no it's not in the game it's on their website
there are official interviews with most of their voice actors discussing how they approach the character and the emotion they put into it and how they've developed over a decade
there's an alt goth version of the main sylvari theme that literally everyone swears by and it's really goddamn great but someone has to tell you where it is
don't even get me started on abaddon, one of the most important characters in their world, who isn't in the game and is barely mentioned
War Eternal Season 4 Finale (single shot rendered scene)
EoD Expansion trailer with Joon, Mai Trin and Ankka
Animated EoD trailer with Rama and Yao
All or Nothing: Requiem
Three interactive short stories about Rytlock, Zarifah, and Caithe
Behind the Voice (Actor Interviews)
Kari Wahlgren // Lex Lang // Matt Mercer // Misty Lee // Steve Blum // Yuri Lowenthal // Debi Derryberry // Ike Amadi // Tommie Earl Jenkins // Jocelyn Blue // Nolan North // Courtenay Taylor // Sam Riegel // Mara Junot
Fear Not This Night Theme
Original (sylvari lullaby version)
2018 dark alt (or 'joko version' from Bug in the System trailer)
I can't point towards anything specific about Abaddon's role in the story except that I wrote a big post about it a little while ago
Legolas’s pupil size isn’t the problem here, though. 5 leagues is 17.262 miles. The curvature of the Earth means that for a person of average height, the visual horizon is less than three miles away. Even if your vision is telescopic and the atmosphere is perfectly clear, you can’t see around the planet. If they were standing on a hill, it would have to be at LEAST 198 feet above sea level in order to see the horizon at 17.2 miles away, with nothing tall in between. Which, knowing Rohan, isn’t impossible.
Yeah there is. The Silmarillion states that the world was curved after the fall of Numenor (I believe), preventing access to Valinor. But Elves (among others) can travel the straight path across it.
So middle earth is round, but not for Elves because magic.
So wait, the reason he can see that far is because Elves just have the ability to ignore the curve of the earth? That’s awesome. It also means that no matter how good your optics got, you would always want elf eyes manning the spyglass because they can see arbitrarily far while everybody else is limited by this ‘horizon’ bullshit.
This post went from amusing to horrifying, to be brought back down to amusing, sprinkled in with some cannon explanation, and then you leave me here in fucking outrage
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Honestly, I’m not sure what else to write. I guess I just wanted to talk to you. I think I miss you guys. The only people I talk to here are Uncle and a staff that’s terrified of me. Is it strange to say I miss before? When we were all together? I know that’s terrible to say– we were at the height of the war and fighting for our lives. Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. Should probably try to rest some more. This wasn’t much of a letter, but I hope you write back anyway.
Stay safe, Zuko
Or, Sokka and Zuko begin writing letters to each other after the war. Despite being half a world away, they become closer than ever.
Hello! Here is by fic for the @zukkabigbang2024 !!!! I’m so, so excited to post this fic, it’s been such a long time coming. this fic was beta’d by the lovely @sukiluvvs who was such a great help <3 I hope you all enjoy 💞💞💞
|| 13k, slow burn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, fire lord zuko, ambassador sokka, pov alternating
prguitarman
gummygunk
stormborns
areudirty
vaporwave
janainaart
annaxmalina
