#@ myself you're trash

[accidentalslayer]

I'm sitting at the doctor's office (again 🙄 ) & literally minding my own business and these dudes sit down across from me and the first thing out of their mouth is to tell me to smile.

"It's not that bad."

Dude, I am just. Sitting here. My face isn't a decoration for you to dictate!

For the first time, I snapped back. Told him that my goddamnn face isn't any of his business. Told him to learn some fucking boundaries while he told me to eat shit. I am so proud of myself for not shrinking. For not trying to make this man comfortable while I violated my own voice because I was uncomfortable.

He's still bitching in the lobby.

[landfilloftrash]

so I stumbled on a thing while looking for fanart.

[yellowloid]

only way i'm accepting the apology video that's no doubt going to come from watcher in the next few days is if ryan and shane decide to throw steven out altogether

[sprnklersplashes]

home (the long way round)

ao3 fanfic fundraiser

She gets the first train she can.

She’ll miss two lectures and a seminar and ticket prices are a nightmare and the train station is cramped and there’s a stitch in her side from running and it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because soon she moving, the world outside the window is a blur, and old stone towers and high street shops give way to green fields and doll-sized houses and then finally, finally, her town is called over the loudspeakers.

Two words, four syllables, the surest way to her heart.

‘Little Kilton’

When the train stops a kind old man asks her if she’s alright. Her heart seizes for a moment, panic gripping her, and then she realises it’s just because she’s crying.

‘Running’ isn’t the right word to describe how she moves. Nor is sprinting. Pip is tearing through the town’s streets like a storm, Hurricane Pip, pavement melting beneath her trainers. Every step is a blessing and she thanks it a hundred times over, thank you for letting me come back, she says. Gravel crunches beneath her feet, she stumbles on uneven  kerbs. ‘I missed you’ she says to them. ‘I missed you I missed you I missed you.’

She never wondered where she would go first. During those long, lonely months at Cambridge, Pip worried she would forget how to get there, but now, she feels the route deep in her bones, no, her heart, pointed like a compass and guiding her back to that precious, perfect, maddening house. Mum’s car is in the drive-the same car she drove Pip to school and drama club and dentist appointments in. Pip stops by the car, just for a second, puts her hand against the passenger door. Her handprint rests against the paint and where once that would’ve terrified her, she now sobs, because her hand is on her mum’s car. She holds it out in front of her, inspects it in the afternoon light. Steady. Bloodless. 

“Pip?”

Her heart stops at her name, head snaps up. She blinks once, twice, pinches herself to make sure it’s real and yes-that’s her mum standing on the doorstep, a bulging rubbish bag in her hand to match her bulging eyes. Her mouth hangs open, and she blinks just as Pip did because maybe she can’t believe that her daughter, who had become a ghost, is now here in the flesh, beside her car.

“Pip?”

“Mum!” The cry erupts from her throat, so loud and so elated that a flock of birds flee a nearby tree. Pip moves again, tearing across the drive and then she’s crushing her arms around her mum and they’re falling, falling, and the floor catches them. As her mum’s arms come around her-startled and confused but so, so warm-Pip’s head finds her shoulder and she bites back tears because she will not ruin her mum’s blouse.

(Too late)

“Mum!” she cries again. “I missed you so much!”

“I…” Mum begins. She stiffens, involuntarily, and then relaxes. “I missed you too, darling.”

Pip can feel it in her hands-the almost two years of Pip pulling away from them, the missed calls and blunt texts, a brief appearance at Josh’s birthday before she ran away again, noncommittal shrugs when asked when she’d be back. It was to keep them all safe, and it broke their hearts.

She’ll explain. Not really, but she’ll do what she does best; create, fabricate, lie. Build an alibi. She’ll make it better.

“What on Earth is going on out here?” Pip’s heart skips a beat, fresh air fills her lungs.

“Dad!” 

Pip releases her mum, her arms are empty for the briefest of moments, and then they’re around her Dad’s shoulders, she’s breathing in his aftershave. In her run over to him, she saw the faint grey hair at his temples, and another sob wrecks through her. She lost so much time with them. She’s here to earn it all back, but she still lost so much.

