#a just world. and that’s what centricism is

[mahoutoons]

i'm feeling controversial today so here's another hot take. and before you type away at your keyboards, know that this is all coming from a south asian.

white leftists have got to stop acting like christianity is the only religion that deserves to be criticized and you cannot touch any other religion because that'd be racist and bigoted. because as an indian who's watching my country progress towards hindu nationalism, this attitude doesn't help at all.

white people see hinduism as this exotic brown religion that's so much more progressive but don't know the violence of the caste system, how it others a large portion of the population on the basis of caste, literally branding them as "untouchables". they teach us in school that this problem is a thing of the past but the caste system is still alive and shows itself in violent ways. and that's not even covering how non hindus are treated in the country. muslims especially are being killed, have their houses bulldozed, businesses destroyed, and are being denied housing, our fucking prime minister called them infiltrators and there's this fear among hindu extremists that they'll outnumber the hindus in the country. portraying hinduism as this exotic religion does a disservice to all those oppressed by the hindutva ideology

similarly, white people see buddhism as this hippie religion that's all about peace but have no idea how extremist buddhists in myanmar have been persecuting the rohingya muslims for years and drive them out of the country.

if anything portraying these religions as exotic hippie brown religions is a type of orientalism itself.

and also y'all have got to realize that just because christianity has institutional power in america doesn't mean there aren't parts of the world where they are persecuted on the basis of religion. yes karen from florida who cries christophobia because she sees rainbow sprinkles on a cake is stupid but christian oppression DOES exist in non western countries where they're a minority. pakistani christians get lynched almost on a daily basis over blasphemy accusations. just look up the case of asia bibi, a pakistani christian woman who was sentenced to death on blasphemy charges because of something she said when she was being denied water because it was "forbidden" for a christian and a muslim to drink from the same utensil and she'd made it unclean just by touching it (which is ALSO rooted in casteism and part of pakistani christians' oppression also comes from the fact that a lot of them are dalit but that's a whole other discussion). and that's just one christian group, this isn't even going into what copts, assyrians, armenians etc have faced and continue to face. saying that christians everywhere are privileged because of american christianity actually harms christian minorites in non western countries.

and one last thing because this post is getting too long: someone being anti america doesn't automatically mean they're the good guys. too many times i've been seeing westerners on twitter dot com praise the fucking taliban just because they hate america. yes, the same taliban who banned education for women, thinks women should be imprisomed at home, and consistently oppresses religious and ethnic minorities in afghanistan. yes, america's war on afghanistan was bad and they SHOULD be called out for their war crimes there. no, the taliban are still not the good guys. BOTH of them are bad. you cannot pretend to care about muslims and brown people if you praise the taliban. because guess what? most of their victims are BROWN MUSLIM WOMEN. but of course white libs who praise them don't rub their two braincells together to make that conclusion.

this post has gotten too long and i've just been rambling so the point of this post is: white "leftists" whose politics are primarily america centric should stop acting like criticism of ideologies like hindutva, buddhist extremism, and islamic extremism BY people affected by these ideologies is the same as racism or religious intolerance because that helps literally no one except the extremist bigots. also america is not the centre of the world, just because something isn't happening in america doesn't mean it isn't happening elsewhere

[atthebell]

bell atthebell's spiderbit fics masterpost

in chronological order of when i posted them & grouped by events if relevant! asterisks besides my personal favorites

non-event works

*not quite but we're almost there - early spiderbit, post-bobby's death but pre-regret. fluff & minor angst. Complete, twoshot.

promise me you'll try - spiderbit talk about the egg disappearance and taking care of themselves. Complete, oneshot.

so bad all my bones shake - spiderbit host a halloween party! Complete, oneshot.

*won't you lover chase me down - purgatory spiderbit :D Complete, twoshot.

*like a lighthouse always waiting - roier waits for good news after purgatory. luckily, he finds what he's looking for. spiderbit reunion, minor angst, roier-centric, happy ending. Complete, oneshot.

true love waits - another spiderbit reunion :D Complete, oneshot.

tucked away from the world with you - spiderbit building fluff + cuddling! Complete, oneshot.

**outpace the dawn - post-reset spiderbit reunion (i am desperate okay) + fluff, with some minor angst. Complete, oneshot.

*bright as the morning - roier does yoga, cellbit is very normal about it. someone had to write it! Complete, oneshot.

spiderbit week nov-dec 2023

if it's your hands - roier cooks cellbit feijoada while he's sick. Complete, oneshot.

*won't you lover chase me down - purgatory spiderbit! Complete, twoshot. [chapter 2 was for this event]

back to the hedgerows - roier doesn't mind cellbit's murder spree one bit-- in fact, he's very fond of his husband covered in blood. Complete, oneshot.

*now you surround me - vampire roier & human cellbit who very much enjoys providing for his husband's needs. Complete, twoshot [chapter 1 was for this event].

put to mind of all that i wanna be - spiderbit dancing after their wedding. Complete, oneshot.

*flew like a moth to you - hybrids + cuddling spiderbit fluff <3 Complete, oneshot.

the reason is you - spiderbit wedding!! Complete, oneshot.

mcytblr holiday exchange

so much of the living - spiderbit family fluff (w/richas and pepito). Complete, oneshot.

spiderbit week january 2024 (my spiderbit week :D)

some bright morning comes - spiderbit vow renewal!!! Complete, oneshot.

