#trying to put my feelings into words

[blackat-t7t]

I went back and forth a lot on whether to put this in a reblog of that poll about likes and reblogs that's going around. Ultimately I decided not to, because really it's about something that post isn't actually saying, just that other people in the larger conversion about likes and reblogs have said.

I don't really see this IN posts of art and fic, but when posts made solely to encourage people to reblog come around, they often include someone in the chain saying something along the lines of:

"Likes are WORTHLESS!" or "Likes MEAN NOTHING!"

And I think, a real person saw your work and liked it. They told you they liked it, even if they told you through a button built into the site. Is that really worthless?

And I guess seeing that opinion just makes me feel kind of small and pathetic and sad, both as a creator and a viewer.

Please don't misunderstand! I'm not trying to say "creators should be grateful for whatever scraps viewers give them"! And, as a creator, I'm not trying to act "more grateful than thou", or flaunt my own humility in appreciating scraps!

I'm saying "are likes really just scraps?"

I consider myself a creator, but the truth is I don't make many of my own posts, or post a lot of fic, comparatively. I don't get a lot of engagement, not just because of the current state of fandom, but because I just don't have much TO engage with. So when I get a notification "[someone] liked your post", and I see that the truly liked MY post, not just something I reblogged, I get a little thrill.

Hearing that the thing I get so excited over, is something other creators disregard entirely, makes me feel kind of pathetic.

And as a viewer, hearing "likes are worthless, only reblogs matter"-- well, creators (myself included!) often say that we want to connect with people through our works. Hearing that my liking something, my saying I enjoyed it, is worthless and all that matters is whether I help spread it by reblogging- it makes me feel like creators, many of whom I admire, aren't interested in connecting with me.

IDK, maybe I'm just making this about me when it shouldn't be, especially in that last part. If people really believe that someone enjoying their work is worthless if they don't enjoy it enough to reblog- I guess that's their right. It's not my place to tell them how to feel about their work and how it's received.

I don't know. Like I said, the whole thing just makes me feel small. And pathetic. And sad.

Who knows. Maybe I'm misinterpreting everything and people are saying "WITHIN THE STRICT CONTEXT OF HOW TO GET MORE VIEWS, likes mean nothing, because there is no algorithm", and I'm getting worked up over nothing.

I'm just not sure anymore. I feel wrung out, and I just want to post this and be done with it.

Please don't take the things I've said here in bad faith.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Archery Nemesis.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[abstractfrog]

THE GLORIA SCOTT - part 2, and a follow up to my comic for the first half of this scene! thanks sm to @crashingmeteorz for allowing me to source validation for my whimsical cosmic approach to this moment <3

[mothmandibles]

🇵🇸 May We Be Free, Together. One genocided peoples to another. We stand with Palestine, now and forever. 🇦🇲

Care for Gaza (Direct Paypal)

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Palestine Children Relief Fund

Medical Aid for Palestinians

Daily Click For Palestine (Help by at least clicking this daily, it may not be much but it counts for something at least.)

BDS's website, remember to follow the boycott.

[cyberpunkboytoy]

I see a lot of people in the Mouthwashing tag frequently listing 'keeping Curly alive' in the list of crimes Jimmy has done, implying or sometimes outright saying that not mercy-killing Curly was a cruel and unusual act...and would like to caution against that.

There's a long history of abled people deciding someone's quality of life is too horrible to merit letting them live (usually to nonverbal or otherwise 'low functioning' people lacking a clear means to communicate) and condoning the murder of disabled people under the guise of kindness. Curly is an extreme example, and one could argue he might prefer to be 'put out of his misery,' but it's important to note that we don't know, no one asks, and there's no attempt to communicate either which way.

How extreme pain and 'low quality of life' are handled are very nuanced and complicated topics, but you can never decide for someone else what kind of life isn't 'worth living.' Curly is obviously a videogame character, but these attitudes can and do affect the lives of real people & are worth being aware of.

