#please keep masking

[daffodilhorizon]

vegan sick grocery list

(i am sick) - orange juice - pomegranate juice (expensive!) - potatoes - leeks - oat flour - garlic my plan 1. combine the juices into a delicious sugary drink that is more of a morale boost than having much nutritional benefit, but i can use the vitamins as a placebo and make my brain think it's getting real medicine. Also it's nice to have lot of liquid options 2. use potatoes for base nutrients that are easy to stomach (baked potato with toppings, cheezy pasta, soup) 3. eat leek for nutrients and morale boost (i'm probably going to make a potato leek garlic soup and/or a chickpea flour fauxmlette with leeks) 4. Make garlic bread, eat for both morale and slightly dubious immunity boosting properties 5. Drink a lot of my partner's garlic-pepper-onion-miso broth. 6. MOST IMPORTANTLY, rest and relax as much as possible!

[charliejaneanders]

The United States has always been a terrible place to be sick and disabled. Ableism is baked into our myths of bootstrapping and self-reliance, in which health is virtue and illness is degeneracy. It is long past time for a bedrock shift, for all of us.

Long covid has derailed my life. Make no mistake: It could yours, too.

[welcometogrouchland]

ANOTHER SKETCH DUMP! Featuring more of me playing with lineless art. Batman reborn era trio (dick, damian and steph) I miss you...when will you return from war. Also featuring Steph designs bc I've seen ppl dissatisfied w/ her current look, some good mom Talia, and Jason Todd poetry club. Duke is confused not that Jason would start a poetry club but that he'd have such mid poetry opinions. (ID in Alt)

[irodimww]

WIP animation of HARUMI AND MORRO /?/?/?/?//. (The sillies)

remember how I said Win Win by SIO/Scene Queen matches harumi and morro (smiles)

[thepeacefulgarden]

[rennybu]

Just sharing a Canadian email campaign here off of instagram since a lot of mobilizing calls I’ve seen have been US centric. Islamic Relief Canada has a letter template demanding a ceasefire and humanitarian aid corridor be opened in Gaza and specifically addresses yesterday’s (Oct 17) hospital bombing. The campaign goal is 75,000 emails and it takes less than 10 seconds 2 fill out. They even auto fill your region’s member of parliament.

If u want to write your own email I also linked the MP finder website. It just searches by postal code and lists your representative’s contact information including phone and email for u.

[heybiji]

salvo

[seefasters]

my take on the steeplechase trio (and montrose’s mask variants)

[reddamselette]

valgrace except jason is an international superstar and prodigy in football and leo is known worldwide for his podcast who brings special guests on his shows like piper mclean who’s made a name for herself in historical dramas always in the lead of a warrior, architect annabeth chase who’s been granted the honor of rebuilding the temples and ruins in greece and rome with her olympic swimmer boyfriend percy jackson.

and by popular demand, the public requested jason grace to be on hephaestus’ forge. leo, always the good host, obliges and reaches out to jason.

what the audience doesn’t know is that leo and jason have known eachother for years, running in the same crowd during middle school and high school despite being interested in different things. like all close best friends, they parted ways due to university and internships across the country. but they parted with a kiss goodbye, a promise to one another that held up since they were young.

so when jason finally arrives onto the scene, leo feels everything rush back and now that the season is over, jason plans to stay in new york.

[butterfilledpockets]

CASEY JR'S CLOAK!

It is not 100% done, still gotta trademark it with geniustech and add the little details

BUT HERE YOU GO

featuring creative cencorship

did I make the cloak far longer than it is canonically?

yes.

why?

swoosh.

sewing nerd info dump↓

I spent all day making this :D

it is made of a bed sheet,

I used a neat sewing technique for the shoudlers I learnt from the sewing bee! It is fully lined and SO COMFY!!!

I made the pattern myself, I made a few mockups before I got to the main fabric. I will be sharing an aproximate pattern (i dont know how to make a printout one) at some point!

[mukuberry]

"King of the masquerade"

I've seen quite a few people use this phrase as 'proof' that Kazui is secretly egotistical or proud of what he's done, so this post will be me breaking apart what I think he actually means

A king is the male ruler of a country, or in this case, the man who rules over the masquerade that Kazui lives by. A good king is strong, commanding, dominanting, someone who leads others and protects everyone within his kingdom. Someone who is respected and admired by all and feared by those who challenge him or threaten those he protects. In other words- a king is the height of masculinity. A strong provider.