***push forward push back - spiderbit sparring :DD Complete, oneshot.

nothing more i could ask for - spiderbit family fluff (w/richas and pepito). Complete, oneshot.

it's about spending time together - spiderbit date night! Complete, oneshot.

***i wanna feel your lips on mine - spiderbit weedfic!!!! so much making out :D Complete, oneshot.

*i'll say it a thousand times and every time it gets sweeter - spiderbit being the most obnoxious couple on the island frfr. Complete, oneshot. also written for the qsmp secret valentine event!

just to have you in my arms again - spiderbit reunion (once again) + wearing each others' clothes. Complete, oneshot.

mcytblr valentines exchange!

say it in the seconds - roier writes a list of all the reasons he loves cellbit a pros and cons list of being married to cellbit. Complete, oneshot.

spiderbit week mar 2024

*now you surround me - vampire roier & human cellbit who very much enjoys providing for his husband's needs. Complete, twoshot [chapter 2 was for this event].

your creature in the night - spiderbit fae au, featuring fae!cellbit! Complete, oneshot.

***fall on me like night - cat shifter cellbit + spiderbit fluff + cuddling! Complete, oneshot.

**cutting the strings - post-reset cellbit saving roier and getting rid of doied (aka my idea of where that arc would have gone). Complete, oneshot. If you read any of my works, read this one, it's my pride and joy!

every cut another kiss - purgatory spiderbit again! Complete, oneshot.

every sunrise begins a new day - spiderbit family fluff (w/richas and pepito)! the kids find a gift for pai cellbit :D Complete, oneshot.

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Was reading a Webcomic. Brain made it Techno-centric. I thought I'd share.

Those who serve the God of Light, Exdee, are the chosen. The blessed. The good.

Those who serve the Goddess of Night, Kristin, are devils. Evil. Cruel and uncouthe.

At least, that is what Technoblade was taught.

The nobility is split. Some worship Exdee (as they should) and some serve Kristin (evil). Always at each other's throats, trying to get the other hand to eradicate the other.

Technoblade may only be seven years old but he knew he was a child of night. His aunt and his uncle never let him forget his evil origins. How his mother had staggered onto the County, half mad with delerium, with him swaddled in her arms. How his mother, the Saint of the Church, died because of Technoblade's darkness. How he was a child of a devil and deserved to be destroyed. But because the Count loved his sister, The Saint, he was allowed to live in their home.

Just live. Certainly not comfortable.

Technoblade is isolated his whole life, locked in a singular dingy room with very few people to talk to. Stale bread is usually his only meal. Ragged clothing hanging from his limbs.

He is sad and lonely and the only person he could blame was himself. He was a demon child. A monster. This was better than he deserved.

Sometimes, the voices in his head tried to argue with him about that. They tried to convince him he wasn't worthless.

He ignored them.

One day, his Aunt and his Uncle appear and say they are moving his room. He is put in a lavish bedroom and Technoblade is in awe. The voices in his ears shout warnings. But Technoblade desperately tries to block them out.

The voices change tactics.

They start to predict the things that are happening. They call it when the made spills hot soup on Technoblade's lap "by mistake". They tell Technoblade word for word what his Uncle shouts at him when he stutters over his words. They shout a warning when a plant nearly falls off a shelf and shatters on him.

He is confused. Why are the voices sometimes right and sometimes so very wrong?

One day, his Uncle declares that Technoblade should be washed and that he would attend a party. Technoblade does not like this idea. He likes the quiet.

The voices in his head REALLY don't like this idea. They are louder than they have ever been.

Technoblade struggles against the servants that try to get him clean, his head filled with shouts and warnings. Of a plot. Of poison. Of the start of a war.

Technoblade tries to say no, he won't go. But his Uncle threatens him with a sword, threatening to run him through.

The voices say run.

So he runs.

Technoblade somehow escapes the guards through a small hole in the estate's wall. He runs through the back alleys. He runs past the shops. He runs into a major street.

A large black horse rears in surprise as Technoblade trips and falls in front of it.

Technoblade looks up to see a man with blond hair looming over him, still on the horse. Blue eyes brighter than the sky and subtle slitted pupils.

The man sniffs a moment, before he gets off the horse. He leans down to Technoblade, curious. Technoblade freezes, shocked by both the man and the cheers of voices in his head.

Duke Philza notes that Techno smells like him. Technoblade just stares at him confused. Carefully, Duke Philza picks Technoblade up. Part of Technoblade wants to struggle and run, something deeper wants to cling tightly and never let go.

Technoblade is confused when the latter wins out.

Duke Philza speaks calmly to Techno as he gets back on his horse. Instead of continuing the victory parade in his honor, he turns and leaves to return to his estate.

Those who serve Lady Kristin are not ALL demons, but many of them are. A demon is born from her essence, gifted to the world of mortals to those she is pleased with.

She had always been pleased with Philza. However, someone had stolen his gift before he even knew it existed.

Techno is taken to the Dukedom and is confused by everything. Duke Philza is kind and explains everything gently. When Technoblade explains what happened to him, Philza's expression is still kind, but even Technoblade can see the rage and wrath barely contained.

Not at Technoblade, thank Kristin.

Technoblade opens up about Chat, how they told him the Count was going to use Techno to start a war. To have Techno unknowlingly poison a royal. To pin the blame on the Demon faction.

