#this fit is still good so who cares

[princemick]

yee yee kyle under the cut

[navree]

Incorrect, the fact that Biden has dropped out and a candidate with history of supporting medicare for all and being more receptive to a ceasefire in the I/P conflict has made me go from "I cannot morally support the Democratic nominee" to "I am voting for the Democratic nominee despite the fact she isn't perfect in every respect." I'm really happy this played out. The Dems for the most part abandoned the old Obama platform and it feels like its possible an actual progressive agenda could come to pass in my lifetime.

Kamala 2024!

If you weren't going to vote Democratic in this election before Biden dropped out you're a dorkass loser who does not care about any of the issues you're yammering about here and also a fundamentally bad person, and I hope you get run over by a bus.

But you got one thing right in all of this gibberish, Kamala 2024.

[tswwwit]

Bless that trophy wife anon because they’re right. There’s no way mindscape citizens see whatever dipper does in the real world as a real career and he has no job in bill’s realm either, whether he likes it or not he’s entwined with bill’s world and his people and he can’t blame them for thinking his job is being bill’s husband.

That’s what pisses him off, the fact that they’re right.

No matter how Dipper protests that yes, he DOES have a job, the beings in the Fearamid don't believe it's 'real', or worse - humor him, then give Knowing Looks to the other demons in the room.

Meanwhile, Bill knows it's real - but sometimes he plays along like it isn't just to piss Dipper off.

[svtskneecaps]

lukewarm take of the evening: y'all care too much about being ""outdated"". fellas this smp moves inhumanly fast. it is ok to CHILL holy shit CHILL. y'all are like "(posts BANGER ART) super late guys sorry" friend i am hitting you with a blanket i am snapping you with my metaphorical towel WHAT DO YOU MEAN SORRY. "(posts BANGER FIC) rip this is outdated now" WHO CARES???? I LOVE YOU, OK. ohhhh woe is us as the fandom at large for having MORE HAPPY PILLS ARC CONTENT oh no how outdated!! how could you be writing speculative fiction about how forever felt during happy pills :( slash SARCASM!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN!!!! THERE ARE SO MANY BANGER ARCS, WHAT, YOU THINK WE'RE COMPLAINING????? FOR GETTING MORE OF THE CONTENT WE LOVED????? oh no we're past the period where everyone thought green gay ninjas were like Dead Dead, my work is now outdated and noncanon :( WDYM. GIMME. A BANGER IS A BANGER IDC IF IT TAKES THREE MONTHS. you think rome was built in a day?? fuck you, baltimore, GIMME. my ass has been cooking a goddamn backflipo family fic since july when it was ALREADY outdated do you think i fear god??? "oh no, you're making an edit of slime's (attempted) egg murdering spree?? how could you, that was months ago it's irrelevant" SAID NO ONE EVER.

save your wrists kidlings ok carpal tunnel is no joke. CHILL!!!!! CHILL!!!!!!!! TAKE YOUR TIME SHEEEEEESH OK LOVE YOU <3

[5-pp-man]

hm.

[schnaf]

day 23 aka THE COUNTDOWN IS OVER - jungsu's past birthday brrrr ppoppos

[cheemken]

Made myself sad over the thought of what if the champions ever met their younger selves

Like imagine Lance ruffling his younger self's hair, young Lance is there w his shoulders raised, an arm over his eyes, hiding his tears, Dratini on his shoulders trying to comfort him, and Lance, voice ever so soft, like he was afraid anyone would hear him, afraid of anyone to hear his voice crack, "you're enough."

Imagine Steven sitting with his younger self, young Steven holding Beldum close as he cries, and Steven's there pulling him to a side hug, he looks away, almost fighting back his own tears, he clutched his mother's emerald pendant tight in his fist, "I miss her too."

Imagine Wallace kneeling in front of his younger self, young Wallace was wearing a tattered dress, tears in his eyes as he held his cheek, hiding a bruise, and Wallace is there wiping the stray tears away. He smiles softly, his own heart aching, "there's nothing wrong with you."

