#i feel like this one might be controversial

[valdevia]

Very funny that tumblr is having discourse about whether my art is misinformation or not, after I've been posting it all over the internet for years without any controversy. So let's talk about it!

I know people arguing are a vocal minority, but I'm not going to dismiss anyone's concerns. It's an actually interesting topic that I really consider, and it touches some important issues in society. So here's my (rambly) two cents.

My art is meant to misdirect, in some way. Photomanipulation and the tone I typically use are meant to briefly confuse the person reading it into thinking they're hearing a real story, at least for a few seconds.

The Intended Experience™

In this sense, I feel like my art can be misinformation! And it's not only people who don't think critically about things like "how come I never heard about mermaids being real before?".

So, no disrespect to anyone that fell for one of my pieces! My work plays with reality, so if you fell for it for more than a minute, it just means my tone and style worked a little too well for you! And there are legitimate reasons to be confused when you see something online, too. For example, there are people who can have trouble telling real and fictional things apart. When you post something that goes out to a million people, you'll get one million different reactions.

That's why I always take care to make it really clear, outside the main piece and snippet of text, that my art is no more than fiction. There are tags, the tone of my account, even my profile picture is meant to reinforce this. I also have a website which, in part, is meant to capture the clicks of people to wonder if my stuff is real and google it, so they can find a real source that's clearly an art website. You can try googling "mycelium infection 1806" or "pupillosarcoma" to see how my website tends to appear first.

If I get this comment I know I've done something believable!

But let's say, for the sake of argument, that my art wholly constitutes misinformation. What we need to understand is that misinformation is not the same as disinformation. Misinformation is just incorrect information. It's your grandma seeing a little bit of a found footage movie on TV and thinking it really happened. She might be spooked, but nobody is harmed. Disinformation is false information that's purposefully crafted and spread in order to cause harm, division, or further a political view.

Now I ask you: what real world harm does my art create? The worst that can happen is that a tiny percentage of those that see it get a little scared thinking a weird bug is real, or that mushrooms really grow on faces, or that scientists have released millions of trilobites into the oceans. Is that really that bad?

Anyway, that's my take on the topic! I'm obviously biased, but this being my style, I do put a lot of thought into it and I'm always open to people's opinions! (Just don't scream at random people on the replies or you'll get blocked!)

[scoutofmymind]

Saw that someone said Luigi’s Reddit had a post where he eluded to a pretty heavy drinking habit in college, which then makes me think about drunk ex!luigi. I’m sorry, but you write angst too well

Unlearn Me — { Luigi x Reader}

Content: SFW, angst, yearning, slight pining, mentions of canon back pain, ex’s reminiscing, heartbreak all over again.

W.c: 4,336 (holy shit)

Notes; Two semesters of carefully crafted distance crumbles at 3AM in the computer lab when your final project implodes hours before the deadline, leaving you with no choice but to seek help from the one person you've been avoiding since the breakup.

Before we continue, I cannot ignore that wildfires continue to ravage Los Angeles, countless families have lost their homes and livelihoods. I urge you to consider supporting those affected through any of these donation links, additionally, Roadogs on Instagram is looking for fosters for mass evacuations of shelter dogs in California.

Foster or donate if you can. xo.

Now, let’s go.

"Mother fucker," you curse, attacking your keyboard with increasingly desperate keystrokes.

Each combination might be the one to salvage this disaster, but deep down you know it's hopeless — your software has corrupted itself into oblivion, taking six months of work with it.

"You can ask for an extension," Emma suggests, her voice carrying the weight of exhaustion that matches your own. Your roommate had burst into the media center still wearing her pink silk pajamas, immediately launching into a nervous tirade about after-hours permissions and potential expulsion risks.

Her constant hovering and worrying grates on your last nerve, and you tell her to leave.

Predictably, she refuses.

"Listen, I'm not just gonna leave you here on your own." She leans across your workspace, her body pressing against your laptop screen until it tilts halfway closed. You freeze, fingers suspended above the keys, terrified of losing what little progress you've made in this digital archaeology expedition. "There's - like - a murderer on campus."

"One girl said she was followed home," you gently remind. Under normal circumstances, Emma's mother-hen routine would be endearing — charming, even. But right now, with your project in shambles and deadline looming, her protective hovering feels suffocating. "Not murdered, Em."

"May as well have been." Emma fixes you with that look — the one that screams why am I the only rational person here? While her nails tap nervously against your desk. "Probably hasn't left her room since. And you know what? Smart girl.”

You scrub your hands over your face, your eyes fixed on the projector's word vomit — an endless stream of error messages and unintelligible code painting the drywall from a tired projector like some twisted modern art piece.

Not exactly what you were going for.

Emma stands mesmerized, "How did you even do this?" She watches the cryptic display crawl across the wall, her eyes tracking each line as if she could decode it. "This reminds me of-" she catches herself, the name hanging unspoken between you. She's learned that lesson the hard way. "This is wild.”

You can't help but notice.

Notice how she almost speaks his name, how these meaningless strings of letters and numbers somehow bridge the gap to memories you've tried so hard to bury — promises whispered under star-sprinkled skies, fingers intertwined beneath the cosmic glow.

Moments that felt eternal then, ephemeral now.

Your gaze drifts to your phone, lying face-down like a surrender.

You blink several times, trying to clear the ghosts from your vision before speaking, your voice emerging barely above a whisper, as if the words themselves might shatter something in the air, "Should I text him?" You ask, offering the idea as if it was something too controversial to be spoken aloud.

Emma shifts her weight, both from exhaustion and the sudden weight of responsibility.

Your night's trajectory now rests in her hands — she who has witnessed every shade of you, from triumph to devastation. Her own memories of him surface: the way he'd raid her ice cream stash only to replace it with a premium pint the next day, how he'd tackle the dish mountain without prompting, those small gestures that made him feel like family.

"He was my favorite boyfriend of yours," she'd told you once, in a moment of wine-honest conversation. "He was a good boy."

A good boy who made a couple mistakes.

But those mistakes had compounded like interest on a debt you never agreed to pay, until the rift between you and Luigi widened into an ocean.

Everything good had been pulled out with the tide — your trust, your shared future — swept away to depths where no light could reach.

"I-" Emma's hand finds the back of her neck, her expression cycling through a slideshow of conflicted emotions. You can see her internal struggle; the desire to crawl into her bed warring with her loyalty to you. And she knows you well enough to realize you'd stay here until sunrise if necessary. "I mean — babe, I love you, but you can't fix this." The admission seems to pain her, as if acknowledging your limitations feels like betrayal. "We aren't techies."

You stare helplessly at your gutted gallery, stripped bare by your own accidental digital vandalism. Your artwork, your portfolio, your future — all reduced to incomprehensible strings of code projected onto an indifferent wall.

"Do you think he'd come?" The question escapes before you can stop it, your eyes magnetized to your phone as if your stare alone could resurrect that old text thread, buried beneath months of careful silence.

"Of course he would."

A soft, defeated whine escapes you as you turn back to glare at your corrupted work, as if you could intimidate it into fixing itself through sheer force of will.

Emma's voice softens, "Hey, he's mature enough to understand you've exhausted your options."

A violent shudder runs through you at the thought of Luigi being your last resort.

You'd managed to exile the visceral memories — the heated arguments that left you gasping for air, the promises that turned to vapor in the morning light.

"Which are?"

Emma looks down at her Pokemon-clad self, then back at you. "Me." She gestures vaguely in your direction, "and you."

The campus sleeps around you, everyone else lost to their dreams or late-night calls home. Just the two of you remain, trapped in this dimly-lit purgatory on a Wednesday night, while error messages mock your existence with their endless scroll.

"Slim pickin's," you mutter as your fingers betray you, finding Luigi's contact with muscle memory that refuses to die.

How many times had you pressed these same digits before?

But this is different.

Different because you haven't spoken since that night in your kitchen, when you stood with your back to him, voice steady despite the trembling in your hands, "So, we aren't going to try to figure this out?" You asked, and he’d responded with some pretentious comparison about your relationship being like corrupted code, fundamentally flawed, destined to fail its own quality test.

