#sentimental note

[sweetlog]

A Message for You: Wishing You the Best in Life 🌟🌼

A Glimpse into Connection

Isn't it fascinating how words on a screen can create a bridge between hearts? To the person reading this, we may not know each other, but in this moment, our paths have crossed, and that's something truly special.

Wishing You the Best

So, here's a simple but heartfelt message just for you: I wish you the best in life. 🌠 May your days be filled with moments of joy, laughter, and love. May you find strength in challenges and solace in the beauty of everyday moments.

Embracing the Unknown

Life is an incredible journey, full of twists and turns, surprises and uncertainties. And as we navigate it, let's remember that we're not alone. There are kind souls out there, like you, who wish the best for others.

A Ripple of Positivity

This message is more than words; it's a ripple of positivity sent into the world. It's a reminder that small acts of kindness, even from strangers, can brighten someone's day and inspire a sense of connection.

Passing It On

As you go about your day, consider passing on this wish for the best to someone else. It might be a friend, a family member, or even another stranger. Spread the goodwill, and watch as it multiplies.

[kaisentine]

i feel like kaiser just likes to show off his muscles like IDK it’s a feeling inside of me… it’s nagging at me, gnawing in my brain to write about it…..

you practically want to rip your eyes out because literally anything is better than seeing kaiser flexing his muscles.

whether it be accidental—like walking in on him while he is in-front of his ungodly-sized mirror (why does it need to be so big bro like CALM DOWN), or perhaps turning your head to see him subconsciously flex his arms while on his phone or he’s taking an unreasonable amount of pictures of them. your normal response is to stare for a good second before turning away with the look of second-hand embarrassment written all over your face.

or he willingly just shoves his biceps on your face—basically bragging about his strength. even worse when he shows you his left arm (which is almost every time he decides to harass you), his tattoo uneven as his muscles begin to form. and the most likely case of being flashed by his muscles would be him sending them over text—circling back to when you catch him taking pictures because that’s one of the reasons why he chooses to do so (other than just having them in his camera role for… keepsake).

“micha… please stop doing that.” you’re groaning out when he—once again—blocks your view from your phone with his arm. you try your best to look over it so you can get back to watching the video you were so invested in but he annoyingly moves it so all you can see is his biceps.

but i’m not not only talking about his arm muscles—his legs too.

they’re extremely hard not to look at, even when he isn’t even intentionally showing them to you. him being football player and all, you’d expect really nice legs and he does have that—and better. it’s not like it can’t get repetitive either though. because again, you still want to hide your eyes when he willingly does show you his legs.

“you’re going to crush my thighs.” you whine when kaiser thinks its so funny and so comfy to stretch his heavy calves onto your lap when he’s laying on your couch. splayed out without an inch of regret, not even bothering to look up from the book he’s reading and he only chuckles before going nonchalant again. what the fuck is wrong with this man.

you asked him numerous times why he does it (or why he does anything atp) and his response would always be a shrug.

his true answer is to show his authority. its a trait he can’t get rid of because he thinks if he doesn’t flex his strength—he’s going to be doubted again, he’s going to be taken advantage of again. even with you, he can’t stop the feeling of needing to show his strength, both mentally and physically. but of course he loves you, apart from showing his power, he just likes annoying you (with love)!

bonus : kaiser doesn’t flex his abs as much as he does the others because he knows you can feel them when he hugs you anyway. OK GOODNIGHT.

[screambirdscreaming]

Something that peeves me whenever I see another post going around with some variation on "autistic people take things literally which means we are the only people who communicate Clearly and Directly" is that - for any given statement, there is not one singular, agreed on, universal Literal Interpretation. If there was, none of this would be a problem!

The nature of language is that there's always some degree of interpretability. Words have several different meanings, often overlapping, and there's nuance of context, cultural references, and so on.

Faced with a statement, most people will quickly come up with an interpretation that to them makes the most sense. But if you asked a roomful of people to explain in detail their interpretations, everyone's would probably be a little different, even for a pretty simple statement. Regardless of whether those people are autistic! Everyone conceptualizes the world a little differently, and everyone has a unique personal history of all the language they've encountered, and these things effect our interpretations.

In order for communication to be workable, given this slosh in interpretability, there's another couple of processes that go on. As conversation goes on, people reassess if their initial interpretation matches up with additional context. If it doesn't, they revise it, or ask clarifying questions. And on the flipside of this process, the other person in conversation is tracking if your reactions make sense with *their* understanding of what they're trying to convey to you, and offering context or rephrasing things if it seems you're out of alignment.