Philza just holds him tight and tells Techno that he will handle it.

And he DOES handle it. Maybe a little bit too well.

The balance of power shifts. Exdee's followers scramble to undo the damage.

They are snuffed out.

Technoblade doesn't get involved with that. He is too busy being spoiled. And Philza might wash the blood from his fingertips, but Techno knows its there.

He doesn't care. Demons are supposed to be evil? That's fine. If Philza was evil, then Technoblade would embrace it and hold it close.

Just as tightly as Phil's hugs.

Anyway, have a good one! 💚💚💚💚

Aaaaa, tasty, tasty, I hope Techno's 'family' gets their comeuppance hehehehe

[ange1sang]

snail shells

3.3k words, mickey-centric/gallavich

; canon compliant, milkovich family + growing up milkovich, domestic violence/childhood abuse, hurt/comfort, angst, domestic fluff, memories, boys in love, growing up + getting older, trauma, happy ending, puking mentioned in passing

summary: how mickey milkovich goes from crushing snails beneath his boots to peeling them off of his husband's tomato plants.

The earliest memory Mickey has is of his mother screaming. He doesn't remember why she was screaming (though it isn't too hard to guess why) and he barely remembers what her voice sounded like when she spoke anymore, but he remembers her screaming like he was born with the sound engraved in his brain. Something about it makes his skin crawl, because there was never any point in screaming in the Milkovich house – nobody was going to come to your aid, so you either fought back or locked yourself in the bathroom until whoever was after you gave up. Under their roof it was always fight or flight. Freeze would have you beaten half to death and fawn didn't work with people who would happily wear your blood like a glove. Then again, most of his early memories make his skin crawl.

His uncles beating each other till bone cracked, loud and sickening while white trash reality TV droned on in the background. Hiding from a drunk Terry under the bed at his aunt's house when he was a toddler. Holding Mandy in his lap when she was still tiny, sucking on her hair and crying silently for a mommy who wasn't planning on coming home any time soon. Looking at his ears in the mirror, swollen and bruised black and blue, and not understanding why none of the other kids in his class ever looked as dirty or hurt as him. There are few memories from his childhood that don't involve grime or alcohol or injury, almost everything from that period overshadowed by the primal need to survive in a world that could've cared less if he made it to his next birthday. And even the handful of memories that aren't smeared with blood are coated in something bitter and sour and ugly.

Like when he was six years old and staying at his aunt's with Mandy, courtesy of a broken nose he'd gotten when one of his older cousins had shoved him out of the way without looking and he'd landed face first on the kitchen table. He remembers being mean and sharp even back then, because he had to be. To be soft meant being crushed beneath other's heels, and he couldn't afford to be crushed. Not now that he had Mandy to look out for – Mandy who was just a year younger than him but still younger, still a girl with pudgy cheeks and a bottom lip that quivered when their dad yelled. Still his little sister, living in a house full of burly, drunk men.

At his aunt's, though, he could afford to lose some of his mean edge. He could giggle at the cartoons on the TV without being told to shut up and could tug on his aunt's sleeve when he was hungry or thirsty without recoiling in fear of being smacked upside the head. He didn't have to survive in the same way that he did at home, which is why he found himself sitting on the porch watching snails and slugs trail slime on the concrete while rain pitter-pattered onto the steps.

Back at home he liked to kill insects, liked to swat at them with his hands or drown them in the kitchen sink, thought it was funny how their spindly legs flailed and their bodies squished under his thumb. Here he liked to just watch them, grubby fingers curled around his throbbing nose while he absentmindedly picked at the thick scab on the bridge of it. He liked the pattern on the snails' shells, liked how their eyes stuck out of their heads and moved around in the air. He was fascinated by how slowly they moved. At home he was always running – running to get out, running to dodge a fist – and at school he was always running too, getting away from teachers before he got caught pulling another kid's hair or slamming their arm with a locker door. He never got to move as calmly as the snails did, drag on the pavement like he had all the time in the world. He sat for what felt like hours and watched the snails with wide, envious eyes, flicking bits of bloody scab and skin onto the ground below him.

There was one snail, smaller than the others with a pinkish brown shell, that was moving particularly slowly. While the others carried on on their paths to nowhere in particular this one stopped every now and then, eyes waving around like it was trying to talk to Mickey. He reached out to poke it with a bloody finger, giggling when its eyes curled back into its body. If he didn't know better he would've picked it up and taken it inside, put it on the living room floor and watched to see if it would eat any of their Pop-Tart and cornflake crumbs. But his aunt wouldn't like that, so he stayed outside with it, waiting patiently for it to reach the edge of the porch and disappear into the grass.

He was so focused on the snail and the trail of slime it was leaving behind that he didn't notice Iggy stomping up the steps towards him, at least not until he stepped right on the snail, crushing its patterned shell beneath his heavy hand-me-down boot, hanging from his foot like a clown shoe.

"Iggy!" he yelled, eyes filling with angry tears, but it was too late. The other boy lifted his shoe and the snail was nothing but a pancake of slime and smashed up shell. It was never going to reach the grass now.

