#i hate being this sensitive

[oda-princess]

Ok so yesterday, a new friend I made invited me to hang out in the morning and we stayed out for most of the day ( I've never done that before). We went to the library, the dog park, had lunch, chilled at the lake, bought teas and went to check out the new apartment she's moving into this week. All in all I had fun! But I guess my body is really not used to this level of being outdoor coz I caught a fkking eye infection 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Ps: i think this would be an appropriate excuse to borrow Masamune's eyepatch :)

[butterfliesareamyth]

it would be nice if youtubers put warning before putting the most horrible gory image on screen. so i don't think about it forever.

[uncanny-tranny]

This might seem like an "old man yells at cloud" situation, but it's just wild growing up and being told how dangerous distracted driving is - how, at highway speeds, you can traverse the length of a football field (100 yards, 91 meters) in a matter of seconds - how one split second sending a text while driving could result in a potential fatal crash, and then getting on the road as a driver and being surrounded by billboards. Their entire purpose is to catch one's attention, so they're lining major roads, which tend to be highways. How is it that you're told how important it is to never be distracted while driving, but still being advertised to?

At best, this type of advertising is an eyesore to pedestrians and motorists and a general waste of electricity to light it, and at worst, it is an active danger considering they are there to advertise and therefore, must catch people's attention.

I'm not even against advertising in theory, but this particular mode bothers me so much and I hate how pervasive it is - especially in large cities or highways.

[byunbaekhyunie]

@monwillica & @merrybaekmas asked: which EXO member is most like you?

JONGINIE

[hg-aneh]

Can you please not tag your anti-aziraphale art as aziracrow? It's your blog to post what you want, but it would be nice not to see hate in the tag

it's not anti Aziraphale what the fuck wkbgnfh

sorry I'm being rude but wngnmebbemlvemvg

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[i-make-fun-of-spn-characters]

Take my "How much of an eeeevil hardcore stan are you" uquiz

According to MEEEEEEEEE

[rxttenfish]

really, really bad. my schizophrenia has picked the worst time to have an episode, and my ability to function at all is nil. this was drawn in the middle of trying desperately to sketch anything at all and getting more and more frustrated at it.

did you know abyssal merfolk actually have bioluminescence? it's because i basically never draw it or mention it. they're the only species of merfolk to do so, and the capability seems to have come from the exceptionally low visibility of their environment making it impossible for them to communicate in what little body language merfolk already have. their scales have special dermal pockets in certain layers, where they store bioluminescent bacteria they obtain from their diet. most of the time these dermal pockets are entirely invisible, which is why they don't feature on miranda's ref, but when they are activated, they glow a dull blue light.

it is not very bright and very hard to see even in passive daylight (this was intended for the bottom of the ocean, after all), and really is only ever used as a form of emoting. this is mostly out of my frustration with how bioluminescence is often written and used for monsters and creatures in fiction, and wanted a "boring" version if i had to give my merfolk any. it's also only ever the same shade of blue, since its supposed to be used for visibility.

flashing the bioluminescent patterns on her face, fins pinned stiffly back, head turned away, and eyes clenched shut indicate miranda is having a pretty bad time here. realistically she can't frown to this degree, but she's picked up on a lot of human mannerisms, and so does tend to frown. to a merfolk, the only expression they make with their mouth is tensing their lips or opening their mouth, and it's a bit more serious than a frown.

[itstimeforstarwars]

I think it's really funny when people say I'm converting them either to "korkie is a kenobi" or "korkie is not a kenobi" truthers. You don’t need to be a truther if you don’t want to. Join me in the middle with Schrodinger's Kenobi, where Korkie both is and is not a Kenobi until I figure out which option makes the plot funnier.

[defectivegembrain]

Analogue clocks really are the vilest of creations, not only presenting an already confusing subject, time, in a nigh incomprehensible format; but also stealing away any chance at quiet, invading the precious moments that come close to the mythical "silence" with their incessant tick tick tick SHUT UP YOU PIECE OF GARBAGE

[fxil76]

[forwhump]

a/n: ;-; I feel a little silly introducing myself on a writing post but I feel sillier just starting to post my writing w/out any sort of introduction at all, so hi ! I’m Tina ! I’ve semi recently gotten introduced to the whump community because the content I create has been whump the whole time I just didn’t know it & thought I was alone in it !

now that I realize I’m not, I figured I might as well start posting my blurbs somewhere ! I don’t know if it qualifies as conventional whump, but is there such thing as conventional whump ? so what the hell

I put my two favourite oc’s through the horrors so often I have so much whump content w them & it’s just going to waste in my google docs & my notes app ! I’m chronically shy about posting my work online but I figured somebody out there might see this & maybe even like it so what’s the harm in sharing !

if you do see this & maybe even like it, yay ! I’m so glad ! thank you for even reading it <3

tw/cw for aftermath implied rape, mentions of being gutted

Wren has always been beautiful.

