#so i’ll just leave it here

[calamitoustide]

Who Are You?

James hasn’t talked to his dad in years. He never thought he’d say that. Never thought he’d ever manage to. Ever since childhood he’s orbited his parents like a planet to its sun. He crawled into their bed much later than he should have. Always trying to cling to the comfort it brought him. He’d rest easy under the sheets and their gentle breaths.

When he was a child his mother used to hold him close and whisper promises that she’d love him no matter what. Nothing could scare her away. In his anxieties he’d whisper question after question. Would she still love him if he told her he hated her? Would she still love him if he screamed and screamed even if she begged him to stop? Would she still love him if he turned towards evil? Would she still love him if he didn’t love her anymore? No matter what he asked she’d always say the same thing. She’d love him until every single star in the sky collapsed. She’d love him until universe went dark. That’s how they ended up here. Instead of Effie and her forgiving gaze James is left with his father staring back at him instead. Effie loved him too much to show up here. She would’ve asked him to come home. His Dad refuses to have her be hurt any more than she is. So they meet alone.

“James,” Monty mumbles as he slides in the seat. They’re meeting at a muggle place. Far away from all the talk of the war. It’s easier here.

When he was younger he used to go to places like this. He’d sit in this old diner watching the little toy trains move across the tracks that covered the walls. Wide eyed with a childlike wonder he can’t remember when exactly he misplaced.

“Dad,” James says back, pulling down his sleeve.

“How are you doing?” Monty asks. It’s so stiff. It shouldn’t be like this.

“Okay,” James mumbles. “A lot has been happening.”

“Yeah,” Monty says. “On both sides.”

“Dad,” James sighs. “I didn’t come here to talk about that.”

Monty nods, “You can’t expect us to just sit here and ignore it.”

“How’s mum?” James asks instead.

Monty shakes his head a sudden disgust rolling over him. James feels like a little kid again. He wants to crawl into their grasp and never free himself. “We’re not talking about your mother.”

“I miss her,” James says. He misses a lot of things.

“You can’t talk to her,” Monty shuts him down. “It would kill her.”

His dad never exaggerates. James knows he’s telling the truth. “I need to tell her—“

“Tell her what?” Monty cuts him off, “How will you explain this to her, James? How do you explain yourself? How can you…” his voice drops off he can’t even say the words.

He fell in love. That’s his first thought. It makes you do crazy things. His mum was the one to teach him that.

“I’m not proud—“

“You’re not proud?” Monty snaps, “Is that all you have to say for yourself? You think this can all just be undone.” His Dad never really showed anger. It wasn’t like him. Now he holds it in his throat. James sees it sitting in front of his eyes.

“Dad please—“

“We gave you every opportunity. You shut us out.”

James grits his teeth, “I understand why I do things.”

“Do you?” Monty tests.

James closes his eyes around his anger. He knew this was a bad idea. His old weakness came to bite. Regulus told him to stay home. He tried to prevent this. “This doesn’t make me any different.”

“You’re not the same son I knew,” Monty says flinching at his own words as they leave his mouth.

James scoffs he feels it in his throat, it burns. “You’re just embarrassed because I was like this amazing thing like your special creation or something and you don’t like who I am now!”

“Yeah?” Monty exclaims, “Who are you James?”

“This is me, Dad, this is me. This is who I am,” James croaks laying out his hand over the table.

Monty sighs settling back in his seat, “I can’t do this.”

James looks away. He can’t bear the sight. He wants to tell him he misses him, misses her. He wants to ask him to hold his hand through the pain. He wants to ask for his guiding light back. He doesn’t. “Fine,” he mutters instead.

Monty gets out of his seat, as quickly as he came, “Your hearts always been too big to fit in your chest, James.” That’s all he says. He doesn’t need to say anymore.

James manages to find his gaze just as he’s leaving. He feels it in his chest the feeling of being known so badly it devours him. He feels its teeth tearing into his flesh. It hurts. It eats him whole.

He looks down at his covered sleeve, and there’s really nothing left to say.

[doodlecrumb]

Marauders fandom!! You have been summoned. Look! It’s a James! Feast thine eyes! (I’m sorry, do what you want. I’m not the boss of you. Have a nice day.)

