#how easy you are to need

[delimeful]

how easy you are to need (redux) (6)

warnings: PTSD, misunderstandings, panic attack/anxiety spiral, MASSIVE miscommunication moment this chapter, brief mentions of past death, lmk if im missing any!

-

Despite having every intention of plotting escape, Virgil found himself spending the bulk of the next few days sound asleep.

He’d suspected foul play, something slipped into the meals that they kept freely giving him, but there was nothing unnatural or forced about his rest.

His body and mind had been pushed to their limits, and he was simply exhausted.

The humans did their best not to disturb him, but he was restless, his mind always registering the wrongness of his surroundings and trying to drag him back into consciousness. He woke the moment one of them stepped into the room, no matter how brief or silent the intrusion.

He didn’t open his eyes or twitch when this happened, morbidly curious to see how they would behave if they thought he wasn’t aware and watching their every move. He laid there with his heart racing, listening keenly to catch the muffled steps and soft breathing, waiting for the inevitable moment that one of them approached.

They never did.

When he wasn’t sleeping, the humans held meals with him. Unperturbed by his stubborn silence, they would chatter on just as much as they had back when he’d taken refuge under their floorboards, the thread of conversation frequently derailed by quips and rambling anecdotes.

He thought he had figured it out after that first night, between the food he’d assumed was drugged and the sting of the silverware in his grip— not pure silver, but close enough to burn.

But he’d only felt more and more clear-headed as time passed, and the moment one of them had noticed his fingers spasming around a fork, they’d all kicked up a fuss and instantly swapped the silver utensils out for carefully carved wooden ones.

As though that wasn’t enough, Logan continued to check on his wounds with precise regularity, and despite the fear that rose in Virgil whenever the scent of medical supplies filled the air, the human never took so much as a hair from his head.

His care seemed designed to be as painless as possible, from the way he carefully instructed Virgil through each step of administering treatment to the damp, oven-warm cloth he would press against bandages to keep scabs from tearing free when the padding was changed.

It was bizarre, and Virgil didn’t know how to handle it.

He could see why they would want to keep his wounds clean and uninfected. It made sense; they wanted him all healed up by the full moon, not sickly and delirious in the grips of a fever.

That didn’t explain the rest of it. The meals, the sleep, the way they listened.

The way restraints still hadn’t appeared, even as he slowly but surely regained his strength.

They might have called his bluff, somehow realized that he was too weak (too attached) to turn his teeth against them, but any hunter worth their blade knew better than to rely on such an uncertain assumption.

Especially not when he could potentially do so much damage, placed in the soft, unguarded center of their home.

There was nothing to gain. His body would serve its purpose to them whether it had spent the last few weeks on a silk cushion or a stone cell floor. Why would they risk it?

Once he’d successfully spent most of the day awake, and even shuffled through the house without tearing any stitches, they seemed to deem him well enough to hold a coherent conversation.

(He’d actually been trying to count all the potential exits, maybe even see what sort of lodestone Logan was using for the ward. When Patton had caught him slinking around, he hadn’t seemed suspicious or angry at all, only overwhelmingly enthusiastic about his health improving.

He also hadn’t seemed at all wary about stumbling upon the unrestrained captive that had taken him hostage the last time they were alone, because of course he hadn’t. How had these idiots even survived this long?)

“Did you like the meatloaf?” Patton asked him, over halfway through his own meal. The three of them tended to occasionally neglect their dishes in favor of rambling conversation or spirited arguments, so Virgil was almost always done well before them.

They also tended to not ask him such direct questions, and Virgil blinked in silent surprise for a moment, waiting for him to realize his mistake.

Instead, Patton let the silence stretch, unperturbed, for long enough that Virgil finally gave a half-hearted shrug.

“His plate speaks for itself, does it not?” Roman jumped in eagerly, tilting his head towards the empty space where the meatloaf had– very briefly– sat.

Virgil resisted the urge to snort, shifting in mild discomfort at becoming the topic of conversation. They could have put basically anything edible on his plate and gotten the same result. He knew better than to turn down food.

