#and I feel no shame

[neptune-scythe]

the thing that makes 9-1-1 stand out to me more than other shows is that it shows the full range of human emotions

not only do we get to see the characters being silly and casual and just regular everyday human beings, but we also get to see them be in major lows and having the worst time of their lives, and everything in between

most shows (at least in my experience) pick one side to focus on, be that the casual side or the angsty side, and the other side just comes in every now and then

but 9-1-1 somehow perfectly balances the loads of trauma all the characters have with the fact that they're all a little (or a lot) unhinged and flat out silly

and they do both sides spectacularly

I'm rarely a laugh out loud person but this show has me literally loling one episode and then next my eyes are glued to the screen soaking up the devestating angst

i have never seen a show do both so well and make all the characters seem so completely real

the writing and the acting and the pace just makes it feel so completely human and genuine and that is so rare to find these days and so compelling to watch

no one is doing it like 9-1-1 fr

[imsosocold]

What they were actually saying to each other

Crime and Punishment: Can I share a body and have an aligning parallel identity with my masc non-binary Fyodor while also being trans feminine but not female because they’re separate things to me?

Byakko:

[lissafaye]

I’m obsessed with this sweater. I should have sized down, but oh well. I still love it.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The math just adds up!

[doccywhomst]

[stil-lindigo]

lead balloon (the tumblr post that saved me)

if this comic resonated with you, it would mean the world to me if you donated to this palestinian family's escape fund.

--

no creative notes because this isn't that kind of comic.

I know I don’t owe any of you anything but I still felt compelled to write about my long term absence. And I feel far enough away from the dangerous spot I was in to be able to make this comic. I have a therapist now, and she agreed that making this could be a very cathartic gesture, and the start of properly leaving these thoughts behind me. I am still, at seemingly random times, blindsided by fleeting desires to kill myself. They’re always passing urges, but it’s disarming, and uncomfortable. I worry sometimes that my brain’s spent so long thinking only about suicide that it’s forgotten how to think about anything else. Like, now that I've opened that door for myself, I'll never be able to fully shut it again. But I’m trying my best to encourage my mind in other directions. We'll see how that goes.

I am still donating all proceeds from my store to Palestinian causes. So far, I've donated over $15K, not including donations coming from my own pocket or the fundraising streams which jointly raised around $10K. In the time since I made my initial post about where this money would be going, the focus has shifted from aid organisations to directly donating to escape funds.

If you'd like to do the same, you can look at Operation Olive Branch, which hosts hundreds of Palestinian escape funds or donate to Safebow, which has helped facilitate the safe crossing and securing of important medical procedures for over 150 at-risk palestinians since the beginning of the genocide.

[emberfaye]

You know what?

I love you, fics that take months to update. I click on the newest chapter and have no memory of this place and get to go back some chapters and rediscover how much i love everything about this story.

I love you, fics that take years to update. I think of you fondly, and know your names, go search for you and see an update from this year and scream, diving in uncaring of any missed details (i will finish the update and read you in reverse because this is a treat you have bestowed)

I love you, fics that probably will never update again. Thank you for being a roman empire for my mind, thank you for teaching me about the ephemeral fandom experience, for inspiring a thousand million what if-s, for being a comfort read and a nostalgia read and a reread.

I love you fic writers, who jump into projects and stories with enthusiasm. I love you when you succeed in pumping out those chapters and that love doesn't go away when you stop.

I love you fic writers who post and then get in your own head and never feel confident enough to update, whether it's at all or whether it's just that one story.

I love you fic writers, who have a fandom or media hurt you to the point of abandoning or having a hard time with their WIPs.

I love you fic writers, who lose interest or have life changes or illness or bad memory. Thank you for being part of the fandom, a core part of the fandom. Thank you for the time spent in the fandom.

I love you, fic writers who try out something new and then stop. You're so valid.

I love you, WIP fics that may or may not ever get finished. Thank you for brightening my day in the way only you could have.

[hinamie]

mentor

[kikmessenger]

once i gave my ex a foot job in a crowded mall #tmituesdays

[maxillo]

shoutout to autistic people who have memory issues and can't remember many things about your special interests. you don't need to be able to remember things for the interests to be valid or important to you! if you enjoy them that's what matters

[chloesimaginationthings]

The aesthetic in FNAF 4 is unmatched..