Kazui is someone who, on the inside, has failed to become the ideal masculine man. On the inside, he priorities his emotional safety above others, he's timid and weak, he's manipulative to those closest to him, and he wants to be cared for rather than being the one who cares. Unfortunately for him, he isn't allowed to be anything other than the 'perfect man'. Even before he was born, he's had the expectation of being a strong man forces upon him, regardless of what he truly wants or needs. He isn't naturally manipulative, but has had to become so to protect himself. He lies and 'follows' the ideal of masculinity (the king) until he can become it himself- even though it's something he can never truly become.

But he's not just following the king in order to become like him, he's following him to get the king's protection. As said before, a king rules over and protects all those under him. A good king will look after his citizens, and as long as Kazui is under him, Kazui is given the safety he isn't allowed in his normal life. Kazui isn't just following any king, but the king of the masquerade- as long as Kazui lives under a mask, he is granted protection. He's only allowed to be safe if he hides behind a performance of masculinity. Kazui said it best himself, lies are "ways to live without getting hurt", and he will "lie until it gets better".

Even if the things I've just mentioned weren't true, even if they were Kazui flexing his ego or something similar, it wouldn't matter. I can't subscribe to the idea that this man is proud of what he's done because more than anything, what Kazui wants so deeply, is to be freed of his lies. To stop following the king.

Kazui is a man who has been torn between two desires his entire life- the desire to be safe, and the desire to be accepted as his true self. He cannot have both, if he wants to be safe he has to hide who he is, and if he wants to be true to himself, he has to put himself at risk. It's only after 39 years that he's finally made his choice to try and live as himself, but he can't just quit lying as he pleases. Dropping his mask means tearing down the kingdom walls and exposing himself to pain. He would have to live without the king's protection for the first time in his life and he is rightfully terrified to do so, he needs to be given patience and help in order to live freely.

TLDR: Kazui hides behind the masculine ideal. This isn't something he wants to do, but feels it's the only way he can be safe.

[starpil0tblue]

as much as i like clowning on Kabru for being Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss but spectacularly fails when it comes to Laios, he makes me SO ILL because as pleasant as he acts, so many subtleties around his character paint him as someone who clearly still suffers from massive trauma in regards to his childhood and personal loss, causing him to be self-sacrificial to the point he clearly neglects his own needs. whenever i think of the quote "eating is a privilege of the living" in regards to Kabru, his nigh aversion to food might stem from the fact he still harbors immense survivor's guilt and constantly feels the need to justify his survival by giving and giving and giving until there is nothing left of him.

[eatbeidou]

Please let capitano be nonhuman PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEA

[vossn]

bg3 modern AU but its just the story told through a series of increasingly urgent e-mails

[missriyochuchi]

Our love is here to stay

Summary: The Torchbearer and the Flagbearer take a walk along the Seine, skipping stones before entertaining the late-night crowd with an intimate dance number from a classical Hollywood musical.

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: FLUFF. Implied sexual content. Established relationship. References to An American in Paris (1951).

Notes: I didn't intend to write another fic for these two, but this scene from An American in Paris (1951) has been haunting me since the Opening Ceremony. I couldn’t figure out how to write them dancing until I remembered the song that accompanied the scene, and then I couldn't stop writing! The lyrics fit them perfectly! This follows The Torchbearer and the Flagbearer. I strongly recommend reading it first, but if not (it's your time), only a few details carry over: the two exist only during the Olympic Games, so they die and are reborn every two years; interaction between them and humans is strictly limited; and the Flagbearer's horse is named Zeus. As with the aforementioned fic, I use gendered pronouns only to distinguish between the two; physical descriptions are not gendered. For now, I have no plans to write another fic for them, but the Olympics are just beginning, and who knows if the Muses will blow in my direction again lol

Read on AO3

Darkness floats above the Seine like mist, its shroud kept at bay by the namesake luminescence of the City of Lights. Boats bobbing on the river and open restaurants on the bank animate the otherwise dreary waterway. Beneath bulbs of varying hues, businesses bustle with the chorus of tinkling tableware, multilingual conversations, and idle music of Paris past and present. 

Sunrise approaches in an hour, but beneath one of the city’s many bridges, the Torchbearer and the Flagbearer find a sliver of solitude. 

Splash, splash, splash, splash.

“See?” The Torchbearer spins on his heel at the river’s edge, a few flat stones left in hand, to face the Flagbearer leaning against the wall. “There is nothing to it.” He extends an upturned palm in her direction, but she shakes her head.

“I do not possess the skill,” she announces to her echoes.

He cocks his head to the side and closes the distance between them. “Skills can be taught, ma chère.” He takes her hand and pulls her to the riverside, her cape billowing lightly in the breeze. He places a stone in her glove and positions her index finger along its jagged edge. “You must give it a little spin so that it does not sink upon impact on the surface of the water.”