Imagine Cynthia hugging her younger self, young Cynthia was holding her hand over her recently scarred left eye, her other hand was clutching Cynthia's shirt tight, sobbing her heart out. Cynthia pulls her impossibly closer, stroking her hair as she tries to hide her own tears, "it wasn't your fault."

Imagine Iris sitting with her younger self at the roof of Opelucid's Gym, watching over the city, watching everyone minding their business, and Iris just smiles at her younger self, giving her a pat on her shoulder, trying to mask the waver in her voice, "soon they'll see how strong you'll be."

Imagine Diantha with her younger self, young Dia was carrying her Carbink, happy to show her beloved partner pokemon off, and Diantha smiles at her with a sadness she thought she had buried along with her pokemon. She gently pats the head of her Carbink, something she never thought she could ever feel again, "take care of them, okay?"

Imagine Hau comforting his younger self, imagine him telling young Hau that everything will be fine, that soon he'll prove he's more than just a terrified little kid hiding behind his grandfather, prove he's more than that, that he too will be strong like the others, "just be brave. Be the bravest ever."

Imagine Leon placing his cap on his younger self's head, laughing as he did, and he watched in amusement as younger Leon looked at him with his best angry look, then his smile turned somber, and he turned to look at the view from his tower, how isolating it was for a ten year old, how they left a child to bear the responsibilities of the region, "it's quite lonely here, don't you think?"

Imagine Geeta sitting w her younger self at the end of the stairway to the Academy, both sitting in silence as they watch Pawniard run around catching a stray Marill. Geeta then turned to her, her younger self, so lonely and quiet and friendless, then she placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze, even though her own hands were trembling, "don't worry, someone out there would want to be your friend."

[piplupod]

feels like the isolation is a gushing wound and going to the centre is just a small bandage. i think perhaps i am not really ever going to feel okay unless something miraculous happens. i am retaining some semblance of sanity now that I'm leaving the house and socializing with non-family more than once a week, but i am still hurting more than I can really tolerate and I don't know what to do about it. there doesn't seem to be a fix for this that I can enact.

[spotsupstuff]

doin' a fuckshite again ✌, i'll see y'all artistically in five to seven business days this fucking script is so bitchily long. i swear to fuck if its gon be over 8 pages.

anyway Fish is gon be in it <3 fucking Finally he shows off properly

anyway,

[hearteyedbunny]

deep depression vs still depressed but healing and seeing your old self again <3

[yoshistory]

Ok I'm just gonna post a bunch of names I've had whirling around in my head for like ever. So here goes: Finch, Wren, Sparrow, Clifford, Orson, Dylan, Mondegreen, Leviathan, Coelacanth, Ptarmigan, Phoebe, Penelope

Idk. Something warm and green and white and 🍊 and brown and like light through a window. Does any of those names feel like a name I would have

[rivilu]

The better I get at crusade management and the midnight fane the worse the end of it is going to hit I can just feel it

[apostatehamster]

just going through the izzy hands tags for now to feel less alone with feelings i cannot truly put anywhere

i've seen many character deaths, i am basically used to my fav characters dying, but something about this particular death feels so very cruel, considering all that happened this season and the show's usually more lighthearted tone.

especially as it's being sold as something beautiful and 'necessary' and then pushed aside for a slapped on happy ending that rang very hollow, to me at least

[an-eldritch-peredhel]

#dang it do i have a new oc now

Sounds like!! I'd love to hear more if you've got it!

(referring to my tags on this post)

You will meet a stranger, sometimes, if you make a habit to frequent taverns, inns, halls for game, or even the one tree where the young Bracegirdle cousins sneak off to play marbles. Well, you will like as not meet many strangers, except in the last case, but this one will be different. Or perhaps you get lucky, and don't frequent such places, but find yourself in one unexpectedly, and meet them regardless.

Everyone in Gondor knows someone who knows someone who met Lady Luck, no one has met her themself. If you do, starry-eyed romantics say, you'll be blessed with good fortune for all your days. The pragmatists tell you you'll be blessed with the good sense to discern a scam.

He may smirk at you after winning a bet, some dark-haired man, using his earnings to buy a round for the bar. It's always a different man, but it always goes to Alwed's tab. It keeps the crowd from getting too rowdy, even if the more superstitious get on edge.

