Fanfic Listy Thingy
Links my fanfic.
Union Fanfic Posted on tumblr
Intro pt 1 Intro pt 2 Intro pt 3 Intro pt 4
Posted on AO3 Fallout 4 Fanfic Horizon Forbidden West fanfic
art blog(derogatory)
Not today Justin

oozey mess

#extradirty

â

PR's Tumblrdome
Stranger Things

JBB: An Artblog!

Andulka
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Misplaced Lens Cap
Acquired Stardust
DEAR READER
One Nice Bug Per Day
dirt enthusiast
YOU ARE THE REASON
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
i don't do bad sauce passes

izzy's playlists!
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

seen from Poland

seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from TĂźrkiye
seen from France
seen from Malaysia
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from TĂźrkiye

seen from TĂźrkiye

seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Singapore

seen from United States

seen from Bulgaria
seen from Israel
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from France
@cmishwrites
Fanfic Listy Thingy
Links my fanfic.
Union Fanfic Posted on tumblr
Intro pt 1 Intro pt 2 Intro pt 3 Intro pt 4
Posted on AO3 Fallout 4 Fanfic Horizon Forbidden West fanfic

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
⪠"He's an outlaw loose and running," came the whisper from each lip And he's here to do some business With the big iron on his hip âŞ
FALLOUT 2.01
My own headcannon
Mettamay day 21: ball
with the new pope chosen and deltarune chapter 3-4 dropping next month. matpat has the opportunity to do the funniest thing imaginable a second time

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Happy mother's day :3
Kid decided to make markipliar in her fo4 game. đ¤Łđ¤Łđ¤Ł my kids
Overcorrecting
Actual canon:
Furthermore:
I get wanting to distance yourself from old inaccurate fanon but recently it feels like the fandom is just being contrarian and overcorrecting so much they create a new fanon, just in the opposite direction
The way that graph is organized implies 2020 fanon was the most accurate fan portrayal of sans
"how could you tell i like undertale???"
Context:
The original video, for anyone who hasn't seen it:
And the relevant album cover:
Sessler was a teenager when "We're Not Gonna Take It" it was on the charts. Probably had MTV so he saw the video.
No fuckin' idea how he thought it was in support of "traditional American values."
Never not reblog. Dee Snider is iconic and queer as fuck for a cishet man.
-fae
No one disrespects my man Dee in this house.
Never forget when he sat in front of a congressional hearing about Lewd Music Corrupting the Youth and completely shut that shit down in the most professional manner that no member of that committee expected from a hair metal musician. They thought they'd get easy points off of a dumb metalhead and this man not only knew exactly what the fuck he was talking about, he tore their arguments apart.
DUDE THE VIDEOOO
For those unfamiliar with this ICON
This is why my working definition of queer is "queerness is that which accepts queerness."
It encompasses a radical welcome and celebration of things that deviate from "the norm" and a fierce willingness to defend them from people who think mere deviance is worthy of vicious and violent bullying.
Dee Snider is the embodiment of "Queer as in fuck you."
I love seeing this post make the rounds
dee snider is a fucking icon, man