“Well,” her dad ways in her ear, the same light and jovial tone that helped Pip sleep, listening to his voice messages alone in her room. “This is a surprise, pickle.”

Pickle. She laughs against his shoulder and wants him to say it again, a hundred times more, a million, until it’s the only word she knows. She wants to stay this way forever, wrapped up in her parents’ embrace, and then the stairs creak and-

“Josh!” Detangling herself from her dad she rushes over and tackles Josh to the floor. He’s tall now-as tall as her-and it makes her want to scream and cry and hold him until her arms go numb. There’s a tremor in Josh’s voice when he says her name, in his hands when they wrap around her. Her Josh, her brother, thought she didn’t care about him, when she loves him more than anything in this world.

“How come you’re crying, Pippo?” he asks her. She chokes then, a half-laugh, half-sob.

“I could ask you the same,” comes her reply. 

She finds the Ward sisters next. Cara answers the door before she even knocks, her eyes wide. For a few seconds they’re silent, just looking at each other; no words are fit for such an occasion. Then Pip jumps on her and hugs her and Cara is murmuring her name, muffled against her jumper. They must look a sight; sunk to their knees in Cara’s doorway, but why would they care?

Eventually, they move to Cara’s room. Naomi finds them, a delighted scream emerges from her throat and the three of them cram onto Cara’s bed. They talk for hours and hours, about university and Cara’s girlfriend and the cafe and new albums and new tv shows. They talk, they laugh, Naomi fishes ice cream out of the freezer. Pip’s face is red and her stomach hurts and she feels like-no, she is-the luckiest girl in the world. 

She runs into Nat and Jamie in the cafe. There’s no need for words, not with them. The pull one another into a haphazard hug, Jamie claps her on the shoulder, and Nat orders coffee.

They argue for twenty minutes about who’s paying, then Connor appears, rolls his eyes and swipes his card. There’s a tear in them too.

Andie is first; Pip rests a little pink bouquet against her headstone. Pip’s breath catches in her throat. It’s quieter out here; no screams, no sobs, no barrelling into her loved ones’ arms. It’s just her and Andie; two girls who couldn’t have been more different until they couldn’t have been more similar. Good girls, bad choices, some would say. Bad girls, good reasons, others might say. Turns out they live somewhere in between. 

“You were okay. In the end,” Pip tells her. “And Becca will be okay. I promise.” Pip toes the ground, her hands stuffed in her pocket. The scene is somber as can be, yet there’s a small smile cutting across Pip’s face. “I hope you don’t see your dad ever again. But if you do… give him hell, Andie Bell.”

The wind picks up, dances through her hair. And somehow, Pip feels Andie will oblige.

Sal is next. Salil Singh, who loved the wrong girl at the wrong place at the wrong time. A heavy melancholy settles over Pip as she squats beside his grave, her chest constricting as she reads it. He gets a bouquet too, little white roses, as well as a postcard from the Cambridge gift shop. It’s a picture of the library, in all of its splendour. Perhaps in another life, he shows her around it, final year and first year. He would have loved it there.

“You deserved better,” she tells Sal. It’s the single truest thing about this whole web. Sal was killed and made into a killer, everything good about him scrubbed away like chalk. Justice was served but it will never really be made right.

Pip rests her fingers against the headstone. It’s cool beneath her skin.

“Rest in peace, Sal Singh,” she whispers. Then, in an even smaller voice, “Thanks for looking after Ravi for me.”

Wind rustles her hair again, gentler this time, and Pip gives a teary smile.

And now she’s here. Once again, she is standing at the Singh’s front door, with a Tupperwere box in her hand. What can she say; she was raised right. There are lines she will cross in a heartbeat, but she will not show up at her boyfriend’s house empty-handed.

Nisha answers the door, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her. Pip is welcomed in as if it’s her own house. Ravi is at work so she chats with his parents. She never found out what Ravi told them, but from the way Mohan  pats her shoulder and Nisha gives her tea, Pip wonders if he said anything. If Pip Fitz-Amobi stayed in this house, put here by white lies and steadfast hope.

“Why don’t you go wait in his room, love?” Mohan asks. “It’ll give him a nice surprise. He misses you something awful when he comes back from Cambridge.”

Ah. So that’s what he told them. Well played, Singh. 

