#I'M PROCESSING

[livefreebutwisely]

If Katsuki made the costume design then he's the one who added a cape.

He really gave Izuku everything he always wanted.

[lizluzz]

Izzy really said queer spirit will outlast empires, I'm so emotional

[ex0rin]

alright that's DA: Veilguard done, now what do i do with myself

[xavissky]

cw lads salt;

It's not that I'm not happy over a Xavier banner I just don't have faith in Infold writing them rn

Cause like A) we've already had a "sickness" card there was an entire promise card about this and B) we have a secret times or two about this trope also and C) we already know MC is careful when he's sick she's not going to full on let him make a move cause in the Promise card she was doting, sure, but she made sure he rested

So unless it's like...... one of those actual tropes ...

where its not illness it's like an enhanced reaction to pheromones or something strange? Or allergic reaction? Which,,, still, strange. Then it doesn't make sense that it's going to go where it's going to go.

Part of him being childish and playful and a little immature in these attempts is because she's the one who gives him the space and agency to feel like he can, and guess he's never had that openness before, and believe me he's living for it and she's living for it so it's cute

It just does nothing for me really developmental wise. Like the amount of sex cards they've had verses actual communication and development....

Like ok they're trying to keep their ratings up and all after dropping that absolute bomb of a main story update. It just almost feels like poor timing... intentional or not. Like deflection? Idk I know they just want their views.

Am I gonna pull for it? Yeah. I might have different feelings after watching it.

[amevello-blue]

Oof.

[twelvemonkeyswere]

Jayce was truly the dark horse for me because I didn't care much about him all this time but what do you mean you remind a god of why he loved humanity and why he wanted to save humanity, just by existing? Jayce is there with his terrible speeches and his stupid ass brain but Viktor loves him so much it transcends time and space. imagine being loved so much your sole presence changes the course of multiple realities. Jayce Arcane where the hell did you come from.

[clairedsfield]

CARLOS VALDES

© ian spanier

[thornsnvultures]

what is writing if not laying on the floor crying and listening to suddenly, seymour

[doyou000me]

If Our Colours Would Mix

[491 words]

He ascends from above, approaches from behind. Like something that keeps to the blindspot, the Artist creeps up on the unsuspecting audience. Once they notice that he is there, once he is moving to the front - of the room, of the stage, of their minds - his presence is already taking over the room. The Artist is like something that cannot be ignored, something that cannot be denied, something that cannot be avoided. 

Something like love. 

On a canvas of white, of emptiness, of purity, the performers await the Artist. As he picks up red paint, they start to move. They throw themselves at each other, arms reaching, hands pulling. The Artist splatters them with red passion, red strength, red power, and their bodies clash and collide. They heave themselves through the air, crash to the floor, tear at one another, overcome with red heat, covering themselves in red rage, dangerously close to drawing real, red blood. And then- 

Blue. 

The Artist splatters it over the performers. It runs down an arm and covers a hand that touches a cheek. Blue calm slows their movements; blue peace guides their embrace. In blue loyalty, one lifts the other who in blue trust lets themself be held up high, higher than they could ever have reached on their own. 

As the performers move, the red and blue mix. Luxurious purple blooms, rich and mature. Splatters of yellow from the Artist’s paintbrush mix with blue. Green springs to life, the green of growth, of health, of prosperity. The performers hold one another, unbreakable, unstoppable, inseparable. But then…

Yellow. 

At first, friendly and cheerful. Yellow warmth and yellow joy. The performers skip, they twirl, they dance. Then, as more yellow joins the mix, as more blue turns green and the green changes hue… 

Yellow sickness, yellow madness, yellow danger. 

Green envy, spreading like poison, corrupting. 

Some red that remains gets into the yellow and green. Orange, for a moment, the orange that the venerable monks wear, the orange of a burning sunset, of ruin. The performers move, more frantic now, reaching for eachother yet moving further apart. Their white clothes of innocence are stained with their story, stained with their love. Beneath their feet, the paint on the canvas mixes as they move, their feet dragging through the paint and the colours mix, mix and mix. They mix until they can no longer be separated, until they have become indistinguishable, until they have turned to brown. 

Brown, steady and reliable. 

Brown, like the earth from which new life grows. 

Brown, like the earth in which graves are dug and bodies laid to rest. 

The performers have fallen. Lying in the brown, still reaching for eachother, arms stretched out, they are too far apart. The distance between them, a distance of brown, is too great. They cannot touch, and will not touch again. 

Into that brown distance, the Artist pours black.

Black death. 

Black mourning. 

Black end.

This scene is like a piece of almond stuck between my teeth that I can't help but poke with my tongue. I want to get it out, if only so that I can chew it and have some of that sweet flavour. So I started googling the meanings of colours, and wondered - what if the colours mixed, creating new colours, new meanings? I know they don't seem to do that in the scene (presumably because of what paint is used?) so this'll probably not make it into Held (though I might use bits and pieces) which is why I thought - why not just throw it up on Tumblr, add it to the ecosystem, see what happens? So here we are. Tell me what you think?

[funforahermit]

anyway do y'all remember when he said "i can feel the fingers going in there"?

[happyccino]

sorry about all my rambling posts and tags but ball it we fuck

[icewindandboringhorror]

(also feel free in the tags to clarify Why you made the choice you made!! :0c)

[shadesofmauve]

I want to step away from the art-vs-artist side of the Gaiman issue for a bit, and talk about, well, the rest of it. Because those emotions you're feeling would be the same without the art; the art just adds another layer.

Source: I worked with a guy who turned out to be heavily involved in an international, multi-state sex-slavery/trafficking ring.

He was really nice.

Yeah.

It hits like a dumptruck of shit. You don't feel stable in your world anymore. How could someone you interacted with, liked, also be a truly horrible person? How could your judgement be that bad? How can real people, not stylized cartoon bogeymen, be actually doing this shit?

