#give people the grace to change

[mr-mcnuffin]

the whole dokibird situation being blown up as it is, is wild to me that fact that the public knows there is documents existing is the fucked up thing imo like obvs dokibird was going through some shit even if it just turned out to be mental health shit, we (the public) shouldnt know that documents exist like this. out of all the issues this one thing is the most tangible thing that is a problem to me, it really highlights nijisanjis fucked up communication. i really hate the speculation type bs bc there are real people behind those vtuber models and borked pr statements or w/e you want to call them. sorting out whats what through lawyers wouldve been better for literally everyone in the situation. they're basically fancy mediators in a way.

honestly the document thing being mentioned and not having been shown at all to the public is what pisses me off the most. feels so dirty like its being held as something that is purposely obscured as if to generate speculation on its contents. it's kinda funny how it's hurt nijisanji the most even though they're the ones who brang it up.

I know for some people the fact that someone makes a document on their friends/co-workers might seem extreme or disgusting. I can't say shit about dokibirds situation bc i am obvs not her. However I have done similar things in the past to help collect my thoughts and work through my emotions around certain situations. Often I would show this document to a friend or third party to get feedback and a fresh perspective. Sometimes I would realise that the problems were just related to my own issues (stress/anxiety/mentall illness stuff). And sometimes I would realise the problems were the other person treating me like shit.

dealing with intense stress or situations is hard enough as is. ik pretty much everyone seems to be on dokibirds side rn. but some of yall need to show a little kindness to the other people involved too. being a dick to people being dicks or mishandling shit doesn't help anyone.

[notcryingtoday]

The missed opportunity of making jason/reyna/octavian a "triumvirat" is crazy.

(They're soldier, poet and king but changed roles the entire story)

(I'm the biggest fan of morally complex Octavian)

[catholicsapphic]

Cool About It - boygenius

Divine Mercy by Eugene Kazimierowski before, during, and after restorations / Saint Rita and her Sons before the Crucifix by Giovan Battista Galizzi / Pilate washing his hands, by Jacopo Robusti Tintoretto / Christ in Gethsemane by Carl Heinrich Bloch / The Last Judgement by Gostave Dore / The Lost Sheep by Alfred Usher Soord

[thelaurenshippen]

cw: harry potter, jk rowling, transphobia

I occasionally see posts/get messages about the various harry potter references in the bright sessions, etc. and I've gotten a bunch of new followers recently so just so any new/younger listeners of my shows know:

jk rowling is a terrible transphobe whom I hold zero respect for and I haven't given a dime of my money to her since she revealed who she truly is. I want the whole bright universe to be a safe space for trans people (including the trans folks in our cast and crew!) and if I could go back and remove those references, I would. but I can't! harry potter was an extremely significant part of my life until...well, until it became very clear who she really was. it makes me so sad to think that folks might be finding TBS now and get thrown out of the story by these references, but just know that the people who made the show do not stand by jk, and that in many ways, the show is a product of its time.

[hellhoundmaggie]

Do you have any SDV hot takes?

Boy do I ever Anon! Thank you for giving me the chance to get on my soapbox about this.

Shane doesn't relapse when he is happily married to the Farmer. The popular "relapse" interpretation is based on faulty assumptions about what substance abuse recovery is supposed to look like and flat-out misreadings of the text of the game.

Shane doesn't "start" drinking again: he never stops, just reduces the amount he drinks. (Unless we are supposed to interpret the phrase "cut back" in the 7 Heart Event as meaning "quit” or "gave up” for some reason. Or if we ignore the new 1.6 dialogue about him drinking less after his 6 Heart event.)

Shane's mess is not a consequence of uncontrolled drinking, but a consequence of his depression and possible under-managed ADHD. His room at Marnie's remains exactly as messy when he's in recovery as it is when he's spiraling, so the drinking has no effect on his cleanliness.

”Okay,” you might say, “but he still shouldn’t drink, and he should pick up his room.” And sure, yeah. Ideally we should all do the same. But that’s not always a fair or realistic expectation for everyone. Not everyone can quit their addictions or bad habits cold turkey. Not everyone is going to be the model citizen. That doesn’t mean they can’t live happy lives. That doesn’t mean they don’t have value. That doesn’t mean Shane doesn’t have value.