The Torchbearer turns to face his rippling reflection. He flicks his wrist and sends a stone skipping once, twice, three, four times across the river before sinking below the surface with a light plop.

The Flagbearer mimics his motions, swinging her arm and sending her stone on a long arc to a wide splash into the water’s darkness. The Torchbearer stifles a giggle.

She shakes her head and grumbles, “Oh! I do not understand why you find this activity so amusing.”

He releases his chuckles and grabs her wrist before she can walk away with a huff. “Practice makes perfect, non? Give it one more try.”

The Flagbearer runs her hands along her partner’s biceps and strokes his ego. “You are the one gifted with physical prowess,” she says fondly, “a lightness of touch and dexterity.” She steps closer to ghost her breath over his. “If ever I need to raise an army of stone throwers, you shall be my first in command.”

The Torchbearer tilts his head back and sends his laughs to the underside of the bridge. His voice reverberates across the masonry. “Your flattery will not excuse you from this lesson, général.”

“Then I shall receive a failing grade, professeur,” she teases. “Or do you have some other, more favored form of punishment?” She sneaks a knee between his legs and presses up.

He groans and chuckles low at the contact. “Have I not satisfied your appetite for tonight, my love? I am sure the few players who heard us at the Olympic Village would—”

She silences him with a swift squeeze of his buttocks. Her gloved hands slip slowly up to the back of his waist. “Several lifetimes of nights could never quell my hunger for you and your prowess.” She presses her front to his and guides them away from the river’s edge and into the shadows.

The stones in the Torchbearer’s hand land on the pavement, their echoes filling the underpass. His hands smooth over the cool expanse of the Flagbearer’s backplate underneath her cape. “Not here, my sweet,” he whispers into the darkness beneath her hood.

“I know.”

Giggles from an approaching group of tourists break the moment. The lovers’ hands fall to each other’s elbows, their gazes fixed downward. The group grows silent as they pass the hooded figures. A woman bringing up the rear stops to turn around and hold up a smartphone.

“Excuse me, can we— oh!”

A man grabs her elbow and roughly turns her back around towards their group. “Je suis désolé,” he offers quickly. “Elle ne savait pas.” He bows low at the hip in consternation.

The Torchbearer nods in his direction. He watches and waits for the group’s footsteps to fade before turning back to the Flagbearer. Flush with embarrassment beneath her metallic hood, she looks up and crashes her chest to his, tightening her arms around his shoulders for a long embrace. His hands find the opposite sides of her waist, and his chin rests on her tiered spaulder. For a moment, the movement of their chests with every inhalation and exhalation is one and the same.

Displays of affection are not uncommon on the streets of the City of Love, and neither the gods nor any event organizers in the past expressly forbade their affair, but for the Olympic guardians damned to the global spotlight every two years, privacy is a luxury they steal at every opportunity. To be caught alone in each other’s arms felt like an insult to the few precious moments they shared outside their eternal duties.

“Come,” the Flagbearer says softly as she pushes her palms against the Torchbearer’s biceps for enough breathing room to speak. “I do not wish to spend the remainder of the night adding debris to the Seine.” She curls her hand beneath his upper arm and guides him along the riverbank.

The low sounds of whispers and camera shutters accompany the two as they gain distance from their secluded underpass. They keep their gaze forward, accustomed to the attention after years of technological advancements in photography. The few who begin to approach the hooded figures are quickly pulled back by fellow onlookers.

“Why not?”

“They’ll just ignore you and won’t say a word.”

“They were fine during the Opening Ceremony.”

“It’s forbidden.”

The crowd grows in size and sound. They congregate parallel to the riverbank, giving the mysterious duo a wide berth. Over the rising cacophony, the Torchbearer catches a familiar tune floating from somewhere above the embankment. He slows their walk and listens for the words. 

It’s very clear, our love is here to stay

Not for a year, but ever and a day

“They are playing our song, chérie.”

“Darling, not now. Daylight approaches. We must be on our way.”

The Torchbearer stops their progress and presses his palm to the Flagbearer’s fingers nestled lightly in the crook of his arm. “When was the last time we danced?” He takes her hands in both of his and swings her in a circle before positioning her left hand on his right shoulder and her right hand in his left. Their hips and foreheads meet as they start a slow circle on the open pathway.

In time, the Rockies may crumble, Gibraltar may tumble

They’re only made of clay

But our love is here to stay

“Do you remember the film?” The Torchbearer keeps his voice low enough for only the Flagbearer to hear.

