#do you truly understand

[wordsbydominic]

We weigh in moments, temporary possibilities. I waiver in desire to feel sensation of a fleeting question. We form meaning in moments, brief starvation of our minds. You either understand possibilities or you question them.

words by dominic riccitello

[rogueshadeaux]

“I hate the script, the vault dwellers sound so cheesy—“ my Brother in Steel you realize that’s the point, right? They were bred to act like the physical embodiment of an HR e-mail. Did you not catch the memo that Vault-Tec put out regarding their experiment facilities?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Kiss Kiss Fallen Tree!

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[ai-demi]

I believe it was a divine intervention who wrote Will Solace on the narrative because how the fuck is he so interesting with so little screentime in the original series? This child who lost siblings and couldn’t even mourn them because he was dragged left and right to help, this child who became a talented and great healer at the ripe age of 12 and became a prodigy at 13, this child who kept absorbing pain and pushing down anger, this child who faced his trauma with a Trademarked Solace Smile and makes everyone feel safe besides himself, this child who had to be a dependable pillar, this child who saw death for so many times and had to accept it, this child, this child, this child whom everyone turns to at all times, this child who’s still only 16 and hasn’t properly been himself much because he has a duty that he loves and must uphold—helping and healing, something he deemed he could only do for others because he believed couldn’t do anything else. This child who got so scared when his best friend went missing, when his remaining siblings went missing, when he thought his father didn’t recognize him. This child who swallows his sadness. This child who was afraid of not being enough, who was afraid that people might leave him if he wasn’t—this child was afraid of people leaving him, because his own Dad did, his relationship with his Mom was not told much, the older siblings he loved left him by death, and he was nervous if Nico will leave him too. This child who feared losing the love of his life so he turned to his anger, his rage, his wrath—all pent up and went loose for a few minutes at Night herself and gave her a fucking hay fever. This child who had his own identity, who had and still has endless possibilities regarding who he is, his powers, and feelings yet reduced to just being a silly, goofy, perfect boyfriend healer of Nico di Angelo who never had a bad day and is stable—and some people loathe him for being “Nico’s Boyfriend” as if it’s his fault. This child is William Andrew Solace and I believe none of us has truly met him fully.

[lemonwrap]

I love dog metaphors and motifs, and I want a brainwashed Soap AU where, after a while, Soap genuinely sees himself as a dog.

When Makarov first gets his hands on Soap, Soap has his dignity, pride, and mind fully intact, and he fights. Soap fights hard, and he fights well, but months of harsh conditioning that stretch into years will break anybody. 

After a while, Soap no longer believes that he’s a real human, let alone a person. He’s an animal, a creature, a dog that must obey, because what else is there to do?

He was a bad dog at first, growling and biting until he was muzzled and beaten into submission, but he eventually learned that it was easier to just obey his master. Makarov was his master. He was cruel and choked Soap with the leash he had wrapped around his throat, but he was a master nonetheless, and dogs obey their masters. 

And then the 141 recovers Soap, years after they thought he was dead and gone. They held a funeral for him, and although they never quite stopped grieving, life must go on. 

Ghost is the most affected when they get Soap back. He frantically fumbles at the straps keeping the muzzle attached to Soap’s face, yanks the muzzle off, and throws it to the side, cupping Soap’s cheeks and repeating Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. But Soap doesn’t remember Ghost, and he doesn’t know what he did to make this man start crying as he crushes Soap in his arms or how to make it stop. He grovels and tries to put the muzzle back on as a show of obedience and good will, but the man gets increasingly upset. Soap just doesn’t understand. 

When Soap realizes Makarov is dead, he sees it as a transfer of ownership.

Days, weeks, months pass. Ghost reintroduces himself to Soap and keeps trying to talk to him like they’re equals, like Soap is a human too, but Soap doesn’t remember, and he doesn’t get it. He tries his hardest to please Ghost by obeying how his former master trained him, but he’s bewildered when Ghost doesn’t react favorably like he’d hoped. It simply doesn’t click in Soap’s head when Ghost repeatedly tells him that he’s still a person.

Soap thinks the world of Ghost, though, despite the man’s confusing orders. He refuses to muzzle or restrain Soap in any way, and he gives Soap things he’s never had before, like a soft place to sleep, food that isn’t bland, and physical contact that doesn’t hurt. Soap has to learn his new master’s preferences—but that’s okay, because Ghost is a good master. Ghost is kind and loves Soap, and all Soap wants to do is be good for him, no matter what.

Every dog needs a master, after all, and Ghost is all Soap could ever hope for. 

[bleaksqueak]

So touch the bear.

Read today's pages.

Read from the start

Support artists and the production of this comic

[tenderjock]

i love you. no, you don't. but thanks for sayin' it.

