#the world is terrible

[iamthecomet]

Let. People. Enjoy. Things.

[spineless-lobster]

CBS GHOSTS JUMPSCARE GET THE FUCK OFF MY TELEVISION

[onnahu]

Man is made for violence

Woman is made for death

Anything else is made

To cry and observe all that pain

[technikki]

being a mario rpgs fan is such a wonderful experience its like man what do you mean youre drawing soul-crushing angst of the funny mustache guys that say wahoo yippee. you are having a joke on me

[hildifons-hairyfoot]

God I'm so exhausted but I can't sleep

[arinrowan]

My maternal grandmother could crochet.

Nothing complicated. Basic granny squares and double crochet, but she was the one in the family who made blankets for her kids and grandchildren. Dementia hit in her nineties but she still remembered how to make granny squares and made dozens. I asked her for one last blanket but by that point the dementia had taken how to join the squares. They were stacked in piles around the dining room table and when she went into care, into a plastic box for storage.

When she died, I asked for them. By that point I could crochet but didn't know how to join, and figured, someday, I'd learn.

It's at least a decade later. I'm the one who makes blankets for my nephews, for my cousin's children, for pregnant coworkers. Last year I made seven blankets, three for Project Linus, the rest for family and a friend. I can follow crochet charts, filet crochet, do clusters, fans, basic lace, amigurumi.

The world, as is its wont, is on fire. Tonight, I have opened the plastic container for the first time in a decade. I'm sorting them into piles by color. I know now how to look at them and see where her memory slipped or areas I'll need to repair. There's no printed pattern but if I need more I have the skills to copy the pattern.

Each square is 5 inches. Blanket size for Project Linus is 40x60. I'll see how many people I can give her last crochet legacy to.

[nelkcats]

The Great One

Far Frozen is not the only place with carvings of a half-ghost hero, and Danny has been inadvertently traveling between dimensions during his adventures, causing impacts both good and bad.

For one thing, carvings of his battles with Vlad are in Themyscira itself, assessed by an excited young Diana who wonders if such a being really existed, someone who relentlessly pursued evil and fought for justice. The young Amazon spent days admiring the murals, much to the dismay of her mother who was unsure if this happening was a good thing or not. In a way it was part of the reason she decided to leave her island later in life so maybe a mix of both.

Elsewhere, in Nanda Parbat, Ra reflects on murals of a creature bathed in shadows and ice, toxic green eyes that betray his connections to the afterlife and razor sharp fangs. A story for children who fear monsters under their bed, except that his family has proof that it existed, the Lazarus pits only served to confirm their theories. Ra thinks this is what the powerful deserves, immortality.

Even Arthur has found his castle walls filled with carvings of two creatures chasing each other, like day and night. There are tales of how they set the city ablaze in a single day, causing irreparable damage but not taking a single life despite their battles. Beings driven by emotion, persecution and intrigue, but without being benevolent or malevolent. A sample that any creature is imperfect, in a way he thinks it is poetic.

Everyone interprets these beings in their own way, creating their own legends from the anecdotes that were recorded by their ancestors. They never have the same title, no one decides on a name and no one seems to agree on whether these beings are benevolent or malevolent. Whether they are enemies, friends, rivals, or something else.

For some they are a moral lesson, for others a guide, in some cases they are considered righteous heroes, while in others they are the worst enemies of the living, the only sure thing is that they are recognized, one way or another.

Of course, this leads to disaster when Danny decides to explore the dimensions connected to the Infinite Realms.

[lotus-pear]

i love you royal trio (minus akechi)

[captaincrazycreative]

Not over Cait threatening to throw some guy in prison in front of her gf who was wrongfully imprisoned and tortured for a decade

[monorayjak]

So I just spent a good half hour bawling my eyes out trying to stop my brain from screaming I should end it all... fun times

[platoapproved]

armand + a few offhand lines that give some insight into how he thinks (imho)

[animatedtext]

[halichor]

"Who will heed your pleas to escape this nightmare, when your goddess lies in deep slumber, still lost in her dream?"

[wickedwitchofthesouth]

In a perfect world they would have written a plotline where Dean becomes addicted to angel grace because it was the only thing that keeps the effects of the mark of cain at bay.

In a perfect world it would have been the perfect parallel to Sam's demon blood junkie arc

In a perfect world, Cas would have been Deans Ruby

IN A PERFECT WORLD THATS HOW THEY WOULDVE GOTTEN TOGTHER

[cak31scake]

"Basically what happens is, Grace and Max are right about to win. They're right about to do it. And then, there's a groaning. In the floorboards. Suddenly, the staircase gives out beneath Grace and Max, and they fall through the floors. They fall stories. Pieces of wood shove through their chests, and they both are killed."

"But keep this in mind, nothing truly dies in the Waylon house. Grace and Max become ghosts, and they're off doing whatever, but they're no longer involved in the tournament."

So.. that Pit Stop in Hatchetfield tag team deathmatch huh.

[everytimewetouch-dot-mp3]

i can’t stop thinking abt a bingge who just. doesn’t enjoy sex.

he slept with qin wanyue at the IAC because she was dying and he was afraid and wanted to be kind, and he didn’t know how to say no. and he kept just…not knowing how to say no. everyone always had one dying wish or a deadly poison or some sort of urgent need. and lbh wanted to be good. he was desperate for any sign that he wasn’t irredeemable, that there was something about him that anyone could ever want. and these women kept throwing themselves at him in moments of desperation. and he wanted to be good.

wouldn’t it be too cruel to say no to this woman when he said yes to that one, just because he didn’t particularly want to? wouldn’t that be too arbitrary and selfish? what makes one worthy of his ‘yes’ and another unworthy? lbh had no framework to evaluate that sort of thing, no sense that this was something he could just Not Want. he wanted to be wanted, and here these women were, wanting and wanting and wanting him. why would he turn down the only thing he really desired, just because it didn’t come to him in a way he liked?

and then he picked up xin mo, and all notions of desire fled him. he’d never wanted to sleep with any of those women, but now he needed to. it was either dual cultivate with whoever asked or be consumed by xin mo. what option did he have? he was often on the verge of qi deviation; much of his ‘wife collecting’ could probably be attributed to medical necessity. and what was he supposed to do afterward? disrespect those women by sleeping with them and then discarding them? of course he’d add them to his harem. what other dignity could he offer afterward?

he never really wanted any of it. he never enjoyed it particularly. it was nice, maybe, with ning yingying because she cared for him in a way he could trust. she cared for him in her own clumsy way before his name meant anything, and when she looked after him it always felt safe. he got along with liu mingyan well, trusted her wisdom and forthrightness—and she was never overly affectionate or insincere when they cultivated together. he believed, at the very least, that she respected him as an equal.

but all the other wives… they were there because they wanted something from him, or their families did; or they were there because luo binghe wanted to be good, and a good man would not lay with someone and then refuse to take responsibility by marrying her. he had the means to provide for them. and a bountiful garden suited his station, didn’t it? never mind that he’d never really had an interest in gardening; if flowers leapt into his hands, it was his duty to plant them where they could continue to grow. that was what a good man would do.