#(because seriously why do people do that?)

[spookyspeks]

Does anyone else feel like physically disabled people aren't allowed to identify with the very common and understandable thing of "nobody wants to work"

Like. "Nobody wants to work but if you're disabled you have to want to work or you must be faking. This thing everyone else feels isn't supposed to apply to you"

[spleenthecat]

"ooohhh fiddauthor so sad so cute theyre so yaoi" you are all overlooking a very very important detail here. FIDDLEFORD HAD AND WORE FULL ASS COWBOY BOOTS IN COLLEGE.

[hauntingjasper]

Chuuiickensnek (+headcanon design for Vinny)

[papercranesandpride]

Dear aroaces who are tired of aroallo "hostility" (aka pointing out how much aro and aroace are conflated, and how much aspec spaces treat ace as default and are full of "sex is gross" sentiment), I have a suggestion: hang out in the aspec spaces of literally any other social media instead. Because I've been on quite a few platforms now, and I promise, there are no loud obnoxious aroallos anywhere else. If you go to instagram or bluesky or reddit or whatever, they'll all be quiet and you'll once again be assumed to be the default, and all the aroallos are sad and unconfident and convinced they can never have the relationships they want

[gimlilithegreat]

I look at all these people asking for a like/dislike button or the ability to take away kudos if a fic does something they don’t like…

We are very different people. And I really don’t get it.

Why do you want a built in anonymised function for giving negative feedback? Are we trying to make fandom like Reddit now? Because that’s a space that really promotes creativity.

Can you imagine how depressing watching your kudos count go down would be?

They are ridiculous and I lowkey resent people who think this is a good idea.

You know what I would LOVE as a new feature on ao3? A reread counter/extra kudos option. If I’ve come back to a fic after 6 months I should be able to give it another kudos or a separate thing to show that this fic has lingered with me in a way that I constantly come back to it. You’ve already left kudos here is a constant pop up for me and I would like to be able to give more positive affirmation rather than less please.

[thedoctorfat]

Saw one of those theorizing Reddit polls on the P4 Reddit, asking if people would want a possible Yosuke romance in the remake and it's breaking my heart that so many people in the comments are either "Eh, I'm straight so it doesn't matter" or "No because I'm romancing x other character anyway" or "No because it ruins his character by forcing us to reject him if we don't want to romance him" (That last one is like... uh.... then what about all the OTHER romanceable characters?!)

[broken-clover]

Shout-out to Chipp Zanuff for, after twenty some odd years, still being literally the only red-eyed person in this godforsaken series who isn't just directly related to Gears and has his own thing going on. I mean I know albinos are rare but given that Baiken somehow has naturally pink hair it's amazing it's only ever come up once

[findafight]

Robin chose Steve. Robin made the conscious and deliberate decision that she could and would trust Steve. She already liked him! She had fun working and bantering with him! They were already on their way to being weird little bffs and the torture just expedited the process. Steve chose Robin just the same! He thinks she's fun and cool and likes her so much! He chose to be honest and open with her too, putting himself out there.

Even though their interests on the surface level don't match why wouldn't they share them? Steve clearly caves when Robin wants to watch a movie he doesn't think he'll like, Robin can watch a March madness game or five.

Stop trying to take away their bond oh my god people can be close to more than one person!!! Their best friend doesn't have to be dismissive or mean or whatever in order for a romance to be special to them!

[bardan-jusik]

i have a theory that the massive amounts of hate kal skirata gets is related to the tcw-ification of the clone wars era and how it doesn't take the idea of being in a slave military all that seriously but that's an essay for another time

[uncanny-tranny]

I know for a fact I've talked about the golden records, but I don't care because here is a sample of some of my favourite greetings on those discs

There is something so vulnerable, precious, and human about sending up pieces of our hearts into space. Even when we know that there may not be anybody out there to hear us, we are still whispering to whomever might listen how much we love them, how much we want to connect. No matter how small the chance is, we're taking it to say that love is real, that we are real.

How is that not something to be in awe over?

[spider-dreamland]

Redemption and Legacy┃┃┃A Singed x Reader ONE SHOT

Redemption isn’t a single moment. It is the sum of choices made for those we hold dear. A wholesome one shot about Singed x Reader. Contains themes of childbirth. And an amusing scene of Singed meeting your family :)

❤️ Enjoy ❤️

Singed had never imagined the possibility of turning a new page. For the past several decades, his life had been nothing but a downward spiral, consumed by the single desperate cause to undo the past, to reclaim what had been taken from him. The idea of starting anew never existed. But now, he sat outside a delivery room, waiting for you to give birth to your second daughter. His hands resting on his knees, his scarred fingers twitching slightly with every muffled sound from inside.  He’d heard screams before. He’d been the reason behind screams before, more times than he could count. Agonized wails, desperate cries, pleas for mercy, each one carved into the darkest corners of his memory. But this was unlike any of that. This wasn’t the sound of fear or suffering he had inflicted; it was you, his wife and his light, crying out in pain, and he couldn’t escape the gut-wrenching helplessness of it. It clawed at him, an unbearable weight pressing against his chest, louder than any laboratory explosion or battlefield roar. He wasn’t the cause this time, not directly anyway, but he wasn’t the cure either, and that terrified him more than anything else.

