#Must take good care for that reason

[serpulalacrymans]

Glad to see that you’re home safe Please take good care of yourself

-Jacqueline 

I will try. You too..

[stars-obsession-pit]

Following an accident, Danny wakes up in Gotham City in a DC universe. Lacking any forms of ID or possessions beyond the clothes on his back, he’s forced to commit some crimes to survive. Minor crimes, but still.

And then he gets caught.

During the court proceedings, they come to the mistaken conclusion that he’s a Meta suffering from some psychiatric issues such as Cotard’s Syndrome (a real rare condition where a person holds the delusional belief that they’re dead/don’t exist/etc).

Thus, between his “need for mental treatment” and the concerns about housing someone with his unique physical traits, he is sentenced to spend time in Arkham Asylum. He’s under pretty low security aside from the anti-Meta stuff and has more freedoms than some other inmates, but it’s still not a great experience. Even at the best of times, Arkham is hardly a nice place.

Some of his fellow residents are decently chill all things considered, but lots very much aren’t.

[dykedvonte]

Honestly I see Jimmy's refusal to put Curly out of his misery less about his weird feelings of envy or his delusions but the fact Curly is all but stated to be a shield to Jimmy from his actions and people seeing the worst in him.

The only characters that Jimmy really interacts with one on one before the crash are Curly and Anya, two individuals he has wildly different relationships with. It's likely that Curly really did most of the talking between them as the pilots and the rest of the crew as staff. They didn't know of Jimmy's more reprehensible behaviors cause they never really had the chance to and Jimmy is subconsciously aware. If they had disliked him more than Anya would have told Swansea earlier or even Daisuke when things got really bad.

It's why he takes the immediate opportunity to blame Curly; He's the shield. He's saved Jimmy's ass more times than he can count and more times than Jimmy would ever admit. Even when he can't really do it anymore, he mentally shields himself from his own faults by putting Curly between them. Letting Curly die puts too much on him because he doesn't know how to function without a safety net.

In the end Curly only lives because Jimmy needs the idea that Curly will inevitably make things better to stay alive, meaning Curly has to live, no matter how much it pains him to do so.

[lgbtlunaverse]

Half the internet talking about how we just need to be more niceys to men and misogyny is the fault of mean internet feminists and the other half going "Let's try seperatism again!" I'm so tired. I want to be in community with men, especially marginalized men whose political goals align with mine, while trusting that any critique of misogyny won't immediately turn them into fascists. Is that too much to ask?

[acourtofquestions]

"You'll come back," Manon said.

It sounded like more of a threat than anything

Dorian smirked. "Would you miss me if I didn't?"

Manon didn't reply. He didn't know why he expected her to.

He'd taken all of a step, when Asterin clasped his shoulder. "In and out, quick as you can," she warned him. "Take care of Narene." Worry indeed shone in the Second's gold-flecked black eyes. Dorian bowed his head. "With my life," he promised as he approached her mount and grasped the dangling reins. He didn't fail to miss the gratitude that softened Asterin's features. Or that Manon had already turned away from him.

A fool to start down this path with her. He should have known better.

The hours that passed were some of the longest of Manon's existence.

From anticipation, she told herself. Of what she had to do.

Abraxos, unsurprisingly, found them within an hour, his reins sliced from the struggle he'd no doubt waged and won with Sorrel. He waited, however, beside Manon in silence, wholly focused upon the gate where Dorian and Narene had vanished.

Time dripped by. The king's sword was constant weight at her side. She cursed herself for needing to prove-to him, to herself-that she refused to let him go into Morath for practical, ordinary reasons. Erawan wasn't at the Ferian Gap. It'd be safer. Somewhat. But if the Matrons were there … That was why he'd gone. To learn if they were. To see if Petrah truly commanded the host there, and how many Ironteeth were present. He had not been trained as a spy, but he'd grown up in a court where people wielded smiles and clothes like weapons. He knew how to blend in, how to listen. How to make people see what they wished to see. She'd sent Elide into the dungeons of Morath, Darkness damn her. Sending the King of Adarlan into the Ferian Gap was no different.

It didn't stop her breath from escaping when Abraxos stiffened, scanning the sky. As if he heard something they couldn't.

And it was the joy that sparked in her mount's eyes that told her.

Moments later, Narene sailed toward them, making a lazy path over the mountains, a dark-haired, pale-skinned rider atop her. He'd truly been able to change parts of himself. Had made his face nearly unrecognizable. And kept it that way.

