#Kind interaction

[computerkit]

youare so cool

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY Jumps up frantically Pins this up on thr wal next to my desk (Hands sweaty) to look at always and kiss when i get sad Pulls out my phone dials frantically calling my mom goes to voicemail MOM!!!! MOM I MADE IT!!!!! INTENRET THINKS IM COOL!!!!!!!!! Throws phone on the floor (Made it big dont need it anymore) And does 10 jumping jack Puts on sunglasses (Cool now) before Returning to computer clears throat and starts typing with new confidence

"Heh... Thanks anon"

[itseghost]

"Unbidden, an image of Jayce smiling in bed earlier this morning comes to mind. Viktor's hand on his cheek. His slightly chapped lips. His bedhead. Stubble. His smile lines. The shape of his jaw."

___

one of my favorite little scenes from coming home (but not to you) by @lesbianherald :) haven't done comics in so so long but really wanted to give it a shot lol

[cosmicredcadet]

Sometimes...characters being in a romantic relationship is worse.

[eydilily]

would you bite the hand that feeds you?

[nyanrial]

making little snowmen ⛄⛄

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] I felt like rendering these two Toons

referenced art by @liminal-spaced-out Kind of tweaking out over the fact that Jack actually looks like his age (late 30s) in this drawing 😊

It's interesting watching people add their own pizzazz or headcanons on my characters. As for its accuracy, who cares. As long as it's respectful, then it's all for fun anyway.

[inbabylontheywept]

Soviet Birds.

The secret facility that I work in has holes in the ceiling. We don't know how to get them fixed.

We tried asking the government to fix it, once. We told them that the holes in the older parts of the facility had gotten large enough to fit birds through, and that birds were getting through, and that, perhaps, a Soviet Spy could fit through as well.

After all, it is well known that Soviet Spies and pigeons are approximately the same diameter.

Our hope was that that this vague and nonsensical threat would put a little fire under Uncle Sam's feet. If the fed couldn't be bothered to give a shit about the giant gaping holes in the roof of our facility, perhaps they could be persuaded to give a shit about... Soviet Spies.

This attempt at manipulation 100% blew up in our faces.

See, the government does not need to be persuaded to give a shit about Soviet Spies. It still wakes up most nights, drenched in cold sweat, terrified and confident that a Soviet Spy is hiding in their nightstand. If it sees a rock on the ground, it flips it over, pistol drawn, ready to shoot the Soviet Spy it fully expects to slither out from underneath. Which is to say: The government is crazy. So when we dropped those two words - inflitration risk - in the repair request, they came in guns-a-blazin'.

Does that mean that they fixed the roof? Of course not. Don't be stupid. No, instead of performing basic maintenance, they installed a state of the art alarm system throughout the facility - lasers, sonar, the works - and told us to always be on the guard. Because of the roof holes.

Then they left.

So now we had an extremely good alarm system... and birds. Which have combined in incredibly obvious and predictable ways to produce an unending fountain of problems.

For Example: About once a month, someone gets called in by the local airforce dispatch because AAAAAAAAAAA a Spy is in the Rad Lab! We're all gonna die! Except every time, it's a bird. And I get why we have to check, but every time, the dispatcher is panicked and the person going out has to be like listen, listen: It's a bird. It's always a bird. It's been a bird every month for the last fifteen years. It will be a bird next month. All this stress? Bad for your heart.

Second Example: Sometimes, birds get in while we're actually working. And when it's in the morning, you know, it's a nuisance, and it stops testing (we are not going to risk irradiating a bird) but it's not an all-hands-on-deck situation because it doesn't take ten hours to get a bird out. But surprisingly often, the bird gets in riiiiight at closing time, and in that situation, everyone goes feral because nobody can leave until the alarm is set, and we cannot set the alarm while the bird is there, because the bird would immediately trigger it and then we'd have to stay another 4 hours to confirm that it was not a Soviet Bird.

