#‘what the fuck are you doing?’

[marypsue]

Keep seeing that post where OP starts like 'Thinking about...grieving the undead' and then adds on about like. Real life situations where people have not died but have left your life and you would have reason to grieve them.

All respect, that's an important concept, but that is not what I am thinking about when I read 'grieving the undead'.

[ayy-junipei]

Fears

[inkskinned]

i got rickrolled today but it didn't work because i have adblocker installed, so youtube just told me i violated the terms of service. yesterday i was trying to edit a picture as a joke for my girlfriend, and google made me check a box to prove i'm human because i wasn't "searching normally".

it isn't just that capitalism is killing fun and whimsy, it is that any element of entertainment or joy is being fed upon by this mosquito body, one that will suck you dry at any vulnerability.

do you want to meet new friends in your city? download this app, visit our website, sign up for our email list. pay for this class on making a terrarium, on candlemaking, on cooking. it will be 90 dollars a session. you can go to group fitness, but only under our specific gym membership. solve the puzzle, sign up for our puzzle-of-the-month-club. what is a club if not just a paid opportunity - you are all paying for the same thing, which makes you a community.

but you're like me, i know it - you're careful, you try the library meetings and the stuff at the local school and all of that. the problem is that you kind of want really specific opportunities that used to exist. you are so grateful for libraries and the publicly-funded things: they are, however, an exception - and everything they have, they've fought tooth-and-nail to protect. you read a headline about how in many other states, libraries have virtually nothing left.

do you want to meet up with your friends afterwards? gift your friends the discord app. you can choose to go to a cafe (buy a coffee, at least), a bar (money, alcohol) or you can all stay in and catch a movie (streaming) or you can all stay in bed (rent. don't get me started) and scream (noise complaint. ticket at least).

you want to read a new book, but the book has to have 124 buzzwords from tiktok readers that are, like, weirdly horny. you can purchase this audiobook on audible! your podcast isn't on spotify, it's on its own server, pay for a different site. fuck, at least you're supporting artists you like. the art museum just raised their ticket price. once, they had a temporary exhibit that acknowledged that ~85% of their permanent art galleries were from cis white men, and that they had thousands of works by women (even famous women, like frida! georgia o'keefe!) just rotting in their basement. that exhibit lasted for 3 months and then they put everything away again.

walmart proudly supports this strip of land by the street! here are some flowers with wilting leaves. its employees have to pay out-of-pocket for their uniforms. my friend once got fined by the city because she organized a community pick-up of the riverfront, which was technically private property.

no, you cannot afford to take that dance class, neither can i. by the way - i'm a teacher. i'm absolutely not saying "educators shouldn't be paid fairly." i'm saying that when i taught classes, renting a studio went from 20 bucks an hour to 180 in the span of 6 months. no significant changes to the studio were made, except they now list the place as updated and friendly. the heat still doesn't work in the building. i have literally never seen the landlord who ignores my emails. recently they've been renting it out at night as an "unusual nightclub; a once-in-a-lifetime close-knit party." they spent some of those 180 dollars on LEDs and called it renovating. the high heels they invite in have been ruining the marley.

do you want to experience the old internet? do you want to play flash games or get back the temporary joy of club penguin? you can, you just need to pay for it. i have a weird, neurodivergent obsession with occasionally checking in to watch the downfall and NFT-ification of neopets. if i'm honest with you all - i never got into webkins, my family didn't have the money to buy me a pointless elephant. people forget that "being poor" can mean literally "if i buy you that toy, i can't afford rent."

you and i don't have time to make good food, and we don't have the budget for it. we are not gonna be able to host dinner parties, we're not made of money, kid. do you want some kind of 3rd space? a space that isn't home or work or school? you could try being online, but - what places actually exist for you? tiktok counts as social media because you see other people on it, not because they actually talk to you.

there was a local winter tradition of sledding down the hill at my school. kids would use pizza boxes and jackets and whatever worked, howling and laughing. back in september, they made a big announcement that this time, rules were changing, and everyone must pay 10 dollars to participate. when im not scared shitless, i kind of appreciate the environmental irony - it hasn't gone below 40. so much for snow & joyriding.

i saw a bulletin for a local dogwalking group and, nervous about making a good first impression, showed up early. the first guy there grimaced at me. "sorry," he said. "there's a 30-dollar buy-in fee." i thought he was joking. wait. for what? the group doesn't offer anything except friendship and people with whom to walk around the city.

he didn't know the answer. just shrugged at me. "you know," he said. "these days, everything costs money."

[iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid]

funniest news blurb i've ever seen actually. "there was a plot to kill trump last weekend. no not that one. totally different one. we figured out about it beforehand though so we heightened security at the rally. yeah that rally. yeah the one where-- yeah. yeah that one."

[greykolla-art]

My blog has become infested with angst goblins, and they must be fed with some hypothetical scenarios!🙏💚

[thatrandomblogsays]

Annabeth: I, a child, had to earn Thalia’s love, that’s how the world works! I have to earn my moms love. Love is transactional, you gotta be worthy of it first silly :)

Percy, listening to this on the train

[krysmcscience]

I have some questions about karaoke night, Alex Hirsch. Very Important Questions. Which I will happily scream at a poor hapless baby triangle who can have no answers for me, and possibly also does not have object permanence yet.

Follow-up that is I guess suggestive, but let's be real here, Bill's a fucking triangle:

Dude slipped right into his birthday suit, lmao

this is so stupid :D

Anyway, I don't care what anyone says, this brilliant individual knows what's up - Bill is absolutely way more of a monsterfucker than Ford could or ever will be, full stop.

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

I am incredibly serious right now when I beg you all, please, and if you have Twitter or Tiktok or whatever to please spread the word: click on an author's profile on Ao3.

You want to know if an author has written more? Want to know if they're still writing? Want to see more from them? Want to know if they've written a trope or kink or sex scenario you enjoy?

Click on their name. And look at their profile.

I cannot tell you how many times in the last six months someone has read a new or newer fic of mine and said they (a new reader who has read nothing else I've done) "can't wait to see what you do next!" I've written 50+ fics and over a million words already.

"I don't know if you're still writing..." click on my profile. I am. I literally wrote a 128k+ fic for that ship last month.

"Would you ever do X?" "Please do Y!" I already did. Click on my name and look at my works.

Archive of our Own is a library. It's an archive. Not social media. It is your responsibility to fight back against the laziness that corporate algorithms have trained into you.

Click my author name. Just click it. Just click it.

Before you demand more, or ask if a writer will do XYZ, or wonder if the author still writing, or anything - click on their profile. Click on the author's profile.

I'm not trying to be mean or condescending or anything like that. I'm just exhausted. It's disheartening and frustrating to repeat myself ad nauseam, because someone couldn't take thirty seconds to do the tiniest bit of work to see if I've written lately, if I've written more for their ship, or scan my works to see if I've written what they're asking for. Please. Please. I'm begging.

Click the author's name, and explore before you ask.

[artkaninchenbau]

A h-heartfelt reunion..?

Bonus

[madame-mongoose]

What the gleep!!! Follow me for cool art!!!

[vickillaman]

Pussy has led this poor girl to places she wouldn’t even go with a rifle

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[spitblaze]

I guess Chilchuck has brought us right back to 'adults who are short are child-coded and if you like them you're a pedophile' discourse huh

[embraceyourdestiny]

to any americans who feel "paralyzed" and "dont know what to do" to help with gaza:

reading a fucking book. i beg of you.

in a time of knowledge suppression is it your duty to arm yourself with knowledge.

read about americas occupations in the middle east.

read about 9/11 from outside of america and see how they inflicted senseless harm and violence to countless amounts of people and have been suppressing your rights for the past 2 fucking decades.

read about any of the countless wars from the past 30 years. especially from a civilian's. and the victims and survivors' perspective. listen to the horror stories and do not plug your fucking ears as to what your country is doing.

and read about fucking gaza and palestine and keep up with what is happening no matter how "sad" or "uncountable" you might get.

dont look away from this.

you dont have the right to be comfortable during countless active genocides.

if you're knowledgeable, you're powerful, and our current state doesnt fucking want that.

you have the power to change things if you open your eyes and scream to the world.

wake the fuck up.

Edit: please check the reblogs there are readings and ways to help

[bean-spring]

Hot take and not to be a killjoy or the shipping police but people treating Viktor or Jinx's aroace headcanons as if they were canon is not the revolutionary take people think it is.