“Dishware can’t speak,” Logan informed him blandly. “Or consume and judge the quality of food, for that matter.”

Virgil felt a flare of amusement at the look on Roman’s face, and the words slipped out without thought. “He’s got you there.”

Three pairs of eyes flicked over at the barely-audible statement, and he only barely resisted the urge to shrink back. Surprisingly, none of them seemed mad, although Roman was visibly torn between surprised delight and dismay.

“Well, I thought it was just loaf-ly,” said Patton, because he was the funniest one there. Virgil’s lips twitched as Roman settled fully into dismay with a groan.

“Must you mock me?” Logan asked with a longsuffering air.

“Your recipe was delicious!” Patton continued. “I’d love to meat the ones who made it!”

Roman groaned louder.

“You’ve already met my family?” Logan replied, confused. “My mother– ah. You were engaging in more juvenile wordplay. More the fool I.”

“I pan do this all day!” Patton paused, and then shrugged. “That one would have worked better if it was still in the baking pan.”

Roman cleared his throat.

“Wow, Specs, I didn’t know this was your family’s recipe,” he said, his words just a little too over-exaggerated. “Are they going to come to visit any time soon?”

Virgil kept his gaze on his cleared plate, trying to force down the sickening lurch in his stomach. More humans. Just what he needed.

Logan hummed. “At this point in the season, I imagine they’re very busy with the farm. If they do decide to visit, they will let me know well in advance. And yours?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a letter.” Roman’s expression soured. “Not that it matters. If he decides to visit, he’ll let me know about five seconds before he kicks the door in. Probably by screaming at the top of his lungs.”

Despite all the irritation in his expression, there was worry hidden there, too. Virgil was also feeling worried, admittedly for entirely different reasons.

(For some people, hunting was the sort of thing that ran in the family.)

“At least his visits are always… exciting!” Patton tried, sounding a little uncertain himself. “What about you, Mister Wolf?”

The words registered a beat late, and Virgil’s head jerked up enough to see that they were all looking at him, again. “What?”

“I know you’ll only be here for a little bit, but I know I always worry when my loved ones are injured, especially if I can’t be by their side,” Patton elaborated. “Should we be on the lookout for any potential visitors?”

Understanding hit Virgil like a fever, his blood running cold for a moment before spiking into an unbearable furious heat.

So that was why. He should have known.

“You won’t find anyone out there,” he forced through grit teeth. A low growl had started vibrating in his chest, and he relished in the way the three of them went taut at the noise. “There’s no one to find. If there was, I would never give them up. No matter what.”

Maybe he should have lied, pretended that there was a reason for them to keep treating him with this targeted kindness. Lead them on with stories about a pack that didn’t actually exist, make them believe he was nothing more than a naive idiot, act as though he didn’t have a single clue as to what they were trying to do. It would probably have made escaping easier.

It didn’t matter. Anger had overtaken fear, sharp and fire-bright, and now all he wanted to do was burn. They could do whatever they wanted to him, use the stick now that the carrot had so miserably failed, and it still wouldn’t ever be enough to make him give up a pack. Not to a fate as cruel as this.

Movement caught his eye, and his head snapped up with teeth bared, a snarl at the tip of his tongue as he braced for an attack–

The humans had retreated.

“We’ll leave you be,” Logan said, and Virgil realized that at some point, he’d corralled the other two out of the room and into the hall; he could see Patton’s arm around Roman’s shoulder, the two of them casting worried looks back as they shuffled away. “We didn’t mean any offense. Please call on me if you need anything.”

When Virgil only stared, his growl still rumbling from deep within him, Logan nodded once and slid the divider door into place, his footsteps retreating shortly after.

The dishes had been left where they were. Virgil’s plate was shattered, the ceramic pieces laying heavy on his lap. It was quiet.

They’d left him alone. By now, they had to know baiting him wouldn’t work. And still, they’d given him space, backed off instead of pushing on with other, more painful tactics. It didn’t make any sense.

