#trying to remember this every second

[mimosita]

[i've never doubted that palestine will live.

the US dropped more than 7.5 million tons of bombs on vietnam, laos and cambodia from 1965-75. they destroyed our land, used agent orange, slaughtered villages, separated families, the list goes on.

but we're. still. here.

indigenous people are still here. black people are still here. colonized people are resilient. even if you kill our people, ban our languages, destroy our homes, heritage sites and artifacts, we will always find a way to keep our cultures alive and that has always been true

so much of the west and isntreal's tactics and actions are hauntingly familiar to me as a viet person. its a colonizer's rinse and repeat. and so that's how i know palestine will be free. we've seen this film before]

[wynnyfryd]

Eddie flounders, arms flailing as his feet slip out from under him for the fourth time, and he lands chin first on the scuffed-up ice with a hard thud.

“Oww,” he moans miserably to himself as he sits up. He lifts a numb hand to his mouth to inspect the damage—fingerless gloves doing fuck-all to defend against the stinging cold—and the tips of his frozen fingers come back speckled with warm red from where he bit his tongue on the way down.

Fucking ice skating. Max better appreciate the effort he’s making.

He’s in the middle of a mostly empty rink (arms crossed over his chest, ass wet from the ice, fully pouting in public but who cares his tongue and chin fucking hurt), and he’s thinking about just staying there—sulking in place for the remainder of the open-skate session until a Zamboni comes to sweep him away—when an employee spots him and comes skating over to help.

The guy moves with a graceful, practiced ease, swift enough to send his honey brown hair flowing out behind him as he glides over the ice, and he stops neatly in front of Eddie with a tap of his toepick. “Need a hand?” he asks, offering his, and oh no he’s hot why does he have to be hot jesus christ

“‘M fine,” Eddie mumbles into his knees, face flaming. His eyes are wet, and his cheeks are all splotchy, and he’s being such a petulant, wounded little baby right now, but like.

If Hot Guy could kindly fuck off instead of witnessing this ridiculous behavior, that would be so cool and sexy of him.

“Hey,” Hot Guy says, voice gentle. His downturned puppy eyes go soft with concern when he spots the blood on Eddie’s lip, and he crouches down into a squat and rests a hand on Eddie’s knee.

The fingers of his other hand reach out, hesitant, hovering in the space between them like he wants to cup Eddie’s chin but doesn’t want to hurt his bruised skin. Eddie’s eyes widen at the gesture, kind of humiliatingly turned on by how tender it is, and his lip wobbles and oh God he is not about to cry in front Hot Guy he’s not doing it he’s not—

The guy offers him a reassuring pat. “Bit your tongue?”

Eddie nods. Hot Guy smiles sympathetically. “Yeah, that’ll do it. I bit the shit out of the inside of my cheek last week trying to race my coworker,” he tells Eddie, shaking his head with a little laugh. “Hurt so bad.”

Fuck, his laugh is pretty. Eddie can’t help but smile, too.

The guy claps Eddie’s knee again and shoves himself back up to standing. “Come on,” he says, offering a hand. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Eddie takes it this time.

He lets himself be hoisted to his feet, gripping the lapels of the other man’s jacket for dear life as he gets his balance. Hot Guy, bless him, just brackets Eddie’s waist between his hands, steadying him with warm, broad palms splayed beneath his ribs, and then they’re toe-to-toe, standing so close that their breaths fog into a mingled cloud.

H.G. flashes a brilliant smile. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Eddie.”

“Nice to meet you, Eddie,” he says sincerely. He slides his hands from Eddie’s waist to his elbows, trailing down to take both of his hands in a sure grip, and then he swivels his feet and starts slowly skating backwards across the rink, dragging Eddie along with him. “What are you doing out here by yourself?”

Eddie snorts, rolls his eyes at himself. Yes, what, indeed, he thinks, blowing a wild curl out of his face. “It’s a long story.”

Steve grins. “I have a long shift.”

