#i cannot breathe without them

[veniceflytrap]

“i will walk into hell gladly knowing i’ve held heaven in my hands.”

[hotvintagepoll]

I love these polls. But this feels like a weird and uncomfortable time to continue them. While we are in the process of deciding whether or not to give fascism unlimited power in the greatest military power currently on the planet, these posts feel uncomfortably out of touch with the existential threat facing all of humanity. I cannot enjoy voting in silly polls when I know that all of humankind faces the threat of extermination.

When we can return to a less horrifying reality, I would enjoy revisiting these polls. At the moment, to continue them feels like a cruel celebration of privilege from those who are insulated from the most extreme consequences of current proposed policies. It is hard to think of what level of inhumanity is necessary to continue laughing in the face of so much world-wide horror.

Of course you don't have to stay, and I won't begrudge you at all for going. But there's one point of yours here I feel is worth discussing, and it's your last one: laughing in the face of world-wide horror.

There is a difference between laughing at horrifying things and taking a break to laugh. In a world that is horrifying—and, to be honest, has been horrifying since this blog began, and long before then, and will be after it's done—you need to laugh to keep your endurance. I mean that every step of the way. You will not be able to keep fighting for the people who need your help, including yourself, if you don't give yourself a break and let yourself have joy and silliness in little dollops on the regular.

In my real life, when I'm not posting hot silly people on the hot silly people blog, I try to find ways to help change the world for the better. I've been trying for a while. And one of the key things I've learned in that while is that having a little fun and silliness does not dilute the work of making the world better—it gives you the fuel to keep doing it. Your human brain and body need a muchness. They need joy and sorrow and work and rest and laughter to keep going—and before you say, that's a privilege! yes, in today's broken world it often is. It should not be one. It is a right. You have the right to find spots of joy, silliness, time off from the world.

Stuff sucks right now, but taking ten minutes off to let yourself rest is not going to contribute to the end of the world. We need to rest and laugh if we want to keep going. I've always said this is a silly blog, and I maintain that yes! it is silly, it is pointless, this is nothing big at all. Nothing here has any consequence. And that can be a small good thing at the end of the day. It doesn't mean the big stuff doesn't matter if we have the small stuff too. We can have both. We need both.

I hope you find peace, wherever you are.

[artigas]

it’s absolutely unfathomable that billionaires are using their wealth to dismantle democracy, if I was the richest man on the planet I’d simply send Pedro Pascal and Paul Mescal a video camera and a blank check

[dirtytransmasc]

I think I need MelVik connecting when Viktor was on his sick bed. they had been amicable before, maybe a little more than that due to their connection through Jayce and her presence around Hextech and such. but they weren't entirely friends. not yet.

and she goes to see him. perhaps she feels a tinge of guilt at assuming the worst about Jayce, or her bleeding heart makes her feel responsible for keeping Jayce out of the lab when Viktor had needed him. maybe Jayce needs to step out for a moment, and she soothes his worry by promising to sit with Viktor. maybe she just wants to be closer to the man that's so painfully important to the one she loves, wants to befriend him, wants to know him, all before it's far too late.

maybe it's a little bit of each.

but she goes to see him. she sits in the chair that Jayce has nearly worn a hole through, and keeps a semi-awkward distance between them, not knowing what is too close and too far.

this man is dying. he is dying and he has accepted that. he looks like a corpse. cold emanates off of him. he is something she doesn't fully understand.

she doesn't know how to approach.

but she does.

she greets softly and speaks softly and hesitates to touch, but rests a hand over Viktor's and feels how cold he is, even as a sickly warmth brews in his bones, leeching the warmth from his skin and the energy from his body.

he seems surprised she's there. it feels out of place. like the song and dance of their dynamic has shifted, and now he needs to relearn the steps. and now this is a dance of two, not three.

she will tell Viktor, in enough detail to be understood and not enough to be awkward, where Jayce was. because it feels right to confess. it's not an apology, but the avoidance of keeping something like a secret from a dying man.

Viktor will probably just nod and say something self deprecating, because what else do you say when your body is already making a joke of itself? before assuring her that Jayce is not his keeper, that she is not to blame, but even that comes off as some twisted attempt at humor. sue him for being sardonic as he lay dying.

but unlike Jayce, who will cringe at the jokes, she will hide a smile behind her fingers, muffling a soft, if not saddened, chuckle in her palm.

Viktor's eyes will light up ever so slightly.

she'll feel awkward once more. should she have laughed? was this playing into a complex? was this right of her?

