#I’m so glad I’m reading it again

[tsuchinokoroyale]

Take a good look… with Gyo.

[royaltea000]

You know you’re gone when you start playing dress up doll with a character :/

[raiiny-bay]

b/a for the boys’ anniversary edit :-)

[banefort]

Not to sound like a broken record talking about nomadic v settled lifestyles in HOTD, but an interesting dynamic that has come of the Daemon-Harrenhal sideplot is between him, the castle, and Alys and Ser Simon Strong, is what they represent as manifestations of the Neolithic agrarian revolution.

Daemon’s time at Harrenhal is spent oscillating between the two factions. Simon represents the foundations of a settled society. He dictates Daemon’s waking hours and daily schedule (against his will), keeps him tied to his political duties, and goes so far as to impel Daemon to guarantee the longevity of Harrenhal by commencing its reconstruction - affirming a settled and regulated lifestyle.

On the flip side Alys represents nomadic life, occupying the halls of the castle much like a ‘ghost’, only affecting circumstance through cerebral happenstances, whilst also showing a marked affection for the natural world and ancient natural structures (Wierwoods), and repeatedly identifies with the natural world via totemism (calling herself a barn owl). She is the history of Westeros and the First Men made manifest, and personifies a nomadic lifestyle which has been lost to to the regions south of the Wall.

By having Daemon constantly tossed between Ser Simon and Alys - settled and nomadic, polytheism versus paganism, agriculture versus shepherding, he occupies a liminal space and is caught between the refractions of history, and through his tumultuous residence, is implicitly drawn to question the true strength of monarchy, settled lifestyles, and all forms of contemporary power structures; for Alys, and her associated phantasmagorical neolithic ways, are clearly established to have had a far more substantial and cerebral impact on Daemon’s psyche than Ser Simon, who, while Daemon does entertain, he visibly holds no regard for, as opposed to Alys, who he is both wary and keen for. This is substantiated by his being shown to feel conflict and guilt over his perpetuation of Targaryen ethnocentric incest, his failure to fulfill his duties to his faction (be it the Blacks or his children/wife), amongst others, following his arrival at Harrenhal, suggesting that through her presence as an all-encompassing totem of nomadic conducts, his deep-rooted pride in Targaryen legacy, “the establishment” and all things modern, rapidly unwind. The paths of his - and all other citizens’, ancestors calls to him from an intangible, psychosomatic place. His contemporary comforts are all but stripped bare in some primal, unbidden rush to follow in their footsteps.

[deathsmallcaps]

I need advice.

I’m a white intern working in a mostly white southern(ish) high school. Students of Color number at under 2%, perhaps even lower. It’s a very white, rural community - I grew up in a fairly mixed, suburban northern community, and part of my family is Black.

Several of my white students say rude things to my Students of Color. I’ve told them to knock it off *as appropriately as I can* but I’m probably one of the few adults that actively discourage that behavior.

I don’t want to let this shit fly under the radar, but I also know that if an adult of authority *who will only be here for a couple more weeks* interferes, and then doesn’t stick around, it could make things worse. Additionally, I know these kids are probably very very very used to this ‘system’ and that making a short-term change could be more harmful than helpful.

I asked one of my senior students after a very racist incident *where she was laughing along with the perpetrator but I told him to stop anyway* that I can move him, or her, so she could be more comfortable (admin either does nothing or slaps wrists, especially for seniors). She said it was fine and that he was always like that.

I must emphasize, I think they were bantering (they talk so much I think they consider each other friends?), but it was also wayyy fucking out of line, especially in a school setting. And the guy says so much out of line shit I’m surprised he isn’t rocking a full set of dentures to replace the teeth he ought to have lost by now.

Another student took me up on my offer to move people, but I ended up moving him, which sucks because he was the victim in this situation. Unfortunately, I have to keep his aggressors in their spots, as they are highly rowdy in all the ways and require a lot more supervision than he did. And the class is really full. These were also all freshmen, so I wouldn’t be surprised if that affected the victim’s reaction.

So I’d really appreciate advice as to whether I should let it be, or continue as is, or step it up even more, from People of Color in largely white, especially rural, communities. Like any advice from current or previous educators, especially Educators of Color would be appreciated, but specifically southern/rural ones would be wonderful. I’m going to talk to my family members about it, but they’ve lived in more Northern settings their entire lives and they may have less … applicable (?) experience to the situation.

