#bless each and everyone of you

[dewdropdinosaur]

Transparent Heart

Human! Alastor x Ghost Reader Summary:Alastor needs a new source of inspiration. Nothing sparks that bloodlust anymore, nothing can satiate the growing desires he has for more and more carnage. One night, while all a party with Mimzy, he meets Y/N. Or does he? The sweet woman seems innocent enough but in reality she is a ghost, a being of chaos gilded by a fasle innocence. His new muse may be undead but it sure sparks some life in him. Warnings: Undead reader, smut, mentions of P in V, Alastor is a warning in and of himself, Demi-sexual Alastor, non-sex repulsed. MNDI, 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Celebrating 500+ followers!! Omg, everyone you cannont imagine my gratitude for this community. I started writing in January and just how much love and support I have recieved is mind-blowing. All of you are freaking amazing and I hope you know I adore you, my lovelies!

Alastor leaned against the dark wall of the burlesque club, his brown eyes scanning the vibrant display of sinful transgression before him, yet feeling none of it. The room pulsed with music, laughter, and the clink of champagne glasses, but none of it stirred him. He should have been thrilled—there were scantily clad dancers twirling and shimmying on stage, Mimzy was in normal form, charming the crowd with her flamboyant flair, and every inch of the room screamed excess. Innocent souls, ripe for the taking. A little southern charm here, a lingering touch there, a knife sliting their throat in a delectable squish that would send shocks of pleasure down his spine. It was a celebration, a riot of decadence that should have made his very soul hum with delight. 

But alas, the radio host. Felt nothing.

Once upon a time, this would have been his kind of night. The heady energy of sin, the delicious tang of chaos, the joy of being surrounded by souls desperate for something—anything—to fill the emptiness inside them. So desperate would they be, to fall into his greedy hands and he would grace them with the gift of death so sweet. It used to fill him with such vigor, such delight, like a fine wine sliding down his throat. But now, it was all just noise. Annoying noise.

The laughter? Grating. The champagne? Flat. The dancers? Nothing more than fleeting distractions. He watched as Mimzy flirted with a particularly tipsy patron, her laughter like tinkling bells, but it was all so... tiresome. 

He tilted his head slightly, and his sharp grin never wavered, but the sparkle in his eyes had dimmed. It was all a game, wasn’t it? A never-ending circus of false joy. No matter how many times he twisted the dance floor or how many souls he swirled into his web, it was all the same. Hollow. 

The feeling had come upon him suddenly a few weeks ago, stuck in a never-ending cycle of ambivalence. Nothing stirred the oh-so-normal bloodlust within his chest anymore. Nothing excited him to enjoy the chase, the screams. 

Alastor’s fingers tapped rhythmically against his glass, his gaze shifting to the stage as the dancers performed their latest number. It was all so… mundane. The bright lights, the glitter, the exaggerated performances—they meant nothing to him anymore. Maybe this is how he died, being a wallflower.

He exhaled softly, his voice barely rising above the cacophony. “Mimzy, darling,” he said, his tone languid, “do you ever get the feeling that all this glorious spectacle is just a bit... tedious?” 

Mimzy, amid her own little charade, paused and shot him a knowing look, her eyes twinkling with a touch of amusement. “Oh, Alastor,” she said, grinning wide. “You sound like you have been alive for centuries? Enjoy a bit of decadence. Pour some whiskey, put on some jazz!”

Alastor’s smile didn’t falter; a shadow passed across his expression. “Maybe that’s the problem, my dear. I’ve danced this dance for far too long.” 

And somewhere, deep in the pit of his chest, a voice whispered: Is there anything left to live for?

In the middle of his mid-but young-life crisis, a soft tap planted itself on his shoulder. His body became rigid, a dangerous flash passing through his eyes at the unwelcome contact. It was not entirely unpleasant, cold and soft. Strange, considering he hated all touch but one could suppose he had too much to drink. 

