#so i can safely play it now!!

[confinesofmy]

my favourite game to play on my steam deck is kind of like an offshoot of tamagotchi exclusively for portable consoles, it's where you carry your deck around your house with you all day and never open it and now it's time for beddy bye so you tuck it in bed beside you and you go to sleep

[marciaillust]

I added some colours to her :)

[yubriamakesart]

Shortly after uploading this I saw a post where someone mentioned how Mr. Qi is canonically a creepypasta character now. And like. Surely. If you've read my webcomic. You know I can't resist that.

[gascreates]

emotional support frog

who will absolutely eat your hand.

[spacizia]

been playing a lot of don’t starve together lately… Willow rules <3 (yay arson!!)

[moeblob]

kitty kitty kitty

[deadpoetmagda]

The way everyone now took up in arms blaming women and girls for the elections results and young men turning into the far right truly made something click in me, literally everyone and their grandpa is blaming women, even groups who hate each others are now bonding together like besties just to blame women, so excuse me for ranting on tumblr.com, this is gonna be long :)

What's been happening lately really opened my eyes to how hypocritical everyone is, what's everyone only ever good at is pointing their fingers at women and throwing the blame at us, misogyny and violence against women in all its shapes and forms since the dawn of time till these days didn't cause women to go out on the streets and murder men in masses, yet apparently misandry is real and some comments online made by the evil feminists were enough to radicalize young men and turn them into far right incels and are to blame for the elections in the US, women are always to blame for everything, I'm not surprised with this coming from men but to see women spewing this dumb bullshit too is so disheartening, to me you're no different than the conservatives who blame women for men's "loneliness epidemic" instead of encouraging them to start treating us better, teenage boys and men are shouting "your body our choice" at little girls and young women yet all you fuckers can take from that is that these girls and women are somehow to blame for it!!! A 19 yo girl typing I HATE MEN on her silly little Facebook page or reddit discord after years of nothing but stories of rape and misogyny in the news and in her neighborhood and her school and her home and literally fucking everywhere is to blame for men and boys being radicalized actually, meanwhile the internet is filled with men sharing rape videos and their violent fantasies about us and then they go out in real life shouting and smirking at us admitting how badly they want to strip us of our rights!!

Teenage boys are watching violent porn, men gang rape teenage girls, women and girls get trafficked, raped, beaten, murdered on the daily around the globe, it's statistically proven that husbands mistreat and abuse their wives on such a high scale even in first world countries, not to mention the daily misogyny and sexsism we face, men don't even need to get "radicalized", the majority of men out their don't want us to reach them and be "nicer" to them like you preach, they simply want power over us and to misuse that power, and women and girls who recognize this and see it clearly in the world we live in right now and the thousands of years of recorded history we have and not even to mention personal experiences are the ones to blame... for being aware of it and acknowledging it and demanding change!!!! How fucking dumb are you, or maybe you're just a pretentious hypocrite :)

No one's ever blamed these boys and men for me and other women to end up having radical feminism views, nah they're too busy calling us demented and mentally ill and lecturing us about how to treat men better lest we fail them and blaming us for everything wrong with the world!

Ever since I got introduced to radical feminism and found myself agreeing with some of its ideas and arguments I was always still critical and sometimes even wary of it and never really called myself one, but now if I get totally sucked into it and get "radicalized" myself it's actually all your fault, how about that? Congratulations, centuries of men raping us and creating endless systems to oppress us in unimaginable ways didn't radicalize me, you and your hypocrisy did that instead :)

Honestly fuck all of you dumb shitheads, you can't gaslight us into cuddling men while they keep beating us bloody, I've had enough!

[phoenixcatch7]

In love with the idea of captain marvel being Billy's imaginary friend. Like, it'd be so easy. Early depictions had them as almost fully separate people sometimes, like one soul with two minds, rather than just two filters like we mostly see now.

But imagine a Billy down on his luck, hurt and hiding from police and criminals alike, daydreaming the hours away as children do, taking inspiration from all the superheroes rising to fame, making little stories to play out his dreams of saving the world with a generic action doll he found while dumpster diving once. Most of the paint's rubbed off.

Red's his favourite colour, his comfiest jumper is a bright ruby even after all the grime and washes. Gold, too, it's shiny and warmer than silver! A hero cape is a must, big and eye catching! And he can fly, of course, like superman, and in his daydreams, when he's sore and frustrated after a long day's grind, his superhero is smart enough and knows all the right words to get the bullies to stop without resorting to fighting.