The irony isn't lost on you — the very metaphor he used to end things is now the thread that might pull you back into his orbit. Your only connection besides the elaborate dance of avoidance across campus, treating each other's paths like holy ground neither dares to tread.

Opening the thread, you're greeted by your last exchange — your final words to him blazing across the screen in angry blue bubbles: "I want my fucking shit back or I'll make your life a living hell." Such poetry. Your new message hovers in the text box, simpler, desperate in its brevity.

Hey need help with somethin. U up??

You thrust your phone at Emma like it's burning your fingers, watching her eyes widen as they catch on those months-old texts — digital artifacts of your rage that should have been scrubbed before tonight's desperate plea. "Jesus," she whispers, amusement dancing in her expression. "I'd still be licking my wounds if I were hi-"

The familiar buzz cuts through the air, a notification chime that once made your heart leap but now makes it sink.

"What'd he say?" You mumble, gaze fixed on the mocking projection that bathes the room in its sickly digital glow, code continuing its relentless march across the wall.

Emma settles into a chair, hunching over your laptop's makeshift altar. "Said he's at Ruddy's." She squints at a fresh message. "He said 'what do you want?'" She deepens her voice into a cartoonish baritone, making him sound like a caveman discovering text messaging for the first time.

You can't blame him for the cold response — you’d scorched that earth thoroughly.

But a selfish part of you wants to delete the whole exchange, pretend this moment of weakness never happened, go back to the careful choreography of avoiding each other's existence.

But you can't.

The corrupted gallery looming on the wall is a stark reminder that pride is a luxury you can't afford right now.

His icy reception is the natural consequence of your scorched-earth campaign, those venom-laced messages sent in the throes of heartbreak and confusion.

You'd played the role of the woman scorned perfectly, even though you'd written your own tragic script.

"Just send him a picture." You wave listlessly at the wall, where your work continues its digital decomposition, folding in on itself like a dying star. The error messages stretch into an endless serpent of nonsense, each iteration making less sense than the last.

The artificial shutter sound of Emma's photo breaks the silence, followed by the soft swoosh of sending. The wait feels eternal until-

Ding

Emma's attention snaps to your phone resting on her thigh, her eyes widening. "He's typing like he-"

Sorry;m,, I’m fucked uo

Up

I am

fucked up

Emma clicks her tongue and rises, crossing the room to lob your phone into your lap, screen up. "Guess some things don't change." You manage a weak half-grin, memories flooding back unbidden — Luigi stumbling into your dorm in the small hours, wrapped in whiskeys warmth, all soft edges and desperate hands.

"Well, make up your mind." Emma's yawn threatens to unhinge her jaw, arms wrapping around herself like armor. "Are we done here, or are you gonna have him come take a look?"

I’n be there son

I’ll be rherw soo

I’ll be there soon

You stand to wrap your arms around Emma’s shoulders who reluctantly curves her arms upward to squeeze your shoulders. “Go home.” She seems reluctant to listen, staring at your phone screen as if it would take her home itself. “I promise, I’ll be just fine.”

The space between you pulses with that unique warmth reserved for someone who shares your roof, your darkest secrets, and the monthly struggle with Con Edison. "Just don't make any brash decisions."

"Oh, Em." You press a kiss to her forehead. "You think I'm so much cooler than I am."

Emma's laugh follows her as she spins toward the door, collecting pieces of herself like breadcrumbs — the scarf draped over a chair, the coat hung forgotten, the backpack abandoned when the day still held promise.

Each item a marker of how long this digital nightmare has stretched, from sunshine to moonlight.

And as if summoned by cosmic irony, the lab door swings open to reveal Luigi. "Oh - hey, E." The surprise flickers across his face before he schools his features back to neutral.

"Hey, Lu." Her greeting carries the easy familiarity of their old routine, like NPCs in a cozy game exchanging preset dialogue, their paths crossing exactly as programmed.

"You g'na help me with this?"

Emma shakes her head, patting his shoulder as she passes — a gentle handoff. "I did my time." You want to protest, but words fail as you absorb the sight of him, eight months of careful avoidance crumbling in an instant.

"Ahh-" Luigi waves, feigning disappointment through the druken haze. "Need a walk back home?"

Ever the shepherd, guardian of late-night wanderers.

It didn't matter who you were — friend, stranger, ex-lover’s best friend and roommate — his self-appointed mission to ensure everyone's safe return never wavered.

You'd once wondered if it stemmed from some deeper anxiety, his mind unable to rest until every sheep was accounted for in its fold.

Tonight though, the alcohol has mercifully dulled that protective instinct. Emma's potential disappearance into the night ranks lower on his list of concerns than usual, although Emma herself had been the one earlier to warn you of the murderer on campus.

"You still got my location," Emma reminds him — a callback to conversations past, to the day she'd granted Luigi permanent access to her whereabouts, a level of trust you'd wisely withheld.

"Right."

She presses a kiss to her fingers, flashing you a peace sign with the same hand before it briefly lands on Luigi's shoulder. Then she's gone, disappearing into the snow-globe world he'd just stumbled in from. He stands before you now, arms hanging like dead weight, his eyes somehow both wide and narrow.

"Hey," you whisper.

"Hey."

You gesture weakly at the wall where your work writhes in digital agony. "So, uh — remember that time you salvaged Professor Wren’s entire thesis when her drive crashed?"

Luigi's eyes follow your hand, professional interest temporarily overriding the awkwardness. He steps closer, squinting at the corrupted display, "Jesus," he mutters, "what did you do to it?"

"Would you believe me if I said nothing?" The laugh that escapes is more nervous than you'd like. "It just. - it started disintegrating during final checks."

He's already pulling out his laptop, muscle memory from countless late-night tech rescues. The familiarity of it hits you in the chest — how many times had you watched him do this same thing, hunched over his keyboard, bottom lip caught between his teeth in concentration?

"I can try," he says finally, not quite meeting your eyes. "But no promises. When's this due?"

"Tomorrow at nine."

"Of course it is." He drops into the chair beside you, close enough that your elbows almost touch, but enough of a distance to still feel far away. “Okay, walk me through what it's supposed to look like when it's not — uh - whatever this is."

For a moment, Luigi stares at the corrupted display where red pixels bleed and stutter across the wall. His fingers hover over his keyboard, then pause. "Wait. This is your circulatory modeling project? The one you were-“ He cuts himself off, remembering this was before the eight months of silence.

"Yeah." You swallow. "It was working perfectly until an hour ago. Real-time hemodynamics, pressure differentials, vessel elasticity. Everything." Your voice cracks slightly on the last word, feeling more helpless when you verbalize it.

He nods, already typing with uncanny precision despite the slight sway in his posture. "Show me the base code. Did you save any backups?"

"Three. All corrupted." You lean forward, careful not to crowd him as you pull up the mangled files. "It's like something got into the core simulation and just - I dunno - started rewriting them."

"Hm." His eyes scan the screen with that laser focus he somehow maintains no matter how much he drinks, that familiar furrow appearing between his brows. "These values are cascading. One corrupted variable triggering a chain reaction through the whole system." He glances at you, slightly overshooting before correcting. "When's the last time it ran correctly?"

You check your phone. "6:43 PM. I have a screen recording from then."

"Good. That's good." He pulls up a second window, his typing still flawless even as he reaches with his free hand to steady himself against the desk. "We can compare the execution logs, maybe isolate where it started going wrong." His fingers fly across the keys with a precision that seems to mock his clearly inebriated state, and for a moment, it feels like those eight months never happened. "I'm going to need coffee for this." He looks up at you from where he sat, “Or more booze.”

You land on coffee, your feet carrying you down the familiar path to the kitchenette.

The fluorescent lights flicker dimly at this hour, casting strange shadows across the linoleum, the lab's overpriced espresso machine hums to life under your touch, its gentle whirring a counterpoint to the distant sound of Luigi's typing.