[sparring-spirals]

Still emotional about Fy'ra Rai and Opal, actually. Thought dump time bc i. dont have the energy to cut this down effectively.

Because at that point in the episode, Opal is doomed. Not in the fun little "oh things are getting worse ;)" kind of way we'd been experiencing leading up to the fight, or even IN the fight. At that point in the fight, Cyrus is dead. Dorian and Dariax have their minds twisted, bodies clambering away from the fight. Morrighan has felt, firsthand, just how far gone Opal is, holes in her mind, her friend broken. The heartbreaking sentence of. "You can always come back." understands that she is gone already. She's lost already. Opal has forgotten Ted. Opal has forgotten herself.

So at that point in the fight, we know Opal is doomed. Us as the audience, the cast, the characters. Aabria is running through each of the other crownkeepers and it is more of a goodbye than a round of combat. Defying the Spider Queen invites death, with zero hesitation- Cyrus's body as physical evidence of that. The terms were very clearly set: You leave Opal, you let her be lost. Or you die. (Leaving Opal anyway).

and Fy'ra Rai then. Grasps the crown, understands intimately that she can break it off and it will kill Opal. (I will free you, if you want me to. We would lose you but you would not be taken). And asks, what do you want me to do. What do you want.

and Opal says, I want you to leave. (I want you to live.) and Fy'ra Rai functionally says. No. Sorry. That's not one of the options.

If you wanted to go. I will do that (your blood on my hands). If you want me to stay, I will. But I'm not going to leave you.

There was the point where Fy'ra Rai broke into the communication and I felt my insides sink because. Look. Lets be real, Aabria had already demonstrated the stakes here. The gesture would not be rewarded for the gesture alone. The Spider Queen's terms were: You leave Opal. Or you die.

And Fy'ra Rai said: no.

I don't think I'm overstepping to assume that if Fy'ra Rai had failed the intimidation check, she would have died. This entire thing hits me so hard because I think Anjali knew that too. I think Fy'ra Rai knew that too. Yes, Fy'ra Rai convinced a Betrayer God to negotiate. She carved a third option out of a non-negotiable situation. She knew what would happen if she failed and did it anyway, with no fear, no regret, no waver in her resolve. She had lost enough sisters. She wasn't going to lose anymore, no matter the personal cost. That's part of why it succeeded, I'm sure, but.

Just. Fuck me. The amount of resolve. The amount of love. The amount of conviction. "I am. A protector." You know your friend- your sister- is doomed. So no more negotiating away from that. You step to her side and you grasp her hand and say- doom me with her.

And in some, sideways way, this saves you both, at least for a little while.

Because this story is a tragedy. This ending is a sad one. We know this already. But think about- Opal, under Lolth's bidding, alone in the dark. Think about Fy'ra Rai, alive, intimately aware that she had failed to protect yet another sister.

And think about what we got, instead: the two of them, in deep darkness, danger encroaching- holding hands. Someone they love at their side. A champion. And her champion.

This is still a sad story. But it's not the same one. Fy'ra Rai stared down a Betrayer God and made her change her mind. She stared down a Betrayer God, and her love and conviction changed the nature of the story. It shouldn't have been able to. But she did.

Fy'ra Rai chose to doom 2 people instead of one, and the sheer strength of her love and will managed to save them both, at least for a little while. Isn't it funny how that works? Isn't it devastating? Isn't it. fucking incredible?

[vaguely-concerned]

on the one hand I think inner demons could stand to have a bit more romanced rook specific content, but on the other hand the underlying in-built implication that 'yours is the one true voice of comfort and safety in my inner world' is a sentiment and intimacy so way beyond the romantic or the platonic or any secret third thing you could care to name that it makes me lose my entire poor little mind a bit. it's so big and fundamental — near-existential — that in that exact moment at least the distinctions kind of seem irrelevant.

all the people lucanis' mind conjures up along the way are relationships he has that are unavoidably mixed and fraught in some ways even when they're also full of love (they are fraught BECAUSE they're full of love) — the good in them inseparable from things that hurt him at the same time. (it's about: the basic disorganized attachment patterns this poor guy is dragging around with him. careful with those, they're dellamorte heirlooms. what you love also inevitably hurts you and you won't be allowed to have one without the other, you have to surrender parts of your soul to hold on to what little you have left: this is the story up until now.) and the idea that rook isn't that to him — that beneath the fear of wanting them when romanced (which is more its own separate thing because within this psychology, actively wanting something and not just clinging on for dear life to even a meager status quo lest you lose it is in itself dangerous bordering on catastrophic), this is a relationship where there isn't resentment, or guilt, or shame, or dread, or rage, or self-hate, or any of the other emotions that keep him paralyzed, unable to move this way or that. no debts, nothing owed of yourself and your soul's substance except what you can freely and safely and happily give. love and freedom don't coexist — but, I mean, you're almost starting to make me think........... unless...👀👀👀. the unconditional and undramatic 'you are here and I am here with you, you can be exactly how you are right now with me and it's safe for us both even though you're afraid it won't be, I'm not going anywhere' acceptance rook shows him here that he returns to them in the big romance scene, when it's rook who needs it. the way he's just. standing there in the center of it all, like a child desperately helplessly waiting to be found, hiding in the place he hopes you'll know to look first. (rook does know. it's one of the first things they say in there.)