"C'mon, Joey's gonna get us KitKats from the Kash 'n Grab," Iggy said, all toothy grin and snotty nose. He didn't notice that he'd just stepped on the snail that Mickey had been watching all afternoon. Mickey wanted to run back inside and sit with Mandy and cry, because she was the only one who didn't mind if he cried. But he knew better than to do something like that, knew better than to wear his heart on his sleeve even if he was too little to know what was making his heart was twist and ache in his chest. He punched Iggy in the shoulder, narrowly escaping a punch back.

"Fuck you," he barked, barely knowing the meaning of the words but knowing that they were always appropriate in their family. As they raced each other to the corner store, kicking rocks at each other and yelling curse words back and forth, he could've sworn with each footstep he felt a snail shell cracking beneath the soles of his busted up shoes.

The only real rays of sunshine that broke through the clouds of growing up Milkovich appeared when he turned fifteen years old. Smoking outside of the Kash and Grab, bruised and filthy thanks to Terry and their overdue water bills, he spotted a new face among the shelves of the cornerstore. The redheaded Gallagher kid was in there, stacking cans of soup, freckled face laughing at something a customer was telling him, and Mickey felt his heart swell in a dangerous, nauseating way.

He wanted to crush the Gallagher kid then and there, enraged by the warm feeling in his chest. At the same time he wanted to stand there and watch him until the store closed, wanted to watch him meandering about those shelves in no rush at all, moving slow like the snails did outside of his aunt's house years ago, when he was still small enough to run from home calling for help. In the end he did neither of those things. He threw his half-smoked cigarette to the ground and stomped it out, even though he'd never cared about doing anything like that before, if only to feel something give out beneath his foot. It didn't get rid of the mushy feeling in his chest at all.

He quickly learned that there was almost nothing he could do to get rid of that mushy feeling he got around the ginger Gallagher. It didn't help when he beat on Kash or stole things from the corner store when he knew Gallagher would see him. It didn't help when he stayed past closing and caught Gallagher on his tiptoes kissing his boss, and it certainly didn't help when Mandy came home crying that Ian Gallagher (the redhead had a first name now – Ian) had groped her. So Mickey did the only thing he knew how to do. He beat up Kash and he beat up Lip, every punch and kick bringing with it a fiery dissatisfaction. Nothing he did would get rid of the stupid somersaults his heart kept doing every time someone mentioned the Gallagher kid, every time he walked past the blue house on North Wallace, every time he and his cousins went down to the Kash and Grab to snatch something to eat before their stomachs started growling again.

And then he beat up Ian. Or at least, he tried to.

One second he'd been sleeping and the next Ian Gallagher's head was between his thighs, pressed down into his worn, soiled mattress. And Ian was blinking up at him, bracing himself for a crowbar to the head. He blinked slow, his eyes muddy green-blue like rain pitter-pattering on snail slime. He was breathing heavy. There was a bruise forming on his cheekbone already, underneath his freckles. He had a lot of freckles, Mickey thought to himself. Way more now that he could see him up close. And just like that the mushy feeling eased up, turned into something he could hold. Something more scary than it used to be, but also more tolerable.

Mickey liked Ian. He liked Ian a lot. Liked his sideways, crooked smile and how he saw the good in everybody all the time. He liked how good he was to Mandy, liked how he took cigarettes from between Mickey's fingers like it was nothing so that they could share, liked the way his muscles moved beneath his skin and how warm his blood ran, his touch always searing Mickey's skin like he was branding his palm print into the space between Mickey's shoulderblades. He was sweet like orange soda, sarcastic and quick like a butterfly knife. He was soft where Mickey was sharp, and while that would've scared Mickey when he was fifteen by the time he was seventeen all it did was make his heart jump and his cheeks burn. That might've been why he let his guard down.

Rays of sunshine turned to dark, thick clouds quicker than Mickey ever could've anticipated. All it took was one poorly timed afternoon, one unlocked door, Ian's hands on his shoulders and a Russian hooker who would come to know him better than most people he'd ever meet.

In that one afternoon it became clear that those soft edges he loved on Ian had rubbed off on him, and all they had done was make it easier for Terry to dig his teeth deeper into the parts of him that mattered. All of the things he liked about Ian translated to nothing more than vulnerability in the end. Mickey wanted to hate him for it. It would've made his life easier, to shut out the reason he'd turned so soft. But all he did was hate himself.

The years he'd spent growing out of his bony elbows and teary eyes were thrown out of the window like they meant nothing after that afternoon. He was just a kid again, locked out of the house and dizzy from a too-hard smack to the head, but now he couldn't run crying to his aunt or hide out in the bathroom until Terry forgot about him. Terry wasn't ever going to forget, and if Mickey wasn't careful he'd get himself killed. Or worse, he'd get Ian killed.

Ian, his sister's best friend who never knew when to shut up about his fucking feelings. Ian who always smiled at him like they'd never done anything wrong in their whole shitty, South Side lives. Ian, who still made his heart squeeze and flip-flop even after Terry tried to pistol-whip that feeling out of him. Ian, bruised and bleeding on the ground telling Mickey to admit he was gay. Pleading for him to admit it just this once, pleading even after taking a fist to the stomach.

"Feel better now?" he asked, bleeding where Mickey's fist had broken the skin on his forehead. "Feel like a man?"

Mickey wanted to scream. Scream because nothing was going to make him feel better. Scream because Terry was always going to ruin anything his kids could get their hands on, and because he was stupid to think he could've held Ian without hurting him in the process. He wasn't sure that those were the words that would come out if he opened his mouth though. He was terrified on his own tongue and lips, terrified that they'd tell Ian something else, something fleshy and fragile instead. Something that could bleed.