These processes are social skillsets that are, like most social skillsets, not ever directly articulated or explained. Many people are bad at one or both. Sometimes you encounter someone who is really, notably good at it - the vaunted "good listener", who puts in the effort to really understand what you're trying to say, or that really excellent teacher who engages with you back and forth until you really get it. But a lot of the time, it's a sort of passive social friction - people just not getting each other.

Sometimes, you encounter someone whose brain works so much like yours that talking to them feels almost effortless - you just get each other. But that's a pretty rare occurrence for anyone. More often, as you get to know someone, you start to understand the shape of the way they interpret things and learn to account for it, so over time it's easier to make sense to each other.

It's honestly not uncommon in society for people to aggregate in groups of people who interpret things similarly, and who are thus easier to talk to, rather than actually building the skills of communicating across interpretation gaps. Particularly egregious are those groups of men who talk about Women as an incomprehensible monolith, but it turns up to a greater or lesser degree on a lot of levels.

I suspect this is the root of a lot of parenting problems - people who have never built this communication skillset, and relied on choosing friends who make sense to them without a lot of effort, and who are then totally unprepared to interact with a child who interprets things in ways they don't expect.

Obviously I can't speak to The Universal Typical Experience, not least because it doesn't exist. But in general I would posit that:

Most people, give or take a few assholes, are not trying to say things that are confusing. Most people think they are communicating clearly, because the first interpretation *they* would come up with on hearing one of their own sentences is the correct interpretation.

Many people are not very good at accounting for different ways people could interpret things they're saying. However, it is normal and polite social behavior to be somewhat flexible about this and forgiving of misunderstandings. If people are being shitty to you about not understanding them, they are assholes. And I wouldn't assume that the rest of the communication they have with everyone else they know goes totally smoothly for them.

I suspect there is a bit of an unfortunate feedback loop, where people have bad experiences when someone gets mad at them for not getting something, and learn to hide when they're confused. Which then leads to larger, more complicated misunderstandings, which other different people get upset at them about, because those people think they should have asked for clarification in the first place.

Truly you can't win with everyone. No one can win with everyone. There is no monolith of "neurotypical communication" which resolves all these contradictions - all those people you're lumping in together under "neurotypical" have just as much trouble with each other.

[sodapopseagull]

transmasc gale is clearly canon, what else would that magic underwear be for

I always headcanonned Gale's enchanted undies as a sort of moisture-wicking situation, as no wizard worth their spell components would suffer the indignity of swamp ass, HOWEVER, that means it would also help keep fresh and tidy during a cycle as well!

I think either Lae'zel or Karlach would be first in line to request enchanted underpants of their own? And that would quickly spiral into everyone wanting magic underwear because like, who wouldn't?

Imo, Gale's excitement to yap about his homebrewed dehydrating delicates enchantment would override the discomfort of talking about one anothers' undergarments. These are no longer his friend's undies, this is an opportunity for EDUCATION and FLEXING MAGICAL PROWESS 😤😤😤

[squishe-fiasco]

Post canon Yuuji learning new skills like drawing. His phone was destroyed after Shibuya. Because of that he never had the chance to take Choso's picture before he died.

So he starts practicing everyday when he has free time. All he needs is paper and pencil. Of course it starts out like what you expect from a total beginner. But over time he improves little by little.

Nobara and Megumi support his newfound hobby and even get him art supplies, like a sketchbook and drawing pencils for his birthday.

Soon his sketchbook is filled with beautiful portraits of Choso, Nanami, Gojo, Junpei and his grandpa. This has become his way to make sure that their faces never fade from memory.

Some ask Yuuji if he can draw their passed loved ones too. Tsumiki for Megumi. Mai for Maki. Rika for Yuuta. Principal Yaga for Panda. Gojo and Geto for Shoko. Yuuki for Todo.