Alastor turned slowly to face the guilty party, only to find a petite woman standing before him. Pale, no doubt, almost sickly looking if her eyes hadn’t been the faintest shade of amber that brought the only sense of warmth to her face. Her hair was a light blonde, or was it gray? He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that this little pet had imposed themselves—

“If you are done staring, mister, may I continue my question?” 

Alastor blinked, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly. The soft tap had already left a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, and now this woman, audacious and unsettling, dared to speak to him as if he were some mere pedestrian. 

"What question?" His voice was smooth but cold, each syllable wrapped in the chill of his natural cynicism. It wasn’t the first time someone had approached him on a whim, but there was something different about this one. Something off-kilter, like a mismatched note in a song—one that lingered just long enough to be more than a fleeting annoyance.

The woman tilted her head slightly, the pale light accentuating the faint shadows beneath her eyes. There was something about her eyes, too—lifeless but sharp as a hawk’s. She seemed entirely unperturbed by his cold demeanor. 

"I was wondering," she began, her voice soft yet steady, "if you intend to stand like a wallflower all night or become something worth my time?"

Alastor’s eyebrows twitched, and his lips curled into something akin to a grin, though it was closer to a wolf’s smirk than anything resembling warmth. A question like that—drenched in disrespect, a dance with death itself. Was she…playing with him?

“Is that so?” His voice was laced with amusement, yet his eyes remained icy. “And what would a fragile little thing like yourself do with finding me interesting?”

The woman didn’t flinch. Instead, she tilted her head just slightly more, a ghost of a smile appearing at the corner of her lips. “I’ve seen it,” she murmured. “How you find no pleasure in this display around us. It’s no stranger to you and I am not a stranger to it either. I see you come in here and revel every week until recently. Why is that?

For a moment, Alastor was silent. He had heard words like these before, though they usually came from those who lacked any real understanding of the ruthless, visceral nature of existence. But something about her tone, so deliberate, so knowing, stirred something within him. Something deep. Why would someone he had never met, though who apparently watched him, ask such a personal question?

“Well aren’t you a brazen one, my dear. I would suppose, these events have just lost their…usefulness.”

“Oh, because you kill people?” 

He hadn’t expected that at all. How did she know? How could he play this off? A shadow passed over his gaze, darkened as he looked down at the calm woman. She was baffling…but certainly, the most intriguing thing he had interacted with in a while. He hadn’t expected anyone—let alone a delicate little creature like her—to speak with such clarity about the one thing he’d devoted his entire being to understanding: death. But then again, he realized, perhaps this little conversation had more teeth than he’d first assumed. 

Grabbing her wrist discreetly but with a vice hold, he dragged his newfound muse into an empty room on the other end of the club. Throwing her in the room, he assumed her frail stature might cause her to fall, but instead, she simply looked like she floated across the floor. Strange. 

He chuckled, but the sound was dry, devoid of humor. “You’re quite the curious thing,” he said, his eyes glinting as he regarded her more closely. “Now, how does a little thing like you, make such a bold assumption as that?”

“Well, I have seen you,” she replied simply, her gaze meeting his with a directness that was both unnerving and intoxicating. “You are quite clean with it I must say, well, except for the eating part…but then again I guess everyone has their preferences.”

Alastor was taken aback. A brief flicker of something like appreciation passed through his mind, quickly followed by annoyance. Was she toying with him? Was this an act, some mask for her true fragility? 

For a moment, he considered walking away, dismissing her as yet another oddity to forget. But the words she spoke lingered in his thoughts, gnawing at him like a restless hunger.

"What about you, Alastor?" she continued, her voice softening, almost as though she were coaxing him, "Do you fight it? The lack of bloodlust you’re feeling? Or do you surrender to the inevitable?"

Her words hung in the air between them, and the sound of her quiet challenge echoed in Alastor’s mind long after she’d spoken. He exhaled sharply through his nose, irritation flashing across his features. This woman had a way of pushing him in ways he didn’t particularly enjoy. 

