#*sentence instead of place

[righteousdelusions]

In a different state for work and you'd think I'd be less online but this is like my safe space so I'm using it more. And specially because it's hotter (thermic feeling it's 35°) and I just can't cope I really can't cope I need to go back

[glasseels]

headcanons about henry’s queerness based on how I interpret his character:

henry winter is the type of guy to have jerked off to saint sebastian when he was going through puberty like yukio mishima did and not ascribe any deeper meaning to the fact that he’s a man because he’s really pretentious so what’s hot about it is“the artistry of it”

and he never actually does anything with a guy until he goes to college and gets more interested in greek and he’s weirdly attracted to julian but that takes a while to develop into anything. so meanwhile he’s getting more interested in the sex lives of ancient greek men (in the way an anthropologist does) so he decides to drive off to a gay bar somewhere without telling anyone and fucks a stranger in a way that is genuinely (and kind of disturbingly) research adjacent

but when he gets back to his dorm afterwards and he’s warmly greeted by bunny innocently asking where he’d gone, he makes up a lie like it’s nothing and bunny buys it (obviously). but instead of worrying about hiding it, henry, the freak that he is, gets some sort of sick satisfaction out of the fact that his roommate (the most homophobic guy alive) doesn’t know that the guy he’s closest to fucks dudes

yeah

extra thoughts on henry’s sexuality/love life:

- he wasn’t especially into francis or charles but he liked getting with them at the bacchanal because what was hot about it was the ritual of it all (and the fact they were all high)

- on that note, that was the only time he ever did anything with either of them (did not partake in passing francis around like a blunt)

- he was genuinely in love with camilla (and bunny too in a strange way he never completely unpacked)

- he was in love with julian too but the way he reacted to everything broke his heart so his feelings for him turned into a calm sort of resentment that he wanted to run away from

- richard was in love with henry in his own weird repressed way but henry’s feelings for richard were a lot more casual

[starheirxero]

After revisiting your "came back wrong" comic, absolutely wonderful btw, I came to a rather haunting realization.

Because it became true. But instead of Bloodmoon, it's Eclipse. And that's both much worse(for the characters), and much better(for the narrative).

Because both him and Lunar went through the same, and in a way seem to parallel each other, though that's probably me overthinking.

Both of them died. Both of them were blown to smithereens. Both of them came back after several months. Both found themselves in a body not their own. We've seen what they look like in every other universe.

Both of them came back wrong.

Lunar came back numb, quieter than before, with all their energy being a play. He came back running from unknown danger. They died a normal animatronic, and came back being more.

Eclipse is the opposite. He came back louder, erratic, full of madness. Where Lunar is running from unknown danger, he is sprinting towards it, not realizing the consequences until it's to late. Not to forget the star. Eclipse died being somewhat of a god, and came back as nothing more than a plaything, a puppet on a string.

In a twist of fate, they can relate best to each other now, and that might be the worst part for both of them.

Because what is there to do? Even though they understand, even though, one day, they might glance at each other and wonder "Do you feel the same?", they will never be able to confide in each other. Their relationship is beyond repair, and for good reason. Eclipse hurt Lunar, used and ab*sed him, and then blew him up.

This also opens up so much emotional baggage. What will Lunar think? Will he wonder "Do you regret what you did now, knowing how it felt?" Will a part of him feel the smallest bit of satisfaction? Will they ever be able to look at him at all, or will they forever hide away?

What about Eclipse? Will he feel guilty? He seems aware of the damage he has caused the celestial twins, even telling Ruin that he deserves what's coming for him, but he still showed no remorse when he talked to them.

I'm sorry this got so long, I am incredibly emotional about this right now, and I can't even begin to describe, how this makes me feel-

ANON OH MY GHOD /POS

DID YOU KNOW YOU HAVE THE BIGGEST FUCJING BRAIN EVER. DID YOU KNOW YOU'VE CONNECTED THE MOST PERFECT DOTS KNOWN TO MAN. HOLY SHIT.