Again, I’m an intern, I’m going to only be there until winter break 2024, and I don’t want to fuck things up for these kids in the long run with my northern ally ‘sensibilities’. Thank you!

[allyouneediskilly]

Like, every character is unique, charming and completely insane. It has real world historical interest in a culture that was nearly completely lost to the world. A bat shit plot about gold, treasure maps tattooed onto escaped convicts and the broken men trying to find it. Genuinely tense stand offs and shoot outs followed by the absolute chaos of escape. An incredible snap shot of a country in the throes of change after at the turn of the century following a deeply traumatising war. And yes, some very well drawn, attractive men. Golden Kamuy is a masterpiece to me.

i forgot that in terms of like, pure enjoyment and the number of different niches of my interest it caters to, Golden Kamuy is the best manga ive ever read

[krowtesque]

art summary ’24! drew a lot of people staring very intensely at the viewer this year apparently

[cheriekos]

“my self-sufficiency will be the death of me” [timkon ficlet]

goooooood afternoon timkonners. Really wanted to get into the habit of writing a little bit everyday again, so I’m filling out some whumptober-adjacent prompts (courtesy of scealaiscoite). This may be eventually cross-posted to my ao3, who knows, this is mostly just to keep my writing skills in check after a really rough few months of work + to get me out of my writing slump on my larger fic projects. This has been very lightly edited, and is extremely unbeta’d. Anyways, enjoy! Prompt: blood swirling down a shower drain. Content warnings for light descriptions of a knife injury & medical treatment related to that.

The ceiling is that awful popcorn texture. It's yellowed over time. There's a spreading stain over corner, likely some water damage from the unit above. There's some rust at the corner of the shower curtain rod and some odd looking spots at the bottom of the flimsy plastic curtain that has him groaning because he's going to have to look into this, he lives here, other people live here, and clearly the landlord spruced up his apartment but not the others and this needs to be taken care of but it's another thing to take care of -

His breath catches in his throat, a barely held gasp just eeking out past his lips. Every time he tries to breathe low into his belly, his chest spasms. Bruised ribs, he catalogues. Another thing to take care of.

Tim's fingers shake over the left side of his chest, right above the torn parts of his uniform, right where his emergency beacon was slashed through. He lost the one on his wrist sometime between Falcone's latest hidden warehouse and the apartment building. If he reaches down to his boot, he can press the one still intact. He can press it, and someone will come and get him.

He can't move his hand.

Well - It's not that he can't. He's still got some feeling left, which is good. But he can't stop staring at the ceiling. The thought of even moving his head makes him feel so - so tired. It feels as if someone has scooped out his bones and filled him with dense liquid. He tries to will himself to move, to slam down on the emergency beacon and suffer through the indignity of having to be saved by Robin and sit through a thorough dissection of everything he did wrong tonight. He doesn't mind it so much anymore, really - but he's just - he's too tired. He's too tired.

When he closes his eyes, it feels good - the rest that calls to him feels like the kind after a particularly long day of running around as a kid. When you've probably spent too much time in the sun and your chest hurts, the phantom pain of deep laughter following you to your bed. He believes it, for a moment. That he's really just closing his eyes after playing too much and too long and his mom will be there in just a moment to brush his hair out of his eyes and tell him don't let the bed bugs -

He presses down on the knife wound along his abdomen to keep himself awake.

Only an inch deep, but three inches long - they got messy trying to pull it out, he thinks. Another wound. Another thing to take care of. Which he won't be able to take care of if he passes out in this dingy bathroom that's probably going to give him an infection.

His fingers feel cold. He can't tell if he's going into shock or if he's been sitting under the spray of the shower so long that the hot waters run out.

He can't die like this. Not like this. Lying in a mold covered bathroom, shredded to pieces. Not like this.

It's painful, it makes him flush with a deeply buried shame that he tried hard not to face - but he chokes out his name anyway.

"Superboy," he says. "Kon."

There's a moment - one painful, awful moment - where there is nothing but the sound of the shower and his own, ragged breathing. Then, somewhere further inside there's the sound of a window opening, the stumbling of leather boots against hardwood floor - and then Kon's there, right there next to him, and Tim has never felt so relieved and so ashamed at the same time.

"Shit," Kon says, holding Tim's face. He looks down at Tim's hands, shaking against the wound in his side, and follows the blood going down the shower drain. "Shit."

