#but now I don’t feel happy

[nosafety-smokingfirst-again]

I’m such a shitty person..

[electronicmail]

Firefox-official vs electronicmail

Hydrogen bomb vs coughing baby

okay come up with a better idea then. firefox-official is gone asshole it’s electronicmail or nothing

[lightrivals]

Sonic 3 spoilers below the read more!!

I can’t stop thinking about Shadow wanting Sonic to kill him; how he taunted and angered Sonic in hopes he would finish him off. The last sight before his death being a god drunk on revenge. Shadow did not expect to survive at the end of it all; he didn’t want to live without Maria. But for a moment, when Sonic found himself and showed Shadow that love is more powerful than grief, he smiled. The first smile since that photo with Maria. He accepted his second chance at life and embraced it with the same boisterous energy as Sonic. Twirling through the air together, reaching out for one another, spinning through the black death of space as two living shooting stars themselves. It’s beautifully romantic, in all meanings of the word.

Finally, Sonic and Shadow each found someone who can match them. No longer were they alone in their alienness, in their power. Shadow, draped in the shimmering pinks and golds bestowed by Sonic, Sonic flying at his side like the light that shines even when the star is gone.

It makes my heart ache so badly that Sonic gets that joy and freedom beside Shadow ripped away from him in Shadow’s sacrifice. To lose another person who understood him, someone who understood best of anyone he’d encountered thus far. And for Shadow in his last few moments, accepted his death not out of grief as he did at Sonic’s hands, but out of love—leaving a galaxy behind in his wake, a rebirth of himself from the cocoon of rage and pain that encased him for 50 years.

It’s so beautifully tragic, grief and loss, but as they say: better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.

[goldkirk]

I get that everyone wants TikTok back but do we understand how bad it is that it’s happening the way it’s happening. Like we do understand how much of a horrifically choreographed process this is to boost and benefit Trump right. Can we all take a second to pause and go “hey wow something’s been getting fucked up and fishy for days now with Trump being turned into the hero about this even by the TikTok company themselves all of a sudden”?? (more chatter in the tags re tech companies and authoritarian autocrats)

[via-the-cryptid]

tgcf au where hc’s true form is Wu Ming. it’s what he looked like right after he died, and even if he reinvents himself, even if he’s gained more strength and power from the Kiln, he still can’t grow or change but so much without involving shapeshifting. his canon form is the one he built for himself, the one he created with the intention of becoming an entirely new being (not weak or helpless, like he used to be before he sculpted a new identity), but it isn’t his true form. his true form is still that bony little waif of a soldier, the one that tried to so hard to help his god but couldn’t truly fix anything in the end.

and now, imagine just how much xl is going to lose his mind when hc inevitably shows him this true form (after much hesitation, but hc really can’t deny his beloved god anything and he would never want to, even if he’s practically ready to dissipate from the shamefulness of that awful body). think of hc changing into the half-starved ghost of Wu Ming, not expecting xl to even remember the ghost — let alone recognize him — and then think of just how hard xl is going to cry when he realises that Wu Ming is still here and still following him after all.

[44ari]

this year as a lando fan while it’s had its highs (it been great to witness everything he’s achieved) it’s been an absolute struggle more so than any other year, i’ve feel myself becoming less and less attached to the sport and to do so in the year he got his maiden win and was “fighting” for wdc feels so shitty. and the fact is it’s got absolutely nothing to do with lando himself, i will continue to support him no matter what, but the discourse surrounding him, people trying to minimise every achievement he got, the bombardment of hate towards him has been nothing less than disgusting, psychotic and heartbreaking. i used to come on this site and go through landos tag to see if id missed anything he’d been up to and it was something that brought joy to my day, however now i can’t scroll through the lando tag without seeing hate directed his way by people, (who are not only losing a few braincells with their inability to correctly anti tag), who just think it’s fun to wish injury and death on people and dont seem to understand the irony in a lot of their posts. not forgetting the insane lando hate anon, while yes i enjoyed laughing at, would flood lando fans inbox’s with hate anytime he so much as breathed. anytime i go on twitter i see more hate for lando from other drivers fan accounts than i see positive things about their drivers. the anti lando hate train that some people think is cool to be on isn’t. and it just shows how rotten of a person you are if no matter what your supposed favourite driver does the first words out of your mouth are about lando norris and reason 626174 of why you hate him. it’s very telling when people who claim they aren’t fans are more obsessed with talking about him than those who are, i beg you all seek help and get a hobby because this type of behaviour isn’t healthy both for yourself and for others around you to witness.