LUNAR CAME BACK AS MORE AND ECLIPSE CAME BACK AS LESS BUT BOTH CAME BACK WRONG AAIAUAUAYAGAGGGHHHHHH

[arttsuka]

post oc lore king/queen !!

😭 I don't really have lore tbh, mostly vibes. Everything is too underdeveloped for lore

I have vague ideas of what I want my ocs to be.

For example, I want to put these guys in a 'time travel' kinda situation, where a murder takes place (that phone guy, who was the only one who knew how to help them get back in their time).

The only thing worse than their designs are the names

[tj-crochets]

Hey! This might be a weird ask, but do you know anywhere that has Cambrian sewing patterns? I’ve been trying to track down a wiwaxia or anomalocaris, but no joy. Thanks in advance!

Hey! Not a weird ask at all, and I swear I've seen one for an anomalocaris before but I can't remember where?? I'll take a look and see what I can find, and hopefully someone will see this that has a link to a pattern Edit: So good news bad news, I did find the anomalocaris plush I was thinking of, but the designer has not shared the pattern. Good news is it looks really simple to design a pattern for a simplified version of it? I'd just need to handstitch on the curved front...not legs and use the same technique I use to make spider legs without having to sew each leg individually (topstitching, but maybe also pleating) Can you reblog this with some reference photos of anomalocaris? anomalocarises? I do not know enough about them to be able to distinguish which ones are good references

[smile-files]

i'll be completely honest... i don't want to study for the exam i have tomorrow! as it is i've procrastinated enough by spending half the day making collages but i guarantee i'll procrastinate some more

[inkperch]

Okay, so. I have so many thoughts about precure full bloom, but I gotta say:

The funniest bit by far is that they casually, offhandedly, implied Coco was lying about his age to be a teacher in the og series while aggressively refusing to acknowledge that poorly aged elephant in the room-

[wordpress-blaze-176197706]

The Ridge- REPUBLISHED

Into the Wilderness: Part 6

Our rented SUV was one of the last in the parent caravan. We drove along winding paved roads until we turned off onto dirt pathways, passing white clapboard houses nestled among the hills, weathered with moss, a lone horse, a few sheep hugging dilapidated barns. Then, we turned off those dirt roads onto pitted tracks created by other four wheelers. We navigated slowly up the mountain, wheels edging steep declines. We bumped over rocks, tree branches scraping our doors. We passed an overflowing stream.

Finally, the line slowed and stopped. In what seemed like practiced unison, SUVs turned slightly off the tracks. The forest was damp and thick, the soil emitting steam as the sun warmed it. The Blue Ridge Mountains in Georgia are actually a temperate rainforest and that becomes obvious the moment you crack open your car door. The moisture and heat- it was now late August- envelope you.

All around us was green. If our teens were camped in these woods, seeing them through the trees was nearly impossible. Chuck and I got out of our SUV and followed the other parents walking toward an incline about a half mile down the path. A sense of human presence started to emerge. An abandoned steel tent frame gleamed in a clearing- not from our campers; they have strict rules to leave the forest as they find it. In the distance, smoke from a campfire wafted through the green light. We walked toward it.

All around us, teens and parents had begun to re-unite. Rustling undergrowth, excited screams: the teens rushed to meet their parents.

Far down on the path, was a spot of red. As we walked, it formed into a shape, then a figure. It was unloading food supplies from the back of an SUV. The figured stopped and faced our direction.

Squinting, Chuck asked, "Is that Catina?" We couldn't tell. We walked closer. And as we did the figure began to sprint toward us. And then we knew. This was our girl.

We ran. She ran, clouds of dirt rising around her like Pigpen from Charlie Brown. We came together, grabbing hold and squeezing in an enormous hug.

The first thing I noticed was how bad she smelled. And how smelling so bad, she still smelled good. Every mother knows the scent of her child. It's there from the first moment your child is in your arms and you bury your nose in the soft spot where the neck meets the shoulder.

That was the smell I noticed, along with sweat and body odor. Deoderant attracts mosquitos and flies so the teens avoid it.