Asterin rushed toward the mare, and even Manon blinked as her Second threw her arms around Narene's neck. Holding her tight. The mare only leaned her head against Asterin's back and huffed.

Manon hadn't dwelled long on what she'd say.

And as the three hundred Ironteeth witches filed into the hall, some coming off their patrols, Manon half wondered if she should have. They watched her, watched the Thirteen, with a wary disdain.

Their disgraced Wing Leader; their fallen Heir.

When all were gathered, Petrah, still standing in the doorway where she'd appeared, merely said, "My life debt for an audience, Blackbeak."

Manon swallowed, her tongue as dry as paper. Seated atop Abraxos, she could see every shifting movement in the crowd, the wide eyes or hands gripping swords.

"I will not tell you the particulars of who I am," Manon said at last. "For I think you have already heard them."

"Crochan bitch," someone spat.

Manon set her eyes on the Blackbeaks, stone-faced where the others bristled with hatred. It was for them she spoke, for them she had come here.

jacket, then hoisting up her white shirt. Rising in the stirrups to bare her scarred, brutalized abdomen. "She does not lie."

UNCLEAN

There, the word remained stamped. Would always be stamped.

"How many of you," Asterin called out, "have been similarly branded? By your Matron, by your coven leader? How many of you have had your stillborn witchlings burned before you might hold them?"

The silence that fell now was different from before. Shaking shuddering.

Manon glanced at the Thirteen to find tears in Ghislaine's eyes as she took in the brand on Asterin's womb. Tears in the eyes of all of them, who had not known. And it was for those tears, which Manon had never seen, that she faced the host again.

"You will be killed in this war, or after it. And you will never see our homeland again."

"What is it that you want, Blackbeak?" Petrah asked from the archway.

"Ride with us," Manon breathed. "Fly with us.

Against Morath. Against the people who would keep you from your homeland, your future." Murmuring broke out again. Manon pushed ahead, "An Ironteeth-Crochan alliance. Perhaps one to break our curse at last."

Again, that shuddering silence. Like a storm about to break Asterin sat back in the saddle, but kept her shirt open.

"The choice of how our people's future shall be shaped is yours," Manon told each of the witches assembled, all the Blackbeaks who might fly to war and never return. "But I will tell you this." Her hands shook, and she fisted them on her thighs. "There is a better world out there. And I have seen it."

Even the Thirteen looked toward her now.

"I have seen witch and human and Fae dwell together in peace. And it is not weakness to do so, but a strength. I have met kings and queens whose love for their kingdoms, their peoples, is so great that the self is secondary. Whose love for their people is so strong that even in the face of unthinkable odds, they do the impossible."

Manon lifted her chin. "You are my people. Whether my grandmother decrees it so or not, you are my people, and always will be. But I will fly against you, if need be, to ensure that there is a future for those who cannot fight for it themselves. Too long have we preyed on the weak, relished doing so. It is time that we became better than our foremothers." The words she had given the Thirteen months ago. "There is a better world out there," she said again. "And I will fight for it." She turned Abraxos away, toward the plunge behind them. "Will you?"

Manon nodded to Petrah. Eyes bright, the Heir only nodded back. They would be permitted to leave as they had arrived: unharmed.

So Manon nudged Abraxos, and he leaped into the sky, the Thirteen following suit.

Not a child of war. But of peace.

[scarletfasinera]

This was said by someone who confidently declared that a hand-painted sci-fi art piece from the 70s made by a human artist was AI art and therefore bad, and then was proven wrong about it being AI-generated. I wonder what this says about your views of artists and art in general as a subject actually.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