[stellarphileistic]

“Vétkesek közt cinkos, aki néma”

from the book “Jónás könyve” by Babits Mihály. Although the phrase itself cannot be directly translated, it is what best fits this topic in my opinion. Vaguely this sentence means that someone who chooses to stay silent in a situation is still at fault. Curly, who enabled Jimmy’s behaviour and actions towards Anya is guilty as well, however he did not deserve any of the things he had gone through after the crash.

[hecksupremechips]

I deserve to go to jail because I was playing Mario party 4 and was losing literally every single mini game, had literally zero coins, no stars, then I played the lottery and won 100 coins, got a pity star in the last 5 rounds, and won all the bonus stars and came in first 🌝

[vespaer77]

Everything about this is sleepy and cozy and beautiful and reminds me that I also need to do my stretches..... thank you for that haha!

I also love that you and I are a couple of the few that don't hold to the "Solas is a spirit" theory. I actually just finished Jaws of Hakkon again and I'm getting ready to put my own last minute theory before Veilguard.

Solartist was 100% my favorite, though!

I truly hope you write more of these if you have time, and now I want to know more about your thesis. I'm in IT and also a songwriter, and AI is a very hot topic in my life right now. I'd love to get your perspectives on it.

I'm super glad I found your blog, friend!

🌙 early riser solavellan enjoy 🌙

"Vhenan, what are you doing?" She usually wakes before him, and usually, he does not mind her going about her morning routine by herself. He can barely hear the rustle of the sheets, usually.

How she does it, go to sleep after him, wake up through the night, rise before him, dashing to and fro in the keep all day, so fast he might as well see her double, and still function, day after day after day, he has no idea.

Usually, however, she waits until after chickencall and sunrise to get up.

"Abelas, ma lath," she whispers, tugs his blanket up around him and cups his cheek. "Go back to sleep."

"Come back to sleep," he counters. Trying to find her in the dark strains his tired eyes more than staring directly into the sun would, despite the low fire in the hearth and the green nightglow in her eyes.

This morning (this night, really), she's taken to her stretches still on the mattress. Likely in an attempt not to wake him. She's convinced she once woke him unrolling her cork mat. When he tells her again and again he awoke from a nightmare anyway, she never listens.

Butterfly, she calls it, a modified cross-legged seat where her heels touch the center of her and her knees are splayed out in front of her. She leans forward at the hips, so far the tilt in her spine is the only thing preventing her sternum from resting on the worn cotton.

She does not answer.

"Vhenan.."

"Josephine has me meeting.. somebody at the crack of dawn today. Some scholar from Rivain, I think. I'd like to get a head-start on all of their reports." A groan at the realization of more dreaded paperwork, her hands leave her feet and run through her hair when she buries her forehead in the mattress.

"Let them wait." He tries to lure her back into his arms, walking his fingers along the curve of her spine, curling a strand of her sleek waves around his index and middle. "Rivain has made you wait long enough." She had waited for their arrival for weeks now, without notice.

If she lets him, he'll wrap himself around her like barbwood until the midday sun in their faces wakes them yet again, and then he'll sneak beneath her nightgown and lazily rock their bodies together until the haze of their pleasure makes them both forget they ever had this conversation.

He does not remember having felt this much desire for another before he went to slumber through the Ages. Lusting for people, sure, especially those with long curls and curved hips and an eye for the arts, but never to the point to wanting to forsake the world and everyone else in it if it meant he could slip home inside them just one more time. If he spends too much thought on that, it scares him.

But alas, she shifts under his hand, and for a moment he thinks he succeeded, but then she stretches her legs out on either side of her and bends her chest back forward. There's a delicious gasp from her at the stretch in her hamstrings.

"I have enough things to do that aren't paperwork that would keep everyone here occupied for a week. Much as I want to climb your panadahl-" A sigh, now, from them both.

"...and all I have to do today is paint."

"Lucky you." She twists her body, her right hand on her left knee, her left hand holding onto his.

"No work, no title, no responsibilities."

"You can have a title, if you like. Gods know the responsibilities aren't for me to delegate. But the work you've got cut out for you. I would trust no one else with the chronicling of my journeys in art."

He forgoes the compliment, the way it makes his chest warm and fuzzy with her sincerity.

"And what would that supposed title be? Solas the Painter?" He rubs at the back of her hip with a hand.