Suddenly you're back in that first year, both of you hunched over at 3 AM, him teaching you the proper way to pull a shot: “You're murdering it, stop torturing the beans”, your quiet laughter echoing through empty halls.

"Got it.” His voice carries down the corridor, slurred but triumphant, snapping you back to present.

You return to find him illuminated by screen-glow, his tie loosened and dark hair disheveled. The paper cup lands in front of him — double shot, one packet of raw sugar.

He doesn't stir it, never has.

Instead, he tips the cup back, and you hear that familiar crunch of sugar crystals between his teeth, a sound that used to drive you crazy, until somewhere along the way it became endearing.

Still, the jumbled code taunts you from the screen, though its chaos seems less threatening now. Under Luigi's touch — steady despite the alcohol —- your final project is slowly remembering its original shape.

"You should have texted sooner," Luigi murmurs, tilting his head back to collect the last sugar crystals from his cup. The movement exposes his throat, his collar wrinkled where he's been tugging at it all night.

"Well," you say, watching the way his fingers dance across the keys, each stroke precise despite his obvious intoxication, "takes a minute to swallow something as big as my ego."

The corners of his mouth twitch upward, eyes never leaving the screen where broken code is knitting itself back together under his attention.

"Oh," he huffs out a laugh, the sound low and dangerous in the quiet lab, "I've seen you swallow far bigger things before."

It strikes like summer lightning — quick, bright, and leaving the air charged in its wake. The innuendo lands with no real bite, yet you find your jaw slack, a startled laugh shaking loose from your chest.

"Kidding," Luigi says, his eyes flicking from screen to you and back again. There’s a ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, softened by the alcohol but still sharp enough to cut. You wave him back to his work, grateful for the blue glow of monitors that hides your flush. "You kinda set that up perfectly, though."

He squints up at the projection where your broken code still bleeds across the wall, letting out a soft grunt of frustration at some digital roadblock. "Just mean — ya know, you could have caught me two beers deep instead of seven."

You shrug a shoulder, watching as the projection slowly crystallizes into something recognizable. "Seems you work better under such conditions."

The lie tastes metallic.

You both know the truth.

Luigi would have come if he was sober as sunrise or drowning in bourbon. Would have come with broken ribs or pneumonia or his heart barely beating. Would have traced these familiar hallways blind, deaf, or dying — because that's what the two of you do.

Have always done.

You've seen him at rock bottom, curled into himself on cold bathroom tiles at midnight, trembling hands pressed against his mouth as if he could physically hold back the pain that wracked his body. Watched him try to explain to puzzled doctors how someone so young could hurt so constantly, the frustration in his voice when they suggested it was all in his head.

You were there through the trials of medications, the nights when existence itself seemed too heavy to bear.

And you've seen him soar; standing tall in that charcoal suit that made him look older, more polished, shaking hands with tech giants who saw in him what you'd always known was there, his future spreading out before him like a golden road, brilliant and boundless.

Now he sits here, seven drinks deep but coding like he's never been clearer, and you realize that maybe both versions are equally true.

Maybe that's what makes him Luigi — the ability to contain multitudes, to be simultaneously broken and brilliant, wounded and wonderful.

He catches you watching him and raises an eyebrow, the gesture slightly delayed, which means you must have been a bit too obvious. "What?"

"Nothing.”

His fingers pause on the keys, and even through the alcoholic haze, his gaze pins you like a butterfly to cork. "No, really. What?" The words have a slight blur around their edges, but his focus is knife-sharp.

You could deflect again, but there's something about 4 AM and code that glows like dying stars that makes honesty feel less dangerous, perhaps you’re finding comfort in the fact that Luigi is drunk, although you’re stone cold sober.

"Just thinking about that time in the Thompson building bathroom." Your voice comes out softer than intended. "When you couldn't stand up, and I had to convince the janitor you had food poisoning."

He doesn't flinch from the memory like he used to.

Instead, his mouth curves into something caught between a smile and a grimace. "You told him it was from the cafeteria." His fingers resume their dance across the keyboard, but slower now. "Got the whole place investigated by health services."

"Yeah, but got us three days off while they checked fucking everything.” you remind him.

"Got me through that week," he corrects quietly, and for a moment, the mask of that brilliant-drunk-techie slips, showing the man underneath who still remembers what it feels like to be held together by nothing but someone else's faith in you.

Then he blinks, and the vulnerability is gone, replaced by that familiar crooked grin. "Though I maintain the cafeteria deserved the inspection anyway."

The projection flickers, another section of code healing itself under his touch, and you wonder if he knows you'd do it all again.

Every bathroom floor, every late-night crisis, every moment of putting him back together - you'd choose it every time.

"Speaking of which," you venture carefully, watching his hands move across the keyboard. "How's the new treatment working?"

His right shoulder shifts in what might be a shrug, but there's a shadow of a real smile playing at his mouth.

Not the sharp, defensive one he wears like armor, but something softer, more genuine. "Six months post-op and I actually slept through the night last week. First time in -“ he pauses, considering, "Fuck, I don't even remember how long."

The admission hangs in the air between you, weighted with the two years of 2 AM phone calls, of nights spent pacing, of pain medications that never quite touched the core of the problem.

Watching him try to code through hands that wouldn't stop shaking.

"Still hurts sometimes," he adds, almost absently. "But it's different now. More like background noise than a scream." His fingers still on the keyboard, and for a moment he looks almost surprised by his own words. "Guess that's what normal people feel like all the time, huh?"

The question carries an edge of wonder, like someone who's lived in darkness suddenly discovering dawn.

You watch him roll his shoulder — a gesture that used to be followed by a wince but now flows smooth and unconscious — and think about how strange it must be, learning to live without constant pain after it's become part of your identity.

"Though I kind of miss having an excuse to drunk-code at 4 AM" he adds, but you both know it's a lie.

The code blurs on the projection as silence settles between you, charged with something that's been building for ages — through bathroom floors and hospital visits, through triumphs and failures, through pain and healing.

The alcohol has stripped away Luigi’s careful boundaries, leaving raw honesty in their place.

"You know," Luigi says slowly, finally turning from the screen to face you fully, "I never thanked you properly. For all of it."

"You don't need to-"

Your diagram pulses back to life, the holographic heart rotating lazily against the wall.

Its red glow bathes the room in a surreal warmth, catching on the sharp angles of Luigi's face, softening them into something almost dreamlike.

The light flickers across his cheekbones, turns his eyes to amber, makes the whole moment feel suspended between reality and imagination.

"I do." His voice is quiet but firm, steadier than someone seven drinks deep should manage. "Because I've been thinking — now that I can actually think clearly without-“he gestures vaguely at his back, at all the years of pain, "I've been thinking about how you're the only constant. The only person who never-“ He trails off.

You lean a little closer, drawn by the vulnerability in his voice. "Never what?"

"Never saw me as broken." He turns himself toward you, and there's something desperate in his eyes, something the alcohol has finally given him the courage to show. "Never treated me like I needed fixing. Just stayed. Through everything."

Your lips part, but the words catch in your throat. He takes your silence as a sign, turning back to the screen with a sharp exhale that might be resignation or relief — you're not sure which would be worse.

"Lu,” you say softly, and something in your voice makes his fingers still on the keyboard. "Look at me."

He does, slowly, like he's afraid of what he might find.

The neon bathes half his face in crimson, leaving the other half in shadow, and you see the moment his carefully constructed walls start to crumble.

"Time hasn’t changed that much about me.” you say, each word deliberate, heavy with meaning.

His breath catches audibly. You watch the impact of your words ripple across his face — surprise, understanding, and something else, something that makes your heart race against your ribs.

"Hasn’t it?” Luigi is focusing on you now, the reason he really came here now practically completed but pushed aside until further notice. “Eight months is a long time to hold onto -“ he gestures vaguely between you, as if he can’t quite say what it was. Hopeless devotion, the right person, wrong time.

“Not long enough to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“You.”

His breath catches again, a sharp inhale that seems to pull all the oxygen from the room. When he speaks, his voice is rough and ragged, “Maybe that’s the problem.” His gaze drifts down to watch as you lick your lips, and back up again. “Maybe you should have.”