Unless they had some other way of getting what they wanted.

Virgil curled in on himself, his growl cutting off as panic doused him. Logan knew enough about spellcraft to make potions, to set wards, to locate leylines. If they knew something Virgil didn’t, if they knew enough about magic to twist it to their own ends, and if they knew a way to find other wolves through him without his participation– if they knew about packbonds, and had a way to reveal his…

So what? He didn’t have a pack, not anymore. He didn’t have a pack. He didn’t, except.

Did any packbond count? Even ones that had only existed for a day?

The thought sent icy nausea through him, and he gripped a shard of the ceramic hard enough to break skin, his breath coming too-quick and catching in his throat.

No, no, no. He couldn’t panic. He couldn’t afford to pass out, not when he didn’t know what they might do to him while he was under. Who they might find.

Unfortunately, knowing he had to stop panicking and actually calming down were two entirely different things.

Black spots dotted his vision, and he passed out between one frantic inhale and the next.

—

He woke to something touching his shoulder, and ingrained reflexes had him snapping a hand out, lips curling up to bare teeth.

“Oh!” a voice exclaimed quietly, and Virgil froze.

It took a few blinks to make out Patton’s form in the dark. He had the human by the wrist, his claws pricking at skin, but he seemed more sheepish than anything.

There was a blanket slipping off his shoulder, one that hadn’t been there before.

The sight of it sent a miserable curl of guilt through him, one that was quickly dampened by the memory of what had happened before he’d passed out.

His hand sprang open as he scanned the room for the other two, desperately straining his senses for any trace of magecraft that had been performed on his person, only to come up empty on both counts.

It was only Patton, standing there in the dark with his hands clasped tightly.

There was a beat of silence, in which all he could think about was that one ephemeral, damning packbond, and everything he’d do to keep it undiscovered.

If he could just convince them to settle for one. For him. He could behave, he would swear it, he would beg–

“I’m sorry,” Patton said, which was so surprising that it practically stole the voice from his throat. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, asking that sort of thing at dinner.”

‘Didn’t mean to hurt’ him? How stupid did he think Virgil was? Or worse, how cruel?

“How would you feel,” he forced out, “if I’d asked you that. And it was your pack.”

The words were hardly more than a rough whisper, but Patton reeled back as though struck.

“I know,” he replied after a moment, his voice thicker now. “I know. We weren’t– It wasn’t meant to bring back painful memories. I swear. We only wanted to know if there was anyone missing you, and we didn’t think about how you would feel if… if there wasn’t. We– I, of all people, should have known better.”

Virgil’s brow furrowed as he listened, a small spark of hope flaring to life in him. It sounded like… like Patton had taken him at his word.

Was it possible that he had a chance, after all?

“Yeah, well. I should have known you’d ask,” he said, trying to keep his voice under control. “Still, it doesn’t change my answer.”

Patton inhaled, his words coming out slightly wobbly. “You really don’t have anyone? It’s… It’s just you?”

Virgil swallowed, aware that he was walking into the trap of his own volition. Once there was nothing else to drag from him, there was no reason for them to keep treating him like this.

“Yeah. It’s just me.”

Patton exhaled, slow and shaky, and reached out for Virgil’s hands. His face was hardly visible in the low light, but he was moving slow enough for there to be a question in the motion. Trying to see if he would cooperate?

Restraints right away, then.

Well. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t fight if it would keep them from tracking down the only good thing left in his past.

He held his hands out and braced himself for the burn of silver.

Instead, he felt two warm points of pressure against his palms. Patton was holding his hands firmly but harmlessly, in a grip that Virgil could break away from with a twitch. He was rubbing small circles on the side of Virgil’s hands with his little dull-edged thumbs.

It was a soothing gesture. A gentle one.

Virgil stared dumbly down at the shapeless mass their hands formed in the dark.

“Why?” he asked, unable as always to keep himself from looking the gift horse in the mouth. “Why are you treating me like this? You have to know this isn’t necessary.”