His mum directs her to his room and Pip waits, surrounded by bits and pieces of her Ravi. Once the door is closed, she looks through all of them, greedy for details. She studies the photos on his wall, eyes moving to his eyes to his hair to his jaw. She thumbs through his books, runs her fingers across crease marks, tenderly strokes the Post-It reminders stuck to his desk. She will uncover every detail, nothing is too unimportant. She studies him like a scholar would a classic novel.

(Or… perhaps… like a detective studies a case)

The handle turns when she’s looking through his wardrobe, hoodie sleeves brushing her head. Pip jumps out of it, gasp stuck in her throat. Her heart beats, beats, beats, drags each second out to an hour. As the door opens, Pip feels the hair on the back of her neck rise, feels an electric tingle in her fingers because-

He’s here. Ravi Singh is here, standing in his bedroom, the afternoon sun casting a gold halo around him. He’s here, just as lovely as the day she left, lovelier. Taller, maybe. Hair is longer, matching the photos.

For one long, terrifying second, he doesn’t say anything. Pip felt sure then, surer than ever, that this was a dream, and she was about to wake up in Cambridge. Day 698.

“Sarge,” Ravi breathes. His eyes glimmer then, and Pip sees the tears running down his face. “Hi.”

Ravi takes one tentative step, then another. Then he’s the one crushing her. He pulls her so close, like he can bond the two of them together, and he is crying, and she is crying, and she feels like she’s flying until she realises Ravi has picked her up. Her trainers dangle above the carpet, her fingers curl into his hair. 

He’s sobbing, tears rocking his shoulders and wrecking his chest. Pip hushes him softly, gentle whispers of ‘it’s okay, it’s okay’. He whispers back, “I missed you, you’re here, I missed you”, so broken and so hurt that Pip hates herself for doing this to him. She did it to save him and it nearly killed them both. 

“I’m sorry,” she tells him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

“Just kiss me, Sarge,” he asks. His eyes are bright, his lashes spoked, his cheeks flushed. She holds them in her hands, feels the warmth seep into her skin. His breath, hot on her cheek. “Just kiss me. Please.”

How can she say no?

[thewanderingshadow1-1]

Gacha Lore sucks

I mean the Lore of Lunime games, like Gacha World, Gachaverse, etc.

You can tell from previous posts that I have a strange hyper fixation for Gacha games. Not really the playthrough, nor the videos, but its lore. That goddamn lore.

Not that I like it. Oooh, no no no no... no. I despise it with every. Fiber. Of. My. Body. But at the same time, I quite of understand why did it fail.

Imagine having a good story that you want to write. You have big plans for it, and you decide to put it in a game. But the game is fairly short, to say the least, so you have to rush the story. Results? A complete piece of shit.

(not that I'm saying that this is what happened, but I would rather believe this story than that the reality is just a garbage story created to sell games)

Here's the thing: I LOVE the concept. But... Not really in a normal way. Not saying that it is very good by itself, but it has potential. So much that I can almost touch it. And it shines brightly, like a supernova. But they turned it into a black hole of a story.

So, instead, why not just rewrite it? And let me tell you: there's SO MUCH lore that can be added, and develop the characters better, and add some new ones, and many many backstories, and-

That's what I've been doing... As a hobby. Of course, I have other projects going on (and high school), so it isn't really the focus for now.

...

BUT

I was able to write a fairly amount of lore, which I may or may not post here (I'm more inclined to post), just as a sneak peak for [another] big project. I promised myself it would be done, so I can't die until it's finished

Anyways, this is more of a vent, or something... I don't know, still learning to use this website for a while.

[giantkillerjack]

Your stance on the Dunmeshi queerbait stuff is a bit selfish. Wanting this one manga to go exactly the way you want is a dangerous path - the way you phrase it is so entitled, making it clear it's not about consuming media about lesbians, but making one specific work suit exactly what you want. So many yuri mangas are written by sapphic women. It's a shame your stance is how it is.

And bastardizing the term queerbaiting does no good, either. Neither does the japanese manga market. You should research more before making such hurtful posts.

Hope you have a great day anyway.

[Anon is referring to this post, I believe.]