"Good t'see y'too." Tim mumbles.

Kon's staring - or at least, Tim thinks he is. He thinks time is slowing down, maybe. Between one blink and the next, Kon's face morphs from wide-eyed worry to a grim sort of determination. The grip on Tim's face tightens - not unkindly.

"Not funny, Tim," Kon says, lowly.

Tim just swallows, barely wincing at the acrid taste of copper on his tongue. He tilts his chin with what little energy he has, indicating his stomach.

"Knife wound," he says. "Bruised ribs. Gotta check for - for concussion -"

"Stop talking -"

"Need - stitches -"

"Stop talking."

Tim's mouth clicks shut. He feels something burn at his chest - not pain, but something more akin to anger flaring beneath his skin. The urge to crawl out of the tub, to rip away from Kon and get his own goddamn medical kit was making his stomach roll. But God, his bones were like lead and his head was so heavy - the overwhelming relief of being gathered up into Kon's arms was almost enough to distract him. Almost.

"I'm taking you back to your house -"

"Can't."

"Why?"

"Got - my own - my own place -"

Kon freezes as he leaves the old bathroom, pausing briefly to scrunch his eyes tight and mutter a small Jesus Christ before readjusting Tim in his hold, gently.

"You need help, Tim, and you've lost a lot of blood -"

"Not too much -"

"Tim -"

"Kon," Tim says, strained. "The longer we stand here arguing, the more blood I lose. Take me - take me back to my apartment."

Time really slows down then. Kon's bright, bright eyes bore into his, a completely open book. Tim can see the way he swallows down his words, the way his jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth - the way his eyes shine with worry. Tim holds his gaze, focusing on the pain blooming across his ribs in order to avoid thinking about just how much Kin's gaze unsettled something within him.

"You're gonna be the death of me," Kon mutters.

"Not if I die first," Tim says, softly. Kon doesn't laugh - doesn't so much as smirk. Then, he's bounding out the door faster than Tim could blink.

Tim feels a wave of vertigo and he does everything he can to stop the bile rising in his throat. He digs his nails into the worn leather of Kon's sleeve, groaning with his lips shut tight. Kon's thumb rubs a soft circle where he holds him - a gesture so gentle that it takes Tim by surprise. He doesn't get to relish in it for long before Kon's laying him against his new dining table; Tim mourns the clean wood. He'll be scraping out blood from the grooves for the next few months.

"My medkit -" Tim's hand reaches out, weakly. "Get me - needle -"

"Are you out of your mind?" Kon damn near shouts. "You're not sewing yourself up."

"I can and - I will -"

"No," Kon says firmly, hand wrapped around Tim's wrist. "Can you - can you just let someone help you for once?"

No - it's the reply right on the tip of his tongue. Help. There was a time when people surrounded Tim, when he could reach out a hand and find another reaching out to him. But the longer he does this, the more he loses, the more people start to disappear - the more that he finds that the only hands he has are his own. The hands that will stitch him up and prop him up straight, the ones that get things done.

But another, tiny part of him sighs. A little part of him sags with relief, maybe with exhaustion- because yes, he would like some help. His fingers are cold and cannot stop shaking and Kon is steady.

"Fine," Tim finally says. "Help me."

Kon smiles. That irritating, crooked grin lights up his face and Tim chest constricts at the familiarity of it.

“Was that so hard?” Kon says, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Yes,” Tim groans.

Kon moves swiftly - more assured, more practiced than he had been months ago when he first had to deal with some bad scrapes while out on a mission with the team. His hands don’t flit about wildly, searching for something to make it better. He takes off his own gloves and washes his hands before cutting through the tightly woven Kevlar of Tim’s suit, gently washing the cut, and letting Tim dig crescent shaped divets into his bicep while he threaded Tim’s skin back together.

“You’ve gotta breathe, Tim - “

“I’m trying, asshole - “

“Don’t call the guy with the needle and thread an asshole, asshole - “

Tim barely notices that Kon has already snipped the medical thread and has started placing bandages across his side. Tim watches as he moves, quick, tearing medical tape and snipping bandages with determination, and then carefully placing them where Tim still bleeds. Tim’s mouth goes dry - he looks up at the ceiling instead.

“How’s your hearing? Seeing double?” Kon asks, flashing the little emergency flashlight in Tim’s eyes. Tim resists the urge to bat him away.