And yet…

He growled lowly, stalking up to her with an imposing stance. Just kill her now, kill the witness. All his problems would go away, he could go back to standing on that stupid wall, drinking that flat champagne.

He glanced at her, a flicker of something approaching amusement in his eyes. Or…or he could have the most fun he had in weeks.

 "I suppose I don't have the luxury of surrender," he said, his tone colder now, sharper. "I’ve long since learned that life is more… interesting when you push against its edges. Though, I confess, there’s something rather invigorating about someone who understands the dance with death as well as you do."

She smiled this time a full, knowing grin. “I thought you’d understand,” she said with quiet certainty, leaning closer just enough for him to catch the scent of something oddly familiar—something sharp, like iron or fresh rain. “The world doesn’t stop spinning just because we want to rest. We can’t simply wait for the end to come. Until it gets here. No, Alastor, it’s all about taking it—grabbing hold of that final moment and making it yours.”

At first, Alastor found himself irritated by her relentless inquiries, the audacity with which she wove her words into the space between them. He considered walking away several times, but then, a strange thing happened.

Then, the irritation faded.

The longer they spoke, the more he felt the edges of his personality, drawn out by her words, her very presence. She was no weakling, no frightened soul. No, this woman was a kindred spirit of sorts—a creature of the abyss who spoke the language he had long since mastered.

But he supposed, it had gone on long enough. Even those whom he found mildly amusing had their time to go. And now, this woman had come to hers. Walking over to a desk in the room, he pulled the drawer open with the mask of preparing himself a drink. This was his typical room…to engage in his activities. As the woman faced away from him, staring blankly at the wall with what seemed ignorance, he approached. The blade was hidden deftly behind his back. 

“Well, my dear, as pleasant as this has been, I think it’s time we end this little game of ours.”

Raising the blade to her throat, he made the slice with a quickness that came with practiced ease. 

Only sweet, rich, red blood did not spill from her body for him to lap with reckless abandon. Her head remained intact, the blade leaving no mark. Backing up in mild shock, Alastor’s eyes widened in what he could only call horrific intrigue. How much had he had to drink?!

“Now, that was rather a rude thing to do.” The woman’s head turned…180 degrees, backward facing him. A small smirk painting to face. And then, her body started to float, righting itself to face him fully as he glided in the air to meet him. Her cold and frail fingers came to caress the edge of his cheek with a gentleness that surprised him. 

“Why would you do that to me, Al? I thought we were friends.” The woman….or ghost woman started to shed alligator tears. Her voice was a high-pitched wail that irked him to no end. 

“What…what are you?”

That caused the woman to pause, eyes sharpening as she looked at him with a look so fierce he felt like his own knife had pierced his heart. 

“I am Y/N. I…I am the ghost that lives here.” 

Now that would have caused him to howl in laughter had he not seen the spectacle before him. Y/N….the famed ghost story Mimzy would tell to scare customers into scam ghost tours of the club after hours for an extra buck. But here she was…in the flesh?

“I thought you knew me Alastor. I thought you understood me. Understood the darkness–” Y/N brought her hand back to his cheek, trailing it slowly, even seductively down his chest to the buttons of his vest. He felt a strange pull to the being, confusingly enraptured by her now. The transparent but uniquely cold nature of her touch sent shivers down his spine, in a way he almost did not mind. 

Where had this feeling come from? Had…had his interest in the conversation been actual interest in the woman before him? He usually never felt this way about anyone. Alastor’s lips parted in an attempt to refute his thoughts but nothing came out. 

Y/N’s hand lingered on his chest, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his vest with calculated precision. Her touch was cold, yet there was an undeniable warmth to the way it ignited something in him—something he couldn't name. Alastor's usual composure began to slip, the confident, omnipotent mask he wore trembling in the presence of this woman.

