#same thing with PV

[kcthelazyartist]

The promised art [Mostly PureCacao]

[buttercupshands]

I've been thinking a lot lately

ref to the quote under the cut

under the cut for maybe some people that would like to try and guess *shruggs*

[wordpress-blaze-240897277]

Not Just Ill: Redefining My Chronic Condition

Dealing with an invisible chronic illness isn’t easy. Beyond the fatigue, physical pain, and brain fog, there’s another layer of struggle: people don’t see how unwell you are. They see the outside—maybe a sun-kissed face, some makeup, a well-put-together outfit, a warm greeting—and they draw their own conclusions.

They see you show up at a birthday party and think, “She must be doing better.” They don’t know that you had to sleep for two hours beforehand and will now be in bed—or glued to the couch—for the next three to five days because you went. They ask how you're doing, and you say, “I'm fine.” Not because it’s true, but because sometimes you're simply tired of talking about being sick.

In my case, I really do get sick of talking about being sick.

So yes, people sometimes assume I’m better than I am. Some may even think I exaggerate my illness. After all, lots of people are tired—and they still get up and go to work. Why can’t I?

It’s okay. I understand how society copes with things it can’t see or make sense of: it labels, defines, reduces. It filters experience through its own lens so the unfamiliar becomes manageable. Living with an invisible illness for the past five years has taught me to tune out those voices. I’ve learned to define myself based on my own sense of worth, not the value placed on me by others.

When ‘Illness” becomes “Disability”

Still, that definition of self took a jolt last week. While doing research for my book on invisible illnesses, I came across something unexpected: several major health organizations now classify my condition as an invisible disability. That word stopped me cold.

According to the World Health Organization’s World Report on Disability (2011), disability is defined using the International Classification of Functioning, Disability and Health (ICF), which breaks down functioning into three interconnected categories:

Impairments: problems with body function or structure

Activity limitations: difficulties in executing tasks or actions

Participation restrictions: challenges with involvement in life situations

Disability, then, isn’t about one diagnosis—it’s about how health conditions interact with personal and environmental barriers to limit engagement in life. The ICF uses neutral language and doesn’t distinguish between physical or mental origins. If your condition affects your ability to function and participate fully, it qualifies.

Suddenly, I found myself staring at the screen thinking: Wait. You mean I’m disabled?

The word “disability” has always carried a specific image in my mind—something concrete, visible, undeniable. I never thought to put my illness, or any chronic illness, in that category. Illness felt like a challenge, something to fight, to manage, to overcome. Disability felt... definitive. Permanent.

But that’s the thing: having a chronic illness is a disability. It impacts my ability to participate in society. It limits what I can do. It interferes with basic functioning. And it’s real, whether people see it or not.

Seeing the Unseen

According to Hidden Disabilities Sunflower, one in six people globally live with a disability. Of those, an estimated 80% are non-visible. That’s over a billion people, most of them unseen—and undervalued. Yet every one of them has something meaningful to offer. We want to engage. We want to be included. We deserve the space to contribute.

Maybe “disability” is a better word after all. “Illness” often implies recovery is coming, or should be. There’s an unspoken apology in it, a pressure to heal. “Disability,” on the other hand, demands society’s acceptance. It calls for accessibility, empathy, and policy that affirms our worth.

So here I am: a woman with an invisible disability. And an awful lot to give—to those who acknowledge my boundaries, honor my integrity, and respect my value. 

Maybe it’s time we all reconsider what disability really looks like—and who we assume doesn’t carry it.

If you enjoy reading my insights and would like to stay updated on my latest posts, please subscribe to my blog for email notifications. Subscription is free!

Source: Not Just Ill: Redefining My Chronic Condition

[b0nelessdoodles]

i keep thinking im gonna like actually finish these but that ain't happening so have some gay people

[quibbs126]

Also there’s this one shot in the trailer (that I got from elsewhere) that I think is pretty neat

[hexcia]

the prettiest angel that heaven has

[tongues--and--teeth]

Lovvveeeee this fic from @thebiscuitlabryinth sooo much omg. She’s such a visual writer I felt like I could actually see what was going on while reading lol.

Click for better quality!