Silas had always thought so. Even at Wren’s worst, even when it wasn’t wholly appropriate to think. Silas had thought so since that very first day, since he was dragged into this place clawing and biting, since Wren had looked up at him from his place in the common room and smiled at Silas, sympathetic, as he was dragged into hell.

It was striking, even then, even disoriented and scared and confused. Wren was a bright spot, a glimmer of light in a bland, grey prisonscape. He’s beautiful like no other person Silas has ever seen, beautiful in a way reserved for the sunrise and the moon, so beautiful it actually gives him an eerie, kind of inhuman quality, even now, even still.

Wren has always been beautiful and Wren is beautiful still. But this —

There is nothing beautiful about this.

It’s ugly. It hurts something low in Silas’ chest.

It’s a film strip that’s been double exposed. Wren’s always been beautiful, and so particular about his hair; Wren has fairytale hair. It’s impossibly long, fairytale long, and the colour of snow, kinda, but he’s always so particular about it, he takes such good care of it, something that’s only his, something that belonged to him before this place, something they let him keep, and his hair always shimmers, perfect, iridescent. Silas has always found it kind of hypnotizing. Wren’s always so careful about how he braids it.

His hair is a mess. It had been pulled up into a ponytail with a piece of pink ribbon that’s gotten mostly lost in the tangles of his hair. Loose strands stick to his face, his throat, his waist, the insides of his thighs with tears, spit, sweat, semen, blood. He’s wearing some demeaning little pleated skirt, the same pale pink as the ribbon, and it’s short, it’s so short, and there’s so much visible skin that Silas can see almost every bruise, big and purple and splotchy and broken, like road rash. He can see all the blood tracked down the insides of his bruised thighs. He can see handprints. Tooth prints.

How is this happening? How did it get to this?

“Wren,” he hears himself say.

“Leave me alone.” His voice is the flattest Silas has ever heard it. He doesn’t lift his face from the carpet.

“Wren.” He doesn’t know what he’s gonna say. What can he say? He reaches a hand out, almost instinctive.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Wren —“

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Wren snaps, almost screams, and he finally lifts his head as he flinches away.

Most of the left side of his face is that same broken, road rash bruise. His mouth is swollen. His eyes, from crying. He doesn’t have hickeys, but proper, scabbing bite marks, bruising his jaw and his throat.

So much bruising. So much blood.

Silas knows what to do.

He struggles with that, sometimes.

Wren was allowed to keep his hair; Silas was, as well. It’s all Silas got to keep.

No part of Silas is the same as it was when he got here; no organ, no arterie. Silas isn’t human anymore, Silas is a weapon, but he tries, oh my god, he fuckin’ tries, if nothing else he tries, and he’s getting better, he thinks. He just struggles sometimes with human emotions, with feelings, thoughts, with what to do, what to say.

He knows now, though. What to do.

No part of Silas is really human anymore, but most of him is all still attached. His left leg, however, isn’t, and the replacement he’d been given, as a massive, inhuman superfreak, is heavy and deadly and fuckin’ uncomfortable. It pinches. Silas hates it almost more than anything. Unless he absolutely has to wear it, he gets around in his chair. It’s how he gets back to his room, where, without even a groan of displeasure, he makes quick work of his superfreak prosthetic.

On his own, he stands. Onto his chair, he piles one of his crewnecks, a favourite of Wren’s because of how cartoonishly large it fits him. Silas piles his comforter on top. From Wren’s room, he grabs his hairbrush and a pair of his joggers. Their clothing is the same dull grey as everything else in hell — prison grey, Silas thinks of it.

He limps his chair back to the common room. He folds the sweatshirt and joggers over the back, brush hooked in one hand as he holds open the blanket. “Okay,” he says. “Come.”

Wren’s head is down again. He’s right where they dumped him, a pile on the common room floor. “Leave me alone, Silas.”

Silas frowns. “No,” he says. “Come. I won’t touch.”

Slowly, Wren lifts his head. He blinks up at Silas with huge, wet eyes. “What?” He says, less sharp but a bit more broken. “What are you doing?”

Silas shakes the blanket at him. “Come.”

He isn’t expecting the way Wren’s face crumples, or the way he sobs. Softly, he says, “Wren?”

Wren turns his face away, but when he sobs, he sobs, “Silas.”

Folding the blanket and the brush back onto his chair, Silas limps around it to slowly, awkwardly maneuver himself onto the carpet next to Wren. Within reaching distance, but he’s careful not to touch.

Wren doesn’t lift his face and sobs into the carpet.

Slowly, Silas lies down, on his back next to him. He reaches out, he doesn’t touch, but he invites, and without looking at him Wren shifts into his arms and sobs into Silas’ shoulder.

Silas covers his back with a massive, gentle hand and lets him cry.

He cries for a long time.

Eventually, his sobs soften to sniffles and the hitching of his back slows under Silas’ hand. He says, into Silas’ grey sweatshirt, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Why?” Silas asks.

