#then feed you this every day

[simder-talia-blog]

Just a general reminder that these kinds of posts are spam. I've been told so by Tumblr Support. These “shops” are buying products from aliexpress/alibaba sometimes charging 20x the price or more. They are scams. This item is approx. 8 US dollars. This scam shop wants to sell it to you for 70! See below. It's one of the more disgusting ones I've seen.

Please share if you feel like it so people don't get scammed.

[wild0moon]

ng crew : )

[cutiesigh]

「Demo WIP」 Can y'all watch my plant real quick? 🍈

[asmoreous]

Thanksgiving is drawing to a close for me, so I wanted to post an update to my post earlier. :3 I joined in on @lovely-ari ‘s “little” challenge as well as added onto it with my own. Ended up eating 5 plates of the richest and heaviest foods and 2 plates of apple and pecan pie. And then sat in the kitchen and snacked until I couldn’t possibly force myself to eat another bite. Which is mostly a physical hindrance, rather than a physical one. If I had someone here to hand feed me the rest I’m sure I could eat continuously for the rest of the night x3

Probably going to finish the night off with another plate of pie, thinking one pecan slice and one Dutch apple. But for now I think I had a very fruitful Thanksgiving x3

[novelconcepts]

There’s a line from American Gods I keep coming back to in relation to Yellowjackets, an observation made early on by Shadow in prison: “The kind of behavior that works in a specialized environment, such as prison, can fail to work and in fact become harmful when used outside such an environment.” I keep rotating it in my head in thinking about the six survivors, the roles they occupy in the wilderness, and the way the show depicts them as adults in society.

Because in the wilderness, as in prison, they’re trapped—they’re suffering, they’re traumatized, they’re terrified—but they’re also able to construct very specific boxes to live in. And, in a way, that might make it easier. Cut away the fat, narrow the story down to its base arc. You are no longer the complex young woman who weighs a moral compass before acting. You no longer have the luxury of asking questions. You are a survivor. You have only to get to the next day.

Shauna: the scribe. Lottie: the prophet. Van: the acolyte. Taissa: the skeptic. Misty: the knight. Natalie: the queen. Neat, orderly, the bricks of a new kind of society. And it works in the woods; we know this because these six survive. (Add Travis: the hunter, while you’re at it, because he does make it to adulthood).

But then they’re rescued. And it’s not just lost purpose and PTSD they’re dealing with now, but a loss of that intrinsic identity each built in the woods. How do you go home again? How do you rejoin a so-called civilized world, where all the violence is restricted to a soccer field, to an argument, to your own nightmares?

How does the scribe, the one who wrote it all out in black and white to make sense of the horrors, cope with a world that would actively reject her story? She locks that story away. But she can’t stop turning it over in her head. She can’t forget the details. They’re waiting around every corner. In the husband beside her in bed. In the child she can’t connect with across the table. In the best friend whose parents draw her in, make her the object of their grief, the friend who lives on in every corner of their hometown. She can’t forget, so she tries so hard to write a different kind of story instead, to fool everyone into seeing the soft maternal mask and not the butcher beneath, and she winds up with blood on her hands just the same.

How does the prophet come back from the religion a desperate group made of her, a group that took her tortured visions, her slipping mental health, and built a hungry need around the very things whittling her down? She builds over the bones. She creates a place out of all that well-intended damage, and she tells herself she’s helping, she’s saving them, she has to save them, because the world is greedy and needs a leader, needs a martyr, needs someone to stand up tall and reassure everyone at the end of the day that they know what’s best. The world, any world, needs someone who will take those blows so the innocent don’t have to. She’s haunted by everyone she didn’t save, by the godhood assigned to her out of misplaced damage, and when the darkness comes knocking again, there is nothing else to do but repeat old rhymes until there is blood on her hands just the same.

How does the acolyte return to a world that cares nothing for the faith of the desperate, the faith that did nothing to save most of her friends, that indeed pushed her to destroy? She runs from it. She dives into things that are safe to believe in, things that rescue lonely girls from rough home lives, things that show a young queer kid there’s still sunshine out there somewhere. She delves into fiction, makes a home inside old stories to which she already knows the endings, coaxes herself away from the belief that damned her and into a cinemascope safety net where the real stuff never has to get in. She teaches herself surface-level interests, she avoids anything she might believe in too deeply, and still she’s dragged back to the place where blood winds up on her hands just the same.

