#i can't remember anyone other friends

[angsttronaut]

absolutely nuts that tigerheartstar took over riverclan for a while and there were no deaths.

[collieii]

idk if this is controversial but i don't think vash is ashamed of his scars. i think vash is mainly concerned abt the picture he presents to the world and other peoples well-being/feelings. so the reason he doesn't like others seeing his scars is because he think it will make them uncomfortable, and it also sort of undermines the image he wants to project of someone who's very sillygoofy/carefree etc. similarly, i don't think vash is ashamed or insecure about being a plant/having those inhuman features, more he's concerned with how other people react to them. (the plant stuff esp makes sense to hide given how people literally stoned him lmao)

but yeah i don't think he's filled with self loathing over the scars and being nonhuman. i feel like vash's self image is fine, he just prioritizes how others feel and reacts based on that. his whole philosophy of covering up how he feels inside (that smile is fake!) is based on this principle, it doesn't matter if he's depressed as hell as long as he can pretend it's ok, because external presentation and how you affect the world is what really matters to him.

[littlest-bugz]

Dissociative barriers have been high as fuck for a minute, and when I feel like talking abt it w/ my friends, I feel like I just shouldn't iykwim. Like they don't need to hear it.

[strawberrysweater]

.

[ipatrichor]

actually i think one of the things in outsiders that really fucked me up was one of owen's turns of phrase

when magic tricks him and goes into the maze alone, only surviving because he figures out what happened quick enough to follow & rescue her, he tells her that he's never going to stop coming after her (to make sure she's safe, to protect her)

and then after owen's gotten his memories back, he tells apo that he's never going to stop coming after him (to hunt him down, to kill him)

[ginkovskij]

and finally i want to dedicate this to my father who, for years, knew only two japanese words and they were "toshiro mifune". hope you're happy to hear it twenty times a minute these days.

[blujayonthewing]

well I just spent an hour digging through my own dnd notes and social media and also almost cried because I mentioned, in passing, something justin had said about one of his NPCs and he, completely lightheartedly, was like '?? I don't remember that at all. [I mean I'm not making it up?] I think you might be making it up 😏'

[puppys-rhythm-heaven]

i am being so fucking autistic about a video game i've only played an hour and a half of and have absorbed like 99% of my information about through osmosis from my bestie(s. it's complicated) and fanfiction. catastrophic levels of autism. i can't stress this in words i don't think y'all understand. or care honestly sdflkjfdskdfsjsfdkj-

[doggirlnarcolepsy]

.

[doppoorochisimp]

I actually love Doppo's inhability to befriend anyone unless they've beaten the living shut out of him first

[highraccoon]

it's so fun when the people who took everything from you claim to be the real victims. like, y'all want to dump a years-long friendship in a dumpster fire just cause you're in a romantic relationship and that's the only thing that matters to you, go fucking ahead. but don't pretend to be the victim when you were the one who destroyed it.

you don't get to take literally everything from me and claim that you were the real victim when the only thing you didn't take was the skin off my bones.

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

WIP Wednesday

So okay I don't know if this is like...a cool thing to do or not, but there's a fic I claimed from the 2022 kink meme list (I couldn't resist, in large part because Tales From Jianghu Shopping Center was listed by the prompter as one of their inspirations for the prompt) that I'm not sure when I'll actually finish writing but I have started it and I'd like to at least acknowledge that I'm doing it even if the prompter won't see this. But the prompt is something along the lines of anything highly specific and niche (like my strip mall AU lol), and I actually happen to have a growing little stockpile of very very niche knowledge about my chosen professional field, which is ceramics! I specialize in wheel-throwing (though I'm also a...passable hand at plaster mold-making/slip casting and handbuilding, I just don't enjoy them nearly as much) so I've started a little something from Lan Wangji's point of view that's a love letter to throwing ♥

--//--

As is tradition, Lan Wangji works in porcelain.

The Lan family have been respected masters of porcelain for centuries, generations stretching back, back, back nearly to the beginning of the imperial kiln production in Jingdezhen. They once produced the enormous pots that adorned emperors’ palaces – there are (very distant) cousins of his in Jingdezhen who still do so for wealthy patrons.

It’s easy to forget such a background when he enters his personal studio on the other side of the world and flicks on the lights to begin the day’s routines. It’s precisely what he wants – a quiet life like this, simple and unassuming, is much more suited to his desire than the weight of tradition that could otherwise press him and his work down into something he would never want to be.

Not that he deviates very far from tradition anyway, but it’s the principle of the thing. Lan Wangji takes quiet pleasure in simplicity, in function that is beautiful in its hard-won mastery. There are very few non-traditional ways to accomplish this that he’s interested in, but he likes having the option should he want to take it. 

Lan Wangji had learned to throw at his uncle’s knee as soon as it was possible to do so. He has continued to do so since childhood with a single-mindedness that once surprised even his uncle. All he’d ever wanted to do was to sit at the wheel for hours and hours on end, only pausing to warm the water in his bowl with a fresh influx from the kettle and to transfer full wareboards (once he was strong enough) to the drying racks in the corner of his uncle’s studio.