So instead of complaining about the ways that Shane fails to measure up to typical adult standards, it may be more productive to ask: is he happy? Is he doing okay?

By any reasonable measure, a married Shane is living his best possible life. He‘s surprised and delighted to be your trophy husband. He doesn’t have to worry about taking a soul-sucking job or struggling with unemployment. His drinking isn’t causing him any problems, and if he can’t keep his personal space clean, at least he doesn’t let his mess spread to the rest of the house. He has his own little coop for Charlie and it’s just adorable to watch him bounce her up and down. He actually makes time for Jas. I am not requiring everyone to love Shane the way he is written, or to make space in their farmhouse for him. But please, have realistic expectations for the character that exists. And do make friends with him. He gives you an OP recipe and access to blue chickens!

[feroluce]

So I adore time loops and I think Sampo would be very fun in a time loop AU. Because despite having so many onscreen interactions with so many characters, he almost always seems to hold people at a certain careful distance, so it's fun to imagine what or who he's willing to use a time loop for, how far he's willing to go, how much he actually does care.

At the end of the Masquerade Duet companion quest, Sparkle mentions a catastrophe soon to befall Jarilo-VI. And some players have interpreted this as a past event (the catastrophe being the story quests we took part in there), but other players have speculated this as an upcoming disaster that Sampo is trying to mitigate.

And so, Gepard finds Sampo in Belobog, right after he was supposed to return from Penacony...or whatever it was called, Gepard had almost been too relieved to remember the name after Natasha assured him that Sampo was fine and not missing or dead, just on a trip since the planet was finally open for travel.

He had assumed this was some kind of vacation, or some shady business endeavor (valid), but when he sees him, Sampo looks. Exhausted.

His usual smirk is there, but there's something horribly off about it that Gepard can't put into words. His voice doesn't have the usual bounce in it. His gait slightly off. There are bags under his eyes, his hair is just the slightest bit out of place. Sampo looks exhausted.

His feet move without him really thinking, he goes up to Sampo to say...something. Maybe just ask him if he's ok. But he can't leave this alone and not do anything, because Gepard can feel it, something is wrong.

And that feeling sticks with him, like the persistent cold, like frostbite, all day. Gepard can't seem to shake it. There is a collective unease seeping through Belobog, sinking deep, tangling around their bones. And the only one who seems to be reacting truly different to it is Sampo.

Gepard tries to tail the guy a few times, anything he can do to learn about what's going on and ease this devouring dread, but Sampo seems to know where he's hiding and calls him out every single time.

He dodges every question (normal), slips out of every grab and grasp (normal), barely even looks at Gepard (decidedly NOT normal).

And maybe it's the darkness that seems to hover over them. The way the air feels like it is pressing down and smothering the breath out of his lungs. But Gepard's patience finally snaps, much sooner than he ever would have thought it would, and he finally grabs Sampo by the collar, hauls him up and forces his back against the brick wall of the alleyway. Because maybe Sampo makes his living double crossing and stabbing backs and he wouldn't understand this, but Gepard has a family, he has people he wants to protect, and so he needs to know what the fuck is going on.

And he knows he's crossed a line the moment he says it. He knows it's not true. Gepard has seen the way Sampo and Caelus sneak around in the Fragmentum or meander down the alleys, snickering with their arms slung around each other. He's seen the way Sampo lets Hook climb up his back onto his shoulders while he takes the moles on little adventures. He's seen the way he and Serval rib each other like it was natural, easy, and the way he goes out of his way for Natasha like he wouldn't any other client, had even trusted her with the knowledge that he was leaving off-planet.

Sampo has people he wants to protect, too, and Gepard shouldn't have accused him otherwise.

But before he can even apologize, Sampo does something stranger still.

Instead of telling him off, or taking a swing at him- both things Gepard would admit he deserved- Sampo just. Lifts one hand, lays it over Gepard's fists still balled in his jacket. Like he's keeping him there. Even through his gloves, his hand is warm.

And Sampo doesn't even really look at him, he leaves his head hung low as he quietly tells Gepard to just go home. Stay in with his family. Don't come out. Please. Please.