His boot made a nauseating sound when it hit the side of Ian's head, blood flying across the gravel beneath them. A sound Mickey knew well from the Milkovich house. All of the warmth in his chest turned sour, rising in his throat like acid.

"I feel better now," he taunted as he walked away, his throat straining around the lie. Thunder rumbled loud in Mickey's ears, sounding an awful lot like his own racing, mangled heart.

He didn't turn back to look at Ian, didn't want to see his lips slick with blood instead of spit, didn't want to see the damage he'd done and how similar it looked to the kind of damage his father was so good at leaving behind. He wasn't ten steps away when he felt the crush beneath one of his shoes, the same one he'd kicked Ian with. A snail shell, turned to mush beneath his muddy, bloody sole. Everything in him screamed to stop and look, look at the life he'd destroyed with just one step. But he didn't. He couldn't, not without seeing himself in the shiny, sharp shell fragments.

He kicked off his shoes when he got home and locked himself in his room with a bottle of vodka. It didn't help. He could still feel the snail stuck to the bottom of his foot, broken and dead. He swallowed a mouthful of liquor and puked it right back up into his laundry basket. Ian's blood was on his knuckles when wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He could taste it as he sucked on his bottom lip like a teething kid.

He was a Milkovich through and through. He was just like Terry.

That feeling stuck around for far longer than he'd expected it to. Even after Ian came back to him, Mickey could feel it beneath his skin, sick and unclean. Each time he and Ian bickered, each time the redhead's muddy eyes turned sad, Mickey felt that snail's shell giving way beneath his foot. He was going to crush him again. The only boy he'd ever liked, let alone loved. Whether or not he wanted to he was going to dig his teeth into his soft spots and draw blood and hurt him. He was sure of it. And yet, he never did.

When Ian cried now Mickey didn't make it worse. He didn't make him bleed or bruise. He dried his cheeks and kissed his forehead, thumbs always hesitant, always scared that he was going to do what he'd been raised to do. And all Ian did was lean his face further into Mickey's touch, trusting him over and over again not to pull him limb from limb. Love was made up of a lot of that, Mickey eventually learned. Trusting, again and again and again. Trusting Ian not to drop his hand when things went awry. Trusting himself not to aim for the jugular when he felt vulnerable. Trusting the Gallaghers not to turn into Milkoviches when they'd had one too many drinks. Trusting as many people as he could, as often as he could, because even if his first memory was of his mother screaming there were better memories to be made. Better memories to build his life out of now.

Like how the morning light fills his and Ian's bedroom in their apartment on the West Side. Orange and warm, filtering through the gaps through their curtains and illuminating the freckles on Ian's chest. Most days Ian is awake before him, but on the days that he isn't Mickey gets to watch his husband sleeping, count every breath and every freckle if he wants to.

The first thing Ian does when he wakes up is smile. He's always been smiley, even when they were fucking in the back of a corner store and Mickey smelled like cow shit, but Mickey still hasn't gotten used to the butterflies it gives him, the way it eases the weight of the world on his shoulders. Then he kisses Mickey, like it's the easiest thing in the world, like they didn't fight tooth and nail for ten years to be able to do it. Then, he goes out onto their balcony and checks on the plants he's been growing.

He's always been gentler than most people, vulnerable and trusting in a way that reminds Mickey of Mandy and in a way that he sees in Debbie everyday. Mickey's always known this, but seeing how Ian handles fragile leaves and stems between his big fingers reminds him again that he's married to somebody soft. Somebody fleshy, who bleeds just like him.

Most of the time Mickey just watches him garden from afar, not interfering with the plants he knows nothing about, but every now and then he spots a bug crawling along a stem and he kneels down beside Ian to flick it away, watching with a smile as it scrambles to find its footing again. On even rarer occasions, he spots a snail gliding along the leaves of one of the plants, usually after a night of rain. He's always confused as to how they get up to their balcony, especially with how slowly they move, and he's always fascinated by the glistening trail of slime they leave behind. He guesses he'll always be that hurt little kid sitting on his aunt's porch, cradling his broken nose and waiting for the small snail with the pinkish brown shell to make it to the safety of the tall, untended grass.

He also knows that he's older now, that he doesn't have to watch somebody crush the snail with their big hand-me-down boots and that he isn't going to misstep and kill it by mistake, leaving behind a pancake of shell and flesh and slime. Now he gets to reach out and pick up the snail by its shell, snorting when its eyes recoil into its body, and carefully set it aside onto the wall of their building. He waits to make sure its got a grip on the wall before he lets go, and watches it slowly (so, so slowly) begin to make its way to a different destination.

When he turns around Ian is watching him with a fond smile that makes Mickey's ears burn.

"What're you lookin' at?" he asks, all faux-defensiveness as the mushy feeling he's known since he was fifteen fills his chest. Ian nearly always replies in the same way, just as enamored every time.

"My husband," he says, grinning at Mickey.

It's a simple memory, one that's taken place enough times that it should be mundane by now. It's still one of Mickey's favourite memories, one that overshadows all of the bitter and sour and ugly ones from his childhood. He kisses Ian, like it's the easiest thing in the world. Like they didn't fight tooth and nail for ten years to be able to do it, because everything he's been through was worth it in the end.