I mean, one of us certainly IS acting very entitled and weird about the media they like, and it ain't me. Like, I think you just have associated this piece of media with your own identity in an unhealthy way that makes you react to criticism of it with intense defensiveness. You don't own Dungeon Meshi. You aren't Marcille. Dungeon Meshi is NOT a yuri manga; it's a beautiful manga with either sapphic queerbait or a woefully underdeveloped queer relationship at its center.

Maybe if you had an argument besides "it does no good" to criticize it, but you don't. So.

Smh, it's a "dangerous path" - I'm screenshotting that bc I know it'll make my wife laugh. Like, friendo, wanting a piece of media to be better isn't dangerous. But calling someone selfish and hurtful for criticizing media while offering no clarifications as to who I've hurt or how (any fellow sapphics bleeding out in here? Or is it just me with my bonkers-heavy period??)... it's overstepping a social boundary in a bizarre way.

Like, I'm sorry that I'm better at media analysis than you (not actually sorry - I am being petty! :D), but I actually have studied queerbaiting!! I am willing to bet I have done more research than you! (Are you from twitter? You have that vibe. - Again, pettiness.)

... and I spend every day with my wife (the best writer I know; I'm so honored to share stories with her), talking of nothing but our shared special interest all day - i.e. media analysis. (I honestly don't know what neurotypical couples talk about lol)

And I've done enough research to know that one of the side effects of queerbaiting is that fans are often in denial about it and then get REAL MAD when someone points it out. I was there for the Sherlock/Supernatural fandom. Shit was crazy. (Not saying Super-who-lock bc my man Russell Davies was like MAKE THOSE BOYS SMOOCH! 😎)

Also like, my apologies to Ryoko Kui - I really do love Dungeon Meshi - but like, I'm just better at writing and illustrating queer rep than she is. I make real gay protagonists who do gay shit and are gay, and I will never queerbait my audience. Womp womp.

Also, honestly, even if I turn out to be wrong about the queerbaiting by the end of the series, this message was still rude and entitled and weird. We have a lot of issues facing our queer community that endanger real people; someone calling a story queerbaiting mistakenly is not one of them.

[mrnnki-img]

rock bottom

[ishouldsleepbut]

teacher: "oh, i can't wait to read all about your project—" that's great, i can't wait to go to sleep and never wake up

[flamedork]

not tumblr outing me as one of the "top blogs" in the polin tag wtf

[awarmshrine]

I went to a mutual aid free food market todayyy :3 I got to eat free porridge and fruit and pancakes!!! And read a zine about dumpster diving!!! And then I helped to set up the market groceries and I chopped fruit and washed dishes. I got to help one lady figure out if something was halal :3 and I met sooo many cool anarchists :3 I didn't take any groceries for myself until after the market was over but there were still lots of veggies and bread and I got bread rolls and a big bunch of rhubarb and some apples and a cucumber!!! For free!!! And also picked some lemon balm from the community garden!!! Also someone brought a ton of figs from their garden and I got to try a fig for I think the first time :3 My legs hurt sooo much now and I wanna sleep for a week but it was so fucking worth it :3

[caguaydreams]

Every day. Every day I fight the urge to draw this sucker and today that wasn't enough—

Picture used for reference is by cosplayer Hakken Ryou 🙌🏻

[kafka-ohdear]

maybe it was my fault being born after all.

[lokiina]

I usually skirt the edges of fandoms cuz they can be so incredibly toxic, with fake people trying to befriend you just to get shit from you.

So if I ever seem a lil stand offish, I'm probably more scared of you than you are of me. I'm naturally cautious. I've lived the horrors of other major fandoms before and that leaves an impression.

I'm an introvert, mass attention is stressful, big discords are overwhelming and I work horse shit hours. So I tend to lurk more than post tbh. It's generally nothing personal against anyone else if I'm not out there reaching for interactions I promise.

So if you ever have questions I'll try my best but I do frequently have pebbles for brains as a heads up. I yeet learned info about as fast as I absorb it. SO. I might not know how to answer you if it's modding related. dfkjfghdkfj

[vicsdeangelis]

Måneskin's Instagram — August 29th, 2022

[binch-i-might-be]

being alive is the worst thing that can happen to a girl

[moss-feratu]

Stimming by mimicking the vuvuzela from hlvrai & quoting different lines