[creeperthescamp]

i think one of the least used concepts in elder scrolls lore is its nebulous relationship to truth.

like something i do actually appreciate about that cunt kirkbride's writing in morrowind is that the mythology of the tribunal is allowed to be relatively ambiguous and there's room for poetry and fable and unreliable narrators. there's a strong general tendency in both fandom and dev to interpret lore quite literally and treat every text as reliable sources of fact about tamriel even when the text is like. fiction or written with a clear bias towards certain factions or prejudices.

the main example I'm thinking of is the 'notes on racial phylogeny' lore book. it's literally just racist pseudoscience and in a real life context would be considered unreliable and deeply offensive. but in tes, i rarely see anyone stop to actually consider that perhaps this lore isn't really a factual study of how bodies work but about how the imperial empire categorises the people it colonises and justifies it's supremacy. there's so much focus on determining the rules and metaphysical aspects of the world that there's no consideration that the way factions like the empire see the world is inherently flawed.

it's fun to think of a world where stars are literal holes punched in the fabric of the sky, or that water is made of memory, but i also think it would be a much more fun and flexible world if these theories are considered to be just a few of many lenses that people in tamriel use to try to understand their world. some of my favourite pieces of lore and world building are things like 'cherims heart of anequina' that imply a rich world of culture and art; i love the idea that tamriel has art and art critics and people who discuss ideas for other purposes than trying to figure out what's The Only True Lore.

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 2 ]

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.9k {☆} previous [ 1 ]

This had to be a punishment of some sort – some kind of divine punishment.

She was bored out of her mind just watching the sleeping body – she hadn't blinked once in the past five hours, her eyes were really starting to hurt. Yet they still hadn't moved so much as an inch since she sequestered them away to the only place she had known to be safe.

But it'd been almost a week since then.

The only solace she found was that Teyvat had seemed much less hellbent on collapsing in on itself like a dying star.

That counted for something.

Not much, but something!

..Even if their position was no better then it was a week ago.

There was, after all, still the issue of what to do about the false Creator – the actual imposter – and the Archons following them like blind lambs. The other Archons wouldn't listen if she tried to reason with them, and it would only risk the life of Divine One if she spoke of their location to anyone else.

She also was pretty fond of having her head still attached to her shoulders.

So she avoided them all together. Partially because she wasn't sure she wouldn't have a breakdown at the sight of them..she'd never been a fighter, and fighting an Archon? Easy pass.

Instead she was forced to babysit the sleeping Divine until they woke up while Neuvillette handled taking care of the nation and dealing with the other Archons – and by extension the false Creator.

Really though, she would almost think them dead if not for the subtle rise and fall of their chest.

Though..this also left her with a lot of time to herself. A lot of time to think.

She really didn't like it.

There wasn't a lot to occupy her mind and what little there was only distracted her for a scant few moments before her eyes drifted back to the Divine like she was locked in their orbit, unable to escape.

She closed the same book for the twelfth time – she kept count – and returned it to it's meticulously designed place within her bookcase. A low, barely audible huff of frustration escaped her lips before she could bite it down, her stare boring a hole into the body of the Divine One with a sharp intensity she rarely showed.

She was tired, bored and constantly on edge, fearing that at any moment someone would find out about their presence here.

That, at the drop of a hat, she would be powerless to stop the greatest tragedy of her time play out before her eyes.

Neuvillette would have scolded her for being so petulant, especially around the Divine One, if he were here.

But he wasn't.

He was out running her nation, instead.

And what was she doing? Nothing!

She grit her teeth, nails digging harshly into the palm of her hands as she took a deep breath – now was not the time to think about that. She had..much more pressing matters. Sulking and letting her thoughts spiral helped no one, least of all herself.

Yet her attention was caught by a harsh inhale, the rustle of fabric – were they finally waking up? She was exhausted, but it all vanished at the sudden drop of life within the otherwise deathly still body of the Divine.

Her eyes followed the subtle twitch of their fingers, watching as their brow furrowed and their features twisted in something almost like..pain.

..She wasn't ready.

What was she supposed to say?

Should she even say anything? Would that be considered impolite? Does she wait for them to speak first? Should she kneel? Bow?

She doesn't get much time to find her own answer before their lashes flutter, chest heaving with every strangled breath. Every single thought vanishes from her mind the moment she meets their eyes.