You have to sit with the fact that you couldn't, or probably couldn't, have known. You should have no guilt as part of this horror — but guilt is almost certainly part of that mess you're feeling, because our brains do this associative thing, and somehow "I liked [the version of] the guy [that I knew]", or his creations, becomes "I made a horrible mistake and should feel guilty."

You didn't, loves, you didn't.

We're human, and we can only go by the information we have. And the information we have is only the smallest glimpse into someone else's life.

I didn't work closely with the guy I knew at work, but we chatted. He wasn't just nice; he was one of the only people outside my tiny department who seemed genuinely nice in a workplace that was rapidly becoming incredibly toxic. He loaned me a bike trainer. Occasionally he'd see me at the bus stop and give me a lift home.

Yup. I was a young woman in my twenties and rode in this guy's car. More than once.

When I tell this story that part usually makes people gasp. "You must feel so scared about what could have happened to you!" "You're so lucky nothing happened!"

No, that's not how it worked. I was never in danger. This guy targeted Korean women with little-to-no English who were coerced and powerless. A white, fluent, US citizen coworker wasn't a potential victim. I got to be a person, not prey.

Y'know that little warning bell that goes off, when you're around someone who might be a danger to you? That animal sense that says "Something is off here, watch out"?

Yeah, that doesn't ping if the preferred prey isn't around.

That's what rattled me the most about this. I liked to think of myself as willing to stand up for people with less power than me. I worked with Japanese exchange students in college and put myself bodily between them and creeps, and I sure as hell got that little alarm when some asian-schoolgirl fetishist schmoozed on them. But we were all there.

I had to learn that the alarm won't go off when the hunter isn't hunting. That it's not the solid indicator I might've thought it was. That sometimes this is what the privilege of not being prey does; it completely masks your ability to detect the horrors that are going on.

A lot of people point out that 'people like that' have amazing charisma and ability to lie and manipulate, and that's true. Anyone who's gotten away with this shit for decades is going to be way smoother than the pathetic little hangers-on I dealt with in university. But it's not just that. I seriously, deeply believe that he saw me as a person, and he did not extend personhood to his victims. We didn't have a fake coworker relationship. We had a real one. And just like I don't know the ins-and-outs of most of my coworkers lives, I had no idea that what he did on his down time was perpetrate horrors.

I know this is getting off the topic, but it's so very important. Especially as a message to cis guys: please understand that you won't recognize a creep the way you might think you will. If you're not the preferred prey, the hind-brain alarm won't go off. You have to listen to victims, not your gut feeling that the person seems perfectly nice and normal. It doesn't mean there's never a false accusation, but face the fact that it's usually real, and you don't have enough information to say otherwise.

So, yeah. It fucking sucks. Writing about this twists my insides into tense knots, and it was almost a decade ago. I was never in danger. No one I knew was hurt!

Just countless, powerless women, horrifically abused by someone who was nice to me.

You don't trust your own judgement quite the same way, after. And as utterly shitty as it is, as twisted up and unstead-in-the-world as I felt the day I found out — I don't actually think that's a bad thing.

I think we all need to question our own judgement. It makes us better people.

I don't see villains around every corner just because I knew one, once. But I do own the fact that I can't know, really know, about anyone except those closest to me. They have their own full lives. They'll go from the pinnacles of kindness to the depths of depravity — and I won't know.

It's not a failing. It's just being human. Something to remember before you slap labels on people, before you condemn them or idolize them. Think about how much you can't know, and how flawed our judgement always is.

Grieve for victims, and the feeling of betrayal. But maybe let yourself off the hook, and be a bit slower to skewer others on it.

[chodzacaparodia]

It's frustrating that you can come up with the plot of an entire fic in just a few seconds, but writing it all down can take anywhere from never to forever.

[pangur-and-grim]

a lot of you probably knows Belphie's story, but I'll summarize just in case.

Devon Rex cats are better for people with allergies (less shed fur + less Fel d1 protein in their saliva), so on February 16, 2024, I went the breeder route and put down a deposit. before Belphie even opened his eyes, he was mine!

every Friday, the breeder sent me a new photo. I had a broken leg, and was basically rotting in bed at that point, so it was the best part of my week. then, at 12 weeks old, I BROUGHT HIM HOME!

at first, he was so alive! like a wind-up monkey that never shut off. he dangled from the wall-hangings, savaged my feet as I walked, and used my elderly cats as jumping poles to do cool acrobatics over. but all this gradually faded.

first, he stopped playing. then he stopped climbing. then he stopped moving much at all. my vet ran tests on him and found multiple pathogens (calcivrius + mycoplasma), but the medication didn't help - he kept declining.

on September 17th, I woke up to find him swollen like a balloon. we finally had an answer: he had Feline infectious Peritonitis, aka FIP. before 2017, this would've been a death sentence. he would've kept bloating until he drowned in his own fluids. and before 2024, I would've been forced to inject him with black market drugs. but thankfully, South Tower Animal Hospital in Fergus, Ontario was doing a study on the oral medication! we drove two hours, enrolled him, and left with the GS-441524 pills.

and he went from those photos above.....to this:

I thought Belphie would die as a kitten. I'd accepted that he would never grow up. but now he gets to LIVE!

and all for the low cost of $7,553.....ahhhahaha........god.

that + a recent home disaster has wiped out my savings, but I still need to pay for Belphie's medication. to remain in this study, I need to do bloodwork monthly until Feb 2025, and he'll need daily pills until March 2025.

I've put a risograph print + enamel pin set up at greerstothers.shop. I hate asking for help, but if you'd like to support Belphie's continued treatment, please consider checking them out!

[seagiri]

when did this happen???