[biandanxious18]

you know, i’ve never been very good at being jewish. growing up i didn’t even feel like i had the right to say i was jewish. my dad was, with his going to the synagogue every friday and saturday, and most mornings if he could.

i didn’t know many other jewish kids, i stopped going to the synagogue with my dad when i was around 10 i think. it was chabad, with folding screens that kept the women separated and they couldn’t even see the space where the torah was. i never knew how i fit in there so i stopped wanting to go.

i did do my bat mitzvah. i did it because my dad asked me to, and i wasn’t opposed to it, so i figured sure. i spent my every saturday afternoon for a year and a half, i knew most of the prayers by heart at one point. i remember the rabbi commenting on the day that i knew everything. i did the whole thing at a more liberal synagogue, i remember i really liked it there.

but even after it, i always hesitated on considering myself a jew.

then when i was around 18 i began to better understand what it meant. the history, the culture, the traditions. i began to understand it as a people. as an identity. i began to love it.

and over the last couple of years it became more and more dear to me. i started lighting shabbat candles, and caring deeply about celebrations and rituals. i’ve spent entire days in the kitchen for pessach and rosh hashanah.

recently, i moved countries, to study. leaving everything and everyone i knew had me a little fragile, missing feeling loved. i started to try to remember to say the modeh ani when waking up, and the food blessings. my dad suggested i went to the chabad synagogue he found out they have here. i did, i wanted to find community, i wanted to connect with people.

they didn’t seem as stuffy as my dad’s synagogue back home, and in a way i was a bit foolish, because i wanted to love and be loved so badly in this new place where i have no family, and am still making new friends. i let my guard down, because i wanted to believe they le would love me. i wanted to believe they’d welcome me.

and they did welcome me, of course. but thing is, last friday i went to dinner, and in a conversation the rabbi talked about how jews who don’t have jewish mother, basically aren’t real jews in his opinion. i don’t think he knows my mom isn’t jewish. of course, i knew this is the general chabad belief, but it caught me off guard. then the conversation went into “but of course everyone can self identify these days and you have to respect it” (read: you can’t say anything, even if you think it’s bullshit). suddenly it was a conversation about trans people. and i, again, was foolish. i forgot i’m too opinionated. that lots of people think of me as too radical. that i’m too quick to fall into argument. that my positions are too rigid.

so i chimed in with the bare bare basics of “see, trans people actually need rights and protection haha”. which led me to have a discussion with the guy sitting in front of me, where i explained the bare basics of my political beliefs, trying my best to be casual about it. not even gonna get into how he interrupted me multiple times and was incredibly thick to my every point. till he says he has no privilege from being born a man. and i laugh and go get some fruit. and i sit down with some other young people i’ve befriended and make no deal out of it.

and when i come back to get my coat he insists back on the topic. he wants me to explain feminism to him but he doesn’t really want to listen. i tell him it’s not my job to be his teacher, it’s not anybody’s job, he can look up on google. he says he wants someone to explain in a conversation. i repeat myself. eventually he gets pissed at me for saying he has privilege for being a man, and he storms out.

i feel bad. i feel like i caused a situation because, as always, i’m too firm, too relentless, too inflexible on what i think and believe. but then again i don’t think i was wrong. all i did was not be nice and sweet and subservient to him. and i don’t think it’s wrong to be inflexible when one side of the argument - be it feminism, antiracism, queer rights, antiablemist, social welfare, etc etc - is “people are dying. people need help”, and the other side is at best “i don’t care you’re dying”, and at worst “i want to kill you”. not saying this particular guy would have done anything, but it’s what it boils down to, imo.

and as i’m leaving, kinda uncomfortable by the whole situation, the rabbi stops me, because i can’t leave things like this. because we have to all be friends. because we need to know when to stop an argument. because jews are so little and we need to not fight each other.

and the thing is: i disagree. i think back to part of the jewish community in brasil who supported bolsonaro. it wasn’t the majority, not even close, but there are quite a few, even in my dad’s synagogue. i think of jewish people i have met who are bigoted, and conservative, and neoliberals little shits. i don’t want friendship with them. i want friendship with other jews who understand the importance of making the world better. of caring about people.

but then again i don’t have a jewish mother so how much of a jew am i, right?

surely less than the chabad if you ask them.

and so i leave with this awful feeling in my chest that i don’t really belong there. because these beliefs of mine are such an integral part of who i am, that being quiet when someone says something bigoted feels like betraying myself and being a hypocrite. and it’s okay that i don’t fit in there, but i mourn it because i let my guard down and believed i had found somewhere to belong to. because i miss my family and i miss feeling loved and i miss being hugged.

and now i’m sitting here four days later, and all the little traditions and rituals and everything i have been trying to do feel pointless. why am i lighting shabbat candles? why am i avoiding a food that isn’t kosher? why should i care to say a prayer in hebrew? i don’t even speak it. what am i doing all of these for?

because if being born of a jewish mother isn’t important to being a jew, then why should these be. and if doing these is important, than according to the same people, so is being born of a jewish mother. and i’m not. so why am i trying so hard to be a jew.

why shouldn’t i just give it up. feels like i should.