[muffant]

I got an adorable idea!

What if the animatronics in security breach played D&D! Now I'm not talking about the characters inside a fantasy realm I'm thinking what if a person left a players hand book at the pizza Plex and the gang devoured that shit up!

Id like to think Freddy would be a support roll, more the type to help the party indirectly. He feels like the most inclined to spell casting. Id put him as the type to do Wizard, Cleric, Paladin, or even Druid! Id say hed likely stick to the races in the players hand book, probably a human main. He's very into playing a character, even if that character is the same sweet person each time.

Chica is your major roleplay player, she would be all about getting into the mind of her character and really selling it. She plays any race, and class, and often is the one to pick her class race combo last so she has something to go off of, as a challenge. When she does choose you know my girl is Bard all the way. She's also the only one to actually read the history of the races and really get into the D&d lore.

Roxy likes playing a modified monk, (in fact as a over all rule they play with a lot of table rules!) or a rogue, she usually doesnt pick any other class, as well as loving being an elf. She's a little less on the roleplay side (but can't help but bounce off of the others when needed) she's more of a combat centric player. She loves winning encounters, loving puzzles, anything. She's likely to be the one min maxing her character. Which has lead to some fun experiences when Chica asks about how she became a Cleric, Paladin, Druid multi class.

Monty is exclusively a fighter dragonborn. He loves being allowed to smash shit up and have no *real* repercussions. However he's not actually combat driven, he's a roleplay player similar to Chica, only he expresses he can make 101 characters with out needing to change the mechanics of said character. It's scary how calm Monty can be when he's in the role. (Said calmness started to carry over to work life too!) That doesn't stop a burst or two which thankfully only results in a pouty gator. Monty loves exploring the worlds, it's his favourite thing. To picture landscapes and worlds completely different from his own. And then be able to interact with those worlds.

Sun and Moon are the DMs! Sun is a story focused DM, he loves crafting a narrative, playing NPCs, and developing the world's of his story. He's the one usually in the spot light for a majority of the time. The rest of the time is Moon. Moon is a challenge focus dm. He loves crafting riddles, puzzles, combats, and difficult choices at the party. When ever it's moons turn to take over the table all the lights go out and dark red ambient lighting fills the room. Moons challenges are to be feared as Moon takes death in the game as a real and possible thing. While Sun tries to avoid it happening all together. Funnily enough Moon doesn't like improf, he has his encounters planned almost to the T, including alternative paths the party takes, INCLUDING DEATH OUTCOMES. He is meticulous. Sun on the other hand has a half ass idea of what the session will be about related to the over arching story, have a few bullet points of required information, a few bullet points of optional information and just goes from there. He has a party who eagerly love to make their own decisions and discuss where to go and what to do.

I like to imagine that while one is running the work for the day, the other is planning out their portion of the session, always able to communicate and keep track of details together. While Sun is playing Moon is taking notes, more for himself really.

They play once a week on Sundays, seeing as that's their only day off. They play 6 hour sessions usually and go on many tangents. But they enjoy playing so much, after all its the closest thing they get to freedom.

Edit: I FORGOT DJ!!! Of course he would be allowed to play!! And the little DJ dudes too idk what their called. DJ seems like the kind of player to sit back and watch everything happen, communication is a bit hard but he's still included. I think he would play a bard (very classic) just so he could have an excuse to play sound boards during the game. Speaking of which they definitely play games in the west arcade, with DJ helping set the ambience with music and sound effects. I like to think he secretly downloaded files like leaves russling to add to it. DJ likes to work on theme songs for each character. He simply enjoys being included even if it's limited.

[ziracona]

Your're spot on. They're so holier than thou that they legitimitely think that in they would NEVER commit a violent act in that situation despite never having been in such a desperate situation. The funny thing is that they're no better than you or I even if they love to act like they're above it all.

Yeah! It’s not even a ‘we all make bad decisions’ it’s a ‘genuinely some times you have to do extreme things for good’. It’s the Deacon St John “Alright, you know what? You might not like it, but the world is what it is. Yeah, it is. Prayin ain’t gonna change that. Wishing that it was something else? Ain’t gonna make it that way!” - Clementine “It takes more than words! You can’t just talk people into being peaceful. You think I don’t want a life like that for AJ? For myself? God, I’d love to live in a world where I didn't have to worry about killing or dying, but that’s just not how things fucking work!” It’s absolutely true that under any kind of pressure, people who’ve never actually had to practice making hard choices will not be saints and will in fact routinely handle it worse, but it’s also true that inaction can be just as bad or worse than action. Ignoring that, and worse, judging or hurting others for their understanding the world /does/ require action, and sometimes extreme or unpleasant action, is a vile thing that in turn actually causes a lot of harm.