Headcanons are always all right but we have to acknowledge that they are somehow damaging when they apply to stereotypes. It might not be the case for everyone but most of the time people unconsciously assume that disability/mental illness=asexuality. These headcanons erase the freedom of attraction from people who are already seen as unable to have sexual/romantic experiences/desires, when it's completely untrue and harmful.

You can headcanon Viktor and Jinx as aroace, but I have seen people changing their minds once Viktor is no longer disabled (s2 with all of his other forms) and Jinx is no longer as mentally ill (alternate universe Powder). And it speaks wonders of how people see these characters.

"I never thought about Jinx being able to feel romantic/sexual attraction until s2!" To believe she's actually only capable of that when she's not "damaged" is incredibly disturbing. Especially since Jinx has always had a bit of a flirty personality too.

"I've always seen Viktor as asexual, I don't know why!" That's fine. You can headcanon him as ace. But I believe there is a reason behind it, most of the time, if for some inexplicable reason the "vibes" of the disabled character are making you think he's ace.

I say all of this being aroaspec myself, by the way. Headcanon all you want but going to people's posts commenting how "it's weird for you that they have romantic/sexual plots when they're clearly aroace" is not a win at all. It's a headcanon, after all, and it should be treated as such, and that's fine. But it also is damaging to spread stereotypes like these.

Of course the disabled character is asexual. Of course the mentally ill character is aromantic. It's not as revolutionary as you might think, tbh.

Fandom is not activism and it's all right to have any headcanons you want BUT some of them are filled with damaging stuff and perhaps we should look into ourselves more before treating these assumptions as something canon.

[pseudowho]

It was an average Monday morning when you, Nanami Kento's wife, were turned into a cat.

"An unusual Curse," Shoko had said, "not longer than a week, surely--"

"Not--not longer than a week?!" Kento spluttered, his glasses lopsided, and, dangled in front of him beneath the arms (legs-- legs, he reminded himself)...you.

You, with two pointed ears, a long whippy tail, your many toe-beans and a perturbed little head-tilt. On the doctors' office couch, a neatly folded (if a little furry) pile of your clothes.

"Meow," you had said.

"Don't 'meow' me," Kento spluttered again, fixing you with a stern look that barely overlaid his concern. You simply stared up at him, long, and feline, and unblinking...and reached out one little paw, pressing it onto the end of his nose.

Kento sighed; a bone-deep, weary sigh. Shoko put out her cigarette, speaking through a haze of smoke.

"Like I said. Give it a week, and Mrs.Nyanyami will be back to nor--"

"What did you just call her?'

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Mrs.Nyanyami, the cat formerly known as Nanami Kento's wife, wanted for nothing.

"I think that tuna's more expensive than anything I've ever eaten," whispered Yuuji to Gojo. On the other side of the conference room, you sat upon the desk before Kento, waiting patiently for the next lump of tuna (meticulously cut into cat-appropriate cubes) to be delivered in his chopsticks.

As Kento's hand approached, you held it close with paw and claws, to steal the pink fish from him. He looked like a surgeon performing heart surgery.

"I just...dont know how he can look so serious while he's doing that," Gojo whispered back, to Yuuji's frantic nods. Still, they watched this freakish nature documentary with quiet obsession.

A higher-up sat down beside Kento, waiting for the meeting to begin. Jolting back, and grumbling, he did a double take.

"Young man-- you can't bring a cat to a Sorcerer's meeting--"

"That's not a cat," Kento snapped, frosty, "that's my wife."

And so began the rumour amongst the higher-ups, that Nanami Kento had gone mad.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"You should leave her at home--"

"--absolutely not--"

"--really, Nanami...just put the television on, she'll be fine--"

"--unequivocally, no--"

"--why not?!"

Silence. An awkward shuffle on Kento's thick chest. You peeked your head out of the pocket of the cat-carrying hoodie that Kento wore over his shirt and tie, and turned to Gojo with narrowed eyes.

"Meow," you had said, batting at Kento's strings, and hooking his tie out with your paw, to kick it to death with your legs.

"I agree," said Kento, whispering and scratching you beneath the chin until you purred, "he's wrong, isn't he? Stupid Gojo. You'd get lonely. You'd get bored. Yes you would..."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Oh my god...he's gorgeous...you should get his number--"

"--I'm not brave enough...you go. I'll get our coffees."