[franeridart]

op sketching backlog

[odetojupiter]

uhhh so the number four is associated with death in certain cultures, including japanese, which is fitting for the butcher’s son, yes but just remember neil was supposed to be number three and jean was supposed to be number four ,and in every draft but one jean dies. he is symbolically saved from that fate by dodging the number four (being given, instead, the number three which represents REBIRTH of all things - i made a whole post about that if ur curious) because it means he was never marked for death. so in this draft, where he’s number three, but was supposed to be number four, he comes so close to death - to the point where renee doesn’t know how he’s still alive - because he was supposed to die, doomed by the narrative, but that number three saves him. that number three represents resurrection, and so he doesn’t die like he was supposed to. because he’s not number four, he’s number three. he comes back. he transforms, he heals. he becomes number 29 (i will eventually make a post about jean and the 29)

neil, though, was marked for death. he had the number four tattooed on him, and he goes through his own narrative believing he will die by the end of it. his survival, however, is foreshadowed in the very moment neil thinks he’s about to die - when he is kidnapped. lola burns the number four - the signifier of death - off his face, leaving him scarred, yes, but not marked for death anymore. and so he lives. and guess what: the number 10 represents the start of a new chapter, that one cycle is coming to an end and a new life is starting, one that you’ve worked hard for. so for the number four to be burned off of neil, that tells us neil is going to live. and when neil becomes neil legally, he settles into the number 10 properly. and his new life begins.

[fawn-tongues]

Safe Bet

[jellydragons]

been watching a lot of hermitcraft recently and am happy to report that i am hopelessly endeared by these little goobers 💕 they’re like bugs to me

close ups under the cut!

gonna be real this was absolutely just me taking the opportunity to get my grubby lil mitts all up in their character designs lol i heart interpreting mc skins

[titsthedamnseason]

sweet, sweet superstar 💚🥂

[thomaskong]

I did something silly….. I made QL guess who!

About a year and a half ago I had the idea for a custom ql guess who game but I had no one to play it with so I just put it to the side until I (hopefully) would. Fortunately that day came this weekend when @pondphuwin and I got to play a few rounds (they beat me 4:5 actually lmao)!

Some of the questions we asked were stuff like “is it from gmmtv,” “does your show have a branded pair,” “is there a love triangle,” “is there a debate over whether your show is a bl or not,” and more personal ones like “am I crazy over one of the main actors,” “do we have beef with the way this bl went,” “did we watch this live together,” and so on. Rlly fun stuff!

Since this is a custom guess who I had to make all the pieces manually. At first it seems fine and easy bc there’s already official posters right? But the difficulty is that almost every poster is a different size. So I figured out how to get the proper guess who face piece measurements and manually resized each poster to fit, with a slight gradient in the background where the remaining space isn’t covered by the poster. You can see those gradient bars on the top and bottom in the closeup of the last twilight piece, for example. Also it’s just really funny to hold mini posters of qls lmao (using my hand as a reference)

There’s 190 ql poster pieces in total (based on approx. how many I’d seen as of the time of printing) (yes I will add more as time goes on) and they were all put on one big google doc that covered about 10 pages and looked like this!

After I had them all set I printed them out on cardstock so they were thicker & more sturdy and then I did a lot of cutting. And since both players need the same posters I had to cut it all twice

Are there easier ways to do this? Maybe. I’m not sure. Honestly I just did whatever like this is my own gay little art project lol

Once I had them all cut and held them in my hand I felt quite proud of my work and now that I’ve actually played it I really do

Here’s just like a pic I took when we were playing a round. Since there were so many, after every round we took out the two qls we just selected and replaced them with new ones and we never ran out lmao. It took quite a bit of effort but it was totally worth it hehe

[giulzart]

Selfishly thinking that Orion could be persuaded to act in one of the band music video. Just once.