Viktor will smile weakly.

she'll feel a little less awkward.

she will realize Viktor needs someone to laugh with. that Jayce, bless his soul, cannot be that person for Viktor. his worry has brewed too long. it's too strong.

but maybe a fresh face like Mel's can be there to smile when Jayce cannot. will laugh when Jayce cannot. can make cheeky jokes and pokes and prods.

the three fit together like 3 pieces of 3 broken puzzles. they fit together, not perfectly, but they fit, and create a finished object, even if off kilter her and uneven there. but it's ok, they're making due.

[puppyeared]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[itwoodbeprefect]

stoic illiterate unwilling assassin deeply in love with unfailingly kind rich sad gay man almost stabs his crush's brother because the brother cares so much and so genuinely for the gay man that he searched assassin's room out of worry and found knives and a mysterious letter before being interrupted by the assassin who then does not want to show him the letter which seems incredibly suspicious, only for a later scene (after the gay man interrupts them and thus stops any escalation from happening) to quietly reveal that the very sus letter in possession of this illiterate assassin is not in fact a sign he's lying about being illiterate.... it's just two pages of him practicing the gay man's name over and over in neatly spaced lines...... a reveal which he was going to STAB a man over because he doesn't know that the gay man's brother knows the man is gay and loves him with his whole heart and would never ever do anything to hurt him........ i will never get over this, how could i ever get over this, everything else ever is going to be downhill from here

[criiitter]

in anticipation for totk i have made a sticker sheet of some of my bestest little korok friends

[merakiui]

some thoughts about jade leech as a stalker.

(cw: yandere, nsfw, stalking, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, mentions of death/strangulation)

Jade does not love often. In fact, he has a rather small supply of love, which is reserved for his hobbies and family, so when he loves something other than those two things it can only mean trouble. When Floyd has something special and doesn’t share... Well, naturally Jade’s going to want it. He’s never been inherently greedy. Rather, he’s always let Floyd have everything: the larger half of a bluefin tuna, the shinier stone, the bigger seashells, the slice of cake with more frosting, his uniforms whenever Floyd’s were dirtied or damaged. And in return Floyd has, for the most part, shared his things with Jade. This has always been their normal. 

But this time Floyd makes no mention of sharing when it comes to you. In the past, when they were particularly interested in someone, they would share them. Or, in other words, torment that person in equal succession. Azul has been their prime target for years now, and it doesn’t look like either of them will stop their relentless pursuit in seeing how fast they can get Azul to grouse or groan or sigh. You might think they live to see Azul’s misery, but truthfully they want to accompany Azul as he carves misery into the hearts of the poor, unfortunate souls who thought it wise to do business with deep-sea beasts. Teasing him is just a bonus. 

When it comes to you, Floyd is his usual authentic self: blunt and honest to a fault, dangerously so. But that’s what makes his twin so fun. Floyd won’t sugarcoat the obvious. If he dislikes you, he’ll make it known. Jade, on the other hand, will speak syrupy sweet lies in an effort to maintain proper goodwill, even if he detests you. You’ve never really interested Jade, so he can’t say he hates you. But he can’t say he loves you either. To him, you are just a powerless human in a habitat that does not suit you. Really, even with all of the tricks and traps you pulled to beat Azul at his own game, you remained boring to him. He didn’t pay you much mind after everything had been resolved and you’d been free to return to Ramshackle. That should have been the end of his story with you. 

But then, some time later, you start to make frequent appearances at the lounge. It doesn’t take Jade long to learn that you only show up when Floyd’s on shift, and it also doesn’t take him long to theorize that you might have fallen for his brother’s unique charms. It’s sweet, in a way, how Floyd lights up when he sees you, how you smile a little more brightly when he speaks to you, how your laughter is so very buoyant when Floyd lifts you into the air and spins you happily. Jade’s content to watch from the sidelines, pleased to know that his brother has found a friend in you. That might make it easier to trick you into a contract.

He’s so set in this way of thinking, only viewing you as a pawn or a stepping stone towards some bigger end goal. But when Floyd brings you back to the dorm and you become more than a constant in Jade’s life, he starts to wonder what makes you so special. What is it about you that has his brother so enamored? What makes you irresistible? What parts of you are appealing? Jade thinks it might be how quick it is you submit when Floyd’s got you pinned into the mattress, face first, rough hands spreading your thighs apart, so he can sink into you more easily. Floyd likes that; he likes the weak things that crumble under him. He likes to push things to breaking. He likes to mark and bite and bloody and bruise and shred.