Patton withdrew slightly, seeming almost startled.

“I’m not doing it because it’s necessary, kiddo. I’m doing it because I want to. Because it seems like maybe you need it.”

“You don’t even know me,” Virgil replied, his hands twitching the slightest amount. They were beginning to tingle with that strange warm sensation that he’d felt when Logan had carried him.

“I know that you protected my partners,” Patton replied steadily. “I know that you probably saved my life, and got hurt something awful in the process. Is it so strange that I’d want to comfort you?”

Virgil paused.

That’s right. He’d saved them.

It wasn’t that he’d forgotten, it was just that he hadn’t expected it to matter. The moment they’d realized what he was, his fate had been sealed. To humans, shifters were dangerous and valuable, and so they couldn’t be allowed to live.

Even his humans knew it. Why else would he be here, locked behind wards to wait for the full moon?

It was a necessity, but that didn’t change who they were. He’d spent all this time bracing for a blow, waiting for the cruelty and malice that he’d experienced at the hands of humans before. Yet it hadn’t come.

Maybe it wasn’t coming at all.

“You want me… to be comfortable,” he tried, the words strange on his tongue.

“Of course!” Patton replied. “It’s the least we can do to repay you.”

Virgil nodded slowly, finally grasping the shape of the puzzle that had been placed before him.

Back when he was a pup, his pack had run across a solitary wolf, badly wounded. There was nothing they could do to save her, but the pack stopped anyway. They’d curled up around her, shared what meat they had from the morning’s hunt, and invited her to sing when dusk fell. For the handful of hours she’d had left, she’d been one of theirs.

His humans had their own sense of honor. They couldn’t afford to let him live, but it was thanks to him that their small pack hadn’t been torn to shreds. This gentleness, the way they held meals with him and offered him conversation and tended his wounds, it was their way of showing gratitude.

He could trust it would stay.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

Until the full moon rose again, he was one of theirs.

[luwha]

Not telling y'all that you should be able to identify AI slop (but it is a valuable skill, you totes should), but if you're to be accusing artists of being AI left and right at least go and do your homework, or at least do the bare minimum and use AI identification tools like Hive Moderation, so you 1- don't ruin someone's lifehood 2- don't make a clown out of yourself maybe

Like, i get it, AI slop and "AI artists" pretending to be genuine is getting harder and harder to identify, but just accusing someone out of the blue and calling it a day doesn't make it any better.

The AI clowns shifted to styles that have less "tells" and the AI arts are becoming better. Yeah, it sucks ass.

They're also integrating them with memes, so you chuckle and share, like those knights with pink backgrounds, some cool frog and a funny one liner, so you get used to their aesthetic.

This is an art from the new coming set Final Fantasy for MtG. This is someone on Reddit accusing someone of using AI. From what i can tell, and i fucking hate AI, there is NO AI used on this image.

As far as i can tell and as far as any tool i've used, the Artist didn't use AI. which leads to the next one:

they accused the artist of this one of using Ai. the name of this artist is Nestor Ossandon.

He as already been FALSELY ACCUSED of using AI, because he drew a HAND THAT LOOKED A LITTLE WEIRD, which caused a statement from D&D Beyond, confirming that no AI has been used.

Not to repeat mysef, they're accusing the art above, that is by Nestor, to have used Ai.

REAL artists are not machines. And just like the AI slop, we are not perfect and we make mistakes. The hands we draw have wonky fingers sometimes. The folds we draw are weird. But we are REAL. We are real people. And hey, some of our "mistakes" sometimes are CHOICES. Artistic choices are a thing yo.

If you're to accuse someone of using Ai, i know it's getting hard to identify. But come on. At least do your due diligence.

[humming-fly]

He was feeling left out

and the higher rez stills, since gifs always export as if you're sending messages through a metal can~

[milkamel]

Shadow Milk certainly needs to learn how to treat his 'favorite toy' right...

