This Is The Erestor That Lives Rent Free In My Head. Anime ٩(๑`^´๑)۶ Uwu Man Is Cute And All But

So I made a snickers cheesecake. Except there's no snickers or cheese, and it's not a cake.

And this happened -

My flatmate: Goose, this is great! How did you get the filling so creamy?

Me, recalling the metric fuck ton of cream that went into this diabetic daydream: funny you ask, actually...

Currently on 73,810 signatures

once we hit 100,00, the petition will be considered for debate in Parliament. We can do it, yall!

Petitions - UK Government and Parliament

Petition: Legally enshrine the right of adults to physically transition using NHS services

Introduce a law to legally protect the right of those aged 18 and over to transition using NHS services. This should specifically cover phys

Uk peeps!! Let’s get this going! 🏳️‍⚧️🇬🇧

With the braziers long gone cold, the night lies close and heavy, darkness impenetrable. It’s imôr - the deep night. Men call this time the bewitching hour and as Adar gazes on the apparition lying beside him, he can’t help feeling that they might have a point.

The Elvenking’s Herald looks unearthly in Adar’s bed, more like a mirage of grey starlight and hazy shadow than a creature of flesh. It seems there must be some trick of the light at play, one that makes an Uruk out of canvas tent walls and a Maia out of tangled sheets. But despite the guiles of dappled starlight, Elrond’s breath is warm and steady and undeniably real against Adar’s hand as he raises a finger to those sweet lips -

Lips parted and eyes closed in true sleep. Is it his mortal blood that makes him sleep so deeply? Or, like an Elf, has he collapsed into oblivion as his strength runs dry?

What is he - Elf or Man of Maia, all at once or something else entirely? Elrond Peredhel, half Elf, half other, descendent of Lúthien whose shadowy hair and radiant face have ever drawn the eyes of monsters. Kinslayers, Úmaiar… and Adar. Wonderous thing, he thinks. Wonderous, beautiful, hunted thing.

- from the fic I’m writing about Elrond from Adar’s perspective. I promised 5k of fangirling and I intend to deliver. Hang in there!

I see your Padme as a force ghost in her flowing funeral gown with flowers in her hair and i raise you, force ghost Padme in her hospital gown.

Since early childhood Padme has always been painted and decorated and a lot of that comes from Naboo’s culture. But as someone else put it, there’s an intense kind of body horror in a 14 year old girl repeatedly having to change outfits and put on heavy makeup and wigs while her entire planet is under seige.

For that to continue into death feels unfair to her. Let her be in her bloody hospital gown with sweat plastering her hair to her forehead and red swollen eyes, tear tracks down her cheeks. Let her not have to maintain her image after fucking dying. Let her be angry and bitter and want people, want her husband to see her pain.

Let Vader look at his wife’s ghost and see that although she didn’t die directly by his hand, she still suffered and she’s not trying to hide it from anyone.

Notes on chapter 6: oh whoops this fic looks like it'll turn out a bit longer than i intended... ah well, just three more chapters Total number of chapters: 45

Adar knows how King and Court think of the Peredhel, like some bittersweet tale of fantasy, like the scion of some distant history told to sleepy little elflings by the fire - but do not fear, gwinig, for the beautiful prince was saved from his cruel captors to live in happiness forever after with us. They speak of him like he's something quaint. Doesn't he look so like Lúthien, so like his forefather Fingolfin? Isn’t he as dignified as the Princess Idril? Isn’t he wise like Elu Thingol? How sweet!

And so in the golden light of Lindon do they lie to themselves - for Elu Thingol was ruthless, unshakeable in his convictions even unto his death; yet the courtiers tut at Lord Elrond’s stubbornness. Idril Celebrindal was trapped, as hidden as her city as darkness crept up the walls and into her home; yet Lady Galadriel shrugs off her friend’s warnings. Fingolfin held Morgoth at bay for four hundred years, unfailing strength carved into his very bones; yet the King both censures his Herald for his forcefulness.

And Lúthien, ai! Tinúviel, wrathful, relentless, unearthly - when friends flinch from your gaze and Lords shift uneasily when you talk, when the wise cannot bring themselves to look on you for fear of what they will see, when Kings lie and placate and spin gossamer traps because they know you could unmake them - that is Lúthien.

- from the fic I’m writing about Elrond from Adar’s perspective. I'm on 100 words so far and idk how I'm going to make it to 5k... you're welcome to talk to me about it tho :)

Daddy issues this daddy issues that - bro my dad's fuckin awesome what's up with yours???

501st as bizarre t shirts

tag yourself im little miss fully developed frontal lobe

Lord, grant me the strength to throw away this box that i'll never use, the courage to throw away this box that i'll never use, and the wisdom to throw away this box that i'll never use

I HAVE HAD AN EPIPHANY!!!!

because of, you know. the conspiracy theorist phase.

501st as bizarre t shirts

tag yourself im little miss fully developed frontal lobe