Jade likes to fix. He likes to mend, and then break, and then mend all over again. He likes the process, the psychological science behind a simple gesture, much like how he takes great pleasure in playing god over the plants in his terrariums. They say a budding serial killer starts small—with animals like rabbits or squirrels or cats. Jade starts with plants. He’ll put them in stressful environments—in soils with nutrients that don’t quite work—and he’ll watch them wilt, mottle, mold, and decay. He’ll watch them struggle to adapt, he’ll watch them yearn for water or sunlight, and only when he’s certain they’ve had enough he’ll give them proper, healthy care. It’s fun, the way he has so much control over something as dynamic as a plant. But plants cannot protest, cannot fight back, cannot act in the same way humans do. 

But it’s quite satisfying to pluck dried petals from a withered flower, almost like a morbid game of effeuiller la marguerite, and not hear a single scream.

So Jade is fully expecting Floyd to tire of you, to break you enough until boredom sinks its fangs into him and he moves on with his life. And what Floyd breaks Jade fixes, so he’s very ready to glue your heart together when Floyd shatters it. He’s ready to offer a handkerchief and his ear should you need to vent. He’s already prepared his speech: “I must apologize on behalf of Floyd. You know very well how he gets. If I can be of assistance in any way, please let me know.”

Unfortunately, you remain intact. Months pass, Floyd continues to love you, and your relationship unfolds like a lotus in early morning. Jade continues to observe. Floyd has never been one for privacy, so he’s seen every kiss, every bite, every inch of exposed skin. Hell, he’s sat at his desk and tallied Mostro Lounge’s monthly expenses while Floyd fucked you dumb on the other side of the room. He’s even made eye contact with you when you happened to gaze his way while his twin was buried balls-deep in that tight hole of yours. He wonders what goes on in that head of yours. Perhaps there’s nothing substantial within. Floyd’s scrambled your brains enough, so you could just be useless now. Though that wouldn’t be very fun, would it? He knows there’s more to you than you let on, especially when you play top and take every inch of Floyd, riding him so skillfully, and all Floyd can do is dig his fingers into your hips to guide you along to the rough, erratic pace the both of you have set. 

Jade watches fondly from the shadows. Floyd likes to have access to your neck and shoulders; he likes to take you from behind while leaning down to bite into soft flesh. But Jade thinks it would be much nicer to gaze upon your face, to kiss salt from your eyes, to pepper your jawline with tiny pecks, all while peering into eyes that house a beautiful soul. He thinks it would be nice to hold you down, have your legs wrapped around his waist or thrown up onto his shoulders, while he bottoms out. If it were Jade, he’d take you in every position, but he’d find the most pleasure in eye contact. There’s something intimate about it, much like how there’s intimacy in the hands that wrap around a throat. You have to be close to someone when you’re restricting their airflow; you have to squeeze until veins pop, until your hands are sore, until your fingernails have burrowed so deeply into skin that the crescent moons color crimson. It takes minutes to strangle someone, and every minute is spent staring into the wide, terrified eyes of a desperate soul on the verge of death.

Jade likes the way you smell, the way you speak, the way you laugh, the way you are, in every meaning of the word, so very filled with life. Even down to the way you breathe and gasp and moan and cry, you are life itself. Jade wants to bottle that for himself—pluck you from Floyd’s flower pot and place you in a terrarium with the most potent elements just to see how long you’d fare. He wants to save you from those same conditions, sandwich your face between gloved hands when he’s kneeled to your lowered height, and whisper about how it’s okay, about how you’re safe, about how he’d never truly hurt you. Jade knows that loving someone is a very special thing, but the way he loves you is not quite pleasant. The love he has for his hobbies and family is natural. Normal. Simplistic and familial. 

The love he has for you is murderous and frightening. Some days he looks at you like you’re prey he’s not yet devoured. Like you’re to be his first victim. 

Jade starts small. He takes tiny trinkets—a keychain, a pencil, an accessory. He stores these in a shoe box under his bed. When Floyd brings you over and clothes are cast aside, he swipes your undergarments for himself. He won’t wash them until he absolutely must. He’ll have the soft fabric wrapped around his dick later that same evening when Floyd’s fallen asleep and he’s up late contemplating love and lust and life and death, and he’ll cum to the thought of you. Sweet, adorable, oblivious you. 

He’s what one would call a persistence predator—a hunter who gradually wears his prey down over time. He takes from you, watches you, listens to you fret about missing things to Floyd, who promises to find the bastard who’s messing with you and squeeze them until they’re blue and purple. Jade smiles at that. Floyd wouldn’t really do that to him. Sure, they’ve hit each other when they’ve fought and roughhoused on occasion, but the punches were never truly meant. Sure, they might have been thrown playfully or angrily, but they were all temporary bouts of strength. Floyd wouldn’t truly hurt him, so to hear these determined promises and to see how you relax around him... It’s really cute. Jade wonders how much more he can take from you. 