[readychilledwine]

what do you think prythian's food is like? Like how does the food differ in each court? Which one is known for spicier food? Or meat centric or veggie centric food? Summer would probably have more seafood right?

The Food of Prythian Headcanons

Warnings - Mentions of alcohol. While this is food based, it is based on the vibes of what I felt the culture of each court would be like in comparison to real places in our world. Some of these may be discussion worthy. We handle that in polite ways. Also, Liz thirsting over Helion's thighs.

A/N - The gif had to be Anime food. No cooking show makes ya girl hungry like anime food does. Welcome to the beginning of the requests being queue. Some of you have waited a very long time for me to get out of my funk. I cannot thank you all enough for that.

Spring-

Spring in my opinion would be French style foods. Why? Because of how SJM described the molten chocolate Feyre had.

I imagine Spring to have fresh ingredients that, combined with meats, make light but filling meals and vibrate plates.

I see Tamlin as the cheese board kind of guy. I think Spring would be filled with different cheeses from around the map and lands and people capable of telling you all about them and proper pairings.

Wine. I know we hear about wine a lot in Night, but I will never drop the headcanon that Spring is 7 course meals with different wine pairs as the meal progresses

Overall, I imagine Spring to be filled with dishes that are focused on fresh and quality. I think they'd have a wide variety of options for meats and game.

Ps, edible flowers. They garnish plates with edible flowers

Summer-

Hear me out, I think Summer would be a combination of Hispanic and Latin foods

Summer is seafood heavy, no doubt. Fresh catches served after flavorful preparations.

Summer isn't afraid of seasoning. Nor spice. I think in terms of getting your spicy food fix, Summer is your best options.

Access to fresh fish and summertime thriving fruits such as limes and lemons, naturally Ceviche is a very common dish to be served and a traditional welcome meal for guests.

Pazole would also be right up there with the incorporation of fresh peppers and produce to make it flavorful and impactful.

Alcohol pairings in summer also include fruity mixes. Tarquin is a margarita on the rocks baddie. I will die on that hill.

Autumn-

I'm hiding from how controversial this one might be. I was torn with Autumn because of how Eris and Lucien are written. I think the Forest House with the High Lord and his family do not eat traditional Autumn cuisine and try to separate themselves. So, for Autumn, I am torn but will be focusing on my gut instinct.

Autumn is English and Irish cuisines. Hearty beef stews, bangers and mash, Yorkshire pudding. Meals in Autumn are warm, heavy, and meant to be fulfilling at a price point that even the lowest income families can pull off. Spoiler, I 100% think Lucien and Eris are throwing down bangers and mash. Why? Because it feels right.

Breakfasts tend to have a variety on the plate. Eggs and sausage served over beans was an immediate one that came to mind for me.

I think game meat is also very common in Autumn, but farming is the primary meat source. Cattle, boar, and sheep would make up the majority of dishes with chicken being a last choice.

I think fish is potentially common in Autumn, but they are tinned fish central. And let's not bash tinned fish. You can do a lot with it and create meals for a fairly decent price.

Autumn is spiked cider country. Apples grown so rapidly here that they had to find a way to work them into their drinks. Mother bless the barmaid who asked for some rum and said to hold her mead. Apples since have been worked into whiskey, wine, vodka, and whatever else they could sell. Cinnamon apple whiskey is a personal favorite of Eris's. I asked him myself.

Winter-

Winter to me has very Slavic vibes. With it being so bittery cold, though, I imagine their diets are filled with soups and very heavy stews.

Winter is a season that would struggle with produce and with how I picture trade systems working in Prythian, I'll bluntly say it, Winter is the pickled everything part of Prythian.

Pickled fish, vegetables, and olives are all very common ingredients in meals and as snacks.

Root vegetables such as onions, garlic, and potatoes are featured in every meal. They're known to grow in harsh environments, and paired together can be a great base to a meal.

Game meat is common here. Venison, elk and some options that we may less commonly think of such as bear, fox, wild big cats, and rabbit

Drinks wise, like the foods, it is about warmth. Mulled wines, warm ciders, anything to keep their hands warm and bellies full.

Dawn-

It would have been far too easy to argue Dawn is 24/7 breakfast, but I think Thesan is very into cuisine that touched the homelands of his Court's population.

Dawn is heavily leaning to Japanese and Asian styled foods. Bright dishes, bold flavor, and full of experiments and experiences. I don't think there is a dull meal in Dawn.

Dawn is filled with brothy soups centering around rich cuts of meat, different styles of noodles, and an ever rotating flavor profile as seasons change.

Seafood is common in Dawn, but they're open to trying any form of proteins. Eggs are a favorite.

I think meals in Dawn vary from you feeling heavy and ready for a nap afterward to something light and refreshing. I think this variation comes with seasons and availability to ingredients.

Dawn is drinking a variety of things. Hard liquor with touches of fruit, hearty beers, plum based wines, and teas. Dawn is filled with variety in the beverages, all paired perfectly to compliment meals.

Day-

Helion and the Day Court had to be a Mediterranean diet. I won't apologize. She can't describe thigh daddy as wearing white togas, snake arm bands, and not expect me to decide he serves me my favorite cuisine post... thigh admiration.

I also feel this works well with the Day Court due to me picturing it as a similar situation where the days reach high grueling temperatures and Nights are made for dancing under the moonlight in anticipation of getting to see morning break and the sun begin to rise.

The Day Court is light meals during the day hours that center heavily around fruits, vegetables, and seafood kissed with notes of citrus. Nights are slightly heavier with touches of beef and lamb joining in.

Hummus. There's various hummus bowls at every meal, and each one is a different layer of flavor or spice. Helion ensures they are served with a variety of root vegetables, pita breads, or falafel.

Drinking is common, but beers are not. Even beverages are kept light in Day. Of all the courts, though, I feel the Day Court is heavily pushing water intake.

Night-

Full discretion. I wanted to break the Night Court into Velaris, Hewn City, and Illyria. Due to tumblr LIMITING MY CREATIVITY (jerks) i am focusing on Velaris.

Have you ever wanted to make love to your food or make love because of your food? If so, "Welcome to the Night Court."

I think Velaris doesn't necessarily have a region of food from our world, but instead, it is a melting pot due to the variety of citizens and walks of life there. One thing is always true, though, artistic expression is worked into food.

Velaris is known for gorgeous plates, high end cuts of meats, and things being extra. It is common to see edible gold leaf in Velaris.

Proteins wise, I think due to the melting pot, there isn't a common or most popular choice. Venison, beef, lamb, chicken, and seafood are all common. I do think Velaris leans towards roasted vegetables, though. Roasting them can bring out flavor and, most importantly, color. I heavily believe presentation is key here.

Chocolate dipprd fruits are a favorite, but dipped figs with a touch of sea salt are a go to dessert.

Wines. Prepare for wines with every turn. Full bodied reds, crisp whites, flirty rosé, and oh so bubbly champagne.

In short, food in Velaris is meant to make you feel something, to push boundaries and flavor palette, and to fill your tummy.

[slocumjoe]

companions react to sole crying when they raise their voice at them

The actual, secret prompt here is "which of the companions would not die of shame on the spot"

Cait; Doesnt die, but does achieve a sort of living Purgatory. She's a rough gal. Sole shouldn't be so sensitive. C'mon, grow up! And then she remembers her own life, being screamed at. Astral projects into hell. Will recoil and try to make it better, calm them down. Even says sorry if they look really hurt and it's not just an instinct they have. Slinks around like a kicked puppy after, keeps her distance.

Curie; I really have to question who Curie can upset that much. Can Curie even raise her voice like that, enough to make anyone cry? Curie herself is also bewildered, beneath the immediate regret. Rushes to them spewing apologies, but its short-lived as she’s likely to start crying herself. She's empathetic, she's sensitive, and she feels bad. This is no longer an argument, it is a cry-sesh. Promises to never lose her temper like that again, and keeps that promise.