“Just fine,” Tim blinks. “God help me if I - if I ever have to deal with - two of you.”

“Twice the fun,” Kon remarks.

“Twice the headache,” Tim says, with little heat. “Kon - painkillers - “

Kon rattles a small bottle, labeled meticulously in Alfred’s familiar handwriting. “These ones?”

“Yes,” Tim says, breathlessly. He tries to put one hand under him, arm shaking with the effort to try and pull his own body weight up.

“Hold on - “

“I can - get up by myself - “

“Tim,” Kon says, warm hands curling around Tim’s arm. “Let me help you. Please.”

There’s an earnestness to Kon that is so disarming that it peels away the remaining resistance in Tim. He uses his last bits of energy to wrap an arm around Kon’s neck, a flush traveling across his cheeks as he mutters okay and lets himself be held again. This time, he lets himself melt a little further into Kon, pointedly ignoring the unfurling, winding feelings in his gut - he neatly packs that feeling away for later in the corner of his brain. He focuses on breathing, on the steady rhythm of Kon’s heartbeat, and the soothing hands that hold him.

He blinks rapidly, realizing that he’s been placed on his couch and that Kon has managed to rummage up the eye-sore of a blanket that Dick had given him as house-warming gift a while back. Kon’s in the kitchen, then suddenly by his side, waving a small glass of water and the painkillers in front of Tim.

“Drink up, Timmy,”

“Don’t call me Timmy,” Tim grumbles, and downs the pills and water in one swift movement.

When he sits back, it’s like every bit of adrenaline keeping him awake has left him. The last dredges of it disappear and all he can do is curl against the headrest, the scratchy, awful blanket giving him an odd sense of comfort. He blinks, slow, trying to get a good word out before sleep could take him. To tell Kon he’s got it handled, that he needs to report back to Dick about the stake-out going wrong - but he can’t. He just looks up at Kon, illuminated by the bright lights of Gotham from the window behind, and he feels a deep, deep ache in his sternum. A sudden urgency fills him - a worry. That when he wakes up, Kon will be gone and something about that makes Tim feel sick.

He moves his fingers slightly, flushing with embarrassment as he croaks out “Stay?”

Kon doesn’t hesitate. There’s barely enough time for a thought before Kon’s hand tangles with Tim’s, the rough pads of his thumbs, slowly becoming calloused from farm work, begins to rub against Tim’s knuckles. Tim’s breath catches in his throat.

“Of course,” Kon whispers. “You don’t even have to ask.”

Tim breathes out. “Oh.”

There’s a smile on Kon’s face - a little knowing, a little sad. Something childish blooms in Tim; he wants to reach out and hold his face, wants to pull at the edges of his cheeks until the sadness went away. But rest tugs at him, the exhaustion in his bones pulling him down, down, down until the feeling of Kon’s hand in his was a distant sensation, his last words something like out of a dream.

“I’ve got you, Tim. I’ve got you.”

[fizzamess]

Keep the aroace positivity flowing (day 7):

(2nd try)

Who’s your favorite aro/ace/aroace-coded fictional character? 🧡💛🤍🩵💙

It doesn’t matter if it’s canon or headcanon, anything.

My answer: I’ve been watching The Great Gatsby (movie) lately and I think the depiction of Nick Carraway by Tobey Maguire is kind of aroace-coded? But just specifically in the movie. Idk, It’s canon in my head :).

[silkjade]

i haven’t been here much recently, and i’m sorry i’ve only been negative on the off chance i’ve been online, but let me just say one last piece before the end of this month, so that maybe the next might be better….

[spr1ng]

i feel so at peace but at the same time so chaotic and drained

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

The Jinn-Bot of Shantiport

set in a cyberpunk Calcutta-inspired city, loosely inspired by Aladdin

chaotic monkey bot who wants to fight in underground mecha/bot tournaments and leave to become a space hero

his human sister, the daughter of failed revolutionaries who has been working her whole life to free their city from oppression and inequality, especially with the recent rumors that their planet is scheduled for destruction

and an old unearthed bot whose function is to observe & record the story of a client who meets the siblings and quickly becomes involved in their lives

and a treasure hunt to find an old and powerful piece of alien tech that has the power to radically change their city

[no1ryomafan]

i was thinking about besides devo getting a anime the most controversial getter anime they could make is a remake of Armageddon cause despite the fact it could absolutely fix the issues the show has it be one of those things that wouldn’t be necessary and people would be sick of more arma content.