[hotdogmchiggin]

Worlds most Explodeable Guy

He blewed up :(

Based off of this image lol

[inkskinned]

i'm still trying to piece together the truth of it. when you left, you said: feel free to spin this narrative however you want. i have no idea if you were being cruel or if you just genuinely don't remember what you've done to me.

it's hard because i'd done so much of the work for you. i had seen the parts that flaked off, the rust underneath. i started separating you into two people - the one i loved, and the one who hurt me. i had this fantasy version of you - my partner - and then i had this stranger, a third person who would show up randomly to shatter me. i am deliriously glad i'm no longer with "the stranger". i miss the gentle (unreal?) "other" you terribly.

at first, i was so strict about my boundaries. i remember telling you to get the fuck out of my house if you were going to talk to me like that. by the end: i would justify your behavior for you, accepting even your mistreatment as "my fault" in the grand scheme. i look back on the person i was before you - smart, independent, confident - and i feel a strange sense of detachment. i don't even recognize me.

even in one of our last conversations, you said: if you want a partner that always talks warmly to you, find someone else. there was a time that a comment like that would have made me leave. and instead, somehow, i just placidly accepted that kind of thing. you were literally telling me that i wasn't allowed to have a reaction to your cruelty - and i just took it, because you'd so fully turned things around on me.

when people are faced with irrationality, a rational brain tries to make sense of it. this is the trap. they're lovely in the morning, gentle and blue-eyed and sweet. like nothing even happened, they breeze around the house and kiss you on the mouth. but at night; who is that? they snap almost randomly; flying into an impotent rage about just-about-anything. it just doesn't make sense. so the problem must be me, and my brain, and how i think.

the traumatized brain just wants peace. so maybe i'm misremembering. maybe you were just having a bad day. maybe it's actually me.

you eventually would fully turn on me and start implying that i am the bad actor in our relationship. that's what happens, right? that's literally in the playbook. you went to therapy for all of a month, told her a half-truth, co-opted therapyspeak. you figured out how to reframe your actions as "seeking peace." any time i stood my ground, i was "gaslighting." when i asked you to be more gentle, you said i was "tone policing." you said, randomly, i had emotionally manipulated you - i still have no idea what that's even specifically referring to. maybe my consistent requests for calmness and empathy?

and while i literally know better, and i'm sitting here, trained by you, thinking: wait, fuck. was i actually the person you made me out to be?

and the thing that scares me is that i literally do not know if you ever actually saw what you were doing to me. when you'd tell me how you remember arguments, you'd always summarize them in a way where you come off as gentle and easy: "i was trying to set an important boundary." what had actually happened was 15 minutes of you shouting at me i know you did something shady, just admit it already. eventually you'd say my reaction to your shouting (when i finally reacted, which usually happened around hour three) was inevitably "disappointing" and "another way i'm silencing your feelings."

how many times did i ask you - beg you - to just take accountability? looking back, i don't think i ever heard you say: you're right. the way i talked to you was wrong of me.

i am trying to tie together the two people into a full version of you in my head. yes, you made my coffee and made me laugh and spent hours on the phone with me. and yes - you would scream at me until i had to run away and hide behind something.

i wish i did have a narrative i could pull out and shape to my whim. i wish i did have some semblance of reality. instead i just stand here, strange and vibrating, wondering: what the fuck just happened?

[leafwateraddict]

Couldn’t stop thinking about Dust being able to pass as Classic. So I had an idea where Dust replaces Classic in a timeline and steals(?) his partner.

He gets conflicted when he starts actually caring about you… But denial is an easy road to take when there’s seemingly no consequences to your actions.

The reveal i guess. Most normal reaction to learning your partners been replaced for god knows how long and you have no clue where he is.

Now that I think about it I might’ve gotten some inspiration from that one chapter of IJAG by @htsan (iykyk) only a lil bit tho

(Full rambling of the idea + extra sketch cuz i liked the expression) ↓↓

I originally wanted y/n to notice the differences instantly but i think it would be angstier if they didn’t and only noticed like months later >:3

[ghostbsuter]

"I can see dead people." He mentions with a shrug, using the chopsticks to fish more noodles into his mouth.