"You always talk about control, Alastor," she purred, her voice an intoxicating melody that seemed to bypass his usual defenses. "But perhaps you’ve never been in a position where control slips through your fingers, like sand... or, more aptly, like time."

Her words struck him like a thunderclap, rattling his thoughts. Time? Had he been so blind, so consumed by the world of his own making, that he failed to see what was right in front of him? He wasn't sure how to answer, only aware that something was shifting, like a piece of the universe slowly aligning to something he couldn't yet understand.

The smile she gave him was a little too knowing, and he hated it. But more than that, he couldn't seem to hate her—an emotion he had learned to master long ago. For a fleeting moment, her eyes softened, not in pity, but in a way that unnerved him. She was dangerous, yes, but there was something else there—a depth, a complexity that tugged at him.

“You look so lost, Alastor,” she whispered, leaning in closer, her breath cold against his skin. “Let me guide you..”

Her hand slid down, brushing against his vest, the tips of her fingers brushing the edges of his buttons, slowly popping them open one by one.  Every movement of hers seemed deliberate, calculated. And yet, as if it was just for him. That he was the sole focus of such tender devotions. 

Alastor swallowed, his mind scrambling to form the words to push her away, to reassert his authority. But instead, something inside him relented. He wasn’t sure if it was the warmth of her presence, the pull of her energy, or the simple fact that for the first time in ages, something made him feel alive.

“You think you know me, don’t you?” he said, his voice low, almost... intrigued. “But I assure you, darling, you know nothing.”

“Then let me learn, Alastor,” she whispered, her lips dangerously close to his ear. “Let me see the darkness you keep hidden. Let me understand what makes you... human.”

The word struck him like a jolt of electricity, and for the first time in a long while, Alastor felt something unexplainable deep in his chest. Was it love? Was it obsession? Or was it the terrifying realization that maybe, just maybe, he could understand her too? 

—————————————————————————————————

Clothes lay discarded on the hardwood floor, Alastor’s suit jacket among the heap. His body pressed her bare one flush to the hardwood floor, her lips continuing their long and languid assault on his own.

 All that remained was Alastor in a white button-up and boxers, his clothed member rutting onto your bare cunt. Moaning into the kiss, her tentatively brought his hands up to find themselves settling at the nape of the Y/N’s neck. Experimentally giving the roots a small tug, a growl emitted from Alastor’s lips, enjoying the way she shivered before him. 

It was almost like her form wasn’t there at all, that her body was transparent. Though, at this moment, he did not question the physics of how he could touch a ghost. 

Laid bare before his hungry eyes and desires, his cock came to be inside Y/N with one thrust; cunt wet and ready for him like it was made for this purpose. Like she was gifted to him by the divine to hold him close in the darkness and relish in his desires. How the serial killer, had come to be with a being who could not be killed. The one thing he could never kill. The irony wasn’t lost on him, though not his main idea at the moment. 

Conceptually, rationally, by all means of logic, Alastor knew it would never work. Except, in this very moment, cock pounding into her wet and inviting cunt, he couldn’t help but pray to whatever power was listening that something would come to fruition. 

Her moans were sweet on his ears, like southern sweetwater molasses taffy. The kinda of stuff you just can’t get enough of. With every rut of his hips into hers, those delicious noises would fall from her parted pale lips. Now, those were the kind of noises he would search for in the middle of the night. Screams, still scream, but those he wrought by giving her the utmost pleasure his mortal form could apply. 

All for her. His little ghost. 

[raddestrose]

I saw this on Twitter and had the chance to do this



[xxplastic-cubexx]

it doesnt need to be said but its genuinely so funny how at-the-hip charles and erik are in krakoa like they really had the green light- the OBLIGATION- to be as obnoxiously close to each other as possible and abused that right to the fullest extent

[oshiawaseni]

Remember when Kacchan complained about Izuku obviously skulking around with All Might and how they need to be less conspicuous about their connection with each other? When you think about it, no one cared that much what the heck Izuku was up to… except for Kacchan himself. And in hindsight, that interaction is just so freaking cute. Just because this guy is always hyper aware of Izuku and the people surrounding him and absolutely concerned with his business, he thinks others will be too.