[lesbianherald]

I’m going to phrase this delicately because I’m so deeply grateful and awed by the support I’ve received.

But I will say it is a little anxiety inducing how many people feel they can talk about coming home whatever way they want openly and publicly because it has “numbers” or whatever (referring to my own work like this makes me want to claw my eyes out because they baffle me and I don’t necessarily feel I deserve them but it’s important for context).

This is Especially true for the way people speak under things I very much see. Art of the fic. My Twitter mutuals posts. Things I will very obviously interact with. It feels like someone is walking into my back yard and talking shit as if I'm literally not standing in said yard like this 🧍

You make something for a community for free as an act of passion and then the community in turn becomes something that isn’t quite accessible to you anymore. I’ve seen this happen to a lot of fic writers in my previous fandoms and idk man it’s just kind of a bummer.

Like. Fanfic and fanart is made by people in the fandom for the fandom. It’s not work being produced by some distant people in Hollywood who shouldn’t be in the fandom space in the first place.

Idk, it’s actually pretty rare that this happens to me but I wanted to mention I am a human who can very much read the things you say guys 😭 like if you reblog art related to my work and call it a bunch of petty names and say you had to dnf I can see that. It’s totally ok to feel whatever way you want. But maybe don't feel that way in my back yard.

Again. I’m so grateful for everything I really am. You absolutely do not have to fuck with my work. Fuck I don't fuck with my work sometimes DKLFJSDHF. This is probably the last time I’ll talk about this because the last thing I want to do is come off like I can’t take criticism and I’m ungrateful. But sometimes I really am chewing at my enclosure like IM RIGHT HERE MAN IM LITERALLY BEHIND YOU HOW DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT.

[corpusdiem-seizethedead]

Angel: Husk let me fell asleep with my head in his lap and kissed my cheek when I woke up. He's so cute. I wish he liked me.

Cherri: *looks into the camera like she's on The Office*

[dykedvonte]

I think a big misunderstanding is the power people give Curly to actually change things about the way the pony express operates or could’ve done things on the Tulpar.

We are talking about a company that docks pay for bad synergy despite mandated psych evals that should tell which staff members would work well together, only allots for 5 hours of sleep despite having literally no other tasks to truly do and locks all resources behind the access of one person. The last one is likely to manage resources and make it easier to justify collective punishment and blaming one person for it; someone needs something in “excess” or the captain gives in? It’s all on them your pay is docked. Instant resentment.

It’s insidious how the company works, it’s by design to distract you from coming after them, to force tensions to line their own pockets. With all the restrictions and forced interactions, altercations are bound to happen. 5 hours of sleep a day, limited sources of entertainment, no real tasks… the monotony alone would cause bad cabin fever, mix that with just only one absolute mediator and you get the exact environment that allows shit like in the game to happen.

The idea he could just complain and try to throw his weight around to get them to dig into their pocket for the crews comfort is laughable and misses the predatory and dehumanizing aspect of capitalism the Pony Express represents. Curly was and is still just another asset to them. Being a top show pony doesn’t mean he’s anywhere close to the actual top. He is the top of the working ladder, not whoever’s in corporate, he wouldn’t even be on the bottom step unlike what Jimmy perceives. The resounding recommendations he would get are almost mocking as they throw him out like nothing just like the rest. Being a shitty fucking company, how much do you bet they’d mean anything anyways, especially since he wanted to leave the field all together.

He made a fuss and they didn’t listen, he says he should’ve done more but you can tell he knows it wouldn’t have changed anything. Jobs like this are willing to make a sacrifice if it means even a penny more. Curly makes a bigger fuss they likely would’ve just found an “unrelated” reason to fire him, hired a more pliable guy or, terrifyingly, promoted Jimmy. The company was failing, going to shut down whether anything happened on the ship or not. But knowing that they were shutting down and that everyone, including him, would be out of a job with this being their last paycheck, he had to factor in not destroying the last bit of their financial stabilities combined with every other issue on the vessel and his own. He gets another cryopod or locks and then he has to break to them that they are not only fired but there will be substantial cuts to their paychecks due to the “upgrades” (things that already should’ve been in place on their part) on top of anything else that could be docked along the way.