[requinum]

POV you are me in the 2010s and these shows have you by the ballz

[princessuncertain]

"Mello, who joined the Mafia at 14-"

Definitely not the case. He left Wammy's under a week before he turned 15. Not even a gifted kid walks to a mob hideout with almost no prior outside world experience and joins in six days. Not a thing. Mello left when it was raining because his whole arc is a tragedy n a travesty, his thoughts at the time were probably: don't die don't die don't die

We know he joined Rod Ross's gang at 17 after bringing them another mob boss's head. He's a genius and has an insane amount of weapons but M's #1 weapon is just charisma, so my bet is he was in that guy's group before he killed him. Plus all the official art of him looking rich is when he's obviously not a kid. (You could argue that's just because Mello's official art is kinda suggestive, but I digress)

My theory would be Mello joined the Mafia at 16. Still absolutely fucking insane, btw, but tone it down a little

[evilrat-sabre]

This isn't about Strawberry jam

I want to ramble on about something I am not so sure about what it is, so I will tell yall a story.

So imagine this; You are 20 years old, you live with your partner in your shared apartment, your partner buys a tiny glass jar of strawberry jam. 

If I pointed at that moment and asked you what it was, I think you would say “Well, it's a jar of strawberry jam” 

Okay now, imagine one week later; the jam was good, but the jar was tiny so you and your partner already ate all of it, holding the empty and dirty jar you realize, wow it has a very nice shape, maybe I can use it as a cup, so you clean the jar and lets it sitting beside your water filter. 

If I pointed now and asked what it was, what would you say? “It’s an empty jar of strawberry jam that we use to drink water.”

Okay cool, nice and practical, lets go forward, Imagine 10 years later… Yea I know a lot of time, but hear me out; You are 30 years old and you had a child in the meantime, this child is 7 years old. 

If I pointed to the empty jar of strawberry jam and asked what it is, you know what they would say? “It’s a glass cup, we use it to drink water.” Do you see where I am going?

Okay now let's go 30 years in the future, imagine; you are 60 years old and this story isn’t about you anymore, no this story is about your grandchild now. Your 37 years old child has a 10 year old child themselves now. If I pointed to the glass cup and asked the same old question, what would they say? “Oh that's a vintage glass cup that belonged to my grandparents, my parents get it out on… special occasions.” Okay cool, it's a vintage heirloom now I guess.

Okay now Imagine; Someone broke it, what would be said if I pointed to the glass and asked you to say what it is?

“This was an empty jar of Jam, we bought it a bunch of years ago and I don’t remember if the Jam was good or not, but it served us well.”

Ok, and If I asked your child?

“Oh, this was an old glass cup that was in my parents house. I liked to use it when we would drink vodka… I think it was older than me. It's a shame it is broken.”

Your grandchild?

“This was a family heirloom. It was older than my parents and I pretended to give it to my child one day. To be honest, the thing was old, it is a miracle how long it lasted.”

The garbage man that will dispose of it.

“Someone threw broken glass in the wrong bin, I will have to put on my gloves.”

[falleri-salvatore]

Something to note...

I still find it hilarious that a certain section of the FNDM keep saying that RWBY would improve if they took Jaune out of it, when it was confirmed (time and again) that there wouldn't be a Team RWBY OR a Team _NPR without Jaune. Ruby would have spent her Beacon Days alone and friendless with only Yang as her company and then died in her continental trek to Haven. Weiss would have died in battle without Jaune there to save her. Yang would have completely shut down due to: (a) losing her arm, (b) being abandoned by Blake, (c) losing Ruby shortly after (reminder: Ruby is both her younger sister, one she raised as like pseudo-daughter as well. This alone would shatter her), (d) losing Weiss. Blake would be even more wracked with guilt upon realizing that, in her endeavour to keep her teammates safe from her mistakes, she practically abandoned them to their deaths. With her own former partner now being nothing more than a shell of a person. Pyrrha would have completely ceased to exist; since she had no reason to hesitate accepting the Maiden Power. Not that it mattered, Hazel and Tyrian both took her down without issue. Nora and Ren just decided to return to Kuroyuri, since their Team was pretty much all but discontinued: only to return to the Nuckelavee and die to it. Jaune, meanwhile would be back on his home: unhappy but safe. Unaware that him not going to Beacon changed the fates of many for the worse.

[itadooori]

yea i rewatched the s1 finale. did a lil doodle about it

[tiedsh0es]

Being an osc fan who loves chars who are complicated and mean is hell. Only men and silly characters get to stay in.

[2x55]

[ Text ID: 𝑇𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑛𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡, 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑎𝑙𝑒, 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑐𝘩𝑜𝑙𝑦 ]

𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑀𝑦𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑈𝑑𝑜𝑙𝑝𝘩𝑜 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝐺𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑐 𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙 𝑏𝑦 𝐴𝑛𝑛 𝑅𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒, 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝟾 𝑀𝑎𝑦 𝟷𝟽𝟿𝟺 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝐺. 𝐺. 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐽. 𝑅𝑜𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑛.