Take Season 2 for example at the sport festival… How did he even come to eavesdrop on Todoroki in the first place? By following and being invested in what Izuku was doing with him because Kacchan got so jealous about Todoroki declaring war on his shitnerd 😩 he couldn’t stand the idea of them going off alone somewhere together.

Stop the cap. You were there because you followed Izuku, Katsuki. 

Kacchan’s always overly concerned about Izuku and on top of that, he was jealous of Shouto taking his rival nerd from him. So when he got curious seeing them go off somewhere alone, he followed them and eavesdropped.

And another time he eavesdropped on Izuku in Heroes Rising.

He’s so focused on whatever Izuku’s doing or saying, he tunnel visions like hell. Here he forgot about his icey and it melted off the stick. 

Not only does he always give Izuku his undivided attention, he definitely wants it returned.

Izuku’s always looked at his back, right? Whether that was walking behind him in the woods, or being seated behind him in class... I think at some point Katsuki came to crave his gaze on him and secretly loved his praise too and that feeling was exposed in the joint training arc with his “Keep your eyes on me, Deku” 😂

Oh Katsuki don’t lie ❤️

You knew he’d be watching you like this with his big and shiny doe eyes didn’t you ;)

Turns out you’re allowed to be obsessed with Kacchan, Izuku. He was just being a hypocritical tsundere whenever he said stuff like this:

Remember when there were a bunch of Kacchan apologists that victim blamed Izuku for sticking around when he was told to leave him alone? What if I told you Katsuki never truly wanted Izuku to leave? Because if he did leave, then who would Kacchan stalk? 😂

Honestly!!! Kacchan’s Izuku complex and how he projected it onto him like Deku is the only one who’s obsessed, is one of my biggest sources of amusement with this ship. Heh. 🤭 They are true equal partners in a lot of ways…

Between all the “Did I do better than Deku?”, 

the eavesdropping

and every single time Katsuki targeted him, if you’re able to describe all of this as nothing other than PURE UNADULTERATED OBSESSION...?

DING DING DING. You’re damn right it is!

Then you flip the hate around because it turns out he was wrong to hate that person in the first place after all, and what does Katsuki’s obsession start to look like? Maybe a little something like this.

They’re obsessed with each other and always have been and this is perfectly fine. It used to be very antagonistic attention on Katsuki’s end but his attention has since become all soft and gentle because now..? Now he’s just in love. ❤️ And that’s the tea~ ☕️

[acequinz]

You know what I think I really really love about difanghua with a focus on Fang Doubing is that while DiHua clearly see each other it's Fang Duobing who tries to understands them.

And no this isn't a- Fang Duobing knows them better than they know each other or know themselves. It's that he sees them do something and he thinks about it and understands their feelings.

Cause there's a knowledge that both Di Feisheng and Li Lianhua have of each other that lets them know how the other thinks and what they will do next but it doesn't always mean there's an understanding there.

Di Feisheng knows that Li Lianhua is running but he doesn't understand why he's running, this isn't to say he's not sympathetic or doesn't care but he doesn't always understand the motivation for his actions. He knows them.

Similarly Li Lianhua knows Di Feisheng well enough to know his drive, to know his habits and knows his nature to recognise him even in disguise. But even he doesn't understand the motivation of Di Feisheng he knows it's there and so we see him stumble a few times when Di Feisheng switches gears.

Fang Duobing doesn't know everything, he is missing big chunks of story almost all the time, he missed a few many cues as well but he understands.

He understands Li Xiangyi and his burdens, he understands the pain Li Lianhua feels, he understands that Di Feisheng isn't just what he portrays himself to be, he understands his drive and motivation comes from a place of care and when he doesn't understand, he sure as fuck tries to. He doesn't just ask for explicit details to solve the mystery, he is just trying to understand them.

