#to bits

[isuggestwishcraft]

not to doubt you madam odile but that sounds like bullshit. why would a section on it even exist if it wasnt documented yet? SOMEONE thought of it, at some point in time, proposed a theory, did experiments, recorded his findings....

even if its Just theories. some insane people wouldve tried to do it. if king managed it, how high are chances that a plethora of people will try as well?

not to mention its a 'recent' invention... like colors? that you forgot how to see?

nothing about this is right. absolutely, irrecoverably nothing

[wood-row]

engie and soldier fic where they roadtrip across america instead of talking about their feelings.

The truck is small but its okay, their arms stick together as they fight for space on the center seat. Dell keeps his eyes on the road, laughing as Soldier loudly sings to the radio. The stink of motor oil and sweat, theyre baking in the southern sun. They could drive for days, endless expanses of flat red desert, never tire of each others company.

Tonight, camping under the stars in the back of the truck, they'll love, red faced and dizzy, like they were the only two left on earth.

In the morning, before the break of the sun, they'll be gone, the ghosts of their pasts hot on their tails as they run from New Mexico.

And lord, Montana is cold. Ghost towns, booney, cardboard houses that shut Soldier up for the first time since they set out. Come Scobey, to stretch their legs, wild eyes watch them from broken blinds. animals occupy this land, the sort Sol' hails from; freak and brute, the rough-handed type, he calls 'em.

Dell's back in the car before he registers getting out of it in the first place, a bottle shoved in his hands when he protests, "need'a piss."

"Tavish moved to Canada," Soldier says over fire. Idaho proves unforgiving, and they're close enough together for Engie to see the cagey look in his eyes.

"Yeah?" he prompts, rising Soldier from his two day silent spell.

"Makes sense. Canada..America, just without the America."

It doesnt make sense. Dell reads between the lines.

"That where y'wunna go? Canada?"

Soldier slumps against his shoulder, pokes the embers.

It keeps Engie awake, trapped beneath Soldiers sleep-heavy body. A far cry from the sunny, cow wrangling ranch he grew up on. Far cry from the weight of the Conagher name. Mann Co. Her.

Yet still, when his thoughts drive him to sleep, and Soldiers' loud ass wakes him, he gets back in that drivers seat and heads straight for the border like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

[panxramic]

A little excerpt from my Sundrop and Moondrop AU :)

-

Chayanne and Tallulah

-

When Tallulah wakes up it is late at night and Chayanne is gone. Her face feels icky from all the crying and the last thing she wants to do is get out of bed. She looks over to Chayanne’s side of the room and finds his bed empty, which is odd at this late at night. The moon is just above their window shining a light glow into their room. Everything feels cold tonight, more so than usual.

Sometimes it feels like the world is laughing at Tallulah, seeing what it can take from her next. She’s young still, and it feels like people keep coming in and out of her life more often than she can remember. She’s been abandoned again and again, left to rot alone in countless orphanages and attics. No matter what she does, or how nice she acts, no one stays. Soon everyone gets tired of her, they send her to the next home or throw her out into the streets to die. It was a miracle the emperors wanted her.

Tallulah was found one breath away from death. She doesn’t remember much, but she remembers a man with blonde hair and giant wings holding her. She remembers a long journey in which she spent the majority of the time sleeping. She also remembers a little boy with bright blue eyes and blonde hair. He wouldn’t leave her side, even took it upon himself to hold her throughout the journey. But the one thing she will never forget is his eyes.

When Tallulah first met Chayanne she swears his eyes glowed. They called to her, mesmerized her in a way nothing else ever has. She was only 6 when she met him. Phil and Missa say that for the longest time, they couldn’t get her to stop crying, but Chayanne could, he always could. Tallulah distinctly remembers it was the eyes, something about them calmed her down.

She thinks maybe it was her just imagining things, maybe some trick of the light. Either way, bright blue eyes or not, Chayanne’s ability to calm her down has remained. Through every nightmare and bad dream, he’s always been there. Every scrap and every bruise. Even when she’s gotten into trouble and grounded, Chayanne would always be the one to sneak her in cookies or treats she was banned from having.