"--okay, okay..." The woman cleared her throat, sweeping her hair behind one ear with her best smile. Kento looked up from his coffee, with one finely raised eyebrow.

"Can I help you?" He lied, unwilling to help anyone at all before he'd finished his croissant.

"Hi, yeah, I just...can't help but notice you're sitting alone, and my friend-- well she-- she just wondered if she can have your number, and--"

The woman broke off into shrieks. Climbing up her leg, all claws and furry vengeance, was you. She shook her leg, shrieking. You hissed. Your cup of steamed milk clattered over the table, slopping everywhere.

"--o-oh my god-- oh my god, what the hell is this cat doi--"

"I'm sorry," Kento sighed, not sorry at all and dabbing his mouth with a napkin and doing absolutely nothing to help, "it's my cat. She doesn't like company--"

Hisses. Claws. Dirty feral yowls.

"Get this fucking thing off me--"

"I can't take you anywhere. No more steamed milk for you."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

At times, you seemed so human. At others, undeniably cat.

Kento would wake to clattering from the kitchen, bleary and feeling around for you, only to remember, and trace his hand up to the furry, round little patch you'd leave behind on your pillow. He allowed himself just a moment of misery, before getting up.

He followed the sounds of cups and kettle and coffee machine, and leaned against the doorway with sleep-mussed hair and a squinting, teenagerish glare.

You were up on the counter, all four paws and determination. You had gotten as far as switching the kettle and coffee machine on, and heaving the cupboard open with your tiny limbs. Kento watched as you tipped your head sideways, managing to drag two mugs out in your teeth. He winced as they almost smashed upon the counter.

"Come on," Kento rumbled, his voice rusty with sleep, "let me do that."

You meowed at him, batting at the air with one angry paw when he stepped closer. Kento huffed, raising his hands in surrender.

"Fine," he tutted, "but I'll pour the water."

"Meow."

"Why? Because you don't have opposable thumbs, darling."

The fur stood up along your spine. You turned around, and around, in a circle, then sat upright. You turned your back on him while you waited for the kettle to boil. Your tail flicked from side to side, irritable. Kento waited, too, reaching out one hand to stroke your ears.

You nudged your back paw out, and pushed his mug off the side to smash on the floor.

Silence.

"...what is wrong with y--"

"Meow."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Skitterskitterskitter.

Distant meows.

Kento groaned, rubbing down his face. He checked the clock, frog-blinking; two in the morning. He groaned harder.

Skitterskitterskitter.

Thunk.

More distant meows.

"Please just come back to bed," Kento moaned into the hands pressed over his face.

SkitterskitterskitterSKITTERSKITTER-- rustlllleerussstle--

Directly over his face.

"Meow--"

"I am begging you--"

RustlerustleTHNKskitterskitterskitter.

Distant meows.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"I miss you."

You raised your head to look at him. Your purring hitched. Your ears tilted.

Kento had murmured, his low voice barely audible. The only light in the living room was the ever-changing light of the television screen. Laid on his back on the sofa, with you curled on his chest, Kento stroked down your back with longing.

You crept up his chest, pressing your cold wet nose to his, and purred. Nose to nose, and cross-eyed, Kento could have cried.

"I really miss you," he repeated, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Your claws dug into his chest, just a little. You rub, rub, rubbed your warm furry head along his jaw until he sniffled, and gave a choked little chuckle.

He fell asleep with you on his chest that night. In so many ways, it was familiar; home. In so many others, you were gone forever.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Meow."

Kento shuffled. His chest felt heavy...warm. His belly felt warm, too. And his lap, and--

Kento's eyes shot open, his head lifting up from the couch.

You bit your lip, naked on top of him, and smiling. Human. An angel.

"Oh, my love," Kento moaned, crushing you to him in a bear hug from shoulder to toes, "you're back-- I missed you, I was so worrie--"

You batted an arm out, swiping last night's wine glass from the coffee table beside you, to shatter on the floor.

Silence. Kento blinked slowly, looking from the wine glass, to you. You felt your cheeks grow hot, swallowing hard.

"God, I...sorry, Kento. Force-- force of habit--"