[boxbug]

who is a person who is three?

fanart for @theminecraftbee ‘s fic ‘solving counting sheep’ which i read in a single sitting. me when stories about identity <3

also fun fact i had another version of the watcher’s mask up until the finishing touches basically. the reason for this was that i misread ‘plain white oval with a symbol on it’ as ‘with a plain white oval on it’. somehow. i may be dumb

i now know the mask is supposed to be black on white but i’m not repainting the whole thing </3 the harlequin mask barely looks like a harlequin so we’re taking some liberties here anyways

[falderaletcetera]

because I'm partway through a reread and queueing up a bunch of reblogs about it, and it seems only fair to recommend it first:

Jack Farris doesn’t want to save the world, just every person he knows, encounters, or hears of. It’s a bit of an issue. S. Grey doesn’t want to save anyone but himself. He wants to know everything and majoring in sagework at the Academy is the best way to do that. Laney Jones left her home to avoid the constraints there, only to find different barriers holding her back at the Academy. Eager to learn, to excel, to escape, she has far from given up. Rupert Willington Jons Hammerfeld the Seventh would just like everything to be orderly, thank you very much, but it seems the only way to make monsters and myths (and malicious but mundane men) stop rampaging through his world is to go out and do some hero-ing himself. They are put together as an unwilling study group, but they become something more.

this is Beanstalk. It's first in a trilogy, all self-published, all free on the author's website, and the series is one of my favourites. It has:

– found family, with platonic relationships front and centre

– an adventurer's academy with a complicated legacy, where "hero" means a coloured armband and a diploma

– worldbuilding (appreciative), featuring an interesting magic system and monsters of all kinds, many of them people

– a red-headed boy named Jack, seventh son of a seventh son, who left the forest and grew like a beanstalk. You may recognise parts of his story. You may recognise others down the line.

– there's a whole cast I don't want to spoil except to say I'm currently rereading the first book and really looking forward to reaching the rest.

– there's definitely casual queer rep though. what do you take me for.

– honestly the writer (hi @ink-splotch!) writes all these characters with a complexity and love that I really admire. Some of the chapters that affected me most aren't even about the main cast.

— you may know the writer from her fics, the interactive games Stay? and More a Haunting than a History, or the podcast Second Star to the Left which she co-created with Aysha Farah. I can highly recommend most of the above and will get around to MaHtaH eventually.

If anyone's interested, I'd advise you don't go looking for spoilers. There most definitely is angst, but less so in the first book - hit me up if you want content warnings!

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all, I am blanking on a word so hard I am even blanking on the words to describe that word What's the term for like...groups of colors? color palettes but more specific? I'm looking for the generic term, but the specific words that are versions of that generic I can think of are things like earth tones, jewel tones, pastels, and maybe brights/neons I'm trying to figure out other categories like those but I cannot figure out what the word is to search

[incorrect-fnaf-quotes]

Day ??? of suddenly thinking of something or seeing something that sparks an idea that causes me to go: “Wow, I love that! I’ll think of more for that!” and then I just go and roll with it.

Which has caused me to just have... so many FNaF AU’s & ideas or whatever—and I have no idea what to do with any of them. But I’m just holding a bunch in my grasp, either way. Swap type AU’s, and so many other things.

[hummingbird-games]

who wants to steal my laptop and hammer out the rest of these outlines??

anyone???

...any takers???

...what do you mean I have to do this mYSELF!!!!

[unbidden-yidden]

Not in transition anymore exactly, not a detransitioner, but a secret third thing: I got what I needed from this process and now I don't care anymore.

First I identified as a binary trans man, then was forced to detransition and live as a cis woman. Then I was forced back out of the closet and initially tried to live as a man again before finally (correctly) understanding myself as non-binary. Then I fought the system REAL hard to get access to the physical transition I needed so that I could, y'know, continue living.

And then I got that access and my chains were cut, and I was free, free! from the crushing dysphoria.

And then I realized that on the other side of that, that I had no language to talk about my experiences, because that was at the height of the "if-you're-at-all-male-even-a-little- then-you've-never-experienced-misogyny-or-tbh-transphobia-and-should-just-stop-talking-about-your-experiences" phase of trans community. How could I even begin to articulate and talk about my experiences in order to heal from trauma and repair my relationship to the community, when I was told over and over again that I didn't understand my own traumatic experiences? This, despite the fact that people trying to overwrite my experiences and reality were part of that trauma?

So I just... stopped. I stopped participating in trans community. I stopped being vocal about my trans identity. And I started slowly but surely shifting back into a feminine presentation, which no longer triggered dysphoria because of the physical changes.

And as the years roll on, I find myself having not fundamentally changed, but simply having moved on. I moved on from the boy I could've been, and now the dye is cast and I can't feel anything. I can't connect to that maleness with any urgency except once in a blue moon, nor does being genderqueer bring me joy. But I'm not a woman. I'm a vaguely femme-shaped person with enough of the external features of a woman that I can get by. But I'm a woman in the way that a hare is a rabbit or a hyrax a rodent.