Anyway, go play @infamous-if cause it’s amazing!

Little bonus, I put the rambly scenario that sprouted these under the cut in case you wanna know more 🤷‍♀️

It’s got to be a team effort and a chore to get Orion on board but somehow they manage to convince him in the end(cause he got a soft spot). In my head the idea was Violet and Rowan’s, Iris jumped right in cause it sounded fun and then Jazzy and Devyn joined in. Chris tagged along too cause heck yeah. They all come up with a list of pros and cons cause they know that Orion will fight against it, but thanks to Devyn they come up with sound and logical enough reasons. Rowan and Violet do the presentation and after a lot of debate, Orion accept in the end to everyone (and his own) disbelief. The video is a success, the views count gets higher and half the comment are about Orion.The band tease him relentlessly and Orion swears never again. The end.

[cheapposts]

Scar wakes up and gets to live another day.

It feels so weird. So wrong. Wasn’t he supposed to die in the end? Scar is pretty sure he was. He saw it with his own eyes: every winner before him died in the end. But for some reason, Scar didn’t.

At first he was confused. Maybe there’s been some kind of mistake. Maybe he’ll drop dead any minute now. But then a day came by. Two days. A week. And no god struck him down with a lightning. Scar was becoming more and more weirded out by that. He tried taking matters in his own hands, but no amount of jumping from a cliff to his death led him to freedom. He respawned again and again, wearing the same clothes with poppies and lilacs, having the same red eyes looking back at him from the river, staring at the same shade of red his name had every time he took his communicator in his hand and typed, "Hey?", "Anybody alive?", "Hello?", because what if the reason why he’s still alive is that he’s not actually a winner yet? What if there’s another player, and all he has to do to end this is to find and kill them, or let them kill him? But he never found anyone, and two weeks after the day he won, he stopped searching.

Three weeks after the day Scar won, he already had a new house going on. He settled at the edge of the map near mesa. "Screw this," he figured, "I’m not going to just wander around the land for months if the gods forgot to kill me. I’ll do things!" And things he did. After he was done with his new house, he fixed his old base, and tore down Mumbo's tower, and built a couple of things here and there. It was nice.

The next week was spent relaxing. He tended to his crops and fed cows he’d stolen from someone (not that the person would mind; they were dead). He died once that week and woke up in his bed again, but at that point it was starting to feel normal.

Five weeks after the day Scar won, he finally had to admit that the gods were not going to kill him. That for some reason, they decided to trap him there. Or maybe that’s what their idea of a happy ending was, maybe Scar happened to become the winner of the final game, the final round, and this was his reward. Maybe all the other players have gone home. Maybe Scar’s the only one left behind, and they live on without him.

There was no use in thinking about possibilities. It was only upsetting him. No - terrifying him. Instead, he took the matters in his own hands once again, and paid a visit to The Secret Keeper.

"I don’t want that," he said to it. "If this is my reward, I don’t want it. I want to go home. To Hermitcraft. Back to my friends. Back to where they’re alive."

The Secret Keeper didn’t seem to react. Scar felt his chest heat up with rage.

"Get me out of here!" he yelled, voice wavering. "You psychos! I- I miss my cat!"

The Secret Keeper didn’t answer.

Scar went home, laid down on his bed, and spent the evening thinking about Jellie's warm fur and his friends' smiles.

Scar wakes up and gets to live another day.

[lyculuscaelus]

Day 6941 of pondering over Odysseus’s hair color again. Dark will forever live rent free in my head but red is gorgeous and brown is so commonly accepted and auburn as a mixture is beloved but then dark is still living rent free in my head…

Basically, depending on how you interpret the color of ξανθός (xanthos, for his hair) and κυάνεος (kyaneos, for his beard) to be

[fuumiku]

Happy new year!!

Some doodles I did today to unwind + test a lineart brush

[exgirlfiend]

you ever think about the fact that they stayed in the past for several days longer than they needed to and it’s very much implied that swaine was the one holding them back. bc I do

[callmecoke]

A recreation of something that happened that really peeved me:

Me, to another cod blog: Hey! I mean this nicely but it would be really great if you could put trigger warnings on this fic you wrote that included abuse

The blog: *no response blocks me*

Me: oh okay fuck you I guess.

[robinfollies]

me and the guy i pulled by accidentally implying i like jazz music