#Like MASSIVE TW

[applestand]

.

[hypertechnica]

in the middle of reading nana visitor’s book on women in star trek and i’m in shambles . i’m in shambles

she details in chronological order the women casted in star trek, their individual experiences and hardships as well as their marks left on audiences

the section detailing her own experiences as kira as well as an actress had me very emotional,,, i never knew the amount of things she endured + the infinite love she has for her character really adds context for her incredible performance in ds9

[tobyisave]

care

[sexhaver]

it's really a shame that chuck palahniuk's best-known work is Fight Club. not that it's bad by any means, but Guts is... the anthology i originally read it in (Haunted) stuck it at the very end with a preamble mentioning that people would vomit and/or faint during public readings of it at bookstores, which i both entirely believe and love visualizing. even without vomiting or fainting, the idea of reading it out loud in a public space is insane i mean neurodivergent

[meowsticmarvels]

probably talked about this before but it is still crazy to me of phi's status as patient zero for radical-6. she is the host the virus first claims. her twin brother created the virus. she knows what it will do, knows what apocalypse will happen, but can't do anything about it. she begs diana to kill her, it's an act of mercy for both herself and the world, but diana cant do it. against her wishes she has to live she's the only character to get it at two separate instances - and she has the capacity to remember both of them. the virus's main symptom is suicidal ideation. a lot of this only happened because she had the idea to use the bomb to escape - delta forcing her to have blood on her hands as a result. there's definitely some degree of guilt involved. or what of the 3 months between ztd and april? the months she spends recovering, only to become a vessel for the next 45 years? this is the phi that ends up back at the end of vlr. the phi who unintentionally caused the very thing she swore to stop

[t0talbra1nd3ath]

Wasn’t going to post these since it’s kinda spoiler-y, but here are the CGs I made for Efren’s route in Death By Mixer :p

‼️dick warning for below‼️

[black-leather-sketchbook]

wip!

[debeste-prosecutor]

I'm watching Teen Titans 2003 and I can't help but think of the sheer disapproval Bruce would've expressed to Dick about the T-shaped building they live in. Like. This man didn't let Robin go to a convention for the Titans (granted in a different Titan era, but still) because his identity would be put at risk, how about a whole fucking building that is extremely recognisable and is placed out off the coast of the city on its own island. I think he would be thoroughly flabbergasted.

B, seeing the Titan's Tower for the first time: What the fuck.

Robin, knowing the shit he was going to get for this: I don't like it either!! I didn't design the building!!

And then he never stops getting picked on about it from his family.

[modmad]

how are your hands doing? it was so scary seeing what happened to them when you got covid :C

yeahhh they're still recovering, but I can use both hands again now and while I have scarring on my left hand it's not too bad I just have to get used to seeing it :S honestly the worst part has been that some people just think I'm lying, or that what happened to my hands was a freak coincidence that wasn't to do with covid. the denial people have that it's still super dangerous and can kill people (and does!!!) is literally insane to me...

[r0semultiverse]

Let me start by saying hi I have physical nerve damage and couldn’t handle the recoil of any firearm probably and I literally don’t have a 3D printer or a license for firearms. I think more of these bastards should be scared of the potential consequences of their accumulated blood money. I’m crippled as fuck with nerve damage in my good arm and a bit in my neck just to be clear so legally and genuinely physically speaking I ain’t doing shit & I also have literally no firearm training, never paid for any training, and cannot get access to it as far as I know anywhere locally. I just like seeing rich people as scared as we are every god damn fucking day; it’s like a breath of fresh air in this capitalist Hell hole.

[gaytwirights]

avatar : god :: god : dead

thinking about Behemo/s and her complicated identity again on this fine sunday evening

[bbcphile]

WIP Wednesday (MLC longfic again!)

Now that my amnesia fic is posted, it's time for more of my MLC longfic! At long last, LLH is awake again . . . and not doing that well.

(You can find earlier excerpts here.)

CW/TW: Panic attack, bicha flare, suicidal ideation

Something was different. The pain was there as always, waiting to devour him whole once he acknowledged it, but there was something else, something blanketing it, muting it somehow.

Li Lianhua stretched out his senses like a limb and tried to make sense of it.

Ah. Warmth. That was the strange sensation. Warmth–heat, even–all around him–his back, his chest, his legs, even his fingers, which had been more like blocks of ice than flesh and blood these last few months.

He leaned back, pushing into the banked heat behind him. The solid core of warmth tucked against his front from navel to neck twitched, then pressed against him more securely, as though it could make a home for itself inside his sternum, ribs, and spine and heat him from within.

He felt warm everywhere.

Well, almost everywhere.

He rolled forward slightly, wiggled further down on the bed, and tugged the core of warmth up higher. He curled his arms and shoulders around it and nestled the bit in his hand between his face and the pillow until it cradled his cheek. 

Much better.

He smiled into his new, warmer pillow and let himself start to relax back into sleep.

“Xiangyi?”

The warmth against his face gradually took shape as his skin and mind began to wake. That was a finger–no, several fingers. A hand. A large hand. And those calluses–how could he not know them when they had clashed steel with him, choked him, clinked brimming cups of wedding wine with him, even been inside him, taking him apart with a gentleness he hadn’t known they could profess.

He let his awareness spread throughout his body, setting aside the pain, and yes, that was a-Fei’s chest he had pressed himself against, like Huli Jing requesting head scritches, and those were a-Fei’s legs, tangled with his, and that was a-Fei’s breath rustling his hair–less now than it had been a moment ago–and that was indeed a-Fei’s arm he was clutching like a child would a favorite toy. 

But a-Fei had been holding him first.