For a long, silent moment she thinks that her heart must have stopped.

Their eyes glow like the cresting of the sun over the horizon, painting the world in hues of gold – yet it also reminded her of the dipping of the moon below the waves, casting the briefest, most gentle of lights upon the world engulfed in darkness. In the depths of their eyes was the birth and death of stars in the infinite cosmos – glittering stars in a sea of empty, blank space that left her feeling lightheaded and breathless.

Beneath the splendor is a spark of recognition in their eyes so vibrant it was like a shooting star piercing through the dark night sky, leaving nothing but the wonder in the eyes of the observer as the only proof it ever existed – brilliant in it's beauty, however brief.

It is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

"Focalors?"

The lilt of their voice nearly made her knees buckle beneath her – euphoria so consuming it left her feeling she was starving swallowed her whole, her mind blanking in a moment of utter bliss. It was..an indescribable feeling that she doubted she could ever hope to put into words – not in a way that could properly express it, try as she might.

She swallowed the words that threatened to spill from her lips – she couldn't make a fool of herself. Not in front of them of all people. She'd never forgive herself.

"Divine One," She rasps, clearing her throat and covering her mouth with a hand to mask both her nervousness and the small smile that creeps across her face. She quickly regains her composure, hand resting on her hip as she puffs out her chest with every bit of pride she can manage. "I am sure you must be confused, but worry not– your most loyal acolyte has seen the truth!"

The silence is deafening.

She opens one eye, peaking at the bewildered and almost distraught expression of the Divine.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

That..she was not prepared for. Surely they knew who they were! Surely they knew. They had to– she's been praying to them for as long as she's breathed, she's dedicated every hour of her life to living up to their ideals, they can't just–!

"Lady Furina?"

Neuvillette, thankfully, spares her the embarrassment of having a meltdown in front of the Divine, the gentle rap of his knuckles against the door making her and the Divine pause, the soft lull of his voice soothing her nerves and yet setting her on edge at the same time.

"Neuvillette." She clears her throat again, her steps hurried as she marches to the door and pries it open none too gently, a forced smile pulling at her lips. She wastes no time tugging the man into the room, shutting the door behind him with a short huff. The silence is, somehow, even worse then before as the three of them stare at each other in absolute exasperation.

Neuvillette, for his part, manages to get his act together with a sharp clearing of his throat, bowing so low even she looks unnerved. She steals a brief glance at the Divine, and she's taken aback by the uncomfortability twisting their features into a grimace.

Their expression is schooled back into one of empty apathy when he stands back to his full height, but she saw it – she knows she did! Did they not like their worship? Were they not respectful enough? For a moment, she feared the Divine would smite Neuvillette down on the spot..but they just stared at him like he was a ghost.

"Why aren't you killing me?"

The defeated, resigned tone combined with the way their voice cracks makes her heart ache in her chest – it feels as though her entire world is crumbling down at her feet, and she cannot explain why she feels such emotions so strongly, but it is suffocating. It is almost as if Teyvat itself is weeping, bearing down upon her shoulders like a heavy weight.

She feels the urge to weep herself, but she powers through, gritting her teeth long enough for Neuvillette to take his place at the side of her – though it feels more like their – bed, kneeling like he was going to pray.

"Divine One," He offers a hand with a quiet rumble of his voice, the words slipping off his tongue like honey. It's like trying to soothe a stray cat..though she'd never voice such comparisons of the most Divine out loud. "I..we mean you no harm. I swear on my authority as the Iudex of Fontaine and Chief Justice that you are safe with us."

The skepticism she expected, but the reverence in which Neuvillette must convince them – or perhaps they are simply so tired that they simply did not care any longer if it was all some ploy to drive a knife between their ribs. She didn't expect them to actually place their hand in Neuvillette's.

He didn't either, judging by the way he visibly brightened – not that they'd notice, but she did.

..Not that she could really blame him, her heels clicking against the floorboards as she shifted her weight to the other foot with a nervous energy that was practically bursting at the seams, more then a little jealous of the attention he was receiving. She was the one who found them, she was the one who stayed with them the entire time..but he gets all the attention?