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
I have been thinking a lot about what a cancer diagnosis used to mean. How in the â80s and â90s, when someone was diagnosed, my parents would gently prepare me for their death. That chemo and radiation and surgery just bought time, and over the age of fifty people would sometimes just. Skip it. For cost reasons, and for quality of life reasons. My grandmother was diagnosed in her early seventies and went directly into hospice for just under a year â palliative care only. And often, after diagnosis people and their families would go away â theyâd cash out retirement or sell the house and go live on a beach for six months. Or theyâd pay a charlatan all their savings to buy hope. People would get diagnosed, get very sick, leave, and then weâd hear that they died.
And then, at some point, the people who left started coming back.
It was the children first. The March of Dimes and Saint Jude set up programs and my town would do spaghetti fundraisers and raffles and meal trains to support the family and send the child and one parent to a hospital in the city â and the children came home. Their hair grew back. They went back to school. We were all trained to think of them as the angelic lost and they were turning into asshole teens right in front of our eyes. What a miracle, what a gift, how lucky we are that the odds for several children are in our favor!
Adults started leaving for a specific program to treat their specific cancer at a specific hospital or a specific research group. Theyâd stay in that city for 6-12 months and then theyâd come home. We fully expected that they were still dying â or theyâd gotten one of the good cancers. What a gift this year is for them, weâd think. How lucky they are to be strong enough to ski and swim and run. And then they didnât stop â two decades later they havenât stopped. Not all of them, but most of them.
We bought those extra hours and months and years. We paid for time with our taxes. Scientists found ways for treatment to be less terrible, less poisonous, and a thousand times more effective.
And now, when a friend was diagnosed, the five year survival odds were 95%. My friend is alive, nearly five years later. Those kids who miraculously survived are alive. The adults who beat the odds are still alive. I grew up in a place small enough that you can see the losses. And now, the hospital in my tiny hometown can effectively treat many cancers. Most people donât have to go away for treatment. They said we could never cure cancer, as it were, but we can cure a lot of cancers. We can diagnose a lot of cancers early enough to treat them with minor interventions. We can prevent a lot of cancers.
We could keep doing that. We could continue to fund research into other heartbreaks â into Long Covid and MCAS and psych meds with fewer side effects and dementia treatments. We could buy months and years, alleviate the suffering of our neighbors. That is what funding health research buys: time and ease.
Anyway, Iâm preaching to the choir here. But it is a quiet miracle whatâs happened in my lifetime.
Hereâs the opposite story, though. With apologies because I donât have the book in front of me, so I may get some details wrong, but I read this âIrenaâs Childrenâ by Tilar J. Mazzeo.
Irena lived in Warsaw during the Nazi occupation, and dedicated her life to rescuing Jewish children from the Ghetto, and her story is complicated in a lot of ways but - well, this story isnât actually about Irena, per se.
Itâs about a bus driver.
Itâs about a day when sheâs traveling across town by bus with a very young Jewish child, and partway to their destination the child looks up and asks a question - in Yiddish. and the whole bus goes quiet, because everyone knows what that means. And Irena thinks, okay, weâre going to die here today.
And sheâs running through her options - all of them bad - and suddenly the bus stops, and the bus driver announces that thereâs been a mechanical failure and the bus needs to return to the depot immediately. Everyone off, please.
And she stands and goes to get off the bus and the driver says - not you two. Sit down. So she sits down as everyone else leaves, because, well, what else is she going to do? the options are all still bad, at this point.
and when the bus is empty the bus driver says,
âWhere do you need to go?â
And then he drives them as close to their destination as he can, and lets them off, and drives away. And Irena lives, and the kid lives, and they never cross paths again.
So a janitor got three people killed, and a bus driver saved two lives - not to mention all the other lives indirectly saved because Irena was able to continue her work.
I think about that almost every day now, to be honest.
We canât all be Irena. I couldnât be Irena. She was in a unique place with very specific skills and connections that let her do what she did. I am just one mentally ill librarian. I canât be her. But - I can be the bus driver. Or I could be the janitor. Because it doesnât matter what your job is. It doesnât matter who you are. In a world like this, every single one of us has the opportunity to do massive harm or massive good. We can save lives or end them.
And thatâs scary. but itâs also very comforting? at least for me. Because at the end of the day it means this: no matter of how small and helpless and unimportant you feel, youâre never powerless in the face of great evil.