He needs to know the people under his protection!

So he understands them.

To conclude:- Fang Duobing is an Empath.

[somegrumpynerd]

I pet cat!dream over 500 times

I love how cute he is

Oh my god??? Bro you weren't kidding!!

It never fails to blow my mind how much people love petting these kitties, I'm really glad <3

And Dream cat loves you too anon! He is imbuing you with a warm feeling of joy, also you're holding hands now

[akkivee]

i’d been procrastinating opening my last rhyme anima dvd box (i have too much stuff 😀) but i finally did and the artbook they included is actually pretty fire lmao

[sunsetonscarif]

JYN: You went up there to kill my father. CASSIAN: You don't know what you're talking about. [....] You're in shock and looking for some place to put it. I've seen it before. JYN: I bet you have.

and

JYN: My father was living proof... and you put him at risk. Those were Alliance bombs that killed him. CASSIAN: I had orders... orders that I disobeyed. But you wouldn't understand that. JYN: Orders? When you know they're wrong? You might as well be a Stormtrooper. CASSIAN: What do you know? We don't all have the luxury of deciding... when and where we want to care about something. Suddenly the Rebellion is real for you. Some of us live it. I've been in this fight since I was 6 years old. You're not the only one who lost everything. Some of us just decided to do something about it. JYN: You can't talk your way around this. CASSIAN: I don't have to.

they knew each other for like... one week (?)... and were arguing like this. it cuts them deep because it's true!

[yumaisbored]

OBVIOUSLY HE BUILT THE TEMPLE FOR YOU HE DIDN’T JUST COMMISSION SOME RANDOM PURPOSELESS ETHEREALLY BEAUTIFUL TEMPLE ONE DAY FOR NO REASON AND THEN YEARS LATER SUDDENLY DEVOTE IT TO YOU ON A WHIM ‘FOR CONVENIENCE’S SAKE’ HE SENT YOU THREE THOUSAND FUCKING LANTERNS XIE LIAN PLEASE YOU ARE SO INTELLIGENT AND EXCEL AS A DETECTIVE USE THOSE SKILLS

[rmbunnie]

Red Hood Characterization

This is really long so I'm putting a cut here, I've been thinking about Jason Todd's character motivations and the question of whether or not his actions are based in a Moral Code (I don't think so, not to say he's without any morality) and I talk about that in more depth here.

I saw someone say on here that Titans: Beast World: Gotham City was some of the best Jason Todd internal writing they'd seen in a while, and I've been a Red Hood fan for 8 years or so now? pretty much since I read comics for the first time, so I went and checked out and I thought it was good! The way the person I saw talking about it as if it was rare and unusual made me wonder though, because as well-written as i thought his stances on crime were, there wasn't really anything in it that went against the way I conceptualize Jason?

This kinda plays into a larger question I've been thinking about for a while with Jason though, which is that, do people think that the killing is part of a fundamental worldview that motivates him a la batman, and that worldview is the reason he does the things he does?? Because 8 years ago i was a middle schooler engaging with fiction on the level that a middle schooler does, so I simply did not put much thought into it beyond "poor guy :(" but ever since I actually started trying to understand consistent characterization, I don't really see Jason as someone who's motivated by a moral code in his actions the way batman or superman is!