His superhero fantasy is one he spends a lot of time on, the first one he goes for when struggling to sleep at night, and he can picture it so clearly. Captain marvel is big and bright and kind, strong enough to lift the boxes for the old lady up the road who's moving all by himself, fast enough to catch Jamie who fell out of the tree on Saturday and broke his leg and couldn't come to class for weeks. He appears at the entrance to alleys when Billy is cornered, he steps up behind to cover for him when he gets caught shoplifting, he sits at the bus stop with him when it's pouring rain and the right bus doesn't seem to be coming.

And then the wizard comes, or rather whisks him away, and like a magician from a fairytale breathes life into his imaginary friend until Billy feels thrice his size and a million times more invincible.

From then on, captain marvel is a real hero, just like Billy is a real boy, and as one they save the whole city, and then the whole world, and get cats down from trees and help Mrs Victoria move the last of her boxes and she gives them a pinch in the cheek and cookies for the road and sometimes it hurts but it's so much better than he imagined.

[dykedvonte]

wanted to say I appreciate your nuanced takes on MW and especially Curly. i don't get the claim that the fandom is full of Curly apologists when majority (esp yt and tiktok) say he's worse than Jimmy. Yes there's commentary about bro culture defending people, he def messed up in trying to placate Jimmy (tbh "we'll fix this" sounded more like trying to keep someone prone to outbursts like Jim calm and not hurt Anya/himself) but I don't think he did nothing to help Anya, since she continued to confide in him and he had less than a week to resolve it before the crash (I also don't get everyone saying he knew for ages when it seems like Anya told him that same week). I get Jimmy's a pos but saying stuff like Curly should've known he'd crash the ship or that Jim had a criminal record he ignored, reducing them to obviously horrible villain and willfully ignorant sidekick feels like a disservice to the game. If your best friend turned out to be horrible, what would you do in a confined space in the span of a few days to respond? I'd say some of the horror comes from trying to do good but ultimately failing, Curly's state after the crash is meant to be tragic horror not revenge/punishment

Thank you and this is what I want to get across.

A lot of information we have to supplement when it comes to how long things have been happening on this current ship. I think people try to add on to the horror and negligence by making things more obvious so it can feel like it was easier to avoid when, true to life, its not. Jimmy clearly didn't deserve or appreciate what Curly did for him in getting him the job, but do you think if Jimmy was that big of a menace on Earth he would've given him a position where he could have that level of power over people's lives? There's something in the fact he specifically chose to pick a position so close to himself where he could watch Jimmy.

I hate the bro code argument because that is a whole can of worms people really don't get. That sort of mentality is born from the general respect and preference of male matter over female ones. Curly is clearly not that guy, he is absent minded about the issue and inadvertently dismissive but he clearly believes Anya, he just can't understand what she's going through. It's an onslaught of information that no one really reacts right to. Additonally, the entire discussion of her assualt plays to heavy into the idea that there is fault outside of the perpertratior when it comes to SA. It's too close if she only did this or if Curly had protected her better but the fact of the matter is Jimmy did what he did. He did it before any of the conversations with Anya about it and it's why her behavior seemed to change so drastically in those last two days.

He has other conflicting thought and while his role as a Captain should've taken over, people act like it's not a very human thing to have such a toxic presence cloud your judgement. It is never easy to separate friend from coworker once that connection is formed, you want to help them, especially if they were friend first and for a long while like in this case. It's not right, but people act like it would be easy when the game clearly points out that no choice is easy to make, especially when you have to make it for more than one person. You have the weigh the consequences, look at all the options and make a plan. People can headcanon and decide how long things where happening, but if we look at what we were presented through the characters eyes, the only person given time to do that was Jimmy.

He waited two months after the crash to appoint himself Captain. Every time a problem was brought up he immediately took action and refused to sit on it and find a better solution. I think it's important to look at the warped way Jimmy takes initiative where Curly didn't as it works as a good contrast of why you don't just run in to "fix" things. The quickest and easiest option may not be the safest or most beneficial. I think some thoughts on the game suffer from the black and white thinking the game doesn't operate on along with us being voyeurs. We see what exactly led to what but the characters don't. They don't have the hindsight and foresight we do and even ours is scrambled by the non-linear story telling.