in short the most important room in his little mind palace for the romance is the very first room — the one where rook isn't. where, in fact, rook cannot be, because they disprove the entire structure of the place with their existence and presence in his life. with everyone else he's putting words in their mouths about what they think of him, and rook is the one who actually gets to come in to speak their own words to him — and have him listen. ('he'll listen to you, he always listens to you', 'your voice is a comfort'.) of course rook isn't present anywhere else in there — at the risk of stating the obvious to a tedious degree, they aren't one of the locks, they're bringing the key. in the very finest 'the messenger and the message' sort of way.

[spicyvampire]

Hate /heɪt/ verb -> Enduring anger focused on a particular person or group of persons. Over time hatred may generate the personality trait of hostility. Surprise /sɚˈpraɪz/ noun -> The briefest emotion, surprise is triggered by the sudden occurrence of an unexpected event. It is often a way station that leads, after more appraisal, to any of the other emotions. Fondness  /ˈfɑnd·nəs/ noun -> A liking. Guilt /ɡɪlt/ noun -> Regret about a past action [...], a feeling of worry or unhappiness that you have because you have done something wrong, such as causing harm to another person.

Atlas of emotions + Cambridge dictionary

4MINUTES (2024) EP. 6

[phoenixcatch7]

Luo binghe dies.

The system offers the widowed husband resurrection, the ability to continue the world even after the 'true' story has ended. Because the world cannot exist without its protagonist, it comes to a halt. No time will pass until he is revived.

Sqq gets dragged through stories and universes by the system, trying to wrack up the 10,000 points needed. It takes a long time. Far too long. He plays too many roles, spends too years unable to truly settle, goes through so much it all starts to blur together.

Seeing this, an unsatisfying, boring ending without closure getting ever more likely as Sqq continues to fail to remember why he's doing it, the system releases lqg, sqh and the ghost of lbh from the stasis of their world and sends them after him. As the only one with any real understanding of the situation, sqh takes the lead. After chasing his footprints through a handful of worlds (that sqh can sort of recognise, and he adapts rapidly) they are finally find him. But he can't recognise them. He's seen too much, been too much, hidden himself away in more and more layers, not wanting to think if anything outside of the immediate problems. He can only recall the reason he set out in the vaguest terms, deflecting and outright interrupting when pressed.

So lbh manages to pull them into sqq's psyche.

From there, it's like a really big, five dimensional onion. Each role Sqq has taken solidified into another barrier between him and the worlds he was forced to live in and lose in rapid succession. Nothing, individually compared to the world of pidw, but added up they're quite the defence. Inside each layer is a false Sqq hidden in the crowd wearing someone else's face, and an item or location important to that version of him that'll take them through to the next layer.

Each time, they find another thread to the peak lord they lost. Another habit, or memory, or trivia comes back to life. It gets easier and easier to identify him no matter the body he wears. They share stories about him during rests, or moments of travel, to help the others identify him too. They kinda sorta maybe bond.

Then, finally, after a world of zombies and inter sect wars, they find a mimicry of qjp, and Sqq at the table. He's confused but delighted to see them. Even sqh gets hugged. He's shaken at their story, but over the moon at finally reaching 10k points and more than ready to return to reality.

Congratulations! The system says, and offers them their return to the real qjp, with the points needed to save lbh and with it, the world.

Lbhs eager hand on the yes button is clamped in a vice grip.

Sqh is looking at Sqq. Sqq furrows his brows in confusion.

Every transmigrator can see the system. As such, every version of Sqq can see the system.

However.

To the outside world, there is no system. There cannot be a system. To play their role, a transmigrator pretends to not have a system. They do not see a system, they do not hear it, there is nothing there. They play as a native.

This shen qingqiu cannot see the system.

He too is a role.

Lbh presses decline.

They search the house. Fake Sqq, User 002, lets them with mild befuddlement.

In the bedroom, over the bed, they find the rip.

There is a glowing city of glass, a thousand people of every shape and size on the streets. Thousand more race past in cars and buses and trains. By the nature of the dreams, their appearance does not stand out, and they've learned quick how to adapt from the crowd.