[hurlumerlu]

*rolling up to the widely acclaimed TV show's tag* "hey guys. don't know if you knew this but... Moonlight Chicken. is really good."

[zimt-deathnote]

Oh wow now they're slow dancing to oldies playing in another room on a rooftop at the mafia wedding someone help, can they never stop dancing please

now I kinda want a jazz oldies playlist with animated snippets of those two looping in the background

----- My other socials Commission Info Let's drink some Ko-Fi! 🍵

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

See Ya When I See Ya (Acoustic), Miles Kane @ The Caves Edinburgh 13/11/24

literal moments before this: a group of people in the crowd suddenly started chanting for miles to play standing next to me. he acknowledged it for a moment with the hint of a nostalgic/wistful smile, and then proceeded to level us all with reactionary, wry, raised-eyebrows look and launched immediately into see ya when i see ya instead. and this isn’t even my milex brain talking (the girl next to me literally went “oh wow”), the way he did it was genuinely SO loud. like it was an unmistakeable expression that so clearly showed he feels something about those two songs is inherently connected. it was such a from-the-gut, instinctive response and it spoke VOLUMES. i wish wish WISH i'd managed to catch it on video because i know my description is not doing it justice at all, but trust me. it really packed a punch. like there was this reminder of the most popular puppets song from the crowd (and one that’s particularly associated with all their milex antics at that) , and then this visceral expression from miles of "yeah, none of that anymore" or "look at where we are now" as he introduced see ya when i see ya. there were just. SO many emotional layers. and like yes, i know it's sort of an open secret that see ya when i see ya might be about alex and their creative/personal relationship, but god. this really felt so close to an open admission that that’s the case.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

Riz has counted four casseroles this week alone. Five, if one goes by the method of cooking, but Yelen's scary when she's crossed, and calling her burek by its proper name is important to her, so Riz does her the courtesy and doesn't include it in his mental tally.

He holds the tupperware over his head to keep it out if the way as he takes careful steps over the piles of notes in his path. The dockman case just closed, relevant documentations handed over to relevant personnels, evidences dealt with as needed; all he has lying around now is just record of the process and traces of himself thinking through it. Unsurprisingly they still haven't invented a surface more convenient for people under five feet who like to pace to put pieces of paper on than the ground.

Actual records go into the case folder with the other documents. Anything else with at least one side still blank is going to the school kids in the block - they chew through an astounding amount of paper just learning arithmetic. The rest is for the recycling basket.

Later. It's his mandated lunch break right now.

Riz sits down in front of the corner file cabinet. In an office often overrun with papers and strings and sometimes even thumbtacks, he's never really managed to clutter up this exact square of surface like every other ones. Ever since the bottom drawer rattled for no discernible reason a day long past, his eyes have always just kinda decided to slide across the space without acknowledging it.

It's years out, now. Riz doesn't know why he thought it such a big deal anymore, back then. He wasn't scared, he doesn't think. Not anymore. Maybe just uncomfortable with the idea that certain things persist despite all efforts to change.

He opens the tupperware. Dame Carabelle's experiment greets him with enough spice in the aroma alone to knock out a small mammal. When he chopped the vegetables for this casserole he couldn't really imagine the eventual heft of it, evident even through just these few ladles' worth, maybe weighing heavier for being still warm. His folk eat more through the smell and the textures and the aftertastes than the taste itself. His folk's meal is really the cooking rather than the eating. The eating is the meal's end.

"Hey," he tells the file cabinet's bottom drawer. "Um."

It's the anniversary. Riz doesn't know the exact date of his dad's death; nobody currently alive does. He and Mom both use the date of the funeral, though as he moved out to Bastion and then got more directly involved with Interplanar he hasn't really been going to Dad's grave as much. Doesn't seem like very efficient use of his time, catching a train or borrowing a car or spending a whole spell slot on going somewhere he knows Dad isn't at. They're sorta coworkers now. They talk on and off every other week between missions. When he goes now, it's just to clean up the place, keeping the landmark tidy and respectable.

Without that work to mark the date he doesn't really know what it serves anymore. But he still remembers it. Still takes note, absently or not, when it comes around.