Like it's hard to talk abuou those grey zones without sounding like an apologist because you're explaining why taking responsibility isn't easy. It's not and it's weird to act like it would be in a scenerio that led up to the events of the game knowing what we know. We see all these characters in such isolated moments with various things before, in between, after and even during we aren't privy too. The idea that Jimmy is worse than Curly heavily banks on the words Jimmy was saying to Jimmy before he crashed the ship. That whatever happened on the ship was his responsibility to bare, which is true due to his position. But, are they not still not responsible for taking the actions Curly then must bare?

Like i feel like people think that these are situation that become easier with age or when you are in a postion of authority and they aren't. You don't lose your biases or gain some sudden knowledge that makes it easier. It just becomes more tiring as you keep dealing with it. I would be first in line to say Curly fucked up and should've done more but the idea he knew how bad it could get or he really saw the worst in the people around him and ignored it pretty much ignores a huge aspect of his character and the game.

[shannonsketches]

Why is the anime so weird, it's not even the same series dude?? It's like,

Anime:

GOKU: I have a great idea to bring peace to the universe, and my leadership and compassion alone will unite us all. I have No Flaws and am A True Relatable Everyman :)

VEGETA: NO! I AM THE BEST AND I WILL CAUSE PROBLEMS UNTIL I AM RECOGNIZED AS SUCH!!!!

Manga:

GOKU: Vegeta what's cornmeal made of? I know it's what the corn eats, but what's it made of? VEGETA: Hey Kakarot let's play the quiet game until one of us dies.

[pansyfemme]

just a heads up that enmeshment with your therapist is a sign that you need a different therapist. you go to these people to offload and heal, but if you're emotionally enmeshed and that's keeping you from bringing topics forward, that is no longer a healthy relationship nor a therapist that should be treating you.

just so you're aware. your therapist should not be an uncle figure you're afraid to talk about embarrassing stuff with, he's an impartial audience to help you heal. that emotional connection is now HINDERING you from healing.

honestly! me making one personal post! does not tell you the full story! while i defintly have an emotional connection with him- i have had other therapists in my life in and out the entire time. i seek help from other sources frequently! i said it was like talking to an uncle simply because of the fact he’s known me since i was a child, which makes talking about adult topics at times a little embarrasing because he knew me when i was 11!! he is not like an uncle to me in an other respect, i have a seperation. and i have openly discussed this with him and why im uncomfortable at times!! but we talk it out!! because its my therapist and me making one post doesnt mean you know everything!! geez!! also ive been embarrassed to talk about sex with every other therapist ive had!! not your call to make!!

[stankworth]

The Worsties.

[morathor]

Pike and Scanlan getting married: I'm not into this but it's the end of the campaign. It's easy enough to let it go and move on. Pike indicating she and Scanlan are amicably divorced: The knowledge that it didn't work out adds a bittersweet angle to the marriage that actually makes me like it more now. Whatever the fuck Pike and Scanlan have going on now: This is a glorious disaster and I want like a million episodes of this.

[majorshatterandhare]

[Answer options in order are:

1. Yes, guitar, mandolin

2. Yes, piano/keyboard

3. Yes, violin, viola, cello, bass (inc. electric bass)

4. Yes, percussion

5. Yes, a woodwind

6. Yes, a brass instrument

7. Yes, multiple

8. Yes, something not mentioned here

9. No, I do not currently play an instrument but I sing

10. No, I do not currently play an instrument and I do not sing.

End Options]

Please specify in the comments or tags!

I’m sorry there aren’t more options, I only had 10 spaces or I would’ve included more. I tried to go with the most common and obviously with groups!

What counts for singing is up to you. I think most people sing some amount, but you can decide if yours counts or not. The reason for this is because you can teach yourself an instrument, so not requiring lessons or anything for either instruments or singing.

If you want to learn an instrument, especially if you don’t currently play any, I would love to know if you shared!

Please reblog! I wanna know how many of us play instuments ourselves and what that distribution is.

If you don’t listen to the Mechanisms don’t respond to this poll! I’m sure your answer is very interesting, but it will skew the results!

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

[fraternum-momentum]

the internet was cut off and i ran out of data so i asked my brother if i can connect to his hotspot and downloaded dol on my phone,,,,,,,,,