Next, I noticed her clear eyes. And her dimpled smile. She was happy, not just to see us, but happy. Her body showed it. She had a confidence she had never carried before.

She had firmed up from the hiking and healthy eating. The teens do not eat processed foods and can only have limited amounts of honey as a rare treat. She was covered in bug bites, red welts dotting her arms, ankles and calves. She wore a long-sleeved red windbreaker and splotched khakis, an orange vest with fluorescent tape and a mismatched pair of crocs, one blue, one orange (see our photo in the About page), without socks.

Chuck and I wore "I heart Catina Wipper" T-shirts. In her last letter home, Catina had asked Chuck to adopt her, and we wanted to surprise her with his answer. Just two days before, we had found a small printing shop in Clayton, Georgia that could make our T-shirts in a day. The T-shirt was hidden beneath our buttoned shirts and we opened them in a big "ta da."

We were together again. After eight long weeks of separation.

We walked to the clearing where they had set up camp. In the center was a big tarp with a campfire. The teens learn how to start a fire using self-made bow drills. Designated campers tend the fire to keep it continually burning. No fire means eating peanut butter in big spoonfuls from the jar or handfuls of GORP.

Each teen was assigned a pack of necessities weighing about 40 pounds: sleeping bag, school and therapy notebooks, water bottles, food supplies, bowl and spoon, a change of clothes, bags for collecting waste, a toothbrush. The packs were piled in a mound about 20 feet from the center tarp. A constructed bathing area and latrine were at opposite ends of the camp, both lined with tarps for privacy. Above the camp, on a ridge, the teens had set up their tents. Each day, they choose a favorite spot for sleeping. This one had a view of nearby mountains, blue and hazy in the distance like a smudged charcoal drawing.

The teens had settled down with their parents, excited to tell them about living in the wilderness. They were all so proud. They had lived outside for weeks tending to their own needs. While different issues had brought them together, the underlying issue was often the same: anxiety, depression, low self-esteem. But now they had discovered they could thrive- through storms, heat waves, bug bites, pesky critters, slips and falls.

Catina took our hands and led us up a hill above the camp to a rocky nook shaded by trees. Chuck and I unfolded our chairs, portable, legless contraptions that suspend a body in a reclining position. These "chairs" are provided only to teens who have reached a certain level in their progress- an incentive to work hard. Visiting parents are warned not to give our chairs away, or to let our kids sit in them.

We checked in. How were we each feeling? Excited, happy, complete. Catina told us about her days- what time they rise, packing up, unpacking, hiking off trails, setting up camp, cooking meals, cleaning up. She had never camped a single day in her life before wilderness, and now she loved being in the deep woods, sitting quietly with a book or journal, or staring endlessly at the beauty of it all.

We talked about a lot of things. Her letters. Her inventories. Her memories. Her new-found love of reading. Her regret. Our regret. An awful, violent incident she had hidden from us and blamed herself for because it had happened at a party she shouldn't have been at. What had led her here, to this place, this moment.

When we returned to the camp, dinner prep was underway, a counselor watching as they cubed raw chicken and cut up vegetables, sauteed in a big skillet over the open flame. They made pasta with chicken and vegetables, simple and good. Catina added sriracha, gobbled it down and wiped her bowl clean with leaves from the ground. When I couldn't finish my serving, she was happy to eat more.

Joy. I had never seen her so in her body, so present to herself. She was just Catina. The Catina that is Catina. Not the Catina that anyone else wanted her to be.

As the sun began to set, we hiked up the hill to the ridge where they had lined their tents. I captured a fallen branch as a walking stick to help heave myself up the mountain and across the uneven terrain.

Catina had chosen to place her tent last, at the far end of the ridge. She tied it between trees, a sharp inverted V high off the ground so she could see the sky and feel the night wind. We crawled underneath, removed our hiking boots and handed them to the counselors. We loosened our clothes and laid on top of our sleeping bags, arms and legs interlinked, staring at the moon through the branches. We repeatedly whispered, "I love you." There was not much more to say.