POV: you’re Pure Vanilla Cookie

[wordpress-blaze-240897277]

Not Just Ill: Redefining My Chronic Condition

Dealing with an invisible chronic illness isn’t easy. Beyond the fatigue, physical pain, and brain fog, there’s another layer of struggle: people don’t see how unwell you are. They see the outside—maybe a sun-kissed face, some makeup, a well-put-together outfit, a warm greeting—and they draw their own conclusions.

They see you show up at a birthday party and think, “She must be doing better.” They don’t know that you had to sleep for two hours beforehand and will now be in bed—or glued to the couch—for the next three to five days because you went. They ask how you're doing, and you say, “I'm fine.” Not because it’s true, but because sometimes you're simply tired of talking about being sick.

In my case, I really do get sick of talking about being sick.

So yes, people sometimes assume I’m better than I am. Some may even think I exaggerate my illness. After all, lots of people are tired—and they still get up and go to work. Why can’t I?

It’s okay. I understand how society copes with things it can’t see or make sense of: it labels, defines, reduces. It filters experience through its own lens so the unfamiliar becomes manageable. Living with an invisible illness for the past five years has taught me to tune out those voices. I’ve learned to define myself based on my own sense of worth, not the value placed on me by others.

When ‘Illness” becomes “Disability”

Still, that definition of self took a jolt last week. While doing research for my book on invisible illnesses, I came across something unexpected: several major health organizations now classify my condition as an invisible disability. That word stopped me cold.

According to the World Health Organization’s World Report on Disability (2011), disability is defined using the International Classification of Functioning, Disability and Health (ICF), which breaks down functioning into three interconnected categories:

Impairments: problems with body function or structure

Activity limitations: difficulties in executing tasks or actions

Participation restrictions: challenges with involvement in life situations

Disability, then, isn’t about one diagnosis—it’s about how health conditions interact with personal and environmental barriers to limit engagement in life. The ICF uses neutral language and doesn’t distinguish between physical or mental origins. If your condition affects your ability to function and participate fully, it qualifies.

Suddenly, I found myself staring at the screen thinking: Wait. You mean I’m disabled?

The word “disability” has always carried a specific image in my mind—something concrete, visible, undeniable. I never thought to put my illness, or any chronic illness, in that category. Illness felt like a challenge, something to fight, to manage, to overcome. Disability felt... definitive. Permanent.

But that’s the thing: having a chronic illness is a disability. It impacts my ability to participate in society. It limits what I can do. It interferes with basic functioning. And it’s real, whether people see it or not.

Seeing the Unseen

According to Hidden Disabilities Sunflower, one in six people globally live with a disability. Of those, an estimated 80% are non-visible. That’s over a billion people, most of them unseen—and undervalued. Yet every one of them has something meaningful to offer. We want to engage. We want to be included. We deserve the space to contribute.

Maybe “disability” is a better word after all. “Illness” often implies recovery is coming, or should be. There’s an unspoken apology in it, a pressure to heal. “Disability,” on the other hand, demands society’s acceptance. It calls for accessibility, empathy, and policy that affirms our worth.

So here I am: a woman with an invisible disability. And an awful lot to give—to those who acknowledge my boundaries, honor my integrity, and respect my value. 

Maybe it’s time we all reconsider what disability really looks like—and who we assume doesn’t carry it.

If you enjoy reading my insights and would like to stay updated on my latest posts, please subscribe to my blog for email notifications. Subscription is free!

Source: Not Just Ill: Redefining My Chronic Condition

[swiiivet-screamathon]

"What's got you sitting here then?"

"Ensuring nothing catastrophic occurs and mild amounts of watch duty."

"Is he up to... mild mannered not-worth-standing-up-for trouble?"

"It is him yes, but I wouldn't quite call it trouble, not as of now at least."

Lily sits down next to Pv on the wooden bench, following his eyesight to Crepe's workshop, its large barge doors wide open with dark smoke pouring out and within are two small cookies doing... well, something, it's hard to tell at this distance with it being so obscured.

"That's, not- trouble?" She asks as she lays her head on Pv's shoulder.

"Seems to be working as intended in fact. Crepe knew this would happen and wanted to make sure no one bothered them thinking the place was on fire."