But eventually, the catastrophe strikes.

And Gepard can't. He can't stay safe inside his home while this is happening. He can't ignore this. He tells Serval and Lynx to stay in. Don't come out. And he dons his armor and marches out to protect as many people as he can.

When it's all said and done, all Gepard can see is rubble piled around him and a blackened sky. He can hear fire crackling. He can hear a voice he recognizes as Serval's wailing and screaming his name, and he knows she's not going to find him in time. She shouldn't even be out here.

A bloodied face swims into view, bright green eyes looking hollowed and haunted, posture weary and defeated. Gepard reaches out a shaking arm, trying to grab at Sampo's pantleg, trying to make any sound other than gurgling the blood filling his throat, because he knows it for certain now, he knew, Sampo knew.

"Not this time either, huh...?" The sigh he heaves isn't theatrical, for once. Somewhere, rubble groans and loudly collapses. Sampo doesn't even startle or turn to look at it. "I'll figure it out soon, I promise. There has to be a way to pull you through this alive. There has to be."

Something materializes in his hand, something red. Gepard's vision dims at the edges as he watches Sampo hold the mask over his face, as it seemingly attaches itself directly to his skin.

"See you on the next go around, Captain."

[deservedgrace]

i didn't realize how much like... "the thing that is obviously happening isn't happening" is almost just as exhausting and demoralizing and frustrating and scary as the thing itself for me. i didn't realize that aspect of things was weighing on me almost as much as the thing itself until now

[pumpkinrootbeer]

All of Revenge of the Sith, summarized:

Obi-Wan: I love and trust you, Anakin.

Anakin: No <3

Mace: Obi-Wan trusts you, Anakin.

Anakin: Opinion discared because Ive classified you as against me. Please forward my previous email to Yoda and get back to me about that council seat at your earliest possible convenience.

Yoda: mmm be a master, you will never be mmmm. melt steal beams, jet fuel cannot. mmmm. ignore that second thing I said, obi-wan cares very deeply abt you and are you still available tuesday at 6 for your next therapy session?

Anakin: Read✓ at 19:01

Padme: Obi-Wan loves and trusts you, Anakin. Just like I do.

Anakin: Not very gamer of you to not inherently validate my internal belief system :/

Palpatine: Obi-Wan hates ur loser ass lol. not like me tho I'm cool and always validate your internal beliefs (normal)

Anakin: I always knew he hated me, you're the only one willing to tell me the truth. thank God I never have to reevaluate my beliefs with you and don't have take any uncomfortable looks at my wants and desires. phew almost had to do some personal growth and acknowledge some things about myself thank God i avoided that

[torchickentacos]

The pokemon anime subreddit fascinates and frustrates me on equally deep levels

[0dotexe]

I feel like when people have the hope that people can change, they don't consider the alternative of the opposite to be true. Sometimes the people who abused/neglected you will never apologise for their actions. They will fall deeper into harmful habits that will make everyone around them miserable. They will fall into the pit of escapism instead of tackling the problem head on, making all problems around them grow.

If I learned anything from this trip, it's that my family, especially my mother, will never change. If she won't in the almost 30 years I've been alive, she won't until she's on her deathbed. So be it.

Not the first time someone important to me has disappointed me time and time again. But she was the first to do it, so I guess that just stings like a knife to the chest, twisted ever so slightly every time I'm reminded of other families. Especially when I hear about other people's parents getting better and realizing that their behaviours were fucked up and are starting to apologise. I'm happy that some people get to experience that, hell, even my husband is with his mother. But I know personally I will probably never get that. And I've made peace with it.

Just have to keep moving forward. Have to keep realising that I will not be many people's first, second, or even third choice when it comes to wanting to talk. True loneliness sucks and I don't wish this on anyone.

Not even my mother.