He knows her, knows her better than anyone else ever has. And just as he knows her, she knows him too.

Cautiously she makes her way out of their chambers. This part of the castle seems quiet tonight, even with the extra guards she can see down the hall. No one else seems to be asleep, probably trying to figure out where apa Missa went. Quietly she sneaks down the hall and around the corner to the doors of her parent's bedroom. She opens the doors and surely enough, there is Chayanne.

He is wrapped up in the blankets, lying on apa Missa’s side of the bed. She makes her way around to his side, closer, she can see him clutching tightly onto his duck plushie.

The moon's light is perfectly situated on his face. Tallulah swears she can see bright yellow and blue specks in his eyes. But under the light, she can also see faint marks of dry tears down his cheeks. She feels her heart shatter.

Tallulah thinks the world has been incredibly unfair to her. Time and time again she’s been abandoned, left to rot by her parents who believed her to be a curse. She believed she could be happy here, she believed she had parents that would stay. But the world was unkind and decided to take one of them away from her. And yet through it all, there’s been one person who has stuck by her side, one person who hasn’t left her. For the first time, Tallulah has someone to cry with. She has someone to hold her and dry her tears. It hurts, but at least she’s not alone.

Tallulah makes her way around the bed onto papa Phil’s side. He must still be awake, trying to find out what happened to his husband, her other dad. She climbs into the blanket and gives Chayanne a tight squeeze.

Into the moonlight, she whispers, “I’m here for you too.”

[darkclouud9]

the boys need to stop getting themselves in this position like how many times are you going to take this photo old man

meanwhile Kushina n Rin look the exact same: absolutely adorable and I love them for it ^-^

[lieutenant-sarcastic]

For Years my brother has been fucking with me by periodically texting me to say Jimmy Carter had finally died. Today the bit has paid off.

The response to my reaction at work was “what do you MEAN ‘for real this time’?????”

I fucking hate it here I’m crying

[thegeekgene]

Someone at an old job asked why I wanted to write up the meeting minutes for our team and I said 'i wanna control the narrative' and they were like 'what' and I pointed out that no one was gonna remember what we said in six months and so my interpretation of the meeting would dictate the assumed reality of what happened

"none of you ever send corrections when I offer the draft so y'all have consented to my version"

"we don't read that shit"

"you must trust me implicitly to create our shared reality that's so sweet"

That's how several coworkers decided I was a supervillain and how I learned several coworkers didn't understand record keeping as like a CONCEPT

[hauntingrabbits]

comic

[nikoisme]

I hate it when people ask me what genre of music i listen to because i genuinely have no clue. It's called Music I Like genre. The best genre out there

[paintedcrows]

They do this every year...

Happy 25th to Dipdop and Lebam!! and Happy 17th to Hatsune Miku!! 🎉🎉

(comic continued: The M&M stands for...)

[mangosteen]

[rennerei]

...😎😎🌟

[creepymutelilbugger]

op turned reblogs off but this post must live. it must live and spread malignantly .

[w1lmuttart]

The lake town

[chaotic-neutral-knitter]

I think one of the kindest things you can do for people with various mental health struggles is just... let people back into your life after they've been absent for a while.

Making friends as an adult is so fucking hard already and isolating yourself from other people is a very common symptom of depression, anxiety, burnout, ocd, trauma, grief, etc. Which means that someone will do the hard work of recovery/healing and resurface back into a world where their previous friends have written them off because they stopped showing up.

So if you know someone where you're like "yeah we could have been better friends but they fell off the map a bit" and that person suddenly reaches out, or starts showing up to events even though you kind of forgot they were still in the group chat... well they may have been Going Through It and you don't actually have to punish them for their absence you can just be glad that they're back.

[shadesofmauve]

I want to step away from the art-vs-artist side of the Gaiman issue for a bit, and talk about, well, the rest of it. Because those emotions you're feeling would be the same without the art; the art just adds another layer.