"So long as they don't call you serving man anymore, I don't really care." She is, still, after weeks and weeks, deeply offended on his behalf, the way he used to be offended for those like her, marked and unknowing.

Somewhere deep in his past, Father rolls his eyes at him. Get your head out of the skies, stop chasing skirts and start to do something about it, Son, he tells him, seemingly oblivious to his own hypocrisy as he turns and starts clawing through Mother's skirts.

Here, in his present, Lavellan looks at him, a little knot between her brows as she considers if he's fallen asleep with his eyes open again.

He blinks, squeezes her hand.

"Humor me, vhenan."

"Husband?" Her nose crinkles with amusement. The suggestion caught him off guard, and she had caught the wonder in his expression immediately, even if he showed it for even less than a heartbeat.

"Scholar Solas?" Ah. Misplaced jokes, poor wordplay. Her favoured way out. "Scholas. No, Solartist. That's the one, because it's the truth."

"And you? Lavriter? Lathweaver." She snorts.

"Seam-vellan."

That is good, but the words disappear in his yawn. Her eyes are apologetic again.

Such an unbecoming expression on her.

"I'm sorry I woke you, vhenan. Go back to sleep, get some more rest." She leans over to kiss him, thumb in the dimple on his chin, before she rises to get dressed. "I'll come by to watch you paint as soon as I can."

Even so, she stokes the fire in the hearth and drapes her blanket over his own before she washes, dresses, leaves.

Solas calls out to her before she walks down.

"Hmm?"

"If you ever feel you need to escape - come find me. I shall hide you from their sights."

"Thank you, lath'in." She hushes down the stone stairs in small, nimble steps.

Home of my heart, Love says once he returns to the Fade. Its smile is wide and gap-toothed and fingers with brittle nails pluck petals from a neverending bed of daisies to its feet. She does not know you mean a spell, not to run away with her.

I know, he replies.

Still, he resolves to tell her that, later that day, when they settle down for the night, that no one ever made him question his very being like she does, and when she will inevitably construe it as criticism, then he will lure her into the sheets, underneath him, and whisper his professions to her until they claim residence in her as deep as her bones.

The next time he finds her alone, anyway.

🌙

I'm spending every waking minute either writing or thinking about my thesis so I got no other excuse for this one exept I want to put something else to paper than portrayal of AI in contemporary science fiction lmao

Also I wanna get the Lathlas ficlets out before I get to the Great Solavellan Reunification of 9:65 Dragon or Whatever so I gotta get them broken up lmao

I wrote a lil experimental Dorian POV ficlet about how hung up they are with each other bc Dorian is every Inky's best friend would anyone like to read that lmao

@vespaer77 as per your request 💕

[should I sign these? lmao ~rina]

[eru-en]

havent seen anyone made an actor au yet.. whats a depressing game without an actor au to cope lmaoo

anyways second image is a spoiler warning i guess!!

greenscreened curly is so silly

[a-most-beloved-fool]

makes me a little sad when star trek ignores IDIC. like. vulcans are logical. that is true. But 'logical', for vulcans, does not amount to 'without compassion,' and it definitely doesn't amount to 'racial superiority.' Belief in 'infinite diversity in infinite combinations' should NOT result in the weird racist/speciest stuff we're getting in some of the newer treks. It does make sense that some vulcans are discriminatory. They're still flawed. But that should not be common or expected, like it seems to be in SNW. If it is, then it's a race of hypocrites, which. doesn't seem very true to Star Trek's message.

I think TOS Spock does a pretty good job of embodying this. Not always, it was the 60s, after all, but mostly. He was often trying to find non-violent routes, and get by without killing - even if they were in danger or had already been attacked. (See: the mugato, and the horta (until Kirk was the one in danger, lmao. t'hy'la > IDIC), the Gorn ship). Kirk, in his eulogy, calls him the most human soul he's ever known, and I've always read that as Kirk calling out Spock's overwhelming compassion.

It's just so much more interesting when Vulcans get to be radically compassionate. I want them to believe that everything and everyone has value. I want them to respect all ways of being. I want them to find ways for even very non-humanoid aliens to exist unfettered in society. I want them to see hybrids and think that it's amazing. Also, like, disability rep. I want Vulcans to have The Most Accessible Planet and available resources because they want everyone to feel accepted and valued. It makes for better characters and more interesting stories.