There's not really a good way to tell the drawer that. Riz looks for another way to start the... conversation, hopefully. The question at play, he'd guess, is why he's doing this. He's been pretty content ignoring all the rattlings and the knocks from inside and the times it sits slightly ajar without him ever opening it himself; hell, he still uses the three drawers on top of it. Space is fucking precious in Bastion.

Precious enough to finally fix this damn drawer so he gets his turn to use it? Riz asks himself. Is that what we're getting to? Then he dismisses the thought - he didn't manage to fix it the times he actually tried, let alone-- now. When he doesn't really care that much to.

That's probably a good place to start. "'s fine if you keep being in there, turns out," Riz says.

The lunch hours are quiet in the block, sleepy and bright with the brief window of sunlight that manages to break through roof overhangs and extended balconies and laundry lines and climbing vines. Riz's work isn't loud here (the loud parts happen away from his office, if everything goes right), but the fragment of early summer heat reflected in the steady warmth his meal still carries compels him to lower his voice even more. It makes the words feel intimate, in a way he's never been familiar with - if he says something he just says it. He doesn't whisper. If he gives his friends something, he gives it open-palm. He's found out, along the way, that people usually don't think of rituals and courtesies the way he does.

Small voice for a diminished monster. "You know why I think so?" Riz asks. "Because almost two decades ago you kidnapped me and almost killed me, and now you rattle a drawer in my office."

It doesn't sound as much like a taunt as Riz wanted it to; the drawer has made a lot of noises again this morning when he checked the calendar, and he was definitely annoyed at it. Now, though, facing it like this after cooking the whole morning with more grandparents and peers from the block than he can count on both hands to cater for a tenant union meeting, he thinks the annoyance has morphed. Changed shape.

It has the shades of something like pity. Riz is not prone to pity, and especially not at these kinda matters. It's slightly maddening that he coheres perfectly outside of this one spot. That he commands his spaces, except for a drawer.

He puts the tupperware onto the floor between himself and the cabinet. "I know we're aware it's the anniversary," he says at the drawer. "You do this every year. You make a ruckus every time I decide to go do my job instead of mooching off my friends' aircon, and every time I get an invitation to some stupid social thing I want to turn down, and every time one of the old people tries to introduce me to a child or a nibling, because being a bachelor over thirty is weird," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I have three fucking jobs. I love doing my fucking jobs. I'm forcing funds into infrastructures. You're never leaving, are you."

The drawer vibrates lightly. It's a very, very mild acknowledgement, considering the history of reactions Riz has gotten from this thing. Riz thinks it's emanating joyous agreement, or satisfaction.

It only sharpens the pity. Riz doesn't like that, but it's how it is. That's, ultimately, the lesson he's been taught over and over and over again, just by existing as himself, turned every which way by space after space that don't see him eye-to-eye: it's not like he'd quit living over any of it. It's not like any of it can sand off these fundamental pieces of him.

He's outgrown a lot of things, he's found out. Again, and again, and again. A childhood home, a yearly trip, a monster.

"'s probably scary for you, huh?" He asks. "Because I left."

He thinks he hears joints creak that sound like you did. Probably the way a scorned lover would say it, in a movie or a yellowback. He has no more connection to the idea than he did as a kid. Less, because it doesn't even scare him.

"That's what it is, right? That it's the anniversary, and I'll never be like Dad." He raises a knee from the floor, pulls it back closer to him. Slings an arm over it. "You love to remind me. The thing is, Dad also left. He loved Mom and he loved me, and none of us wanted it to happen, but it still did. Because love does fuckall to make anyone stay on its own."

He's long past being bitter about it. It's just the facts. Once upon a time he looked into the future and the specter of his friends' happily-ever-after casted lightless, fathomless shadow over him. Love, marriage, that kind of devotion, to a fifteen-year-old with more solved cases than friends seemed so eternal. Final.

But you can only watch your friends build up apps' worth of jilted lovers for so long before getting over it.

"You know what I learned?" Riz tells the drawer. "Love doesn't make anyone stay. Project management does."

He stands up, and picks up the tupperware of Dame Carabelle's casserole, that he helped make, that he helped share with a block's worth of neighbors and members of a community he's at home with, and goes sit at his desk to eat. "Last chance to get any," he drops an offer over his shoulder as he walks away.

He doesn't eat all of his share in one go. What he's spared he leaves on the desk when going outside for a smoke break. Baron looks the exact same as when he saw them last, when he catches a glimpse; they haven't grown at all. They aren't there when he comes back inside, but the leftover has gone days-old cold, like someone's sucked the future out of it.