"Because they knew everybody would listen to you?"

"I don't want to be that egotistical, I'm sure our kingdom would listen to Raisin too."

"Hmhm~"

They watch on as they continue working on it, Smilk floating around in circles around Crepe as they both seem to be working on what best can be guessed as some sort of engine.

"I know I'm the problem in this sentiment, but I still can't believe out of all cookies the two of them paired up into what sounds like a functional duo-- You've got any idea how that happened?"

"I wouldn't say I do, probably some curiosity killing cats though."

"Ah, right, of course thats the case. Has he gotten along with anyone else so far?"

"He was certainly less sociable than he is now, that's for sure."

"Not the grandest of friendpools then, huh? More than one is still a positive though."

"Agreed."

"...My mind is just occupied with him now, how funny. After everything we've been through and yet he still manages to be the main character whenever he's around after so much time. You've still not managed to get him into a new set of icing?"

"He's got a loud presence, a good skill for an actor I'd say. Though you are right, I have not."

"Have you tried at all?-- Nevermind, I'm not even sure what I mean with that question; forcing him into a shirt seems very strange hmhm."

"I have asked him, though no forcing anyone in any shirts-- but he seems incredibly apprehensive about it. Every time I get a status update it seems any comment made by anyone of an kind makes him give up on trying for long bouts of time."

"I didn't take 'obvious' to be a trait of his, power of a title I suppose. I've got motivation to throw my hat in the ring though given the circumstances."

"Really? Did your encounter with Salt make you into fashion? :p"

"I suppose fashion tends to aim in the direction of bold, doesn't it? If I can be frank with you though, I think I mostly want to build rapport; bringing the Fount of Knowledge into the modern day sounds quite interesting, and you've sure been taking your sweet time getting him to act in line. ^^"

"Don't be so restrictive on him, and don't let your ulterior motives get the better of you. You're the most curious person I know but you know what happens if you go wild with it."

"Dramatic sigh-- She can be crumbled in the crust for hundreds of years and I will still be haunted by it. /lh I've got little desire to hinder your rehabilitation, I'm just not quite the same kind of altruist as you are. :p"

"If you start studying him like you did in school--"

"Wha~at-- There's no grade on the line, and I'm sure the teacher won't notice."

"No matter the form you take you'll always be a disaster. :D"

"x)"

[thedrotter]

In the terms of cookie run kingdom you're kinda like the pure vanilla to my shadow milk cookie

i dont play crk but my friend explained to me the lore and those 2 sounded so much like yuu and shunkun so i had to(ФωФ)

(+process pics in read more!!!)

never drawing cookie run kingdom clothing ever again I fought for dear life even though ive drawn genshin clothing before /j

[littlebittyhollowbugs]

''After everything, the Hollow Knight's efforts may not have been entirely in vain...''

aaaaaand chapter 10! the grand finale!!!

Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read this fic! Hope you enjoy <3<3<3

[allimili]

can't wait for this blog to be pure vanilla centered

[thegreatcrowdragon]

I genuinely did not notice at first but they swapped his eyes around? I know it’s concept art but I’m curious on why

[taldigi]

i love getting messages over artbookwiki like "um are you aware that you are stupid and wrong about Felix?" and I say: why yes I am aware that I am very stupid, but not enough to waste my time debating some fool over trivial semantics like who is what character.

I might not really talk LBClassic anymore, but my brainrot runs deeper and more potently than anyone's ever will. I have a whole website about it. People don't get to talk or correct me about it because I know more about the history of Miraculous Ladybug's production then it's craziest fans and it's honestly a little humiliating.

paraphrasing, of course. I do work retail after all. I'll let you browse, but let us know if you need any more assistance! 💕

[ehatnow]

I cant get over these fucking PNGs

[kawaiichibiart]

I've said it before and I'll say it again:

1. Marinette's (and Bridgette's) OG Ladybug costume sucks compared to all the other Ladybug costume designs (not counting elemental/potion power ups like Cosmo Bug). Like, in order (most to least), my favorite costume designs are:

Mr. Bug

Shadybug

Lucky Charm/Powered Up Ladybug

Scarabella

AND

2. The black cat miraculous just spits out some of the best designs. Again, in order, from most to least favorite:

Chat Noir (Adrien Agreste)

Catwalker

Lady Noire

Chat Noir (Felix Agreste/PV)

Claw Noir

Kitty Noire

[wordpress-blaze-240897277]

Not Just Ill: Redefining My Chronic Condition

Dealing with an invisible chronic illness isn’t easy. Beyond the fatigue, physical pain, and brain fog, there’s another layer of struggle: people don’t see how unwell you are. They see the outside—maybe a sun-kissed face, some makeup, a well-put-together outfit, a warm greeting—and they draw their own conclusions.