You can blame him for saying it so early into the trip but then again, if he mentioned it later who’s to say it wouldn’t have been worse? On the capitalism side alone how would people in a galaxy away from home, out of a job and already stir crazy react? Don’t get me started on how Jimmy would have reacted if he realized he only had two days left to fix what would be a very hard to miss “problem” in his head…

I can’t even consider explaining this as devils advocate because it’s just facts of the world we and they live in and factors that heavily affected the situation. People are just so quick to make claims on the ease of the choices when P.E literally makes it hard to choose to do anything but suck it up.

[blaithnne]

Democracy wins, here’s my casual design for Louise! Took inspo from @littledigits’s design in terms of the colours, but wanted to put my own spin on it! Gave her black trousers to match her other freaky friends and uhhh I forgot my design process for everything else. Anyways Louise has two dads supremacy

[darlingcloudie-9]

oough………. my babies………….. i care for them very much 🌸

[calmbigdipper]

What you mean to me

[housederiva]

I just beat Veilguard for the first time after about 100 hours, I give it a 5.7/10. I would’ve enjoyed it more if I hadn’t loved Dragon Age since 2009 and had this story not been one of the cornerstones of my life since I was a child

[caakefish]

Just learned that there’s a 7 hour long video about Who’s Lila today and I don’t think I’ve ever smiled this hard

[inoreuct]

been thinking about asura zoro lately.

possibly a prince sanji au where sora’s kicked her shitstain of an ex-husband out of the kingdom and his siblings are going through behavioural therapy,,,

at any rate, sanji’s wandering across the grounds one afternoon and he sees someone sitting beneath his favourite apple tree in the middle of the field. he thinks it’s yonji at first, but no— the hair’s too short and the wrong shade of green. less neon than his brother’s electric lime and more like… moss.

the man has one leg propped up with his arm resting on his knee, an apple clutched loosely in his hand. he turns as the grass rustles with sanji’s steps and sanji notes the vertical scar over his left eye that cuts through his brow and down his cheek. “you’re in my spot.”

“hm,” the man says, completely unbothered. he lifts the apple to take a bite and his open robe shifts with the wind, the hilts of the three swords tucked into his sash knocking gently against each other.

sanji narrows his eyes. “move.”

a slow, lazy grin. “no.”

“you—!” the prince is just about ready to boot this guy in the ass. “you do realise who i am, don’t you?”

“no,” the man repeats, shrugging a shoulder and peering down at his apple before taking another bite.

that gives sanji pause. everybody knows who he is. it’s inescapable— queen sora’s kindest son, with the golden hair and a heart to match. ocean eyes and the hands of a chef and legs steadier than any sailor’s. he has a duty to fulfil and an image to uphold, and it’s—

well. it’s just that sometimes, he thinks that he wasn’t made for this life at all— that he was meant to be out there, on the ocean, skipping over the waves with the wind in his hair and the sun on his brow, feeling the grit of sand between his teeth. he has satisfied himself with the comforts of royal life, with the orchards and the kitchens, but something pulls at him still. it tugs his heart towards the coast and whispers for him to shed the courtly graces he wears as tangibly as the cloak over his shoulders.

sanji is quiet as he reaches up, swallowing over the soft click of the clasp before red velvet falls into his hand. he drops it to the grass and lets it pool, puts one palm on the ground before settling against worn, rough bark and letting the pattern press into the skin of his spine.

“it’s peaceful here.” the man’s voice is low, slipping beneath the soft sigh of wind. “quiet.”

“it hadn’t always been,” sanji says, before he can stop himself. he has no reason to be doing this— to be saying anything at all, much less sitting down. he should be yelling for the guards and then taking this guy out himself. he’s a stranger who’d somehow made it onto royal grounds, through the extensive defences they had; one with three swords and scars, sanji reminds himself as he eyes the gnarly line of pearly tissue running diagonally down the man’s chest. he’s, by all definitions, a threat.

and yet, sanji hasn’t felt anything at all. no hostility, no fear— just… stillness, if he had to put a word to it. a sort of calm.