They’re not just wrong about what they do and would do, they’re wrong about how the world works on a fundamental level, and hypocritical and pretentious about it. Sneering at someone who’s lived in life or death struggle making choices you’ve never even had to think about isn’t just not your place, it turns you into one of the aggressors they’re pushing back against. If you’re calmly sitting at a table watching someone on the floor getting the shit beat out of them every night, snacking on pretzels while you tell them they should try to understand the emotions of the person slowly killing them, or reason with them, or that even if this is extreme, you can understand why the aggressor is mad and maybe if you didn’t piss them off, or hid the behavior they don’t like better, or acted better, they’d quit beating the shit out of you? You’re not an innocent third party or a mediator. You’ve chosen a side, and it’s the aggressor. You’re an enabler. Your inaction when you should act immediately shows passive support, and your blaming and placing the weight of change on the victim even in extremes shows how deeply and commits you to chasing harm side by side with them. You support the aggressor. Sometimes, there can be no middle ground, and trying to stand between someone trying to destroy the lives of others just because they exist, and people fighting back to survive, to suggest they should reach a common ground between those two points, or that hitting back when you’re hit makes you just as bad as your attacker, and it’s better to suffer, even if you’ve got some genius plan to cut out half the suffering so it’s only half the abuse? That makes you one of the people demanding oppression be accepted and submitted to. You just feel self-righteous about it. And suggesting there’s some secret pacifist way to talk someone who wants you dead into letting you live your dream life? That still makes you a staunch supporter of the agenda of the aggressor, because you’re still a person standing against anyone standing up to them; you’re just an utterly delusional one.

People are so quick to justify their own actions, and so insanely unwilling to even consider maybe they can’t be the supreme understander of what’s right when it comes go people reacting to a lifetime of pain and aggression and fear they have no idea what it feels like to live under the pressure and choices of every day of their life, and they have no right to police every decision made by people who have to live with the consequences for them and theirs of action and inaction both, for every waking minute for the rest of their time on this planet.

[just-null-cult]

the way you drew kokichi .. i think im ascending to the heavens .. i see the light .. chest collapsing .. heartbeat flatlining ..

oho, a Kokichi enjoyer!! tysm!! it was my first time drawing him at the time so im glad i didnt fail him. i dont want to fail any of the kyoto group. i love them all!! even w my clear favoritism

he's nice too, a bit more expressive than Noritoshi so i can finally draw something that isnt :| or >:( even if it isnt by much- i like him too

I like how he's both a dick but also kinda sweet. He's a different flavor of tsun... i can use this. my knowledge on him is limited but FROM WHAT I SAW IN THE WIKI OH MY GOD???????? OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!! KOKICHI!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[lovingherwasgay]

the shipwreck will last 3 episodes. buddienation how are we feeling about that knowing what happens every third episode of the season regarding buddie + chris as a family.

[bearimba]

Johto Culture/Worldbuilding Headcanons

Since the New Bark Town kids are out of the way, I figured I'd do some basic worldbuilding stuff before we start covering more characters. There's more I'll cover later on, but to start off with, let's go over the general culture of Johto!

As a whole, the people of Johto lean towards more "traditional" values such as putting family first, a sense of obligation towards their communities (national pride/patriotism is very strong in older populations), an emphasis on respect towards elders, etc.

That being said, Johtonians are also very private---typically, what happens behind closed doors stays behind there for better or for worse. That doesn't mean people aren't extremely nosy, just that they wouldn't actively disrupt the public peace with their gossip.

Joint families are the most common form of family unit, though nuclear families have become more prevalent in cities such as Goldenrod due to limited living space. Houses tend to consist of one main living space (usually living room/kitchen/dining room combined) with bedrooms and bathrooms accessed through either a side hallway or a second floor. Sometimes (usually in downtown areas), a family business may be on the first floor while living/private spaces will be located on the second floor.

Similarly to Sinnoh, Johto's history is considered very important and conservation efforts are taken very seriously across the region. However, those efforts are mostly aimed towards preserving current knowledge instead of actively discovering the past, meaning there is still information that gets forgotten and lost to time.

Due to this (and also partially because of the burning of Brass Tower), Ho-Oh receives much more reverence than Lugia. Before, they were considered the twin guardians of the region and protected the balance between people and pokemon, but now, Ho-Oh has been deified while Lugia is sidelined and nearly forgotten.

Johtonians have a very distinct accent, mostly since they're a bit more secluded compared to other regions. Goldenrod and Saffron City have a stronger mix of Johtonian and Kantonian accents mostly due to tourists and commuting workers on the Magnet Train.

Johto exports a large amount of artisanal and handmade goods, especially woodcrafts such as cabinets or other large furniture (it's much more heavily wooded compared to other regions), but the region also has a very successful maritime industry that could almost rival Hoenn's.

Johtonians receive their ID card on their 13th birthday. At that point, they may opt in to take the gym challenge. If they do, they will receive a trainer card that contains information pertinent to the gym challenge on the back, which is then updated with every gym the trainer beats. They will keep the same ID their entire life regardless of whether they complete the challenge.

On a similar note, the age of majority is 20, which is a bit older than most other regions (Sinnoh/Kanto are 18, Hoenn is 17, etc etc.)

Children typically get their first pokemon (also referred to as their starter pokemon) at a very early age. This is to help teach them responsibility and respect for pokemon, and it provides them protection when they're unsupervised.

Public schooling is free up to 13 years age, at which point they can choose to pay to go to a private school, take a break to go on a pokémon journey and take on the gym challenge, or quit altogether.

Far more often than not, children will take about a year to go on their journey and then go back to school. Upon their return, they generally have the option to skip certain classes (both the ones they missed and future classes) if they're able to put together a decent report detailing their experiences and what they learned on their journey.

Nontraditional scenarios include students returning from their journey earlier or later than a year, students going on their journey and not returning to school, or going on their journey/dropping out of school at older than 13 years (there is technically no upper age limit at which the gym challenge can be started).