They see you show up at a birthday party and think, “She must be doing better.” They don’t know that you had to sleep for two hours beforehand and will now be in bed—or glued to the couch—for the next three to five days because you went. They ask how you're doing, and you say, “I'm fine.” Not because it’s true, but because sometimes you're simply tired of talking about being sick.

In my case, I really do get sick of talking about being sick.

So yes, people sometimes assume I’m better than I am. Some may even think I exaggerate my illness. After all, lots of people are tired—and they still get up and go to work. Why can’t I?

It’s okay. I understand how society copes with things it can’t see or make sense of: it labels, defines, reduces. It filters experience through its own lens so the unfamiliar becomes manageable. Living with an invisible illness for the past five years has taught me to tune out those voices. I’ve learned to define myself based on my own sense of worth, not the value placed on me by others.

When ‘Illness” becomes “Disability”

Still, that definition of self took a jolt last week. While doing research for my book on invisible illnesses, I came across something unexpected: several major health organizations now classify my condition as an invisible disability. That word stopped me cold.

According to the World Health Organization’s World Report on Disability (2011), disability is defined using the International Classification of Functioning, Disability and Health (ICF), which breaks down functioning into three interconnected categories:

Impairments: problems with body function or structure

Activity limitations: difficulties in executing tasks or actions

Participation restrictions: challenges with involvement in life situations

Disability, then, isn’t about one diagnosis—it’s about how health conditions interact with personal and environmental barriers to limit engagement in life. The ICF uses neutral language and doesn’t distinguish between physical or mental origins. If your condition affects your ability to function and participate fully, it qualifies.

Suddenly, I found myself staring at the screen thinking: Wait. You mean I’m disabled?

The word “disability” has always carried a specific image in my mind—something concrete, visible, undeniable. I never thought to put my illness, or any chronic illness, in that category. Illness felt like a challenge, something to fight, to manage, to overcome. Disability felt... definitive. Permanent.

But that’s the thing: having a chronic illness is a disability. It impacts my ability to participate in society. It limits what I can do. It interferes with basic functioning. And it’s real, whether people see it or not.

Seeing the Unseen

According to Hidden Disabilities Sunflower, one in six people globally live with a disability. Of those, an estimated 80% are non-visible. That’s over a billion people, most of them unseen—and undervalued. Yet every one of them has something meaningful to offer. We want to engage. We want to be included. We deserve the space to contribute.

Maybe “disability” is a better word after all. “Illness” often implies recovery is coming, or should be. There’s an unspoken apology in it, a pressure to heal. “Disability,” on the other hand, demands society’s acceptance. It calls for accessibility, empathy, and policy that affirms our worth.

So here I am: a woman with an invisible disability. And an awful lot to give—to those who acknowledge my boundaries, honor my integrity, and respect my value. 

Maybe it’s time we all reconsider what disability really looks like—and who we assume doesn’t carry it.

If you enjoy reading my insights and would like to stay updated on my latest posts, please subscribe to my blog for email notifications. Subscription is free!

Source: Not Just Ill: Redefining My Chronic Condition

[aro-aizawa]

the ml movie is full of pathetic wet beasts and poor little meow meows

[swiiivet-screamathon]

The ocean splashes in accordance to the great speeds that Smilk is flying trying to catch up to the airship.

A soul piercing stare at the destination before him, with such a focused expression you'd be forgiven to imagine that he had nothing but a singular thought in his head.

Exerting as much magical power as possible he dashes around the propellers and reaches the back of the ship, planting himself firmly on the captain's balcony.