Wren’s chest hitches. His voice cracks when he says, “I’m disgusting.”

He frowns. “You’re not disgusting.”

Wren hiccups out a sob.

“Wren,” Silas says, “you’ve held my organs inside my body for me. This is nothing.”

He sobs again.

Silas thumbs slowly across his back, over the stiff, ripped material of his shirt. “Let me take care of you this time, Wren,” he says. “Please.”

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me,” he says softly.

“I don’t,” Silas says. “I want to.”

Wren’s small fist curls into Silas’ crewneck. Into his chest, he whispers, “they really hurt me, Silas.”

“I’ll take care of them,” Silas promises. He already knows how he’ll do it. It won’t be slow but it will be painful. “Let me take care of you first.”

Wren doesn’t answer him, but he nods into Silas’ shoulder.

Softly, Silas asks, “can I pick you up?”

He nods again.

Gratefully, gently, Silas lifts Wren into his arms and from there, into his chair. He pulls the grey blanket around his shoulders and Wren sinks into it gratefully.

The bathroom is cold, and the water doesn’t get hot, but it gets warm, so Silas runs it warm before he limps across the bathroom to gather an armful of towels. He held Wren to his feet, and leaves the towels in his place.

“You don’t have to do this,” Wren says softly.

“So?” Silas says.

He blinks up at him, a bit taken aback.

Supporting most of Wren’s weight, Silas says, “do you want my help getting undressed or do you want me not to touch you?”

Wren blinks up at him again, sniffling. “Would you help me?” He asks, so soft he’d barely spoken.

“I’ll do anything you ask me to,” Silas answers.

Wren makes a soft sound, and Silas is careful not to touch any of the bruises as he bumbles through small buttons and zippers with huge hands. He helps Wren out of his ruined skirt and into the lukewarm water. Silas doesn’t undress, but he follows him in, letting Wren lean hard against him as he lathers a washcloth he hands to him before getting to work untangling his hair.

It’s a careful few hours of effort, because Wren has so much hair and it’s so matted, caked with blood, grime, semen.

Silas is meticulous. He brushes it out. Washes it. He isn’t a great braider yet, but June had been teaching him the basics, and he can struggle his way through a sloppy French braid. He tugs the elastic out of his own hair to tie it off, and once he’s done, Wren turns to look up at him and he’s crying again.

“Wren?” He says.

And Wren surges forward, pushing his face into the hollow of Silas’ sternum, arms tight around his waist.

“Thank you,” he whispers into his wet sweatshirt.

Silas cradles the back of his head with one hand. “It’s okay,” he says.

In truth, he would die for Wren in a heartbeat. This is nothing.

[krispiecake]

tell me why i can hear another tenants fucking music from my flat. HE DOESNT EVEN LIVE IN MY BUILDING. HE LIVES IN A COMPLETELY SEPARATE BUILDING ON THE SECOND FLOOR AND I CAN HEAR HIS MUSIC FROM MY FLAT. MY FLAT WHICH IS IN A DIFFERENT SEPARATE BUILDING.

[maddiebuckettebuckley]

NO I WILL NOT zip my lips. it’s actually sossoosooso crazy that tommy calls buck evan. like. that’s not his name!!!! the people who know him call him BUCK. this is not even subtext it is TEXT. and I will never find it cute that tommy does it. I have never even found it cute when eddie does it in fics!!!! because it’s NOT his name!!! it is representative of a person to whom he no longer feels a strong connection, it is a name to which he no longer feels a strong connection. because everyone in his life that loves him calls him buck. and it’s actually kind of fucked up to me that he’s like having this journey of queer self-discovery or whatever. and it’s tied to this guy that insists on calling him by a different name than every other important person in his life. like is that not weird to. certain individuals. ? his first queer relationship being dissociated from the name that he has said people who know him call him? like it’s sequestered from the rest of him, rather than being a part of the whole person that he is??? I don’t like it!!!!!! at allllllll!!!!!!!!

[quaranmine]

the whole jellie poll incident is such a mess like. nobody on this site knows how to act normal. mcytblr especially included. i don't like the op at all either, i thought the "joke" was cruel and the original apology backhanded but like...yall are dogpiling and harassing people too now. if you don't want people to tell you to kill yourself for liking mcyt, you ALSO cannot be telling people to kill themselves. it is not justified or cute when you do it. like can we ALL just step back and act normal. it really annoys me that our fandom has such a bad reputation but anytime there's an incident like this, all we do is prove we're a mob. i'm not saying everyone should just be fine with being insulted all the time but i think at this point (with the poll) it's a whole conglomeration that should probably just be put to rest. every time that post crosses my dash it has like 2k more notes and it makes me worried that it's containment breaching so badly. just feels like a ticking time bomb to me idk

[squorttle-pox]

please. i need alastor with his hair up so we can see the side of his head. second set of ears or smooth flesh prairie?