We lay on this ridge of mountain. The ridge seemed endless, stretching across the Appalachian shelf. It had risen millions of years ago, rock crashing together, thrusting upward, a massive tectonic shift continuing to reshape the landscape even today. And here we were now, on this ridge, together. We too had collided, fault lines rippling through our lives. We had forged new selves out of this, our own seismic event. Here on this ancient ridge, we knew we had come far.

Source: The Ridge- REPUBLISHED

[irradiatepositivity]

the worst thing is when someone says something you know is wrong but also you dont know enough about the correct answer to correct it and/or learned it a While Back and forgot the details and also youre a little worried that maybe YOUR version of thiings is also a bit wrong bc you know that the full answer is a Big Complicated Thing but u cant fact check it right then and it would be kind of a dick move in the moment to go "oh thats wrong and im like 45% sure this other thing is right but also i know im forgetting details and also maybe i was misinformed too but i KNOW the thing u just said is wrong" so instead u just let the Wrong Thing pass so as to not be some awful combo of pretentious and Also Wrong

[softichill]

Ithink when I'm exhausted I get bad at talking

[coquelicoq]

the thing about the prescriptive grammar rules of written french from my perspective as a non-fluent reader is that they are very helpful to me in figuring out what a sentence means (e.g., if a participle does or does not end in -e or -s, it gives me an important and sometimes essential clue as to which noun the participle is related to). but the other, equally relevant thing about the prescriptive grammar rules of written french from my perspective as a non-fluent reader is that there are a lot of them and i do not always know what they are. lol.

[angelkissedface]

i know tanabata was a month ago...but there's no time limit on my feelings

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

they just didn't have to write him as "a great philanthropist"; "a generous benefactor of the empire bay planetarium"; "frequent officer of the empire bay press guild"; "a frequent target of political slander and false arrest because of generosity towards the press"

and at the same time write him as the first of the others to organize drug trafficking; a man who tried to kill all his competitors; "a shady bastard, even for guys in this business"; "ruthless modernizer"; a man who secretly views his close friend as a liability; "the man who killed his own boss" to take his place

"few will moan moretti's passing" from the lost heaven's newspapers and there's nothing like that in the cut-out news reports about carlo's death

[deathbind]

I was outlining a lil overview “if Serot is driving the wagon, this is what happens during BG3” post, and Serot’s temper is astounding to me. He is an even-keeled man overall. Doesn’t take offense easily and is not inclined toward violence. Approaches every situation with the desire for peaceful resolution or at least minimizing casualties. I’d almost call him easy-going.

But, there are certain matters that are hard lines for him. Transgress them, and he sees red. Not even in a “angry shouting or walking away” manner; in an “immediate violence” manner. I said before he goes from 0 to “the next 7 generations will be born with my handprint on their face” and yeah. The change is sudden, which is frightening enough, but I think, unless you know him well, it also seems unpredictable. It’s not but it seems that way.

The problem is his wrath rules him once it’s been roused. He does tend to be an emotionally driven person regardless. It’s just his usual emotions are curiosity, compassion, amusement. His other emotions can drive him just as hard, though, when brought to the forefront. When angered, he burns through the situation at hand. Though his anger is usually righteous, I can’t say there have never been regrettable consequences.

[reitziluz]

i am wildly out of practice and did hang on by the skin of my teeth the last time i was taking a formal class in japanese

but the class was called "advanced academic japanese"

(not to mention i kinda started picking up the language when i was ten years old and have been acknowledged as having internalized the Vibe of it)

so those are my credentials if anyone is curious.

but also always always ALWAYS check for yourself, there's so many people around being way too confident about making Statements about japanese, or being plain weird about it!

[fifty-ten]

tbh "a bunch of humans who got really into a weird philosophy and migrated to another planet so they can make greece 2" IS one of the best star trek plots

[windfighter]

Trust exercise

Prompt: ”Don’t move.” / whumptober 2023

Yamato's been knocked out. Trolls are nearby. Taichi's body hurts. Time to abandon this venture into the Silent World and go back to camp.