How does the skeptic make peace with the things she knows happened, the things that she did even without meaning to, without realizing? She buries them. She leans hard into a refusal to believe those skeletons could ever crawl back out of the graves she stuffed them into, because belief is in some ways the opposite of control. She doesn’t talk to her wife. She doesn’t talk to anyone. It’s not about what’s underneath the surface, because that’s just a mess, so instead she actively discounts the girl she became in the woods. She makes something new, something rational and orderly, someone who can’t fail. She polishes the picture to a shine, and she stands up straight, the model achievement. She goes about her original plan like it was always going to be that way, and she winds up with blood on her hands just the same.

How does the knight exist in a world with no one to serve, no one to protect, no reason propelling the devastating choices she had grown comfortable making? She rechannels it. She convinces herself she’s the smartest person in the room, the most capable, the most observant. She convinces herself other people’s mysteries are hers to solve, that she is helping in every single action she takes. She makes a career out of assisting the most fragile, the most helpless souls she can find, and she makes a hobby out of patrolling for crimes to solve, and when a chance comes to strap her armor back on and ride into battle, she rejoices in the return to normalcy. She craves that station as someone needed, someone to rely upon in the darkest of hours, and she winds up with blood on her hands because, in a way, she never left the wilderness at all.

How does the queen keep going without a queendom, without a pack, without people to lead past the horrors of tomorrow? She doesn’t. She simply does not know how. She scrounges for something, anything, that will make her feel connected to the world the way that team did. She moves in and out of a world that rejects trauma, punishes the traumatized, heckles the grieving as a spectacle. She finds comfort in the cohesive ritual of rehabilitation, this place where she gets so close to finding herself again, only to stumble when she opens her eyes and sees she’s alone. All those months feeding and guiding and gripping fast to the fight of making it to another day, and she no longer knows how to rest. How to let go without falling. She no longer wears a crown, and she never wanted it in the first place, so how on earth does she survive a world that doesn’t understand the guilt and shame of being made the centerpiece of a specialized environment you can never explain to anyone else? How, how, how do you survive without winding up with blood on your hands just the same?

All six of these girls found, for better or worse, a place in the woods. All six of them found, for better or worse, a reason to get up the next day. For each other. And then they go home, and even if they all stayed close, stayed friends, it’d still be like stepping out of chains for the first time in years. Where do you go? How do you make small choices when every decision for months was life or death? How do you keep the part of yourself stitched so innately into your survival in a world that would scream to see it? How do you do away with the survivor and still keep going?

They brought it back with them. Of course they did. It was the only way.

[24601orwhatever]

NICK REHBERGER AS JAVERT

i'll see that justice is done 📷: @medium-observation

[ratatatastic]

the things ekky has done or said that i cant stop thinking about. the 4 minute cut.

[lunarharp]

post that reads like a mood swing

[pocketramblr]

I would do anything to save her.

This was supposed to just be drawing the Taoden siblings hugging a bunch but ah guess that Falin as the tower/princess/dragon post got into my head too much

[froschli96]

Can we talk about how Kadar says to Altaïr in the beginning: "An excellent kill! Fortune favors your blade!", and then in the bureau with Malik, before Altaïr goes to meet "Robert", Malik says to him "Fortune favor your blade, brother."

And then THAT is what prompts Altaïr to actually finally apologize to him?

(It's these little things in the writing that make me go feral! Another one of my favorite parts is Altaïr and Malik calling each other "Dai" - Altaïr first calls Malik Dai before doing investigations during the Majd Addin mission, showing his character growth in how he's willing to humble himself in front of Malik by basically acknowledging him as a superior of sorts (he's even THANKING him here for his help - compare this to "I am your superior, in both title and ability! You should know better than to question me!"), and then when they last talk before Altaïr goes to confront Al Mualim, Malik calls HIM Dai, in turn acknowledging his growth 😭 I just... I love them so much, I don't even know what to do with myself anymore.)

[chronically-ghosted]

day before a 5 day holiday weekend. office empty. got me thinking thoughts.

[m-ete0ra]

-----------Whispers of the Oasis: Love's Mirage----------

(even tho it should be u and me instead of this bakuhoe but its ok whatever im not crying) Thank you @dienamights for commissioning me! Your idea was both amazing and beautiful (kinda challenging but we got dere). It was a joy bringing your vision to life, and I appreciate the opportunity. Looking forward to more creative collaborations in the future!

[arsenicflame]

stede is 'oh this place has something related to my interest i must go in immediately' autistic and izzy is 'if we deviate one inch from my plan for today i will murder someone' autistic

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hehe I really enjoy your comantary and captions you're so funny, I can't wait until we see Wen Ning again since we left his brief cameo

I miss him everyday.

[galacticjava]

"what's ur favorite kakagai fanfic?" naruto

[pigeon-butch]

I certainly have my own concerns about the treatment of moo deng but um. well i think some of you may just be racist