Danse; The spectrum of reactions this man has here...depends so much on how close he is with Sole. With just another soldier under his command, really disappointed. You are a soldier. He'll back off and let them calm down, then give them a stern recommendation to either work on it, or consider a different career path. A soldier needs to be able to take orders, or discipline, or anything in a harsh tone. That's just the work. But if they're close...the GUILT. The GUILLLLLTTT. Like Curie, tries to fix it ASAP, hugs them if they let him. Apologizes for weeks after. Would dash himself against the rocks if Sole would let him.

Deacon; Panic. Panic. Panic. Switches his mood on a dime, bounces from joking, to still angry, to worried, to guilty, to joking again, to angry again...not because that's what he's feeling, Deacon is horrified, but he just isn't sure what to...do? There's very, very little that could make Deacon yell. Like...something really bad. So he's conflicted. He just made Sole cry. What the fuck, me? But also...Sole, c'mon...Eventually just focuses on de-escalating, calming them down. They can talk—properly, with no raised voices—later.

Gage; Honestly, might start laughing. Not even to be dick. Just...what? This fuck cleans house in the Gauntlet, butchers Colter, takes over Nuka World, but...getting yelled at is what spooks them? Have they...not noticed that when they're killing people, those people are yelling? How are you alive, man? Like Danse, changes on relationship. If he and Sole are close, he shuts up, and walks the fuck away. He's pissed off, he's annoyed, and he's hurt someone that he cares about enough that they're in tears. And this person doesn't crack easily. Him sticking around is bad news. It'll be a while, and painfully awkward, but...he will try to apologize. Keyword, try.

Hancock; Freezes, awkwardly tries to get them to stop and calm down, before slinking off. Hancock is not what one would call "emotionally apt". Where Deacon at least can remember how to be that, Hancock has only really known...casual relationships? One-off things, people he just parties with...not really friends. Or loved ones, even. Besides, Sole probably doesn't want him around right now...he certainly wouldn't. Vanishes for a while, and next Sole sees him, it's with presents and an earnest apology, and a promise to keep his temper in check.

MacCready; Huffs, kind of rolls his eyes, but MacCready is already dropping whatever they were fighting about and trying to patch this up. Takes back whatever he said even if it was true. He doesn't hug Sole, doesn't want to crowd them, but does rub their back or hold their hand. If Sole goes for a hug, they get it. MacCready is, weirdly, one of the more emotionally mature companions; handles it better, processes his own feelings better, and works with Sole to find a solution both to the initial problem, and how they both solve problems together in general.

Nick; It'll be a cold day in hell before Nick Valentine really yells at someone in a way that would warrant crying. So...either Sole has fucked up so much that he no longer cares, sees it as guilt-tripping, or Sole is (seemingly) overreacting to a simple criticism or scolding. First instance, he, again, doesn't care. Sole is probably a murdering jackass. Second instance, immediately concerned. People don't just start crying like that over something that simple. Either Sole is hurting and stressed way beyond what he thought, or there's something in their past that makes this more than what Nick sees it as. He drops everything, has them sit, talks them through some breathing exercises, gets them water. Sees if they'll talk about their feelings, or what they've gone through. Says he'll be more careful if that's a sore spot for them.

Piper; I'm pretty sure I've said this before, but Piper tends to throw candy at upset people. She'll also freeze for a minute, but jumps into action once the shock and shame wear off. Fumbles between saying she's sorry and begging them to stop crying, c'mon, Blue, you know she didn't mean...okay, well, no, she did, and it wasn't fair, and she's sorry, just take the gumballs, they're cherry, they'll make you feel better! No, Piper, they won't. Will kind of coddle and baby Sole for a while, concerned that they might be in a bad place.

Preston; Much like Nick...Preston is not a yeller, and he's not an angry, lashing-out kind of person. He's much more likely to withdraw and get quiet. So like...the fuck did Sole do? If its not a moral failing, but instead just a human slip-up, Preston will back down immediately, go "Okay, we'll talk later, you're not in the right headspace for this," and make sure Sole gets whatever they need. Hot food, water, sleep, maybe a bath. They need to discuss this and Preston is not so soft that crying will deter him. Being too yielding like that cost him Quincy. But he's not going to push something already breaking.

Unless Sole did something fucked up fucked up, like...go join the Nuka World raiders, or whatever. Preston will straight up laugh at them then, and he will do it to be a dick. Really? You went and did that, but can't stomach the consequences? Wow.

X6-88; Also wouldn't raise his voice. He gets curt, and his voice gets...softer, actually. Like...scarily soft. Crying when X6 critiques you is not going to end well. He has shit to do, and discussing the issue was one of them. And now Sole is wasting everyone's time sobbing. Over what, to X6, was nothing more an objective observation. How do you expect anything to get done without a spine? I think it would depend on the kind of crying, but he'll either give up, frustrated, or not care and want to just get it over with. X6 wants the issue resolved or at least discussed ASAP. He can't put everything on hold because Sole is weepy.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

Just want to say: a, I admire very much that you've figured out a healthy way to work on your fics that allows you to have fun with it. And also b, am very excited to hear that you are getting there with pez! It has fully given me brain rot ever since I read it last year, there is just such a lack of content for the highly specific trope of using time travel as a device to explore extremely unhealthy levels of self loathing.

I just adore everything you're doing in it. Neither midoriya is anywhere approaching okay for any portion of the fic and I love rereading and mining into all the subtle characterization pointing to that. It's a bit like nhtycth in that some really goofy funny stuff is often hiding some really fucking worrying things, but the fact that characters DO do that stuff—that todoroki uses his teaspoon's worth of extremely stunted social skills to bludgeon his friend's door open and help him, that a rpf shipping war is an actual source of drama despite how goofy the sentiment seems on the surface, that about half of what jon says is deeply worrying and the other half is extremely funny and there's a lot of overlap between the two—really lifts the tension and brightens the universe. It's sort of similar to what you did with gerry, in that endless misery isn't nearly as painful as the ups and downs of a life that, when you step back and zoom out, has something deeply and horribly wrong with it.

(jon sort of reminds me of spider-man in that he uses human to deal with trauma and stress, except I don't think he at any point realizes how fucking funny he is. He's just there, in a home depot, gnashing his teeth because he's got so many bodies to dispose of and this cashier sure is taking her time.)

I really, really, really have had trouble finding fics that take everything midoriya has dealt with to task. It's a hell of a thing to live 14 years as a disabled minority, have it heavily shape your existence, and then one day you wake up and you realize you're...not that, or at least, nobody will ever acknowledge you as that again. You've lost all claim to it. Those experiences that shaped who you are? Dust in the wind. 14 years of pain and life might as well be buried in the ground for all the good they do you. Nobody's going to cut you any slack or quarter, you've gotta simply work harder, be better. And now when you do that you get the results you wanted, so that's fine, then. That's good. There was something wrong with the you before, and there's something right with the you now, and if the transition is a little rough, well that doesn't matter, you're the same as everyone else now, so it's your own job to fill in whatever gaps you need to.

I really can't get over how mentally fucked it must be for midoriya to run into quirkless people, run across quirkless issues, and be silently caught between, incapable of speaking his mind and too scared to do so anyway around those he can trust.

Also I should mention, I'm just very excited for bakugou to get back from the gym. He's been there like a year I hope he's getting a good workout in.

Me realizing that it’s been a year since pez dispenser debris:

I feel like there’s just this very specific type of grief that Izuku has to grapple with in the span of pez dispenser debris that I’m just obsessed with. He’s sort of silently mourning who he could have been, when 1) he has to present like there’s nothing lost to maintain his secret and 2) the entire world is constantly inundating him with the message that there was nothing lost.

Like. I don’t want to get too deep into it because it risks spoiling things and I do have major plans to continue it (I’ve loved this story for so many years before I ever even hit publish), but the emotion that Izuku’s feeling right now is so much more complex than “I hate who I used to be and want him to stop existing” or “I just want to keep my secrets.” And I think the way he interacts with Mirio is the biggest evidence of that.