He had been low. So low the thought of ever crawling back out never as much as crossed his mind. Dragging others into his descent had been a necessary evil, or so he told himself. Emotions were for others, for the weak. He didn’t feel. He calculated, hypothesized, and executed. That’s what it meant to be a scientist.

Until you.

He had met you on a particularly grim evening in Zaun, having a drink in a dimly lit, greasy bar with some friends of yours. He wasn’t there to revel in the fleeting comforts of alcohol but to dull the gnawing ache inside him, which, despite years of carefully bottling his emotions, sealing them away like dangerous chemicals in an unmarked flask, sometimes resurfaced, clawing its way out. 

Yet, as he stared into the amber depths of his glass, a woman’s voice broke through the static.

“You look like you could use another.” A drink, placed before him. He looked up and saw you. A woman who didn’t belong in this world. Young, vibrant, glowing with a light that felt blasphemous in the grimy, muted tones of the filthy Undercity. At first, he thought it a jest, some cruel joke among the youth you were with. But you stayed. And for reasons beyond his comprehension, he let you.

He had told himself to keep his distance, that you didn’t know what you were inviting into your life. Yet, with each passing encounter, you, a Piltover woman who saw beyond his sins and scars, pulled him closer.

You had made him want to change.

It hadn’t been easy. Decades of habits couldn’t be erased overnight. But the moment you told him you were carrying his child, everything shifted. He had looked at his hands, stained with the past, and had no other choice but to. For you. For your child.

He remembered the day you introduced him to your family. He, Singed, Zaun’s pariah, Piltover’s exile, had tailored a suit, his scars hidden beneath layers of fabric and freshly-washed bandages. Meeting your father, a man his own age, was a peculiar sort of torment. For him and your father, it was an unspoken battle of wills, and the stakes couldn’t have felt higher. And you loved them both dearly, but watching them silently stress themselves. 

He remembers you just floating through the evening with an amused grin, pouring drinks, cracking jokes, and watching them both squirm, “Dad, I think you’ll like him. He knows a loooot about chemistry,” you added fuel to the fire with a grin, earning a sharp side-eye from him and an even sharper fork stab into your father’s potatoes.

He had spent the entire evening waiting for rejection, for the inevitable moment when your parents would denounce him.

And when your mother and grandmother saw him at the potluck they’d hosted to “meet the one who’d finally captured their daughter’s heart”, they nearly passed out. Their polite smiles faltered, their eyes darting over his scarred face and weathered demeanor, desperately trying to reconcile the man before them with the man they’d imagined. 

But what choice did they have? He’d already given them a grandchild. Such bright and beautiful baby. And now, with another one on the way, nobody’s reservations had any room to grow. They also couldn’t deny the way you looked at him with devotion that spoke louder than any words ever could, or the way he stood by your side, as though ready to destroy anyone who so much as thought of causing you harm.

That day every glance, every word seemed laden with judgment to a tangible extend, and though he hid it well, you could see the effort it took for him to stay composed. You found it almost endearing, and surely beyond amusing, though he’d probably never forgive you for not taking it seriously. 

Returning to Piltover had been surprisingly uneventful.

And yet, through it all, he found solace in fatherhood. He hadn’t expected to be good at it, but you had shown him otherwise. Your first daughter had quieted in his arms before she had even calmed in yours, her tiny fingers wrapping around his scarred ones.

That day, for the first time in decades, Singed willingly indulged himself in emotion. 

The sound of a door creaking pulled him from his thoughts. A nurse stepped out, her face paling slightly as she took him in.

He stood immediately, his heart pounding so loudly the nurse could likely hear it. This stress couldn’t possibly be good for his age, he had mentally noted, though the thought was fleeting. You didn’t want to be apart from him, not now, not in your most vulnerable moment, and he would never tell you no. Not to this. Not to you.

Sweat clung to your forehead, your face strained with exhaustion, but you smiled when you saw him. “I want you here,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He would do anything for you.

Moving to your side, Singed repositioned you gently, his knowledge of anatomy guiding his hands.

Hours passed, but he didnt waver. The tension in the room ebbed and flowed with each contraction, but he remained steady amidst the storm of pain and anticipation. When the moment finally came, he moved with precision and calm, his hands as sure as they had ever been in the laboratory, though this time they were bringing life into the world instead of unraveling it.

You’d insisted he deliver your second daughter himself, so he did, catching her tiny, wriggling form. The first sound she made was a piercing wail, her lungs announcing her arrival with ferocity. Her tiny fists flailed, her face scrunched in indignation at the cold air of the world outside the warmth of the womb. For a moment, everything else, the chaos, the exhaustion, the years of doubt, all faded away, and the room was silent save for her cries. It was a sound that filled the space with hope.

He handed her to you carefully, his breath catching as he watched you cradle her to your chest. You were exhausted, your eyes heavy with sleep, but you looked up at him and smiled.