They have no clue how to identify him, but for the hundreds of variations they've met. They know his tics, his stance, the way he words his sentences. The way he frowns when confused. By now, they would know him blind and deaf - and they're going to need to.

They split up. They meet back up when the sun starts to go down. Cultivators can work without rest, and they're all highly levelled. They keep searching, unwilling to give up, but they've been doing it for a while, not wanting to pause at the last stretch. They're tired, stressed and jittery from the flashing neon lights and constant roaring sounds and unmoving smog.

A man walks past at 2 in the morning with a luo binghe phone case. A luo binghe key chain. A luo binghe lock screen identifiable from ten paces.

Airplane feels it would be justifiable to punch him.

But he recognises them on sight. Probably. He seems (entirely bro platonically) entranced by his xianxia husband, so it's hard to say.

Congratulations, congratulations congratulations! The system says. Good things should be said three times!

The man startles.

Ten thousand points, lqg says, grabbing him by the wrist. Let's go.

The system doesn't break them out this time. Instead, they treck back to his apartment, where his bedroom computer is the only light.

FIN, it says, and underneath a blinking cursor in an empty comment box.

In the computer, shen yuan says, with the certainty of a dreaming mind.

In the computer?

In the computer, he confirms, shoving sqh forward. The computer is the rip. Aight, sqh says, and reverse girl-from-the-ring's himself back to reality.

He lay on a bed. Looking up: a white, gauzy canopy hung overhead, with finely crafted perfume pouches hanging from the four corners. Looking down: he wore a green robe of an ancient style. Next to the pillow lay a paper fan. Looking to his left: three handsome young men, also in that ancient style.

The one closest to him burst into tears and kissed him full on the lips.

[smile-files]

not gonna go in depth on my feelings about the finale right now... i'm just so happy for cabby!! :)

[pepperpixel]

SAID HE LIKES CRAZY GIRLS,

BUT HE HATES WHEN I ACT CRAZY,

IT TAKES TWO TO TOXIC!

FINALLY!!! Finished these pics of jinx I’ve been working on!!!!! HOLY SHIT, these took so long…. But finally… they’re done… pls enjoy this art of my beautiful princess w a disorder. Featuring alternate colors for the big pic and also a closeup! Cuz I rlly like how both the lines and coloring on her face turned out… like the pink gradients w her eye… her deer in headlights expression,, like uve just startled a raccoon digging thru ur trashcan and r two seconds away from getting mauled.. m proud of it!

[fipindustries]

i already mentioned in the past that a friend of mine trained an AI on my drawings so that it could replicate my artstyle, a fun thing is that it fed it a bunch of drawings i made of myself so most of the things it creates look like self portraits i could have done

other just look like random cool guys i could have come up with

(i fucking love the guy with short hair and lipstick, he looks fucking sick, i am 100% using that design)

first of all, i cannot begin to descrive how mindfucky and trippy is to see drawing that *could have been done by me* but werent. every time i see them i have to catch my self for a few seconds wondering "wait, did i do these and forgot????"

second, because i didnt do these they are not worn on my eyes like a drawing i would have made, these are fresh images to my brain. i dont have a memory of having done every line and curve and having observed it a million times as i was doing them, thus the illusion of life is a lot more stronger for me.

so with all this is mind, this little excercise is allowing me to do something i always craved for but that i could never get. to see my own art from an outsider's perspective. to be able to appreciate my work from the point of view of someone else. how does my drawings look to others. i can do that now with these.

and let me tell you, not to sound too conceited but, damn, i really like what i see. i can now see what everyone else sees in my artstyle, its fun! its dinamic! its really expressive in a way i never noticed! and yes, the noses! oh my god the noses! and the way the lips curl and tighten.

on top of that, as i said, a lot of the overfitting in the model is directed towards self portraits that i made of myself, so the AI will tend to use many of the faces and features i use to depict myself. now you have to understand i identify quite strongly with my own drawings. i said often that i see more of my self in my drawings than i do in a mirror.

with this in mind its also super trippy that my friend basically has a fip generator.

every time i see things like this i cant help but go "OMG, THATS ME! THAT IS ME!"

(this final piece was actually done by me, lol)

so yeah, this has been all very illuminating

[adiradirim]

one of the funniest/saddest things about having a jewish post breach containment is you'll read tags that are super loudly excited about how much they just looooove judaism and the jews (tm) and you'll be like "oh?" and click on their blog to see what else they've been saying and reblogging and be like oh

[revvethasmythh]

"This is my brother! I didn't know he was here. Say hello, everyone. This is Cyrus, my brother, Cyrus." - Campaign 3, Episode 8: A Woodworker's Quandary