Why was a-Fei holding him? It was one thing to wake up in each others’ arms in the newly wed room, after their  . . . exertions. Before a-Fei knew that any real dream of a future was doomed to fail.

But to hold him now? After he’d given away the wangchuan flower and left a-Fei behind, left their promise behind? To hold him like he still mattered. Like he wasn’t a curse who killed everyone he’d ever cared about. Like he was some sort of treasure . . .

Treasure . . . 

Cabinets stained in blood, Xiaobao’s blood–

“Xiaobao,” he gasped, flinging himself free and to his feet. Where was Xiaobao? He had to find him, had to heal him, before it was too late–

“Xiangyi! Sit down!” A-Fei caught him as his legs buckled and lowered him back onto the bed. 

Why wasn’t Xiaobao here? Had he killed him, too, just like he killed everyone he cared about? 

“Duobing,” a-Fei roared. “Get in here. Now!” Callused fingers cupped both sides of his face, turning it gently but firmly toward him. “Xiangyi, look at me. He’s alright. He’s on his way.” 

“How could he be alright?” Li Lianhua gasped, clutching at his shoulders, the already blurry world turning more hazy. “I saw the blood!”

“I healed him. He’s safe,” a-Fei said, cradling his head as though he could hold the shattering pieces of his mind together. “Now breathe.” 

Li Lianhua choked on an inhale, his lungs spasming, only managing to draw in a desperate wheeze.

A-Fei cursed and dropped to his knees by the bed, pressing one hand to Li Lianhua’s back and the other to his chest, filling both with a familiar warmth that began to break apart the iron bands strangling his throat and lungs. “Try again. Feel my hands. Press against them when you inhale.”

The next breath shook and spluttered like a dying candle but some air squeaked through nonetheless.

“Good.” A-Fei gave his back a short supportive pat. “Again.”

Lotus Tower shook as footsteps pounded toward the bed. “What’s wrong?” panted a beautifully familiar, impossible voice. “Xiaohua’er?”

“Bicha,” a-Fei growled, rising from the floor to kneel on the bed at his side, his hands still bracketing him on either side. “He thinks you’re dead. Show him the scab.”

“Shit,” the Xiaobao-shaped hallucination cursed. It seemed especially cruel of hallucinations to now match the blurriness of their surroundings. It made them seem far too real.

The hallucination knelt at his feet and took his hands. “It’s me, Xiaohua’er,” it said, tears in its eyes and voice. “I’m alright. A-Fei healed me. See?” It brought his hand up to a spot on the back of his skull and pressed his fingers to a crusted, raised line on its scalp. “I’m right here and I’m alright. Do you believe me?”

He could feel it. Why could he feel it? His fingers had always passed through hallucinations before. And even when he’d dreamt of Xiaobao, or of a-Fei, of holding them again, it hadn’t felt as real as this. His fingers traced the ridges of the scab–a perfectly neat seam–then the silk curtain of hair that covered it. 

This was Xiaobao’s hair. The texture, the thickness, what he could see of the color–no hallucination could do justice to this. 

This was his Xiaobao.

He was alive.

“Xiaobao,” he cried, turning his head this way and that to make sure it was the only injury. “You’re alright!”

Xiaobao’s bright smile shone through despite the haze his eyes imposed on everything. “Told you. No harm done. So focus on taking care of yourself, ok, lao huli?”

Li Lianhua huffed out a wet attempt at a scoff and bopped the side of his head. “No harm? What do you call this?”

Xiaobao captured his hands with his and brought them down from his head to rest between them. “Less serious than a Bicha attack. How are you feeling?”

Li Lianhua blinked. A Bicha attack? He turned his attention inward to his qi, and–

Ah. There was a-Fei’s Beifeng Baiyang, somehow wrapped around his Yangzhouman and pushing the last of the poison back into the recesses where it would lie in wait, coiled and ready for the next attack. The black tinge was almost gone from his veins.

He had been so worried about Xiaobao that he hadn’t even realized.

A-Fei had probably saved his life. Again. 

He shouldn’t have bothered.

[knifefightandchill]

“I am Osmund Saddler. The speaker for our Lord.“

[lopposting]

So, I have some mixed feelings about the Rise ending. I don't know, it's complicated. At the centre of the game seems to lie a father-son relationship and the lengths of approval. You are "punished", in a sense, if you decide to hand your heart to your father. But it does still technically "reward" you with approval in the good ending with his acknowledgement. I thought it would've been really interesting if Geppetto says the exact same thing as the Free from the puppet string ending ("I knew it, you're just a useless puppet") in the Rise ending, but in a different tone.

[I know this is a complicated subject, and I'm sure that many people may have some personal perspectives on this, but I hope people get what I'm trying to get at]

But after some time, I think that the apology is not really for the audience, it's for P. The apology is a worthy inclusion, not because Geppetto needs to be redeemed, but because without it, the only "wrong" option is to seek his approval. Maybe his acceptance isn't the "right" thing to want, or what we "should" want [I don't mean in a moral way] - but Pino isn't wrong for wanting it.

Or maybe he is, I don't know. But I think, despite everything - it's still what Pino wanted. and I think it does provide him with a bit more closure and peace than something else. (And it can do this while also not portraying it as the "healthiest" thing to want.)

And I think that's what they're showing us with the extra shot of him looking over the balcony. There's no other purpose of this scene [I mean other than establishing the next scene for the audience], and In his reality, it would've been completely silent. He's just looking at the view. Not even listening to music. And then he finally goes to sleep.

[starvemaxx1ng]

this ed is lowkey the only reason i haven’t committed

[genocat]

this one iterator OC i never post because his trauma is too fucking severe for anyone to even be able to comprehend in one sitting