tbh my personal read is that he's a very socially-motivated guy, his actions from resurrection to his Joker-Batman ultimatum in utrh always seemed to me like every choice made leading up to his identity reveal was either a. to give him the leverage and skill necessary to pull off his identity reveal successfully, or b. to twist the knife that little bit more when he does let Bruce find out who he is. Like iirc there's a Judd Winick tweet like "yeah tldr he chose Red Hood as his identity because it's the lowest blow he could think of." And I think that's awesome, I think character motivations rooted so deeply in character's relationships and emotions are really fun to read! I also think it's where the stagnation/flatness of his character comes from in certain comics, because if his main motivation is one event in one relationship that passes, and he is not particularly attached to anything in his life or the world by the time that comes to pass, it's a little harder to come up with a direction to go with the character after that, because there isn't much of a direction that aligns with something the character would reasonably want? But I do think solving this by saying "all of the morally-off emotionally driven cruelty he did on his way to spite Batman was actually reflective of his own version of Batman's stance that's exactly the same except he thinks it's GOOD to kill people" isn't ideal. To be fully honest, it seems to me like he never particularly cared one way or the other about killing people to "clean Gotham of crime," he just did everything he could to get the power necessary to pull off his personal plans, and took out any particularly heinous people he encountered along the way (like in Lost Days.) Not to say I think the fact he killed people keeps him up at night anymore than everything else in his life events, I just never really thought he was out there wholeheartedly kneecapping some dude selling weed or random guy robbing a tv store for justice.

Looping wayyy back to my question, Is this (^) contradictory to the way he's written/the overall average perception of the character? Because like I enjoyed his writing in Beast World i have zero significant issue with anything there, I just didn't believe it would be a hot take, like yeah, that is Jason. It's been a while since I've read utrh and lost days, but I don't think my takeaway directly contradicts either of those too bad iirc. Idk all this to say I think Jason killing and being alright with killing is an obvious and objective fact, but i guess i've always seen it as more of a practical tactic than a moral belief, and I think taking the actions made during the lowest points of a character's life where he is obsessively focused on this ONEEEE thing and trying to apply it as a Motivating Stance to everything he's done after that, doesn't really follow logically for me.

[sophsun1]

hello i'm sorry people complain on your gifsets i am not a gifmaker myself but the process from what i understand seems very lengthy and i am always very impressed with gifmakers in general but YOURS! they are always so crisp and clean and while they're not for fandoms i'm in most of the time i still enjoy scrolling through them immensely. thank you for making them! thank you for being a creator and putting your creations out into the world for others to enjoy. it's a gift and shouldn't be taken lightly ok i hope you have a nice night

hey anon!

this is the sweetest message tysm 💛😭

honestly there is far more that goes into gifmaking than people realise before you've even loaded a single screencap into photoshop, trying to procure HQ downloads isn't easy, then mastering colouring and techniques eeek it's a lot.

it's crazy the comments people leave in the tags from bodyshaming actors, complaining the set isn't specific to their vision, being a full on anti of said media and rb to tell me they hate it, being gross and parasocial about actors etc. we do this for free for you to enjoy and real talk it's not always free for us to create, software/storage costs money.

all in all to say, no matter the quality if someone puts out their creation whether it be art, fic, gifset, meta etc be respectful about it. I will never leave a negative or mean comment if it's something I don't enjoy I simply scroll on by, it's that simple. fandom in general has become far more negative than it used to be, which is why there isn't as much content being produced alongside the lack of reblogs etc.

thank you for being one of the nice ones, I hope you have a wonderful night too <3

[adhdandcomics]

adding to my tags because i’ve been thinkin a lot about the post i just reblogged and have more thoughts:

i’ll be real, the more i saw ‘hey adhd influencers are so annoying’ the more i worried that i was unconsciously contributing to the spreading reputation of adhd folks as annoying and over-pathologizing every symptom they experience

and then i realized. i am not a goddam influencer or life coach or representative. obviously i have some obligation as someone who cares about myself and the people that like my comics to not spread harmful ideology or blatant misinformation but i never intended myself to be a “’increase your productivity!!’ blog OR a ‘if you have XYZ you have adhd!’ blog. and i do this for fun, and originally started this blog bc i had a lot of internalized shame and self loathing about my adhd and thought if i could make it funny i might have less of that. let’s get real! and it worked!