How unfair.

"O-of course! We would never lay a hand on our creator," She adds, her voice a little higher pitched then she would have liked as she placed her hands on her hips, puffing out her chest and brushing off the sting of jealousy. "Least of all I– your most loyal, most devout acolyte!"

She felt baffled when she heard the sound of their laughter, her shoulders hunching and her cheeks flushing on mere instinct – she was expecting mockery, but the look in their eyes, still dulled by a pain she cannot even begin to imagine, made her hesitate.

..It was, perhaps, the most genuine thing she'd heard from them ever since before the hunt began.

She wasn't sure why her heart hurt at such an idea, but it was enthralling to see the beginnings of a half hearted smile on their lips.

For a moment, her mask of theatrics was forgotten as she stared at them in a mixture of awe and adoration– and though she didn't look at Neuvillette, she could imagine he must've shared such an expression.

Had she any doubts that they were her Creator, that they alone were the most Divine..they would wiped clean now. There was no mistaking the way the world itself seemed to grow clearer as they glanced up at her like she was worth something.

For a moment, she realized how cold the false Creators gaze had been now that she has felt warmth so gentle it almost made her knees buckle beneath her. It felt like a pale imitation, now.

Nothing could compare to the warmth that spread through her body at the mere semblance of a smile upon their lips. She didn't even mind if it was her they were laughing at anymore, she just wanted to hear them laugh again.

She'd make a fool of herself, if she had to.

She'd never felt so..ravenous for such a thing, but just the briefest glimpse was addictive.

She simply couldn't help herself from striding across the room and clasping their free hand in her own, her smile wide enough to unnerve as she leaned her weight onto the bed. For a moment, she considered pulling away at the way they startled, but her mind was made up by then – there was no going back.

"Again."

[longmaxsilvarg]

something about the main menu for life is strange genuinely makes me wanna collapse and sob

[lesbianusahana]

Morceau is such an interesting character to me. He’s convicted of stolen valor. He likes 2000s boy band pop. He was traumatized for life by watching his pet bunny die before his very eyes. He’s on probation. He has two older brothers named Rock and Eagle. He says he’s 6’2 on his Psychonauts ID. He’s co-conspirators with an ambiguously gay dentist perpetually committing medical malpractice. He never was able to fully make his father proud since his parents died just as he became a Psychonaut. He has posters in his mind affirming “You Are Tall!”. He’s accidentally both transfem AND bi-curious coded. He is an icon. He IS the moment

[sunlit-mess]

noticing in your vents—

is your sister okay too?

We laugh, sure, but we both know we're not ok.

[siren-of-agony]

Answers to "please stop"

No.

I can't.

I won't.

I don't want to.

I don't know how.

I will soon.

But then how will you learn?

We're almost done.

It's almost over.

Ask me again!

Oh well, if you're asking that politely…

Fine. For now.

Only once I've come up with something more fun.

Only once you've come up with something more fun.

Or what?

I know you can go a little bit longer.

You know I won't.

I love it when you beg.

I hate it when you beg.

I'm so bored by your begging.

Not until you're too weak to ask me to.

But I don't have anything better to do.

I wish I could.

Alright! See? All you had to do was ask nicely.

I'm not doing anything.

What, exactly?

Just once more, I promise!

Just once more, I promise! (🤞)

You're doing this to yourself.

You wanted this.

You want this.

You know you made me do this.

Are you ready to give me what I want, then?

I will once you give in.

What will you give me in return?

Why should I?

You know there is only one way to end this.

You know there is only one way this will end.

(Answers to "it hurts")

[yayakoishii]

Type | Sanji x Reader

Fandom: One Piece

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Genre: Angst with Happy Ending

Warning(s): Alcohol consumption, drunken confessions

Inspired by: Your Type by Carly Rae Jepsen

Summary: You know you're not Sanji's type. Yet you also can't bring yourself to get over him. Consoling yourself with alcohol doesn't go as planned...