[arthallea]

there's like, a million horrible and exploitative and inhumane things that i hate when it comes to living in a rented apartment, but one of the ones i really hate is that i really cannot, in good faith, want to risk reporting neighbors because i know that it could, in the worst case scenario, result in homelessness for them and there is nearly nothing they could do that i would want to risk that for them. and that subsequently means i have to suffer if they're doing things that really affect my disabilities because i don't wanna risk them being homeless for it. AAAUGH

[campfire-politics]

Normalize disagreeing about things

[variantoutcast]

One thing I'm learning as I get older is a lot of people from high school who sucked only sucked because we were in high school and now that were adults and facing a new set of nightmares but with greater autonomy and life experience we no longer have crab bucket instincts towards each other and may even be capable of a beautiful friendship

[aerodaltonimperial]

having a significantly dire self-confidence go lately, so i've been using all my spare moments with attempting to finish my daughter's cross-stitch project i started 2 years ago. i really hate feeling this way.

[markiafc]

not to be completely disillusioned and cynical. but the c-media circle on tumblr and every single eng-speaking site is so dreadfully racist. (us/uk) chinese diaspora are most guilty of this behaviour while also being the most vocal about racism against chineseness. how many times do i have to witness a racist post made under the guise of "fandom is just for fun!!!!"

[lumalalu]

man fuck it im gonna start doin wip wednesdays here

Summer is sweet and endless and she has nothing to do but look at me. She's looking at me now, through the sun's glare on her mirror. She shadows the shapes of my mouth, but doesn't put her voice to my words.

My parents are worried about Grace. They think something's wrong with her - I know what it is. Grace knows, too, looking at me, looking through the glare in the mirror. Everything about her is wrong. I could fix her, if she would let me.

Solid, measured knocks. "Gracie?"

"Yeah?" She pulls her braids back to look at her shoulders uncovered. The angle of her jaw. She is trying to see how it matches up to mine.

"Your mother and I are going to go to the mall. Do you want to come?"

I've never been a fan of the sweltering heat of a cracked-asphalt parking lot, nor the chill on my skin in a Macy's. Grace says, "Okay." But she only said that so that she can look away from me. She is a fool. I can be found in anything that can reflect. I watch her in the windows, in silver lockets, in the mirrors she models new boots in. She parades about like a wind-up toy, a ballerina in a music box. Her mother hands her new skirts for the new school year, button-up blouses, low-cut but not whorish, and modest stockings.

The dressing rooms are hidden in the corner, neatly separated by two icons of triangles - one upside and one downside. I follow her to the wrong one, the wrong stall. It's cramped and ill-fitting, somewhat like a body. Grace tries her best to avoid me still. It's a valiant effort, I'll give her that much. But at some point, in a few minutes, maybe, she'll have to turn around and face me.

Grace takes off her tanktop like the accused pushing off concrete slabs. She hisses with impatience at the clasp of her bra and its stubborn claws in her skin, throws it on the bench with more violence than is necessary. Branded into her back it remains, aching, smoking. Cramped and ill-fitting. She itches at it like the fabric is stuck in her, like it still remains subcutaneously and she could pull it away finally, permanently, if she also removed the skin. Her nails are well cared for, and so, won't do the job. I smile at the sound of her bent elbows.

Her pants go too, her keys squeezing free of the claustrophobic pockets and diving with raucous applause to the floor. Her phone is in her purse, because the back pockets are only decorative. Grace doesn't curse. Her words are never ugly. Instead, her lips bend into the shape of: "shit", and then she bends and picks up the keyring. It is unadorned. Why should it be anything else? A key only has one purpose.

For a moment we stand there together, Grace's back to me, my back not quite to hers. She is hesitating, stretching out the moment between one set of clothes and the next. The blouse is slippery and coarse in texture, sends spider legs running over her back. The skirt is of good quality, but takes up in the back, so she is afraid to bend. No pockets.

I ask her if I can see it. She stares at the off-white wall in silence, and then she turns.

"Oh, no, Gracie. That won't do at all." I tell her. "That thing isn't even fit to be a tablecloth. It's see-through, it's itchy on my ribs. It's pushing my skin too close to my bones, the points of my ribs poking at my lungs. It's like a coffin leaking air, sighing its way into the ground." 

Her breath hitches. "I don't know what's wrong with me." She's saying to herself, to the mirror, to me. I make a sound - in my mouth it is sympathetic, but in hers it is animal, pained, cornered.