Dick stares at him. "Huh."

"Is that why you help?" He asks, getting more spring rolls.

"Yeah. Once someone becomes a ghost, word gets out quick, and they come to me. Always tatling about unfairness and justice." The kid waves the words around, rolling his eyes.

Dick just pretens to he uninterested, despite his mind racing at the new info. He is piecing past moments together, every shadow leaping away, every note with tips, leads and—

Huh.

"Do you... like it? Doing all that?" Richard approaches thus carefully, brows furrowed at the kid opposite of him.

Danny moves his head, giving a 'so-so' answer. "It's not much to like, I can see ghosts, and they know it and use it. If it brings them to peace or whatever– well, that's just a plus."

Dick stares. He places his chopsticks down and looks at Danny worried.

In turn, the kid sighs. "Sometimes gifts become curses the longer you have it."

And Dick understands.

Mind made up, he throws a pair of keys at the kid, watching fondly as the other catches them with confusion.

"Next time use these, instead of entering through the window."

Danny mock-salutes with a shit eating grin. "Yes, Officer grayson."

[aphel1on]

AURGH auwarghh the autistic parental trauma... the epi was wacky hijinks then dropped this on us out of nowhere... (sobs) laios... laiiiiooooos

[smilesrobotlover]

I really hate how comfy people have gotten with saying how much they hate LU. I understand the frustration towards the fandom and stuff, but I feel like almost EVERYONE, the fandom and the haters, forget that this is one person’s au. An au they hold near and dear to their heart. It’s not something created by a big team of people, it’s not something created by a corporation, it’s something created by a single person who has their own headcanons and ideas with the games. I don’t think it’s polite or ok to say how much you hate the au and how much you hate the interpretations of the characters and how much you hate the designs or stupid stuff like that. I do understand the frustration of seeing it everywhere, cuz I def feel that for sure, but that’s not really Jojo’s fault and it’s not ok to suddenly attack her artistic ability or storytelling cuz of that. Because she’s one person who’s passionate about Zelda and wanted to share a story. That’s it.

And it’s not constructive criticism, nor is it really criticism. It’s ok to not like something, but when it comes to this type of thing, it’s just unnecessary hate. Keep it to yourself. Jojo is a human being with feelings. She probably doesn’t see any of the stuff people say, which is for the best, but I know if I saw people saying stuff like that about my au I’d be devastated and would probably give up on everything, cuz hateful words sting.

[marlynnofmany]

If you're beating yourself up about not being as productive as you used to be, it might help to know that burnout is brain damage that needs to heal.

This isn't a moral failing on your part. This is an injury, caused by prolonged stress.

Or course you can't run as fast on a fractured ankle. Take a rest; rent a scooter if you have to. But don't hurt yourself worse.

[steelandmayhem]

The other day, I saw a non-fandom text post along the lines of:

“What we had was so special you’ll look for me in every new person” (sorry I haven’t been able to find it again)

And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

Because to me this perfectly describes Durgetash + romancing your companions.

I can’t help thinking about amnesiac Durge missing something, always searching, but can’t remember what.

They find echoes of it in Gale’s intelligence, his enthusiasm and knowledge when he speaks about magic. And yet, it doesn’t fit entirely.

They find it in Lae’zel’s easy superiority, her ruthlessness and determination. And yet, it’s not quite enough.

They find it in Astarion’s deception and easy charm, the way he manipulates a situation to his advantage, the way he doesn’t need magic to have people literally bare their necks to him.

They find it in Shadowheart’s snark, her secrecy, her dark goddess. They find it in Karlach’s rage (though she burns hot instead of cold which is odd..), in the smell of sulphur and hellfire that clings to her. They especially find it in her mechanical heart, that makes them want to reach out, bury their hands in it, just to see if it feels as familiar as it seems. If maybe owning her heart will fill the hole in their memories, their chest even.