And he wonders how much more you can take before you’re splintering. 

Really, you got lucky that Floyd picked you first. He’s far more merciful. Far more sweeter. Far more loving. At least Floyd is honest with his (at times) rough nature. At least he makes it known that he wants to bite you until you’re bleeding. But Floyd can’t stand whining. He hates it when people cry about things he can’t bother to care about, and lately you’ve been whining about this stalker you think you have for weeks now. Floyd’s told you you’re just being a scared shrimpy—that there is no stalker, that you’re probably just misplacing or losing these items, that none of them really matter because they’re replaceable. 

Jade gets lucky when Floyd finally washes his hands of you, officially fed up with your whining. And what Floyd damages Jade fixes. So when you’re in tears, distraught over the break-up and your missing items and your stalker and the fact that the door to Ramshackle was left unlocked again and that you feel like someone’s living in your shadow, Jade arrives to rescue you from your fear. You don’t even hesitate to cling to him and cry, spilling your worries in waterfalls. Perhaps it’s because he’s a familiar face. He is a reflection of Floyd, after all. 

“Oh dear,” he’ll whisper, stroking your back, allowing you to bury your face in his chest and sob. “There, there.”

You can’t see his expression, but there is a smile spreading on his lips. And his eyes are alight with cruel glee. 

“Would it make you feel better if someone accompanied you to your classes?” Your feeble nod is all he needs. “In that case, shall I spend a few days at Ramshackle with you? I’m certain whoever’s pursuing you won’t get very far if I’m around.”

And he’s right. Your stalker never takes anything again. They never leave the front door unlocked. They never trail behind you, taking shelter in your shadow. That’s because he’s your stalker, though you never managed to figure that out, and this time he doesn’t have to dwell in shadows or on the sidelines. This time he can stand before you as a friend, a soon-to-be lover, and perhaps a lifelong mate. 

Jade does not love often, but when he does it is as beautifully painful as tearing the wings from butterflies. 

[slashthrashandcrash]

save me girl who's secretly obsessed with you asmr. girl who's secretly obsessed with you asmr save me.

[local-magpie]

"i like to packbond with everything" is um. a really fucking concerning statement to make when discussing AI, especially the question of if AI can reach sentience. that really should be the very first alarm bell you learn to watch for when you get into studying AI 😬

[mcalhenwrites]

I'm gonna be okay, right? After all this shit that's hitting my life right now, it's gonna be okay? It's gonna end eventually, right, like in a good way, not the "I'm dead so ofc it's over" way? I'm gonna go write now, to ignore that my life is blowing up and I have no spoons left trying to patch up all the holes. Sometimes the ship is just sinking, and you can't do anything but go down with it, I guess. I can't patch iceberg-sized damage up with paper towels, and that's what I feel like I'm always having to do. I'm not sure how to explain how sad I am, but I was stupid to hope, and I worry I'm still stupid to hope. I worry I'm worthless and refuse to see it, and the world keeps pounding it into my head that I deserve nothing, no matter how hard I work.

[aoitakumi8148]

...𝓘𝓽 𝓕𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓼 𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓢𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓘𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓜𝓮 𝓗𝓪𝓼 𝓓𝓲𝓮𝓭 𝓐𝓼 𝓦𝓮𝓵𝓵...

[frankensteinmutual]

one of my housemates is so fucking sensitive it turns me into a person I do not like

[phuuca]

No actually, I cannot shut the fuck up about the detailed analysis I did on how every housewarden and upperclassman has failed their freshmen in some way, shape, or form.

[mejomonster]

I hate panic attacks

[vmures]

If you've done something horrific and want to apologize, you might want to avoid stating you are now a martyr. Kind of negates the apology by showing you aren't actually sorry for harming people, you're just sorry that others in your in group are mad at you for it.

It's also important to realize that no one owes you forgiveness for your actions. You have to do the work--understand why what you did was wrong, get help to deal why you behaved the way you did, and work to be a better person in the future.

None of it is easy, and you will likely have to deal with a whole lot of returned ugliness because of your actions. Are those people in the right to be just as ugly and awful as you, probably not. But they're just as human as you and reacting from a place of pain and trauma. Hopefully, they too will learn that lashing out is not the best action and that it creates a vicious cycle of ugliness. But painting yourself as the victim when you were the initial bad actor...looks really awful and strongly invalidates your apology.

Grace is one of the hardest things to offer when one is hurt and upset. Asking for it when your apology comes across as insincere and self serving...is not the greatest idea.