Lan Wangji has always struggled to find the words to convey how integral the motion of the wheel and the smooth slip of clay through his finger and against his palms is to feeling like he fits into his skin properly, but his family seems to understand just the same.

Yesterday, as the sun was westering, Lan Wangji had weighed up a few bags of fresh porcelain. The lumps are waiting for him now, tumbled together under their protective sheets of plastic, ready to be molded and shaped by hands and hypnotic motion. There’s enough of a chill in the studio this time of year that there isn’t any condensation on the plastic when he lifts it, so he folds it away neatly and settles into the easy rhythm of wedging his clay to prepare it for the wheel.

There is, in the middle of the studio, a sturdy butcher’s block workbench. He built it himself right there in the studio, the first piece of furniture that had filled the space even before he’d purchased his Shimpo wheel. It’s very likely too heavy to lift – it’s certainly too big to ever get through the door – but he has no intention of ever leaving this studio to begin another, so it suits his purposes just fine.

Wedging the clay on this sturdy, hip-height table is nearly as meditative a process as all the rest of it. A bit more of a workout than sitting at the wheel, but it’s a good way to warm up in the morning, his muscles well accustomed to the push-turn-push-turn-push-turn of spiral wedging that it’s gone beyond second nature, it simply is. His mind wanders pleasantly as he watches the misshapen lumps of pure porcelain become smooth and rounded beneath his palms. Perhaps he’ll spend the day on bowls. They’re quick and simple, suited to his mood today, and he’ll have plenty of them done by lunch when he already knows his typical solitary routine will be interrupted (and can therefore plan for it so far in advance). 

The sun is up properly by the time Lan Wangji finishes his wedging, and once he’s transferred the first batch of prepared clay to the wheel he pauses to stand in the open doorway and look out over the garden that sits between his studio and his home. The grass and the flowers are glittering fresh and dewy in the sunlight as he rolls his shoulders, stretches out his back in preparation to be seated for long hours.

When he returns, the wheel welcomes him, familiar and comforting. He fills an old bird seed bucket with warm water from the tap and arranges the small mirror at the back of the wheel’s tray to the perfect angle to watch his own hands before he settles in and takes a deep breath, sleeves rolled up and apron cinched comfortably tight around his waist as an unnecessary reminder to keep his back as straight as he can while he works.

The first ball of porcelain hits the perfect bullseye of the wheelhead and Lan Wangji leans in to begin centering, the porcelain buttery soft where it runs under his hands. Porcelain, he knows, is notorious for being difficult to work with, particularly for beginners. This far into his career, it’s simply polite and responsive to each confident press of his palms. He cones it first, hands curled around it to coax it in and up; presses it down again with the flat of his hand, every movement focused on the centerpoint of the wheel gliding silently through magnet-powered rotations. 

Up. 

Down again. 

Up.

Down.

Push.

Press.

Lan Wangji loves every part of the throwing process for what it is, but if he were to have to choose only one, this would be his favorite: the moment he can feel the clay running smoothly, perfectly centered the whole way through and ready to become whatever he will tell it to be, the possibilities – for this moment – endless.

[izzy-b-hands]

I really wish blocking someone meant their stuff wouldn’t wind up on your dash at all. Like I understand why it doesn’t, but. still.

Actually, I just need to get better abt checking source urls before I reblog. I try to be mindful, but now and again I Forget and have only myself to blame lmao

[eggmeralda]

I may have lost all hope

[elytrafemme]

long theoretical post about my friend hugging me

like. to dissect a matter that none of you are involved in and then i'll delete in the morning: my friend in college hugged me about ten minutes ago and i don't understand why. he's a physically affectionate person so we knew it was bound to happen, it was a running joke between us that we'd like schedule our hug to happen. nothing extraordinary happened tonight. in the second half -- which is when i spent the most time with him -- i was so fucked up that i barely processed what was going on? i was listening to what he was telling me, he just rambled about stuff, and it's interesting and i could recite all of it if asked and the expression he made at each part, but there was absolutely nothing in my head. and he never asked if i was okay which i think he would have if he thought something was wrong, because he's done that before. and we were alone so he could have and there would have been zero consequences. but he didn't ask me what was wrong, so it's hard to assume that the hug was for emotional consolation reasons. he wouldn't have noticed me on the brink of tears, either, he's not that observant. i would have known if he had. and i didn't do anything truly kind to him today, i listened to him talk about his interests and we hung out for a while, but that's what we do all the time. nothing happened. there was the chair thing but i thought i played that off well, i tried to have a coherent narrative about it an hour later too so he would guess what i had hoped, and i think i was successful. he wasn't distressed, i would have known. and he was tired but he's been tired a lot before and he's never acted like this. so he had zero reason to hug me unless he maybe sensed that this entire time i just really fucking wanted him to hug me, but he wouldn't have, and i would never have voiced that, because i don't want him to see me at that level. but i needed that hug badly. and i don't understand why i received it.

[stillfruit]

it's so difficult to articulate the feelings i get when i see my friends engaging in healthy and good behaviors like asking for emotional support and taking the time they need to arrive because i just can't and i know i'm wrong for it but it still feels incredibly isolating