After having made it his attention finally wanes and the glare instead shifts to the landmass they had just been on. The propellers spun slowly enough to block the view occasionally but that didn't stop the glare, not even the chattering that had soon begun above him took his gaze for even a moment. Simply watching everything that he had just lost and abandoned, sailing away from everything.

The few minutes that passed could've been mistaken for hours or even days, and each silent breath he took lasted years. Surely closing his eyes for just a fraction would take even longer, to doubt that notion was foolish.

Eventually though, the conversation above them seemed to near its conclusion, in which he finally managed to break free from his thoughts for just a moment.

With a wave of his wand he-- he...

He...

Nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

It passes across his eyeline with a glow of its orb, and that is all it does.

He takes his deep breath as quietly as he can manage; the ships engines might cause enough noise to let him relax, but best to risk as little as possible on this horrid ship.

He waves his wand again, seemingly with different intention this time, and this new intention did indeed cause something to happen, the summoning of a small paper puppet appears before him, wafting violently in the wind. He quickly disperses it as the fluttering was, as paper normally does in high winds, flapped loudly. Though fortunately it seemed to bring no unwanted attention.

He stares back up to the stern, the hands of that traitor dangling off the edge.

That........ Traitor...

He takes another breath and diverts his gaze, there's no winning with dangerous impulsivity-- any more impulsivity.

With a good look around what's available to him there wasn't much to work with, but there was one option that wouldn't risk being spotted, though it's far from something he'd define as 'ideal' by any means. A seemingly decorative set of railing that went around the hull.

With an annoyed grimace he does his best stretch in the scenario given to him, and then with a moment of concentrated anticipation, flies up and immediately grabs onto the rail, immediately regretting his action but persevering anyways, clawing onto the fixture to the best of his ability. The power of flight does help, but with the ship flying as fast as it is the arms of a poet is not one you want to rely on in this kind of exercise.

But he continues anyways, utilizing his flight to assist as much as possible when looping around from the back to the side of the ship.

With spite, anger and determination the journey from the back all the way to the front is an arduous and terrible one, but that's what he gets for believing that gnat.

But eventually, as gruelling and tiring as it was, as much as his arms sting from the exertion, as much as holding even his wand became an impossible task, he made it. Fortunately for him at the front there was a spot he could recoup at, simply let the wind blow him back into the hull with no risk of falling off. watching the sun set ahead of them.

He massages his sore arms as well as he can whilst relaxing every other muscle in his body. He might be on a timer but there's no land ahead yet, he's got the opportunity to take as long as he needs until the next step of his plan.

The sky was still bright, the light blue transitioning gently into the yellow sun that shone wonderfully in the sky...

He grimaces once more and rolls his sleeves back down, getting ready to enact what he came up here for. With the mimicking of clearing his chest he then belts out a perfect recreation of a whales call, heard loud and clear across the generally quiet ocean. Immediately the pitter patter of the cookies above to check on the noise erupts: 1... 2... 4-- where he then swiftly summons a massive paper puppet, a dark blue whale, and lets it float across the water below. With the plan executed he quickly but carefully returns to the side of the ship he came from, lets the wind drag him backwards and then uses the last of his energy to fly back to the balcony.

Not a lot of time to spare-- The balcony door is of course unlocked, so that's no hurdle. He of course couldn't stay outside as he'd be spotted by any random passenger when they reached their destination, but without any ability to get smaller being inside isn't much better. As he entered he immediately got a glance through the window on the entrance's door, seeing everyone at the head looking at his creation.

After darting out of view of those filth he instinctively raises his wand once more, but realizes quickly the his thought process was flawed, and with a twitch of one eye he scans the options available to him inside.

The most ideal place to be would be a spot where he doesn't risk being spotted by anyone who's either on or off the ship and has a decent enough exit strategy that he can take advantage of quickly once the ship does dock. There are two small windows he should be able to fit himself through once the time comes, though figuring out which direction the ship will dock in is going to be a risky one. All that leaves is somehow ensuring that either no cookies enter into the room or that he disguises himself as to not be spotted... He prefers the former, a little more.

He grabs whatever looks the most like a sturdy thin object and discretely hides himself under the window, sliding it into the handle, hopefully keeping it locked enough for his needs.

After all that, it's now just a waiting game.