And yet, surprisingly, they find it in Wyll’s pact, Wyll’s past, but also Wyll’s manners and they way he dances, his stories, that make them feel closer to a city they don’t much care about otherwise.

They find it in the deep possessiveness, maybe even hatred, when Raphael first comes to camp.

And yet none of it is enough, none of it fits quite right, and while maybe eventually they manage to look past that familiar feeling and find new things to admire about their chosen partner…deep in their heart they know.

In the end, they’ll always look for something none of them can give them.

Not until they first encounter that handsome young man with an easy smile, and all the jagged broken edges click together like horrible little puzzle pieces.

[april]

TVs and monitors are separate species with common features, but which features these are have drastically changed over time. the two used to be similar sizes with very similar behaviour, and were differentiated primarily by which connection ports they had.

over time, their courses of evolution brought them closer together in that regard, with both species' survival becoming contingent on how well they could digest HDMI. as their analogue prey, such as VGA and Component, died out, the two display species were faced with the same choice: adapt, or die.

despite this newfound similarity, though, the two species still fill different ecological niches, and the way they adapted to these new environmental situations resulted in further physical distinction in other areas. for example, it is now almost impossible to find a modern TV that is a comparable size to a monitor; while the modern monitor is still limited in dimensions by the desktops where it prefers to nest, the modern TV has an almost unbounded adult size.

another strange new differentiation is that the TV seems to have developed a dependence on internet connectivity and software updates. while this benefits them in the short term, having more selling points than a monitor at first glance, it is working against them in the long-term, with each one's effective lifespan being cut dramatically.

the "dumb TV" that, quite intelligently, does not have any big software features, is nearing extinction, with very few members still producing offspring. and while we may feel sorrow for these displays, it is only natural that they are dying off - they are simply being outcompeted by the once-humble monitor. at the same size, and without the advantage of a wider variety of ports, the dumb TV cannot keep up with the monitor's much more refined adaptations for the same niche.

however, one mystery remains: why did the dumb TV never grow to the same impressive dimensions as its smart siblings? some observations suggests that the larger smart TVs have become overly territorial as a result of their decreased longevity, to the point that they will kill an infant dumb TV if they feel that it could grow to compete with them. it seems cruel to us, but in the wild, it's all a matter of survival. if you win the evolutionary race - you fight to keep first place.

[bumblebeeappletree]

Genuinely I think you guys should look into Solarpunk. Like, it’s a dark day in America, and everyone is feeling hopeless. And unfortunately America is a country that literally doesn’t mind its own business and has to be involved with the rest of the world. Mostly in a bad way. But.

I think you need to check out Solarpunk. Yes it’s literary as it’s speculative fiction. Yes it’s an aesthetic. But it’s also a real life movement. It’s activism against the climate crisis. To reverse the effects of our planet. It’s activism for human rights. The right to housing, the right to food, the right to water. Activism for education, health care, child care. To have the choice to have an abortion. It is about banding together with your community, with your fellow humans.

Solarpunk is about feeling rage about everything that is wrong with the world and using it to help fix it. It is about feeling hope that the actions you do will change things for the better, no matter how slow. Organization. Protests. Even something like calling, emailing, writing a letter to the people in your government. Your mayor, your county representative, your state representative and so on. It is about choosing kindness to help people in need. To help people who were once in cults and are taught to be afraid of “outsiders.” To help people when they realize that they were wrong and help them be able to grow. To share food with others, offer a friend a place to stay, join community events.

It is okay to rage. To cry. To scream and feel like the world is burning to the ground. Let yourself feel those emotions. And look at Solarpunk. Use your emotions as fuel to make things better. For yourself and others. To make things a bit kinder. For yourself and others.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

doing chibi is a good design exercise bc it forces u to think on shapes n essential details, essentially thumbnailing ur designs. its also a terrible design exercise bc it ends up looking cute no matter what

[mumblesplash]

if i’m being honest everything i can remember getting in trouble for saying as a child ended up being entirely justified and correct. they (every adult) hated me because i spoke the truth