And I'm out of energy, or words, to explain it anymore. Most days.

Fuck the pronouns; I don't give a damn.

[canonically-a-genloser]

man. imagine the like. two days the kids knew henrik

[spotsupstuff]

I feel so bad for zephyr, what are some of her happiest memories? Would it be first meeting the members of her local group? I assume they would be built after her, was she excited about them being built or was she not informed at all?

she wouldn't be very... Present. most likely hadn't managed to be there for every Iterator when they first came online. she is very removed from most of her group because she's unable to stick in the chats for too long with all the damage and her endless attempts to conserve herself as much as possible, so her interactions with others outside of the Anemoi (and this one guy called Orion's Pathway) are extremely limited

Boreas, though, ever the life-saver, updates her on any new Iterator projects being build, how are the already existing ones doing- see she is kind of hard to cheer up and as a rule she never really laughs, but oh hearing about successes of others always manages to make her happy. that has been a thing for her since day one!

so Boreas would make a list of the Eo group's achievements with Euros and Orion's help and he'd read them out for her during their routine calls. those calls are probably one of her happiest memories, since she got so much serotonin and motivation out of hearing about her family (n also just in general- their start might've been rocky but Zeph n B really really love each other [platonically ofc])

they might not Know her, only be aware that their senior is called Abet Zephyr and her appearances are strangely rare, but she loves them all. if she hadn't, it wouldn't be called Mission Self-preservation. it'd be way more revenge focused. her number one priority is the safety of her family even if she doesn't know them personally. she puts them above her anger, physical and emotional trauma cuz she just fuckin loves them that much

her other happy memories include some stuff with Sparrows! after Zephyr allows her opinion about the Ancients develop, she finds herself glad whenever Sparrows would show up to do some more repairs and spend some time with the old humidifier. jgklsdmclk just like with a grandma, Sparrows would show her some stuff on her phone/Mechanic's watch and Zeph would be confused about it but she gets to spend the time with someone she likes so it's okay

along with Euros on a call the three of them would sing folk songs from Sparrows' home with Boreas usually listening in, very rarely joining in

Zephyr wasn't given overseers until Sparrows showed up for the first time, too, so when she synced with the eyes and took a peak outside for the first time in her life, that was... that stuck with her as a strong memory, too. can't exactly say it was a Happy memory, but only cuz there was so much happening in her emotionally in that moment that simplifying it to a singular one wouldn't really represent it right

here's her lighting up while Boreas tells her about positive recent events of the group

her antennas are broken- that's why they are always down like that- but Dammit she is Happy we Gotta wiggle 'em at least a wee bit

[sskk-manifesto]

(๑•́ω•̀)

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

Saving to pintrest publicly is reposting. If you have my art on your pintrest you have stolen it. 

I’m actually getting really sick of this. I was considering leaving pintrest alone for reposted art, simply because most of what I saw could would still take you back to my blog, but there is so many people pintrest who simply saved the images publicly with no credit and no link which means I’m going to have to spend the next week dealing with this nonsense instead of working on another comic like i wanted to.

Guys, if you’re young and you use pintrest to save art the you like, you need to know that saving it publicly is reposting and you are actively harming the artists who’s work you claim to enjoy. 

Stop. 

And if you’ve been online for a while now, you should know better. 

[queenlucythevaliant]

I'm watching Star Wars with my roommate, she hasn't seen any of it and she is completely unspoiled I am LIVING

[hella1975]

i have such a reputation that four separate people incorporated pringles into my birthday gifts. be that girl

[tea-cat-arts]

(Disclaimer: this is just a repeat shower thought I’ve been struggling to put into words)

There’s something about stories where the happy ending is only obtained through a fourth wall break that I just find incredibly unsatisfying. I get the idea is supposed to be like “this happy ending is obtained because of your hard work,” but when the player hasn’t really been an acknowledged factor in the story before that point, it ends up feeling less like a victory for me and more like a happy ending isn’t actually possible for the characters without the author showing their hand. Like, the characters growth and wills aren’t actually enough to win, but the author likes them so they’re just gonna let them get the win anyways. I want the characters’s victory to be the one that’s actually in story if that makes sense

On the flip side of that, it is so satisfying to watch a character go “if the laws of this universe get in the way of my happy ending, then I will simply rewrite them.”