Izuku’s placed himself at the very center of the Quirklessness debate with his support of Mirio. He fights for Quirkless heroes, very publicly, to the point where he’s not even graduated yet but considered to be one of the most prominent voices on the matter. If you took a poll of Quirkless people as to which hero would be most supportive of them pursing their own career in heroics, Izuku would be right at the top of the list. When it comes to Quirklessness itself, he’s nothing but supportive.

But he didn’t tell Mirio the truth of his own Quirklessness.

Out of everyone, Mirio’s the one everyone expects to know, despite him being a relatively newer relationship compared to someone like Iida or Uraraka or Todoroki. And I tried to imply that he’s sort of the one who knows the most about Izuku out of everyone save All Might.

Like, we’ll get into how much exactly Mirio knows soon, so I won’t divulge what, if anything, Izuku has told him. But we know that Mirio knows, weirdly enough, that Izuku is deeply fucking haunted. He knows that boy has many violent ghosts in his bones. He finds it hilarious and will tell their realtor about it. Izuku told him about the discontent spirits who died in a violent passion and live on inside of him before he told him about his Quirklessness.

And I just feel like one of those things is a little bit easier to discuss than the other.

Izuku has decided to keep his own Quirklessness quiet in a way that surpasses secrecy about One for All. If it was just about OfA, he could tell people he didn’t get his quirk until the entrance exam, and it wouldn’t even be a lie. He’s purposefully obscuring his own past as Quirkless even as he takes a forefront of the Quirkless hero debate with his open support of Mirio.

And the fact that he’s at the forefront of this debate in and of itself requires a difficult dichotomy. He is the world’s most vocal proponent for the first Quirkless hero. He is a known figure in the Quirkless community now.

He isn’t considered one of them anymore. He’s an outsider coming in.

It must be such a strange, odd sort of grief to come to the people you were home amongst for most of your life and be greeted as a stranger. To return home, and to be welcomed in for the first time, and to not even be able to tell people that you’ve lived here all your life and don’t need a tour.

It’s a sort of death of self, I think. And I think Izuku never expected to have to grapple with his own ghost.

[thereadingaddic7]

[einsatzzz]

i hate ju/mp fes/ta!!! why do you have so many k/hr merch sets in your lineup?? how dare these sets look all so good!!! more than that, i hate hiba/ri kyo/ya!!! im a hbr anti now!!! he broke into my house and took everything from me, my room space, my soul, my money, EVEN MY WIFE??!!!

[luckykittysshowerthoughts]

Simeon's Punishment

I want to start this off by saying that I agree with the masses that Season 4 was VERY poorly executed. I honestly have actual trust issues with the writers after how that season was handled, to the point that it actually prevented me from getting into Nightbringer until very recently.

...that said. I think that beneath the poor pacing, vague wording, misplaced focus, lack of closure, hidden signals and all-around awful handling, there is something here that deserves to be analyzed. So I'm writing this because I want to decode whatever the fuck the writers were going for. So, here we go.

The reason for Simeon's punishment was... confusing, to say the least. Yes, he did steal from the Celestial Realm, and from Michael personally. However... the reasons he did so are not only just, but reasons Michael should have personally agreed with. Even if Michael didn't give a damn about MC, he very clearly still loves Lucifer- and if Simeon hadn't done what he did, MC would have driven that knife straight through Lucifer's chest. What Simeon did saved the life of one of the most important people to Michael... not to mention protected the Celestial Realm. MC's ring of power was dangerously close to destabilizing all three realms, with the effects already starting to hit the Celestial Realm. What Simeon did was in the best interest of everyone, including Michael and the Celestial Realm. So, why was he punished...?

Well, this post is going to take a similar direction to my post about the fall. It wasn't actually meant to be a punishment at all.

When you look at Simeon's situation from a lens of punishment, certain details don't add up. It wasn't like Michael left Simeon out to dry. He sent arguably his most important angel, Raphael, to ensure Simeon's safety. He reached out to and to some extent collaborated with the Devildom- which he's made clear in the past that he distrusts and dislikes- just to keep everyone on the same page about Simeon and his protection. These acts don't exactly scream "punishment".

Then there was what Michael said to MC in season three- "I have to think about Simeon as well, after all."

This reads to me like Michael is- albeit subtly- angsting over the situation. Like he's still actively looking out for Simeon and his best interests, in his own way. It certainly doesn't sound like someone who has ill will towards him or is apathetic about his wellbeing.

Raphael doesn't seem particularly unhappy with Simeon over the whole thing either, and we all know how much of a stickler Raphael is for rules and doing the "right" thing. His full support of Simeon the entire time tells me that this is a little more complicated than a broken rule.

So... what exactly happened?

It's made very obvious that Simeon being turned human was because he stole the ring; that isn't up for debate. But that doesn't necessarily mean it was a punishment. What I think happened was that the incident made Michael realize a few things about Simeon- and that this was a long time coming, it's just that the situation with the ring was what made him feel that Simeon was better off not being an angel.

In the act of stealing the ring, Simeon made a very loud and clear statement about where his heart truly lies and what's important to him.

If his first and foremost thought was to be a good loyal angel, he would have let that dagger go straight through Lucifer's chest for the "greater good". Lucifer would have died, and MC would be worse for wear, but the Celestial Realm would be safe from the chaotic magic MC possessed.

...but that wasn't what was important to Simeon. That wasn't what mattered most to him.

What Simeon did saved the Celestial Realm, but that's not why he did it. He did it to save Lucifer and MC. That was what was important to him. His heart doesn't lie with the Celestial Realm, not anymore. It lies with MC, and with the brothers, and with the spirit of the exchange program- the fight to make bonds between the realms work.

I'll get into MC and Lucifer in a moment, but for now, that last point. His full and undying belief in doing what's best for all three realms. In Nightbringer, if MC tells Solomon that they want to find a way that's best for everyone instead of choosing between the demons, angels, and humans, it raises intimacy levels not with Solomon, but with Simeon. Who wasn't even in the room or anywhere near them at the time.

That is who Simeon is.

And the rules of the Celestial Realm confine him from doing what he was meant to do, the person he wanted to be.

As an angel, Simeon was only allowed to even see Lucifer and his brothers due to the exchange program- he wasn't allowed to venture down to visit his dear brother freely; in the original game's timeline he likely went centuries without being able to contact him.

He was even more restricted with MC, with whom he had to express clear restraint to avoid lustful sinning. Though most of the examples of this are locked behind Devilgrams (one of the many ways in which this whole arc was poorly handled)- one example I remember was one of his birthday cards from the year of S4 where he's shown sending MC away to hold himself back from "temptation". He couldn't love MC in the way he wanted to love them, because he was an angel.

And the relationship between the realms? Well, he can't do what's best for everyone if he's bound by the strict and oppressive rules of one. The rules that a very drunk Simeon in the devilgram "Simeon's Hidden Side" confesses were severely burning him out. The rules that, in Season 2, he spat in the face of with zero hesitation to pursue what he truly believed in. Simeon is a free spirit, one being slowly strangled by the Celestial Realm's jungle of rules and restrictions.

I don't think Michael did what he did because he was angry with Simeon. I think he did it because he knew it was time to let him go.

But that may not have been what he said. We all know by now that Michael isn't the brightest socially-speaking. When even Raphael, the most tactless being across the three realms, calls you socially inept, that's saying something.

I think what Michael meant to say was that the incident with the ring made him realize that Simeon is better off elsewhere. But what came out was "this is because of the ring"- which bears some very obvious negative implications. Especially when spoken to someone who is most likely in immense shock from the daunting situation they're being faced with. Simeon may be great at reading people and interpreting their motivations under normal circumstances, but it's very likely a part of Simeon's brain just turned off the moment he learned he was going to be human- honestly, who could blame him.

I think the whole "punishment" aspect was, largely, a miscommunication. Something that's backed up further towards the end of the season.

When Satan asks Simeon if it's because he stole the ring, Simeon's answer is rather vague.