She follows suit, though her breath is clipped. “I know exactly which you speak.”

“Shall we give them a show?” He squeezes her hand and quickens their turns.

“Only if you remember the steps as well as I.”

He huffs, mildly offended. “Do you doubt your partner?”

She smiles and giggles. “Never.”

They drop their arms and sway to the music, mirroring each other’s movements as they widen the space between them. The crowd on the riverbank backs away towards the wall and opens a space large enough for the two to continue. The closest onlookers move to accommodate the Flagbearer’s cape as it soars and intermittently kisses the border between performer and audience.

The dance is both timid and intimate. Their touches are perfunctory, punctuating passing sweeps across the pavement. Yet they lean their hands and heads on the other without hesitation, as if years of muscle memory and not conscious decisions dictate their proximity. Their movements tell the story of two lovers beginning to blossom in a romance they know will last for “ever and a day.” Slow and distanced steps give way to increasingly closer encounters.

“Despite this cumbersome armor, my dove,” the Torchbearer whispers during a moment when they resume the closed position and their faces are centimeters apart, “you dance beautifully. You have not lost your touch.”

“Nor you, my sweetest.”

They continue with their hands folded behind their lower backs, stepping like disparate planets inextricably circling the same center of gravity, and finish with an approximation of a kiss. They lean forward over an arm’s length of distance and bring the shadows beneath their hoods to meet for a breath of eternity. Their shoulders turn to bring an arm each around the other’s waist. They walk intertwined in their original direction as the orchestral music from above the embankment gives way to silence.

Applause and cheers chase after the duo. After a few steps, they turn around and bow to the crowd silhouetted by the embankments’ lights. They resume their promenade hand in hand.

When the murmur of surprise and adoration disappears and the Flagbearer spies no nosy onlookers within earshot, she brings the Torchbearer’s hand to her lips and kisses his knuckles. “Thank you, my love,” she breathes softly into his rough skin. She brushes the corners of her mouth across the backs of his exposed fingertips.

He turns his hand to rub her chin and catches her smile. “For what am I owed your gratitude, mon ange?”

“This world has weighed heavy on my mind since we were summoned,” she folds his hand in both of hers, “and I have forgotten what it means to remain light in such dark times. Thank you for reminding me of the power of simple pleasures.”

The Torchbearer hums to convey his contentment and, for a moment, ponders the gods’ plans in pairing them together. They had discovered, very early in their tenure, the opposing duality of their natures. He carried the torch, and she carried the flag, symbols of an event meant to unite humanity in friendly competition. While the object of his guardianship is most visible during the night, hers is most visible during the day. Together, they provide and protect constant reminders of the Olympic Spirit. Now, he realizes that such duties benefit not just the players and the spectators, but each other. He is her light, and she is his standard. He keeps them afloat, and she keeps them rooted to the Earth.

From the shadows of the bridge fast approaching their path, Zeus appears, both his coat and hoofbeat as light as snow. He advances towards his rider and nudges her cuirass with his muzzle.

The Flagbearer sighs and glides a gloved hand along the horse’s nose. “These nights pass far too quickly.”

The Torchbearer finds his opening to remain true to his duty and nature. “Tempus fugit when you are having fun — is that not what the humans say?” He takes her free hand and bows deeply, bringing his head to the level of her hips and swinging his other arm out to the side. “A testament to the quality of your company. I thank you for the compliment.” He straightens back up and presses her palm to the center of his chest, her gentle warmth meeting his steady heartbeat — his version of a kiss.

She shakes her head and laughs low in her chest, careful not to attract more attention as she hears hushed voices lingering on the embankment above them. He releases her hand and shares a knowing nod. He helps her mount Zeus, his hand trailing after the lower edge of her cape.

“Until tonight,” the Flagbearer whispers as she reaches for one more squeeze of her eternal flame’s hand.

The Torchbearer cradles her hand in both of his and tightens his grasp on her being. “Until tonight.”

Footnotes:

Translations: ma chère/chérie - my dear général - general professer - professor Je suis désolé. Elle ne savait pas. - I am sorry. She did not know. mon ange - my angel Tempus fugit (Latin) - Time flies

Is it corny af to have them reenact a scene from a movie? Sure. But are they not performers? Would they not perform to a love song in the City of Love? We've seen the Torchbearer sort of dance on that drag show catwalk - would they not be an amazing dancer!? And do the distances in the choreography not reflect the distances the two need to keep in the performance of their duties? Are you not entertained!? lolol

[thepeacefulgarden]

Your needs matter. Your physical, mental, emotional, and financial resources matter. Your safety matters.