You can choose to be the bus driver.
I have another story from the Holocaust. Â
Two, actually.
One is long, and one is brief.
The first story is about my grandfather.
He was a slave in a Krups munitions factory in a Nazi concentration camp in CzÄstochowa, Poland.
He was also a smuggler. If I did not have multiple corroborating witnesses to the sheer ludicrious balls that he had, I would dismiss the stories as exaggeration. But he was a food smugglerâhe would buy some kind of sugar from the Polish day workers coming into the factory, make candy out of them, sell the candy back to the workers at a profit, and buy food with the proceedsâwhich he then proceeded to share with the other slaves, free of charge. Without him, they would have starved to death, but an extra hundred calories a day made a difference enough to keep them alive.
But thatâs not the story.
The story is what happened in Spring of 1945.
My grandfather could hear the guns of the Russian Army off in the distance, and he and the other captives in the camp figured that they would be liberated any day now. Â
And then a truck packed full with preteen Jewish children who had just been captured comes into the work camp instead of the extermination camp up the road. Because the Nazis were so fixated on their hatred of Jews that they diverted war resources to hunting us down even as they were losing. Â
So itâs pandemonium. Theyâre unloading the truck of the kids, the guards are yelling at the driver, the kids are milling about not knowing whatâs going onâŚ
And my grandfather sees one boy who looked a little older, a little more mature, and figured that this one he can save. Itâs just a few days until the Russians arrive, after all.
So he tells the boy to come with him.
And the rest⌠got loaded back onto the truck and off they went to the gas chambers.
But it wasnât a couple of days.
It was six weeks.
Stalin personally ordered the Army to slow their advance and told the Polish Resistance to rise up, and that the Russians would support them with food and weapons. Â
So they rose up⌠and were slaughtered. Because they got nothing from the Russians. Stalin knew that anyone who would be resisting the Nazis would be resisting him next, and it was an elegant way to weaken Poland before he took it.
Meanwhile, my grandfather is hiding a fourteen year old boy in a NAZI CONCENTRATION CAMP.
The risks they took to hide him⌠they would hold him up over empty shoes sewn to long pants at the evening roll call so that he would look taller. They smuggled food to himâŚÂ If they had been caught⌠I have nightmares of what would have been done to them.
Finally, one night, they are all locked in their barracks as the Nazis evacuated the camp and the Russians were coming in, with the Nazis using the camp for cover for their escape.
And in the chaosâŚÂ
My grandfather lost track of the boy.
Twenty-two years later, he tells this story to my father when my father is 12, and has demanded to know something, be told something concrete.
So he doesnât know what happened to the boy. Did he live? Did he die? Did he find his mother and sisters?
He doesnât know.
Six months later, my grandmother is planning my fatherâs bar mitzvah. Not as a religious obligation, but as a 200 foot tall flaming middle finger to the Third Reich. You are gone, and WE ARE STILL HERE.
So she plugs into what my father called the âCamp Networkââthe trombonist in the band was on a death march with an uncle, the florist was in a work camp with a friend, etc. And sheâs asking, âI need a photographer, who is good?â
âYou want Joe Brown, up in Queens,â sheâs told.
So she invites him down to talk terms at their house in Brooklyn, which is quite a haul in NYC. Â
And the first question one Holocaust survivor asks another is, âWhere were you?â Because maybe you know someone, maybe you can tell what happened.
âI was in CzÄstochowa,â he says.
âYou were in CzÄstochowa? My husband Teddy was in CzÄstochowa!â
âI didnât know a Teddy Baum.â
âOh, everyone knew Teddy.â
âI didnât know a Teddy Baum!â
âWhen he gets home, youâll see. Everyone there knew Teddy.â Because he was smuggling in the food that kept them all alive.
So the thing is, you live in the US for 20 years, you forget that your name was not âTeddy Baumâ but âTuvyas Bumps.â
And when my grandfather got home from workâŚ
âŚsitting there at his kitchen tableâŚ
âŚwas the boy he had saved.
âŚ
(Iâm not cryingâŚ)
Thatâs the first story.
The second story is that of my grandfatherâs brother.
It is short.
He collaborated with the Nazis to save his own skin. He let my grandfatherâs first wife and son starve to death in the ghetto and informed on people who tried to escape or resist. My grandfather said that âGood people went up the chimney and he stayed behind.â
Two brothers.Â
One saved over a hundred lives.
The other betrayed his own flesh and blood to save his own skin. Â
Your choices define you.
Whoever destroys a single life is considered by Scripture to have destroyed the whole world, and whoever saves a single life is considered by Scripture to have saved the whole world.â Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5
This weekend I was told a story which, although Iâm kind of ashamed to admit it, because holy shit is it ever obvious, is kind of blowing my mind.