So in order to go home, everyone's top priority is Get That Bird. And we have a system for it.

Step 1: The test stands tend to be located in rooms with 30+ foot ceilings. We can't catch birds in places like that - so we have to lure the bird into the relatively low ceilinged (8 feet only) upper offices.

We do this by turning all the lights off in the test rooms, then putting floodlights by the exits. I don't know why this works - some kind of evolutionary brain fragment shared by both Bugs and Birds - but work it does. The birds almost always follow after the lights. From there, it’s just two guys moving the floodlight and a third guy to turn off the lights.

Step 2: Everyone else has been waiting for this step. There is this long stairway up from the basement level into the offices, and in the final stage, the floodlights are brought to the base of the stairwell to bring the bird up. At the top of the steps there will be a group of tennish people, waiting for the signal. The light guys will set up the final transfer, everyone will tense, and then, swish...a bird will flit up the stairs and into the offices.

It's like watching werewolves on a full moon. Before the bird cometh, we are engineers. Nerds. Pale and skinny things, trembling under the fluorescent lights. After the bird, we are beasts. Feral, gnawing things, glowing under the orange sunrise of the 70's halogen floodlights.

And like all beasts, we cannot help but give chase.

Step 3: The were-engineers begin the hunt. The goal at the start is not really to catch the bird - just exhaust it. So the pack simply does not relent. Because the stakes are going home on time, the group is basically given free reign to go anywhere in the building. If someone's door is open, and the bird goes inside, they're going to have to deal with ten sweaty panting maniacs leaping around their office. They don't get to say that they're busy, or remark on how all this movement is a terrible distraction. They are allowed to sit in silence during the chaos, and perhaps thank the war party for chasing the bird while they sat comfortably on their ass. This has been explained several times, and it will continue to be explained until cooperation is achieved.

Anyway.

The chase can go on for quite some time. Sometimes, the bird will get tired and find a crevice to hide in, where it can then be reached through standard cornered-bird catching techniques.

Other times, it will slow down enough that someone can actually yoink it out of the air. But this will go on until someone catches the bird and triggers Step 4.

Step 4: The Finale. This is the get-the-bird-out-of-the-building stage, and it requires someone to adopt a specific role: To Become the Sacrificial Vessel of Bird Removal.

This job is both coveted and feared. It's coveted, because holding a wild bird in one's hands is a precious thing. To feel how small, and fragile, and scared it is, only to free it from the building? That is what it's like to be a benevolent God. But the cost! Oh, the cost. The entire time the Vessel is in motion, the bird will be biting the hell out of their fingers. And I cannot emphasize enough just how painful bird bites are. Their entire face is a set of needle posed pliers, and they know tricks the even the cartels haven't figured out yet. So there's always a little hubbub about who shall be The Vessel while onlookers, stranded outside The Office of Bird Capture, can only look on. Quiet arguments and pleas are heard, little fragments of fear and pride and glory trickling out of room like the silver dust left behind in a bag of well shook quarters. The sound of concensus is silence, and the argument will go on until that's all that's left. And then, from the darkness of the final office, the chosen sacrifice will step forward: Hands gently cupped, tears streaming down their face, fingers trembling from the pain of the ongoing bird chomps.

And this scene is what organizes people. Not leadership, not truly. No one can think and coordinate a crowd while their fingers are being attacked with a combination nutcracker/ear piercer. But the crowd sees the suffering of their annointed, and it is driven to do everything poossible to make the process flow. People instinctively flair out, finding the fastest path outside. Doors are held open. Paths are cleared. Someone, somehow, always knows the way forward and can describe it to the sufferer. Left, left, forward. Corner closet. Yep, there's a hall in there. Forward. Two-hundred more feet man, you're doing great. Just hold it together a little longer. You're killing it.