But then I thought about “okay but then they could make Kei actually trans if they had the fucking balls” and I know this would NEVER happen but that would make people seethe more then arms being remade and I found that so funny. (And yes this is very much related to my last post)

[ssreeder]

GUESS WHO IS ALL CAUGHT UP WITH LIAB (finally)!!!

now i have to actually wait for chapters... sigh

but seriously i love this series so far. keep up the great work

YOU'RE CAUGHT UP?!?!

wooohoooo!! I’m so happy you enjoyed!!!!

[tummyisyummy]

Hello. Thank you again for drawing my OC and other's BC OCs. It ain't much but I offer a meme.

Omg 😭😭😭 Bro I’m so glad you like the art I made for u 🫶

I got so many reaction pics to respond to this but I managed to keep it down to a few 😌

And I appreciate the meme so much 😭💜

[angelfrogs]

Considering the latest chapter I am not sure if Yoshida’s dead but I think even if he was in control of himself Denji would not give a damn about Yoshida’s fate. In fact after everything I would not be surprised if he was cool with the idea of killing Yoshida personally, nor do I think he would be the wrong for wanting that!

There’s a lot this last chapter has left up in the air! Yoshida’s fate being one of the major unanswered questions, and genuinely I have no idea if he’s dead or not currently to me it’s about a 50/50 chance. I stand by on what I’ve said on him before, if he’s dead I believe he died full of regret and I think he may have died outright apologizing (though in this state that probably wouldn’t register to Denji at all). If he isn’t dead? He probably will be dead soon, if not at the hands of Denji then by someone else. I wouldn’t be surprised if the next chapter is Yoshida focused for this reason but given how much Fujimoto likes to jump around and slowly weave the scene together I’m not holding my breath. Either way, while I have always found Yoshida interesting and have been waiting for the other shoe to drop when it comes to this character for a LONG TIME, I think that his fate will be, and should be, a vehicle to discuss Denji’s current emotional and moral standing. I do not think Denji, or rather chainsaw man, would hesitate to kill Yoshida. (Though I don’t think he’d actively seek Yoshida out or try and track him down if he ran) There are two ways Denji could kill Yoshida right now and that depends on, like you mentioned, how in control Denji is of Chainsaw Man currently, my first instinct on seeing this version of csm (the version that can eat devils out of existence) is to say that this isn’t Denji at all but Pochita, like what was true before. However the circumstances in which this csm appears are quite different and it’s very possible that through all this emotional turmoil Denji found away to fully take hold of his devil side and keep his own consciousness. So if Denji has/does kill Yoshida as this version of chainsaw man it’s either done unfeelingly with pochita in the “drivers seat” sort of speak… OR Denji kills him personally in his own rage, as you mentioned. To an extent I agree with you that Denji would not give a fuck about Yoshida’s fate, mostly in that I think Denji would not care if Yoshida as a person is alive or dead. I do, however, think that if Chainsaw Man kills Yoshida, that will weigh on Denji. If Denji kills Yoshida mindlessly and without full control? Well then we are back to the conversation of the ways being chainsaw man, being half devil, dehumanizes Denji. If Denji does it consciously in rage? Then I think this would actually be more in line with the narratives of exploring Denji’s sexuality: he would have to face that even though he wanted it there would be no actual gratification in doing this because it’s a stand in for what he really needs. Revenge like this is unfulfilling either way, and while I absolutely agree with you that I don’t think he’d be in the wrong at all for wanting him dead I don’t think that’s the actual dilemma he’s going to have to face, I think it will be the horrifying realization that this carnage means nothing to him. But that’s just my two cents!

And a side tangent while I’m on the subject! I do think that there is a way where Yoshida is completely and irreversibly caught but he still survives: if Asa intervenes. Asa cares a lot about Denji, Yoshida is someone she knows personally, and she is someone with extremely strong feelings about morality (she doesn’t like the idea of killing people so intensely she keeps the WAR DEVIL from doing it) I think if she’d be able to she would try and talk Denji out of it. I think narratively if there’s going to be anything that snaps him out of this spree it’s going to be that but once again I’m not holding my breath on this lol! Especially bc now we have to deal with this no mouth situation….