"Something like that". That's... a rather strange response. It's rather roundabout. It indicates that it's a little more complicated.

Then there was what Simeon said later in that conversation.

"You-know-who has been waiting for me to figure that out."

Michael's been waiting for Simeon to realize why he actually did what he did. It wasn't about what Simeon did, but who he was. After all, as Simeon says, "this is who I am".

In short...

Yes, Simeon's transformation into a human was because he stole the ring. But no, that doesn't mean it was a punishment.

Simeon's act wasn't just a broken rule, it was a statement about who he is and where his heart lies- a statement that made Michael realize that he's not meant to be an angel. But when Michael said that he was turning Simeon human because he stole the ring, that was not what was gotten across- an in-shock Simeon interpreted it as a punishment, and viewed it as such until the end of the season where he realized what Michael actually meant.

And, honestly, I'm alright with this. I still have a bone to pick with the writers regarding how it was handled, I could rant for ages about that, but I can appreciate the idea itself. My only real concern now is that I hope Simeon keeps his angel lifespan. If he doesn't, then turning him human is essentially indirectly killing him down the line- which has moral issues I can't overlook or justify. That's really my only big problem here after looking at it under a microscope.

I'm also noticing a trend here, if my analysis is in any way accurate. It seems like Michael is the kind of person to make very big, very strange, morally dubious decisions that start to make a lot more sense when looked at more closely. It really lends credence to Simeon's whole "he does everything for a reason" thing. It's a part of Michael's character that I'm interested in seeing where it goes- but hoping for no more Simeon angst in the process, please. Please don’t hurt my boy again.

But, that's my two cents. If this doesn't make sense, it's because I wrote this in an ADHD-induced frenzy at 4 AM and apparently didn't edit it well (or at all) in the morning. Either way, I'll go ahead and claim my title as this hellsite's biggest Michael apologist before anyone can stick it to me. Kitty out.

[knowlesian]

i keep trying to organize my thoughts about the us election and i’ve got a lot

anyway one of them i feel solid and secure on is “i still do think guillotine jokes are understandable and nowhere even near worth making a hill to die on but are alongside that probably not the best general tone to set given the specific context and my own personal beliefs on centering change and growth and pushing for a better future whenever possible over punitive measures focused on the past

…but goddamn i wanna make some guillotine jokes right now”

[autisticlee]

sometimes people who struggle like to make jokes or find positives about their condition that causes them to struggle so they can escape the constant negative and struggle. sometimes autistic people will say things like "the 'tism" or use the "autism creature" or say their autism helped them have a *positive trait* to feel better about their struggles. because living your life only focusing on the struggles and negatives is depressing and makes it hard to want to live, even if those struggle take up 100% of your life and you can't actually escape them. sometimes any little seemingly positive thing can help a lot.

but there's so many other autistic people that hate when we do that and call it "reducing autism to a cute trendy thing" and say it takes away from *their* struggles and is bad and shouldn't be used. maybe *you* want to only focus on your struggles, but some people can't live in constant negative and need some positive or to find ways to make their condition more positive so they can feel better about living with their struggles. life is hard. I take anything I can get.

I cant get jobs. I can't make and keep friends. I can't get help and support for doing "normal" things so sometimes I go weeks without being able to shower and without eating more than a bowl of cereal a day. most times can't even do things I like. struggle to communicate. have meltdowns. i'll never be able to live independently. I struggle a lot. but instead of sitting here always depressed and having no motivation to live, i'd rather try to joke about "my 'tism is acting up again" when i'm struggling (just an example. don't think I ever actually used the 'tism thing but i saw others use it) or say "i'm just being a creature" when I need to stay in my dark room because everything is too much and I personally find it cute to be a little creature meant in a positive way. i'm not actually downplaying mine or anyone else's struggles. I still acknowledge them and that silly jokes dont make them go away. i'm not trying to be trendy. i'm not doing any of the things people say we do by making silly little jokes. i'm using the silly little jokes to convince myself life can be a little more than pointless, painful garbage all the time.

(continue in tags)

[batsplat]

from the stuff i’ve heard marc’s former honda teammates (dani jorge and pol in their media careers but joan also i guess) say about him now that they’re racing is generally quite positive, both on a professional/riding level but also seemingly on a personal level? i’m wondering what you make of that given that, yeah, marc doesn’t seem like a very good teammate (unless you’re alex who i’ve left off this list). like MARC wants to separate on and off track stuff and it seems like all of these guys are willing too at least in retrospect, so he can’t have truly burned bridges with them. do you have any thoughts on that

(x, x) most riders are quite good at not burning bridges with each other! it's not like marc's competitors don't know that this stuff is kinda part of the game. I mean, all of marc's past teammates were also trying to assert themselves within the internal hierarchy... you can say that certain teammates engage in 'worse' behaviour than others, but, like, these people do understand they're supposed to be fighting each other! a baseline degree of nastiness is factored in and will be accepted to a greater or lesser extent by your rivals - especially when it comes to asserting yourself in intra-team power struggles. you might hate the other guy in the moment, but generally speaking once the active part of the rivalry is done with... you will probably get over it. marc's fellow riders are aware of how ultra-competitive marc is - and to a certain point they do respect it, not least because they're aware that this is part of the reason why marc has ended up with all those titles. it's like dani said, right, it's marc's strong suit. and in general, you do have to say that there's relatively few teammate pairings that devolve to the level of toxicity that it completely destroys the interpersonal relationship. you might need some level of preexisting animosity... most of the purely competitive sins can be healed with a little time

on the 'separating on-track and off-track' thing... well. this is kind of a question of how you define these things, you can say that marc generally speaking isn't going to massively hold grudges over isolated on-track incidents or whatever... but he doesn't just leave his fighting to the track, and personally I've also never felt he can entirely separate these things out in his mind. can you really say his professional and private relationships with other riders are completely detached from one another? mostly, he's opted to be pretty disengaged from his fellow riders as a collective, and obviously that's a good way to not take things too personally... it's all part of the game, isn't it? sometimes it's good to go with the straightforward approach: marc tells you he will make your life hell, he does indeed make your life hell, and then you both move on with your lives and can maybe actually have a pretty amiable relationship with him in years to come. he's not really defying your expectations at any point here, is he now? it's still a question for each of them as individuals as to whether they think that kind of behaviour is above board and acceptable or not... but everyone by now knows that marc plays these games, so it's not like they're going in blind

and it's not like other former teammates are constantly badmouthing each other. I mean... look, let's just cut to the chase here and bring in valentino as our reference point (as he is for the sport as a whole, which by the way does also help create a certain baseline of acceptability for marc's antics - maybe goated riders are just supposed to be dicks who knows). vale's premier class teammates were 1) nobody (2000-01), 2) tohru ukawa (2002), 3) nicky hayden (2003; 2011-12), 4) carlos checa (2004), 5) colin edwards (2005-2007), 6) jorge lorenzo (2008-10; 2013-16), 7) maverick vinales (2017-20), 8) franco morbidelli (2021), and 9) andrea dovizioso (2021). of these eight men (let's just exclude 'nobody' for now), do you know how many had serious complaints at any point about valentino as a teammate? that's right, it's one guy. one. some of valentino's other teammates, like hayden, checa and edwards, were even quite actively positive about their whole experience. this is the thing - you do need some specific circumstances for teammate rivalries to escalate from 'being kinda bitchy every other month' to 'actively fantasising about stabbing each other'. not accounting for natural interpersonal animosity, let's list some circumstantial factors that you need to get a bridge-burning-worthy level of feud:

you need a competitive bike. it is possible to beef about development direction when you're in the trenches (cf late 2010's yamaha, 2020's honda)... but generally speaking this is going to be quite low-level petty stuff, not actual war

you also need something that approaches competitiveness between teammates. if one teammate is unquestionably stronger than the other one, then it is very unlikely that you are going to get any open hostilities. the tension comes when the two sides are close enough to each other for the internal hierarchy to actually be a contentious issue (this is also basic self preservation... if you're the far weaker teammate then you do not want to make the situation troublesome, because then you will be the one to be fired)