Crime rates are pretty low (especially major crimes such as assault, burglary, kidnapping etc.), which is part of the reason why children are allowed to roam the region unsupervised. This is mostly due to heavy restrictions on which/how many pokemon are legal to own, with and without certain permits. Additionally, the maximum number of occupied pokeballs a person is allowed to carry at once is six, although the average person will own at most three pokemon. Such laws are common in other regions, but Johto is more strict about their regulations.

Additionally, since taking care of children is often a community undertaking ("it takes a village to raise a child"), many adults will keep a close eye on nearby kids and keep them out of trouble regardless of whether they're related.

Since traveling trainers can’t hold down a steady job, a common way to earn money is just to pop into local businesses and ask if they need help. It’s not guaranteed to work, but most businesses will either find something small for them to do or recommend a different business to ask.

Pokemon centers will often allow trainers to sleep overnight in the lobby, though it's frowned upon to stick around for more than a day or two---camping outside or getting a room at an inn is better for longer stays.

Also, because pokemon centers are so widespread and well-recognized, they're often used as a meeting spot for social gatherings (though again, loitering inside isn't welcome. it's like meeting up with friends in a hospital lobby). As a result, many businesses---mainly third spaces such as restaurants and recreational spots---will compete to establish themselves as close to pokemon centers as they can.

Live performance tends to be the most popular form of entertainment across the region, including traditional/ceremonial productions, theater, and music. Historical enactments are also very popular during festivals. This is in part because oral storytelling used to be the region's main form of chronicling its history. (There are a few exceptions, such as the Dragon's Den containing extensive records of the Dragon Tamers and the local area, but unfortunately, access to those records is generally very limited.)

[silver-queen]

Happy pride. As much as i do care about queer history i find it disheartening how much of it is focused on the US. There's so much post about "young queer have no idea about their history" and i can only think about the only thing i can read up on is about american queer history because mine is so outlawed here

[pinacoladamatata]

the way some people are acting about larian saying "no bg4 from us and no dlc" you would think they killed the bg3 characters where they stand and made it so you can't play bg3 anymore

[mudefrau]

every time i find a (typically more recent) YA/fantasy series that turns out to have an abundant dedicated fandom writing long essays, fics and pumping out amazing fanart on the daily, with those posts averaging 200-400+ notes-1K+ for fanart, i get a bit sad and jealous that maguire isn't achieving this despite all the exposure (musical, upcoming movie, being based on the american cultural staple that is wizard of oz)

what went wrong with the wicked years? can't be only the feline sex parts 😩

[andr0nap]

(good taste anon) Oh I'm just a silly furry with thoughts I cannot form into proper ideas/questions about centaur Triguns now! Anything you have to say on it sustains me lol. (And knowing whether or not you like receiving fanfic inspired by your stuff would be nice to know, should thoughts take a more solid form.)

im 100% okay with people taking inspo from my aus to write fanfics!! thank you for asking :3

[chromotps]

sorry definitely not thinking, again, about portgas d. "for his whole life simply wanted to be loved" ace, dying in an embrace

[raayllum]

thinking about Viren going from "You're going to be okay, that's all that matters" in the 5x03 'flashbacks' to "But Dad, Soren could've died!" "That doesn't matter!" in 3x03 because he lost sight of who he wanted to protect his world for / started valuing the world too heavily over his loved ones and like... why do people want Callum to repeat that part of his path when there's nothing that indicates it, lmao

[volivolition]

Is the Wip game finished? Can I still ask for stuff? If I still can, can I get a snippet from the one that give me the most rot (meet the parts)? If no, then I'm just swinging by to say hi how are you doing? <3

HI RED!! thank you for swinging by, im doing better than earlier!! my ear is getting better and im eating pizza :]!

okay so TECHNICALLY it's no longer wednesday, but i LOVE spoiling my fics so of COURSE you can have a snippet from Meet the Parts hkjh <33 you are always free to ask anytime, i will always be happy to share bits of my stories <3 AND SINCE THERE'S NO RULES I CAN SHARE MORE THAN THREE LINES!! here's like, a whole React Speed thing i just wrote :]

LOGIC – Along with Coach and Sparks – Flighty and Fingers too, I suppose – they're why you have trouble sitting still for long periods of time. The attention deficiency disorder... Or are they exacerbated by it? I still haven't figured out which is the cause and which is the effect...

REACTION SPEED – Point is, we got zoomies! Can't sit still. Always more to do, more to see, more to say.

YOU – "Are you why my leg is always-"

REACTION SPEED – Bouncing, yep! Fingers tapping, hands flapping, feet moving, words flying- hey, if you had wings like me, we'd never be touching ground.

YOU – "You have wings?"

KIM KITSURAGI – He jots this down with an interested hum.

REACTION SPEED – Yes! Books, what- which animal–

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] – You have the hovering wing type of trochilidae – hummingbirds, colloquially – with their ability to rotate their wingspan at the shoulder and elbow joints to create maximum lift. However, though you exhibit some iridescent feathers associated with the birds, your wings also connect to membranes, which share the Voronoi tessellation of the species anisoptera, the common dragonfly.

REACTION SPEED - Yeah, exactly! I'm a hummingbird and a dragonfly. Both of 'em. :)