Source: I worked with a guy who turned out to be heavily involved in an international, multi-state sex-slavery/trafficking ring.

He was really nice.

Yeah.

It hits like a dumptruck of shit. You don't feel stable in your world anymore. How could someone you interacted with, liked, also be a truly horrible person? How could your judgement be that bad? How can real people, not stylized cartoon bogeymen, be actually doing this shit?

You have to sit with the fact that you couldn't, or probably couldn't, have known. You should have no guilt as part of this horror — but guilt is almost certainly part of that mess you're feeling, because our brains do this associative thing, and somehow "I liked [the version of] the guy [that I knew]", or his creations, becomes "I made a horrible mistake and should feel guilty."

You didn't, loves, you didn't.

We're human, and we can only go by the information we have. And the information we have is only the smallest glimpse into someone else's life.

I didn't work closely with the guy I knew at work, but we chatted. He wasn't just nice; he was one of the only people outside my tiny department who seemed genuinely nice in a workplace that was rapidly becoming incredibly toxic. He loaned me a bike trainer. Occasionally he'd see me at the bus stop and give me a lift home.

Yup. I was a young woman in my twenties and rode in this guy's car. More than once.

When I tell this story that part usually makes people gasp. "You must feel so scared about what could have happened to you!" "You're so lucky nothing happened!"

No, that's not how it worked. I was never in danger. This guy targeted Korean women with little-to-no English who were coerced and powerless. A white, fluent, US citizen coworker wasn't a potential victim. I got to be a person, not prey.

Y'know that little warning bell that goes off, when you're around someone who might be a danger to you? That animal sense that says "Something is off here, watch out"?

Yeah, that doesn't ping if the preferred prey isn't around.

That's what rattled me the most about this. I liked to think of myself as willing to stand up for people with less power than me. I worked with Japanese exchange students in college and put myself bodily between them and creeps, and I sure as hell got that little alarm when some asian-schoolgirl fetishist schmoozed on them. But we were all there.

I had to learn that the alarm won't go off when the hunter isn't hunting. That it's not the solid indicator I might've thought it was. That sometimes this is what the privilege of not being prey does; it completely masks your ability to detect the horrors that are going on.

A lot of people point out that 'people like that' have amazing charisma and ability to lie and manipulate, and that's true. Anyone who's gotten away with this shit for decades is going to be way smoother than the pathetic little hangers-on I dealt with in university. But it's not just that. I seriously, deeply believe that he saw me as a person, and he did not extend personhood to his victims. We didn't have a fake coworker relationship. We had a real one. And just like I don't know the ins-and-outs of most of my coworkers lives, I had no idea that what he did on his down time was perpetrate horrors.

I know this is getting off the topic, but it's so very important. Especially as a message to cis guys: please understand that you won't recognize a creep the way you might think you will. If you're not the preferred prey, the hind-brain alarm won't go off. You have to listen to victims, not your gut feeling that the person seems perfectly nice and normal. It doesn't mean there's never a false accusation, but face the fact that it's usually real, and you don't have enough information to say otherwise.

So, yeah. It fucking sucks. Writing about this twists my insides into tense knots, and it was almost a decade ago. I was never in danger. No one I knew was hurt!

Just countless, powerless women, horrifically abused by someone who was nice to me.

You don't trust your own judgement quite the same way, after. And as utterly shitty as it is, as twisted up and unstead-in-the-world as I felt the day I found out — I don't actually think that's a bad thing.

I think we all need to question our own judgement. It makes us better people.

I don't see villains around every corner just because I knew one, once. But I do own the fact that I can't know, really know, about anyone except those closest to me. They have their own full lives. They'll go from the pinnacles of kindness to the depths of depravity — and I won't know.

It's not a failing. It's just being human. Something to remember before you slap labels on people, before you condemn them or idolize them. Think about how much you can't know, and how flawed our judgement always is.

Grieve for victims, and the feeling of betrayal. But maybe let yourself off the hook, and be a bit slower to skewer others on it.