No one remembers meeting them the first time, but dwarves with common sense avoid Audr's shell games and silver-toothed smile- you always win, but it's never worth it.

A woman with greying-gold hair and stiff fingers might call herself Eadrun, and challenge you to a game of dice. Few decline, and far fewer win.

For as few elves remain in Middle Earth, the one who calls himself Herendil and laughs as though his name is a joke should be recognizable. He seems young and lighthearted in a way most have lost, but he will play you cards, win just as much as he loses, and disappear, never recognized.

A hobbit-lass may giggle, red curls gleaming in the sun, and introduce herself as Peony Sandheaver, her family is visiting from Bree, and she wants to see how Shire-hobbits play Jacks.

Sometimes an orc prays over a set of knucklebones, knowing that at least one god will hear one prayer. Orcs have little luck in battle, but uncanny luck with dice.

There are countless stories, just as many true as not. Countless names, far more unnamed figures, always just out of place enough wherever they are to be interesting and promise new tales, never enough to provoke suspicion, not at first.

Even those in the Blessed Realm may find this dark-eyed stranger. Always dark-eyed, like bottles of dark glass. They stop by Aulë's workshop on occasion, to learn and suggest and play new games. They never win the first round, but most have the sense not to bet anything they aren't willing to lose on the second.

Oromë's people call them Umbarnica with a laugh and a toast in welcome. They thrive in the drunken revels after a successful hunt, sharp as ever as they dance from game to game, cackling at ill-advised propositions offered as collateral for or against a bet. Usually this means them winning to avoid it, a frequent enough occurrence as-is, but every now and then they'll decide to let someone get lucky. The bragging rights are the real reward.

And there are no guarantees with this stranger. No way to ensure their favor, though many ways to get their attention, few good. They like irony, take pleasure in hubris reaching its fall. They love superstition, even if they don't always honor it, and they love stories. There are gods that can be mistaken for kind, they are not one of them, created to serve the king the Dark Lord could have been. Their favorites are fickle, their grudges subtle but long-held. They love cheaters, unless they're at the end of the attempt. They will always catch you, and you will always regret it. They slink through candle-shadows and pipe-smoke, grinning, dance in town squares turned to faire grounds, curl up on comfy chairs indoors on rainy days.

But sometimes, in these days, you won't meet a stranger at all. Sometimes your storyteller will get a bright-dark glint in their eyes, and some dice will roll strangely high and some dice will roll strangely low and either way the story will be better for it. And if the next time the group meets you need to take a moment to remind the storyteller exactly what happened last session, well. That's why you take notes.

So pray to the dice-god, card-master, quick-sighted. It might do you no good, but they love superstition, and they love stories. And when you play a dark-eyed stranger, don't cheat at cards.

[i-appear-misssing]

I just had the horrible thought that I need to fall in love because having devastating crushes on beautiful, competent, authoritative women that I desperately want to please is exhausting and I need it to stop

[cruelsister-moved2]

i also don’t think ‘security in your masculinity’ functions as a cure for violence against women. in fact, the cure is (put simply) compassion and empathy for women, the recognition that women are human beings, which is something masculinity is explicitly constructed against. because masculinity isn’t a biological reality, it’s a social construct defined against a feminine ‘other’ and associated with power. traits/behaviours/embodiment that one culture and time period associates with masculinity are associated with femininity in another.  In that context ‘security in your masculinity’ means... security that you don’t have to behave like [insert racialised/class-prejudiced portrayal of stereotypes male violence here] to preserve the privileges you expect to be surrounded by as a member of the dominant gender class. the irony in the ‘secure in my masculinity’ brag is that it makes the men with genuine cause to fear for their place in masculine hegemony (disabled men, gay men, trans men, men of colour, jewish men, immigrant men, working class men, etc) more of a threat than the men who are most secure within it. and now, under this framework, striving for inclusion within the privileged class, fighting to maintain its definitions, and subscribing to its values, is... feminist praxis?  and of course, in all of this, men’s experiences are centralised in the conversation of violence against women. violence against women becomes a tribal issue between groups of men, a.k.a 'feminist’ men are taking fundamentally the same perspective as the 3750 year old code of hammurabi.