Singed knew, with absolute certainty, that he would tear the world apart piece by piece, leave it smoldering and broken at his feet, if it meant keeping you happy. Nothing, no force would ever stand between you and the life you deserved.

Not while he drew breath.

[irenespring]

I'm reading character rankings and Downton Abbey and apparently we are supposed to be annoyed at Branson when he shows up for....being right about class issues? Being a socialist? Annoying the Crawleys by making them think about the ethics of their money? Like seriously what am I missing here?

Multiple articles talk about him like he only became a good guy once he shut up and became one with the Crawley Aristocrat Horde but honestly I found him kind of boring when he didn't have a love interest. And speaking of, when he did have a love interest---the way poor Sarah was talked about jfc. When she showed up I was like "okay great I love her and her finally calling him on losing his socialist principles once the palace doors were opened to him, she's going to bring him back to his morals" but instead she was thrown out and treated like the absolute devil incarnate and all the protagonists joked about how obviously evil she was because as Mrs. Hughes said "heaven forbid we contradict the holy Family."

[highseas-swede]

...I seriously cannot stress how much I hate tags like "Give us BAMF Aziraphale" because it seems to imply that he's not badass.

He IS. Tell me how well most people could endure 6000 years of consistent, persistent demoralization, harassment and shitty treatment without snapping?

Do you know how HARD it is to be kind when you've been put through a system that actively discourages kindness and softness, a system that tries to beat it out of you - not physically, but still. The fact that Aziraphale got through all of that and is not just still kind, but still has the capacity to be kind to the very people who hurt him, is fucking remarkable.

Aziraphale is badass. Period. Full Stop.

It's well past time that we stopped equating physical and fighting prowess as a measure of badassery. Just about anyone can exercise and get strong enough to fight someone. Just about anyone could possibly get weapons training. Neither of these things is half as brave as putting yourself in front of a crowd of people and holding off 70 demons with just conviction and a candleholder because it's the RIGHT THING TO DO.

EDIT: I had to add this while I was thinking of it.

I feel like people are buying into Heaven's version of badassery. Angels were made to FIGHT. To fight the last big battle against demons and Hell.

Aziraphale is a deviation because he DOES NOT WANT THAT. He doesn't want to fight a war that will hurt billions and destroy the world. His defining moment in Season 1 is when he stands in the face of the quartermaster and refuses to fight the way they want him to. Instead of a weapon, he chooses to find another way.

If anything, I would think it's leading to the idea that Aziraphale feels he must fight, that he has no choice, and then, when it comes right down to it, finding another way. A kinder way. A BETTER way.

By the standards of Heaven, Aziraphale picking up his sword and fighting would be Normal. Him refusing and finding another way is what makes him Unique. THAT'S what makes him badass.

[isatartdump]

ALSO LIKE A THING I NOTICED NOW BECAUSE I NEVER LOOK AT THESE I ONLY LOOK AT THE COMMENTS/TAGS BECAUSE I LIKE SEEING WHAT YOU GUYS SAY.

Why are there so many of you. I don't fit you all in my house. I don't even know how to thank you kMDLWQKNE

UHM?? You guys are cool thanks for giving me a place to ramble? And post my little sketches. That you seem to like

It means a lot to me

UHM UHM HERE !! HAVE- HAVE MORE OF MY SIFLOOP SKETCHES BECAUSE I TEND TO DO THEM ON MY FREE TIME

There's also a sifzaloop hidden in there

Haha.

[shalom-iamcominghome]

I've sometimes seen people who are in the conversion process wondering, "wouldn't it better if I was just an ally?" and it's something I've felt before, too, until I realized that what I was doing was conflating a sense of belonging with allyship in a way that can be almost disingenuous.

I know for myself personally, I don't feel a sense of belonging when I ally myself with a group of people. As a man, I don't feel I belong with women simply because I ally myself with them. I have always considered myself someone who allied themself with jews, but there was something deeper about this allyship. I felt belonging in ways I never did with other groups I allied with. It was always an inexplicable, unshakable feeling of belonging that told me my allyship was rooted in something deeper than just conviction.

I can only speak for myself, but I found that I continuously questioned my motives for conversion to the point where I was preventing myself from doing anything. I've realized that were I to remain an ally, I would not feel fulfilled in life because my connection to judaism runs too deeply, and it always has.

[matteoberrettini]

genuinely hilarious btw how people on twt want soo bad to make matteo a villain in jannik's story or some shit like it's a disney movie. less than a month ago he said they'd talked recently and he's never had anything but good things to say about jannik but to some people it'll never be enough because he made a decision for his career that i understand is hard to digest but it has nothing to do with his relationship with jannik, jannik himself said it doesn't bother him, they both have never indicated they weren't on good terms. like yeah we can't ever really know the truth behind what they say in public, but i think we should stick with what we can see and read, yeah? because making wild assumptions based on nothing doesn't lead to anything good, it's just speculation and i don't see what anyone gains from it?? i think maybe some people need to grow up and accept that they don't know these people. they don't know jannik and what he thinks or feels or who he talks to or who avoids him or whatever. we know what he shows and tells us and that has to be enough because otherwise we go down dangerous paths