-----

Something touched Yamato’s shoulder. He opened his eyes, felt his head explode and closed them again. What? He lifted his hand to massage his forehead, but someone grabbed it, pressed it to the ground again.

”Don’t move.”

Taichi. Yamato’s head pounded.

”Wha…” He swallowed. ”What happened?”

Even his own voice made his head vibrate with pain. Taichi moved, Yamato heard Taichi’s clothes rustle, his gun scrape against the floor.

”Ceiling fell in”, Taichi whispered. ”Quiet.”

Yamato was quiet, let his mind trace along his body. His head hurt. There was some dull pain in his arm. Other than that he felt fine. He stopped focusing on that, tried listening. Something heavy was being dragged somewhere in the building.

Oh. Shit. That was a troll. Had it heard them?

Yamato pushed himself into a sitting position. Slowly. His head spun. Taichi moved closer and Yamato leaned against him. Tried opening his eyes again, then put his hand over them. Not good, it’d be hard to make it back to camp or defend himself like this. He gestured towards the sound.

”One?” he whispered.

Taichi nodded, but there was reluctance in it. Yamato reached for his gun, but changed his mind. He wouldn’t be able to hit the broad side of a barn the way he couldn’t even open his eyes. They’d just have to wait. He let his hand fall down. The world behind his eyelids got brighter and he winced.

”Yeah, sorry”, Taichi whispered into his ear.

Taichi’s hand traced along Yamato’s spine, his fingers pressed against his neck, the back of his head. Yamato flinched as it pressed closer to the top. His body tensed up. Don’t move. Taichi’s hand disappeared, then something softer pressed against Yamato’s head instead.

”You okay?” Yamato whispered.

”Mm.”

Silence fell. Yamato listened as the dragging moved further away. Taichi pulled away, stood up.

”I don’t think it’ll get any better”, he whispered. ”Ready?”

Yamato wasn’t sure. He opened his eyes, squinted in the weak light. Okay. A little better. He nodded, started standing up. His head pounded and Taichi wrapped an arm around his waist. Tugged at him to get him to start moving.

His head was not a fan. Yamato had to close his eyes to lessen the pain. He felt his heart speed up. Taichi slowed their walking pace as Yamato stumbled forwards beside him. The building was quiet, the troll had gotten far enough away that they couldn’t hear it. A door squeaked as Taichi opened it and they both froze in their steps.

Nothing. Taichi breathed a sigh of relief. They continued walking, Taichi constantly told Yamato how to step. The cracked roads they had been walking on changed to mud, then to grass. Yamato’s heart slowed down. They were out of the city. They were safe.

”Almost there”, Taichi whispered.

Yamato nodded. He opened his eyes ever so slightly, saw the campsite. Jyou waved and Yamato closed his eyes again. He could make it there.

Taichi stumbled on something and brought Yamato down with him. The pain exploded through Yamato’s head, Taichi cursed and Yamato rolled up, pressed his hand over his ear. His stomach churned, the pain in his arm felt worse. Fast steps were coming closer, each step they took felt like a hammer to Yamato’s head.

”You two okay?” Jyou asked.

”Yeah”, Taichi answered but his breath was caught in his throat. ”Yamato got hit in the head pretty good.”

”What happened?”

Yamato pushed himself into a sitting position. His stomach did not calm down.

”I’m gonna throw up”, he warned them.

Jyou disappeared, then returned. Placed something in Yamato’s lap and he grabbed it. Metal, a bucket. He leaned over it, swallowed. His body tensed up as his stomach turned inside out. The sound made his headache even worse.

”It did not go to plan”, Taichi said with a tense laugh.

”I’m getting you two disinfected and then you’re going straight to bed”, Jyou decided.

It sounded like a good idea, Yamato thought. He could use a nap. He leaned against Taichi, who pulled in a sharp breath.

”Thanks for getting me back, it was terrifying.”

”Just like during training”, Taichi said.

”Those had less trolls”, Yamato mumbled.

And as far as trust-exercises go, Yamato never wanted to do this one again.