i’ve obviously done this kind of thing— (hey these symptoms might be adhd!) a lot before in my life & on this blog, but there’s more to it than trying to be an “influencer” or whatever. a term that didn’t even exist when i started this blog!

i felt very isolated trying to find out if i had any mental problems & what have you originally because of large advice (etc) blogs with staunchly anti self Dx views at the time

so i overcorrected when i DID get dxed and tried to validate everyone who was like me. and of course. not the best course of action always for the ol mental health. tried to be the source of positivity and jokes that i didn’t see because the online adhd presence was near non-existent.

and anyway. i make a lot of fun of myself & the way m brain works in my comics obviously but it is not my obligation to... how do you say.... not be annoying online.

because if folks interpret MY little jokes as a strict guide to diagnosis. that’s on them, really, not me. i also believe “making adhd your entire personality” is a non-issue. so what if people find out they have it and get over excited with identifying as adhd. saying this as someone who DID do it. criticism of this gives the same vibes as people being annoyed that young queers make “being queer” their whole personality. im very obviously more than a guy with adhd, and id reckon other adhd comic artists are too. (im friends with a lot of them!) it’s fine to post about it online.

anyway. i just don’t take myself too seriously and i’m a comic artist for myself first! and you know what, i’ve been considered annoying my entire life. what do i care if a few more folks think i’m annoying. neurotypical or not

[sttoru]

ima tell u this now : if u hate on x reader fics, block me cus by doing that you r doing us both a great favour 🤚🏽 ion need any of ur negativity on my blog because this is a safe space for people who do enjoy x reader fics goodbye

[frikatilhi]

Saw your tag "feels like bojere bitches are in the minority" and I wonder if BoJere era is ... over?

I've been having some sort of feelings since reading the transcript of the Urheilucast podcast yesterday. Jere said that last year was hard because he had to be Käärijä all the time and no one was interested in Jere /or something like that.

I always felt like Bojan was his safe place where he could be Jere. Be himself. But he didn't even acknowledge that or mention Bojan. I'm happy for Jere to have new boyfriends and to get spanked to his heart's content but...

I feel like a traitor for saying this: is this the BoJere divorce?

What can we BoJere girlies (gn) hope for on 3rd March now?

Oh dear, this feels a bit above my pay grade maybe but I guess I have brought this on myself?

First of all, that was not my tag but someone's reblog, but sure, bojere girlies are probably the minority nowadays, but also, isn't that pretty natural? And also probably not a big deal? And does it matter? The whole point of the support group is that there are few of us left, our crops are dying, we are in a desert watching some sad tumbleweeds rolling around and clinging to each other, endlessly rehashing past events... *cue single tear*

I didn't think anything of Jere not mentioning Bojan in the podcast? That was really not the topic? Both of them have said multiple times that Bojan really helped Jere out in Liverpool. Also Jere probably has many people he can be just Jere around, and he didn't mention any of them either, not his family or closest friends, so I'm not sure why he would have gone out of his way to mention Bojan here.

It is very natural that we are not getting much content nowadays, nor do I think we are entitled to it. They have stated that they keep in touch and are important to each other. It doesn't mean that they are going to showcase their every interaction for our entertainment? It doesn't mean "divorce", it means... nothing at all? Because we can't really make any assumptions about them? They might even have talked about not making a big deal out of themselves publicly anymore, who knows?

As for March, it might very well be that we don't get any content then. But that was what I said before Nordic Tour as well, so we'll see, maybe it'll be another insane three days that sustains us for months to come? Point is, it's up to them and not seeing anything publicly doesn't really mean that they are not friends.

I don't know if I make any sense, and I don't mean to dunk on you, but I don't think it's that deep? We're all just trying to have a little fun and maybe make some friends in the process.

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

it's night time<333 (with a lil sibling bonding bonus: >;Dc)

studio au belongs to @zu-is-here fem designs are made by me

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

I say this with love but every time I come away from talking to Americans I have to give myself permission to rest and spend time gently again.