“the king… he was cruel,” he continues softly. “he treated my siblings and i like lab rats to be used. my mother was nothing more than a pretty thing to fill a space beside him. this palace, this kingdom used to be filled with war and pain and noise.” sanji chances a glance up to find the man already looking at him, and he quickly looks away. “sometimes, he’d come back from war stinking of blood and death. even worse was when he’d bring my siblings with him. he forced them to fight, see— didn’t even give them a choice, because of his experiments.”

the words are bitter as he spits them out, and sanji feels his hair bunch when he tilts his head back against the tree and blows out a breath. “i was always the failure.” the grass is damp with dew as he rubs a few blades between his fingers. “the weak one. the useless one. and i was the one who dragged him outside the city gates and told him that if i ever saw him again i’d take his head.”

he’s no longer as angry about it, he thinks. sanji has spent enough of his life being angry. the thought just carries a muted tone now, satisfied and a little victorious but also resigned— sometimes he looks at fathers in the squares and the markets, carrying their children on their shoulders and indulging them in the smallest of things, overpriced candy and tag on the dusty cobblestones, and his eyes burn. he should have had that. he never did, and he never will.

sanji lets his eyebrows flash up, swallowing against the tightness in his chest. “i don’t know why i’m telling you all this, anyway,” he says with a light, forced laugh. “i don’t even know who the hell you are.”

“nobody important,” the man hums. “not yet. but one day i’ll be the greatest swordsman in the world.”

the prince believes it. he feels something now, at least— a presence of sorts, like pressure from all sides, present but not pushing. just there. “i think… i want to get out of here.”

again, he doesn’t know why he says it. he has the urge to slap a hand over his mouth as soon as he does, in fact. because everything’s fine now, everything’s finally going well; judge is gone, his siblings are safe, his mother is safe, and he should be happy. he is happy. he gets to cook all he wants and he’s—

he’s not. he’s not happy. he wants to go, wants to— to grab a boat and disappear, sail to the edge of the horizon and then beyond. it aches in his chest like someone’s squeezing his heart, fingertips digging into tough muscle, and he rubs the heel of his hand through the fine weave of his shirt.

the man bites into his apple again, and the crisp crunch cuts through the still air. sanji lets his eyes slip shut.

“where do you want to go?” the man asks.

sanji laughs, a soundless exhale. “the all blue. it’s an ocean with every kind of fish you could imagine and then some. i want to open a restaurant. a place of my own where nobody will ever go hungry.”

a pause, and then the man turns to look at him. “do you know why i’m here?”

“no.” sanji cracks an eye open, sighing impatiently. “why?”

“the change. all this place has known for years was turmoil and war and chaos. and then suddenly… it all went silent.” he eyes sanji unreadably. “somebody took notice.”

somebody, huh? if sanji’s dealing with a religious nutcase, he might just burst into laughter. or knock this guy out. maybe both. “you believe in god, then?”

“no,” the man says flatly. “and even if one did exist, they didn’t help you then. they won’t help you now.”

the blonds’s eyes narrow as he sits up straight and slowly raises an eyebrow. “if that’s supposed to be a threat, mosshead, i’m not scared of you.”

“mosshead?!” the other splutters, the first sign of real human emotion sanji’s seen on him, and sanji laughs.

“it fits!”

“it’s—”

“blasphemous? disrespectful?” sanji teases, somehow more at ease than he’s felt in ages. he doesn’t know who this man is, and who he is doesn’t matter— he’s free to run his mouth, and he damn well will.

“you should be scared of me, you know,” the man says, voice gritty, and sanji smirks.

“why so?”

and— oh.

that presence from before increases exponentially, until he feels sweat bead beneath his collar. dirt gathers beneath his fingernails as he scrabbles backwards, instinctive, throat bobbing as he counts three, four, six arms, and three heads, and three grey eyes glinting like watered steel. wind whips through the clearing, shaking the branches of the tree— sanji reminds himself to close his mouth as he sits beneath the rustling, as black tendrils of shadow snake through the air, swelling around the man’s silhouette, silky and molten. it’s not just that overwhelming, omnipresent aura; he’s got to be two heads taller than a normal man at least.

sanji’s breath is stuck in his throat. and then he looks down; that half-eaten apple is still there, shiny and red. the man’s swords — nine of them, now — clatter gently by his hips, and his earrings jingle with something that almost sounds like gentle laughter, and his hair is still impossibly green.

“…is this supposed to be intimidating?” he offers, climbing to his feet with a bored cock of his hip. “i mean, it’s impressive and all, mossy, don’t get me wrong, but—”

the man’s form snaps back to normal in an instant, leaving him with an almost comical look of disbelief on his face. “you’re fuckin’ crazy.”