Then the final door swings open, and the bird flees out into what remains of daylight. And yet, even here, the deed is not yet done. I cannot explain it in words, but the crowd that helped is never content until they can see and speak on the Bird Vessel's wounds. They all have to pull the fingers back and see what was given. Estimate the price: One day to get better - No, three - No, a week! Are you blind? Do you see that blood blister? -Yeah, that's not going away anytime soon - Damn, can you believe how feisty those things are? Like wolves without teeth.

(They cannot help but touch as they go. It has always been this way. Even Thomas was not content until he felt the wounds in Christ's hands.)

Only when the last of the helpers has seen, and commented, and commended, will the engineers scatter. It is their return from the underworld that announces to the sun living surface dwellers that they too can go home. (@somerunner tolja it needed to be a post.)

[beehunterkisser]

my donations to the buford economy

[tawnysoup]

the fritter (frin critter)

[milkmilkymilk]

𝐓𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐬.. ˚🍼˚.🍓🧸

₊˚⊹ᰔ Your meltdowns do not make you scary.

₊˚⊹ᰔ Your coping in meltdowns arnt weird.

₊˚⊹ᰔ Your meltdowns do not make you dangerous.

₊˚⊹ᰔ Your meltdowns do not not make you unlovable.

₊˚⊹ᰔ You are deserving of love.

₊˚⊹ᰔ Just because they don’t understand doesn’t make what they’re saying true.

₊˚⊹ᰔ What people say don’t define you.

₊˚⊹ᰔ Sometimes meltdowns are necessary to self regulate, and that’s okay.

₊˚⊹ᰔ Meltdowns are not embarrassing or shameful.

₊˚⊹ᰔ You are deserving of support during your meltdowns.

₊˚⊹ᰔ It’s okay to take time to heal

₊˚⊹ᰔ I see you little one, and it’s going to be okay in the end.

ʚ🌱₊˚Always make sure you are safe 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒

[forgettable-au]

FORGETTABLE-AU (Page 36-39)

* To note. Her hands are scaly. * And...unexpectedly wet?

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

[snarkspawn]

I really enjoy playing through tnp again like hi it's been a while

[golden--goofball]

i love dnis like this because tell me why these people think they're normal when their list of people they are literally instructing to stay away from them go like:

-nazis!! (*≧∪≦)

-hitler reincarnates!!! (≧∇≦)b

-PEOPLE WHO HAVE OPINIONS ON FICTION THAT I DON'T LIKE OR AGREE WITH FUCK OFF AND DIE I HOPE YOU ALL GET FUCKED BY CHAINSAWS AND YOUR BODIES ARE FED TO THE DEVIL HIMSELF ON A SILVER FUCKING PLATTER /SRS /NEG /KYS /DIE

-terrorists!!!! (≧ω≦)/

[tanadrin]

The Marx Understander: We should be voting blue harder

correct. sitting in your room jerking it to fantasies of a revolution that has no leaders, no organizational infrastructure, and no strategy is not more historically progressive than participating in electoral politics. revolutions don't spontaneously self-organize. the revolutionary left in the United States is fragmentary and riven with internecine feuds, and uses abstentionism as an excuse for its irrelevance. anytime somebody suggests that milieu might not be a tenable vehicle for large-scale political change, somebody leans back in their chair, sneers, and offers some cutting remark with zero substance that functions solely to indicate that cool kids don't vote, cool kids don't team up with liberals, cool kids don't care about large-scale effectiveness, they only care about the incestuous world of far-left politics.

they have no substantive defense of their behavior, of course. if they did, they would be able to offer a defense besides repeating Democratic campaign slogans in increasingly mocking tones to indicate their disapproval. the "far left" in american politics these days really is just an unpleasant, cliquish social club on the internet. and once you notice how their model for politics is Mean Girls, how they have no style of communication that isn't dripping with irony so they don't actually have to make a positive claim that they might have to defend, how they have zero ambitions beyond their extremely insular world, it becomes impossible to ignore.

[wackywatchdotcom]

im never going to get over the fact that i clocked ragatha as a horror movie enjoyer before i found out that she actually is

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