following on from those first two things... well, it doesn't hurt to have a title fight in the mix. there are also other ways you can generate competitive stakes, like, for instance, if you and your teammate know that one of you will be out of a job soon. basically, it helps to have something to squabble over

it is maybe easy to forget how rare it is this century for teammates to be fighting directly for a title, let alone over the course of multiple seasons. only two 1-2's since the year 2000 and they're both for the factory yamaha's (though 2006, 2011-13 and 2017 did all prominently feature two factory hondas). which means that for valentino, the prerequisites were met just the once in his premier class career... and yes, the results were pretty memorable, but (topic! for! another! post!) it's worth pointing out that even that relationship was pretty much 'fine' whenever there was a sizeable disparity between the two of them performance-wise (2008 and 2013 are the most clear cut examples). I think the way I'd frame it with marc is that he has a bunch of mildly dubious strategies up his sleeve to assert himself within the team, which don't really deviate that far from what you'd expect from a rider of marc's calibre and only need to be escalated under specific circumstances. that doesn't mean he doesn't have the potential to be ruthless, but up until now it's mostly been a fairly 'acceptable' level of ruthlessness on the intra-team level... and not something that is likely to make other riders actually hate him

taking marc's teammates one by one... dani was the closest to meeting the bridge-burning prerequisites, though he was only a title rival in marc's rookie season. and marc did go further with him than he did with anyone else, and dani has made some pointed comments about marc's style as a teammate... but yes, he is fonder of marc these days. partly I'd just emphasise again that this is a fairly natural progression when you've stopped directly competing for long enough, and partly it's also just a question of individual personality - dani's not massively into holding grudges. then there's jorge, who... I mean, they might as well not have been teammates, given that jorge was either too slow or too injured to even be sharing any track space with marc. you have to put that one down primarily to circumstance, seeing as jorge's own track record on the teammate front isn't exactly spotless. marc and jorge beefing in 2019 would have been pretty dumb and also a massive waste of everyone's time in a year in which marc singlehandedly won the team's championship. even those two needed more to get things going

moving on to the dark years, pol and marc had an extremely stop-and-start partnership on a honda that was generally pretty uncompetitive... so the only stuff they could get ever so mildly irritable about were riveting incidents like 'marc saying pol wasn't the biggest championship threat' (neither of them were) or 'pol saying he'd copy marc's set up' (which proved entirely useless). not exactly title decider territory, is it now, and marc very much had pol covered as a challenger throughout their partnership. also, those two do have a longer history! they've known each other since they were kids and hold a pretty significant place in each other's careers. now that pol's more or less retired, it's natural there'll be quite a lot of sentimentality there - which will paper over any small cracks that appeared during those two years. and joan was a one year teammate at a time in which the bike was consistently close to offing them both. they only managed to start a sunday race together as teammates on thirteen occasions. it would take some serious effort to engineer a feud with that little opportunity, and, really, why on earth would you bother. maybe if honda had gone for rinsy rather than joan for the factory seat, it could've been a bit more prickly, but it's unlikely that it would have escalated beyond that

this is the thing, right, the only one of these partnerships that would have been worth burning bridges over was dani, and even there marc pretty much had him handled after the first season. in general, marc has been pretty clear on how he's not interested in making friends with the other side of the garage while the teammate relationship is ongoing... which is fine! there's some prominent-ish teammate pairings that are actually good friends, some teammate pairings where one of them is actively helping out and advising the other one, but some riders prefer to just keep their distance. it would have been a little silly of marc to start a feud with a teammate who is galaxies away from being a competitive threat, let alone a title rival, but generally it is possible to toe the line between 'attempting to suppress your internal rivals enough to stop them from becoming a problem for you' and 'taking radical enough action to make your internal rivals despise you'

especially in the post-dani era, marc never really had any need to push things too far... and, let's face it, how many of your teammate relationships end up with burnt bridges is also quite frankly a question of luck and circumstance. do you want to guess which top rider on paper has the worst track record this century with premier class teammate feuds, in terms of a) how many they've had, and b) how little public reconciliation there has been since the end of the rivalry?

yes, that's right, it's the first name that comes to mind when you're thinking of toxic and conflict-prone riders: andrea dovizioso. that old devil, constantly causing trouble. just couldn't stop undermining his poor, innocent teammates. can somebody please stop this ruthless bully before it's too late

I think you get the point. I would personally suggest that dovi is not in fact the worst teammate it is possible to have in a motogp top team. he just happened to find himself in a situation where he was teammates with two separate guys he did not click with at all, in situations that involved a pairing of riders who were (or had the potential to be) competitive with each other, as well as some proper stakes attached to the rivalry. in general, situational factors are going to determine this stuff more than anything else... and marc more often than not does have a reasonably good feel for picking his battles. he's flirted with the line, but he's mostly avoided crossing it. he hasn't had to

[bi-leth-eisner]

it's my job to make sure that each character I come across who, by all means deserve every last bit of kindness and warmth after all they've been through and yet, as they're drowning in love, can only hurt in all areas: deep down in their heart, in the back of their mind, and on the surface, because they feel like they deserve none of it, feel adequately loved without it feeling wrong or undeserved

[fennthetalkingdog]

You know, when I was first researching neurodivergence (and autism and ADHD in particular) and wondering if I was, in fact, neurodivergent, I brought my conclusions to my mom and she said:

"I mean, you're gifted, right? So you already are neurodivergent???"

So here's to her (kinda) and her words. Giftedness is a neurodivergence, in my opinion. From what I've seen, a lot of the traits overlap with common autistic and/or ADHD traits too, especially regarding overexcitabilities, and a lot of researchers talking about the topic describe giftedness with the same kind of "your brain is just made differently" and "you're just wired differently" language as they use for other neurodivergent conditions. But I also say this because I've seen some gifted people who, while struggling with some "autistic/ADHD traits," don't have all the traits necessary for an autism or ADHD diagnosis. Giftedness is a label for them that encompasses the struggles they have without saying that they don't struggle enough or forcing them to try to fit into a mold that isn't them. And I get that; when I was first questioning, I didn't think I had enough autistic traits to count for a diagnosis either, so I took comfort in a "gifted" label. (Not to say that all gifted people are just autistic people and/or people with ADHD that don't realize, or that all gifted people are just people who don't have enough traits for a diagnosis! That was just the case for me and the folks I've been around, but I've also heard the case of it not being that.)

But if I am gifted, then I also have autism. A lot of my struggles are, honestly, just better described by autism than just by a byproduct of giftedness. My struggles with people and with "being too much," my sensory differences (and yes, sometimes issues), my stimming, and some of my executive dysfunction all sound like autistic traits to me more than a mix of psychomotor and sensual overexcitabilities and a whole bunch of coincidental byproducts of my being gifted and hanging out with nongifted peers. Don't get me wrong; based on my family history, background, and traits, I honestly probably am gifted lol. But it's not just that.

So this is me saying that if the people around you are saying that you're just gifted, you're free to look for other, perhaps better explanations for your feelings and experiences. But if you are just gifted, you're still free to call yourself neurodivergent! My gifted traits lead to me feeling just as ostracized sometimes as my autistic ones, so who am I to police that label?

[sonknuxadow]

the fact that sonic x shadow generations costs 50 dollars makes me even more confused about the pricing for sonic superstars . because for a second there i thought they were going with the nintendo system of "all our games are 60 dollars now regardless of quality or content" now since frontiers also cost 60 and that price tag felt more reasonable there. but no sxs gens costs 50. which means that 60 Isnt the new default price for sonic games and they actually thought superstars was worth that much. okay

[svtskneecaps]

ok folks this lives and dies between us but i swear to god with every passing moment and every new fact i learn i am more and more convinced that had i spoken portuguese at age 11 when i got into minecraft youtube the first time i would BEYOND A SHADOW OF A DOUBT have had a tiny little baby 11 year old celebrity crush on pactw

[cinephobia]

Thinking about latino one piece and what country each character would be from chat what do we think