“i’m traumatised,” sanji corrects, cackling. “after my bastard of a sperm donor, i doubt i could be scared of much else. besides, you haven’t done anything but talk to me. that’s a lot more kindness than most people can say they’ve shown.”

he watches the emotions flash across the man’s face like a play-by-play until his strong features finally settle on something not dissimilar to determination. “we’re going.”

“huh?” the sudden subject change throws him. “where?”

“the all blue,” is the impatient answer as the stranger crosses his arms. “didn’t you say you wanted to go?”

“yes, but—” sanji makes a series of exasperated noises as he tries to find his words. “i can’t just— go! i have responsibilities, i need to—”

“you need to be free,” the man grunts, and sanji stops short. “can’t keep a bird caged and expect it to be happy.”

the prince bites his lip, heart pounding. this is crazy. this is insane, it’s how kidnappings happen, he shouldn’t even he considering this. “…if, even if we were to go— how would we get there? how would we even find it?”

“we’ll figure it out?” the man pins him with a look that says duh, like it’s no big deal. “i know a witch who’s a navigator, she owes me a favour. and a guy who works in a shipyard. it’ll work.” he looks like he’s about to start tapping his foot, but then his expression softens. “one day,” he says, eyes skating across sanji’s face. “we go for one day, sunrise to sundown, and if you don’t like it i’ll bring you right back.”

sanji’s chest aches. his breath trembles against his teeth. “why?”

his stranger swallows, gaze tilting down as his fingers drift to the hilt of the white sword by his side, like it’s a comfort. “you aren’t scared of me.” his eye is a flash of silver as he looks up again, bottled starlight and iron. “maybe that’s more kindness than i’m usually shown, too.”

maybe sanji’s losing his mind. maybe he’d lost it a long time ago. because he finds himself nodding slowly and breathing, “okay.”

a sharp, sure nod. “we leave tomorrow. settle your affairs and meet me down by the beach at dawn.”

“alright.”

sanji watches the man turn and amble away, in no apparent, rush, before a thought strikes him. “wait!”

green hair shifts in the sunlight as he twists back around, one scarred palm by his ear. “hah?”

“what’s your name?” sanji yells across the clearing, and the smile that’s sent his way is blinding.

“meet me and i’ll tell you, curls!” the man yells back, and then he’s gone. just— disappears, like he’d been a figment of imagination.

an apple core tips against sanji’s ankle, pale and clean.

(sora takes one look at his face when he asks and lets him go.

“you’d always been restless,” she tells him gently, as she helps him pack his things into a burlap satchel and sets his spice tins carefully into their case. she says he’d been loud even as a baby, wailing right out of the womb with eyes the blue of cornflowers and summer skies and the water, riotous and gentle and vast like his heart.

she sends him off with a kiss to his forehead, hands cupping his face as she smiles against his skin, and this time sanji welcomes the burn in his eyes.

he finds zoro by the beach like something out of a fairytale, skin bronzed in the light of a new day, glowing with the orange dancing off the waves. he has a boat waiting, barely big enough for two, wrist draped over his sword hilts as he yawns and scratches at his head, and sanji grins so hard his face hurts.

his palms on the lip of sealed wood have his heart pounding hard enough to feel it against his ribs, his shoes sinking into the sand as they push the dinghy out to sea and jump on, and he shoves his hand in the water just because he can.

“zoro,” the man says abruptly, two extra shadows framing him in the sunrise like a mirage, and sanji’s lips curl up at the edge. “that’s my name.”

“okay, mossy,” he sing-songs, and bites down a laughing scream when zoro rocks the boat so hard he nearly falls out.

he does tell zoro his name, when he decides that he’ll stay. they’re still on their little boat; it’s sunset now, and the green-haired man is taking up all the space in his other form, stretched out with his hands folded behind his head. “i’m sanji, by the way,” he offers, offhand, and watches zoro crack an eye open to grunt in acknowledgment.

he pretends not to see the soft smile that the other man flips over to hide. zoro hardly ends up using it anyway, the brute.

sanji really doesn’t mind.)

[kinokoshoujoart]

oops all rock (springtime edition)

i’ll be able to draw digitally again soon! ;w; in the meantime i’ve been scribbling a lot on paper…

could not wait for Soon, so i resorted to coloring it using the markup tool in default iphone photos app (don’t do that ever again)