A friend of a friend won a free consultation with Clinton Kelly of What Not To Wear, and she was very excited, because she has a plus-size body, and wanted some tips on how to make the most of her wardrobe in a fashion culture which deliberately puts her body at a disadvantage.
Her first question for him was this: how do celebrities make a plain white t-shirt and a pair of weekend jeans look chic? She always assumed it was because so many celebrities have, by nature or by design, very slender frames, and because they can afford very expensive clothing. But when she watched What Not To Wear, she noticed that women of all sizes ended up in cute clothes that really fit their bodies and looked great. She had tried to apply some guidelines from the show into her own wardrobe, but with only mixed success. So - what gives?
His answer was that everything you will ever see on a celebrityâs body, including their outfits when theyâre out and about and they just get caught by a paparazzo, has been tailored, and the same goes for everything on What Not To Wear. Jeans, blazers, dresses - everything right down to plain t-shirts and camisoles. He pointed out that historically, up until the last few generations, the vast majority of people either made their own clothing or had their clothing made by tailors and seamstresses. You had your clothing made to accommodate the measurements of your individual body, and then you moved the fuck on. Nothing on the show or in People magazine is off the rack and unaltered. He said that what they do is ignore the actual size numbers on the tags, find something that fits an individualâs widest place, and then have it completely altered to fit. Thatâs how celebrities have jeans that magically fit them all over, and the rest of us chumps canât ever find a pair that doesnât gape here or ride up or slouch down or have about four yards of extra fabric here and there.
I knew that having dresses and blazers altered was probably something they were doing, but to me, having alterations done generally means having my jeans hemmed and then simply living with the fact that I will always be adjusting my clothing while Iâm wearing it because I have curves from here to ya-ya, some things donât fit right, and the world is just unfair that way. I didnât think that having everything tailored was something that people did.Â
Itâs so obvious, I canât believe I didnât know this. But no one ever told me. I was told about bikini season and dieting and targeting your âproblem areasâ and avoiding horizontal stripes. No one told me that Jennifer Aniston is out there wearing a bigger size of Ralph Lauren t-shirt and having it altered to fit her.
I sat there after I was told this story, and I really thought about how hard I have worked not to care about the number or the letter on the tag of my clothes, how hard I have tried to just love my body the way it is, and where Iâve succeeded and failed. I thought about all the times Iâve stood in a fitting room and stared up at the lights and bit my lip so hard it bled, just to keep myself from crying about how nothing fits the way itâs supposed to. No one told me that it wasnât supposed to. I guess I just didnât know. I was too busy thinking that I was the one that didnât fit.
I thought about that, and about all the other girls and women out there whose proportions are âwrong,â who canât find a good pair of work trousers, who canât fill a sweater, who feel excluded and freakish and sad and frustrated because they have to go up a size, when really the size doesnât mean anything and it never, ever did, and this is just another bullshit thing thrown in your path to make you feel shitty about yourself.
I thought about all of that, and then I thought that in elementary school, there should be a class for girls where they sit you down and tell you this stuff before you waste years of your life feeling like someone put you together wrong.
So, I have to take that and sit with it for a while. But in the meantime, I thought perhaps I should post this, because maybe my friend, her friend, and I are the only clueless people who did not realise this, but maybe weâre not. Maybe some of you have tried to embrace the arbitrary size you are, but still couldnât find a cute pair of jeans, and didnât know why.
This post is one of those things that I will reblog every time it appears on my dash. This is so important, and no one ever tells you about it.
I almost didnât read this but then I did and Iâm really glad that I did.
Super important
Tldr: The reason clothes never âlooked right on youâ is because models and celebrities always had their clothes tailored to fit them perfectly.
I love this post but it always frustrated me just a little because I canât even afford to buy new clothes let alone get the clothes I have tailored. But then I remembered that a lot of things are easier to do than you think they will be, so hereâs some resources on how to alter your own clothes!
Please read this, itâs an opportunity to learn about yourself, possibly a new skill and why it isnât you, itâs the industry.
Will always reblog.
hello everynyan :3
From facebook; mic drop.
So that last line punched me in the face so hard I hit the reblog button. Oh well.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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