really also wendy's "good ending" centering around a beautiful (presumably terrible as usual) Family(tm) Meal is sure like, an expression of that idea that it's beautiful & not terrible of Superiors to just pay any kind of attention to their Inferiors....wendy gets to have family dinner As Deserved because these are Her Kids who have gotta show up when she feels like it's family dinner time, not even a question that they wouldn't. and despite that, even as the "good" parent of the two, wendy's attention to her children is of the "minimal maintenance / occasional Exceptional demand" kind, it sure Is that "good" that wendy chooses to do any of that ever, or to be like okay we're having this family meal now with me because i want that. like it was Good that chuck sr. wants to do whatever he does to his son because, right there, that's His Kid, so. family as a hierarchy is definitely beautiful, why not psuedo marriages like when some epic guy with true claims to being a Real Man is like yeah sure i guess i want to have this woman, therein lies perhaps some beautiful redemption for that man if this woman is magnanimous & not like too inadequate or selfish as to not motivate him to Better himself, or not Try to do so. wendy sure won't break with axe fully ever no matter what, which would've been selfish of her (had to be a reason she didn't go to superhell with him that Didn't damage his ego, as is apparently always the case in turning down any winner around here. Taken For Granted you will of course grant them access to whatever they want, like dragging you along on their banishment when like, has this guy talked to his ex wife about his kids before doing this? who knows. or that one kid he projected on? well that doesn't count, nice of you to do the Performance of being unconditional support man, but no problem if you forget he exists. that's not Your Kid in any way that's supposed to play into your power like Your Family (ft. kids you own))

[yuripira4e]

Juno is fr going through an arc rn like say what you will about whether he’s in the right or not but this lady is being so so casual about everything like if he can just fix it then it’ll all be *fine* and eventually he’s going to realize he cannot and our lady is going to actually breakdown me thinks

[rawliverandgoronspice]

.

not sure it's my post to make particularly, but I do fucking hate how the concept of white guilt gets weaponized within white people ingroups to throw at each other in order to goad each other into emotional passivity, detachement and inaction, it's just so extremely not what the concept is about initially and is actually still an extension of white guilt it turns out!!! as it's still reacting to that idea and concerned by trying to sever oneself from its perceived effects, regardless of what those are and what they do and what bigger picture they exist in!!!! anyway.

[anaalnathrakhs]

i keep looking at posts like "i stopped a binge" "i prevented a binge" and all of them are like. "i waited until the urge went away". buddy. the urge doesn't go away. there's no urge. there's just nothing else to do. i don't have anything else to do. every time i stop eating no matter how long i sit with the feeling or not, i always go for more food because there is genuinely nothing else in my life. nothing is enjoyable anymore. the world sucks. no matter what i force myself to do it's the only positive thing i can ever find.

[fragglerockopinions]

The worst thing about suffering is that it still hurts when the danger is over but no one cares about it anymore because it shouldn't hurt. No one will ever say "I'm sorry that happened to you" especially when they barely say "I'm sorry that's happening."

[tigirl-and-co]

i wish i was good at art so people would be interested in my ocs.

except that's a lie. i don't even really enjoy making art besides doodles. what i love is writing. so i think what i actually want is for everyone to fall in love with reading.

and like obviously i get it. im weird. i spent a large part of my youth reading wikis for games i never played, shows i never watched. i still do tbh. i have always loved seeking out superfluous information. bc it was *like* reading a story, except you only had the separate pieces and had to put them together like puzzle to get the whole story

it's a bit like history, now that i think about it.

and i LOVE finding somebody who has OCs with thousands of words of backstory. that's the fastest way to get me interested. a simple doodle and then a wiki entry of information.

idk. i guess im just venting a bit. it feels a bit unfair. every pro-OC post is geared towards artists. people who love to draw. but I just don't. i mean yeah i like making little doodles, but frankly it's about the same enjoyment i get from solving basic math equations.

and fucking obviously i love and treasure all my artist friends. if you are seeing this and you love to draw your OCs, I love you. I would never begrudge you your happiness.

it's times like these i wish forums hadn't really died out. i want a community. i want to make that connection. but i feel ignored bc my talents don't align with the current state of things in the greater community.

whatever. whatever. i just hate venting bc i worry about making people feel bad but sometimes I feel bad. and ive never been able to talk about feeling bad without getting yelled at. Which isn't healthy, of course, and I know that, and Im slowly trying to break the habit of just shoving it down. and Ive had a drink so im willing to be more open so uh. there, i guess. i feel like dogshit that i have neither the energy nor the inclination to draw my OCs and that it's literally fucking impossible to get your OCs noticed through writing. nothing really to be done about it. that's just how life goes. not all hobbies are meant for all people.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[parapsychoiogy]

anyway realizing i should probably watch much ado about nothing (1993) instead of continuously rewatching the shakespeare in the park 2019 preformance or the tate and tennant 2011 one but consider this i dont want to

[good-beans]

That comic of the person getting all swirly then slamming their laptop shut -- IM GOING TO BED

[untitledgoosegay]

i'll strangle you or i'll kiss you on the mouth