A/n: I'm done with Sanji fics, I say. Then I proceed to write a Sanji fic because I'm so in love with this boy it's ridiculous. Apparently all it takes is one reminder of why I love him and I'm a puddle for him again. Probably why a lot of my fics have so many compliments for him. I always want him to know how amazing he is hahaha~

also available on ao3!

The big bonfire had plunged everyone in a golden and orange hue, the warmth in the atmosphere lingering from the aftermath of another island successfully saved (and destroyed) by the Straw Hat crew. In one corner, Sanji was flirting with some girls, who were looking at him shyly and hanging on with great interest.

Somehow, it didn't feel as good as always. The blonde chef found his mind instead conjuring up your sweet smile and a giggle. Flirting with you was different. Somehow, it was the only time he felt giddy now-a-days. It was weird, but Sanji wasn't an idiot to not understand what it meant.

He knew he was falling for you and yet, he was also aware that his heart had chosen an impossible target. You were the most kind, generous and sweet person he had ever come across– and there was no way you would ever look at him as a potential partner. Sanji knew that, his brain knew that, but his heart was adamant. It has chosen and it refused to let go.

Giving up to its whims again, the chef excused himself from the ladies, who looked disappointed and tried to make him stay but he gently refused by giving some excuse and a compliment. Feeling eyes on him, Sanji looked around to find you shooting him a glare. It startled him, especially when he noticed the glass of alcohol in your hand.

You hated the bitter taste of alcohol. You never drank it and always refused it so what could have made you drink today? Sanji couldn't understand but he found his feet making way towards you the moment you swayed where you sat. His hands found purchase upon your shoulders when he was close enough and he steadied you such that you were leaning against his stomach.

You inhaled deeply, almost like you were taking in Sanji's scent, and it made a shiver run down his back.

"Sanji…" Your voice was a mere whisper in the din of the party but somehow, it reached Sanji's ears. "Take me home."

Home meant your room in the Thousand Sunny, a place Sanji had never stepped foot in. He had, at times, escorted you to the door but never went in and you had never offered either– it seemed like he would intrude on your personal space if he ever asked.

"Of course," he said quietly, carefully helping you to stand up. You never drank, but now that you had, Sanji wasn't sure if you had drunk too much or if you were a lightweight because you nearly collapsed again, giggles bubbling up your lips.

"My legs feel like jelly," you slurred towards the end, putting all your weight on Sanji, who easily held you up as you tried to straighten up. "Jelly… Milk pudding… ah, your milk pudding the other night was so good, Sanji."

"I'm glad to hear that, sweetheart," he patiently let you struggle for a while before you gave up and looked at him with tears in your eyes. Your mood swings were extreme when you got drunk, apparently. "How about I carry you back, my love?"

"Would you?" You peered up at him through your wet eyelashes and Sanji wanted to kiss your tears away. Even while crying, you were somehow the most beautiful sight with your adorable red nose, the flush of alcohol making your ears and neck and cheeks warm, droplets sticking to your eyelashes.

Without a word, he picked you up like you weighed nothing in a princess carry, and you squeaked at the sudden dizziness. Your arms automatically came to circle around his neck and Sanji hoped that you wouldn't be able to hear his heart hammering at such a close distance. You were pressed against him, and he could feel you– it was too much for his heart and he really didn't want to let you know how much of a big fat crush he had on you, lest it embarrassed him in front of you.

To you, he always wanted to appear like a cool, suave and charming guy. And yet, when you were around, he always ended up fumbling or stuttering or messing things up. The effect you had on him drove him crazy.

"You're so cool," you murmured, your lips tickling his collarbone from where they were pressed. "Your hands are always cold, did you know that, Sanji?"

"Yes," the chef smiled to himself, watching you draw hearts with your finger on his shirt. You were pouting again. "Is everything alright, love?"

"Mm?" You looked up at him, eyes wide and glossy.

"You never drink," Sanji gestured his head back towards the party, which was now quite a distance away that the noise had dwindled down. In the silence of the night, the moment felt all too personal and intimate. "Did something happen?"

"I got tired," you whispered, pausing from drawing hearts. You looked away, warm tears running down your cheeks. "It's been a bit hard these days. Love is hard, Sanji."

Sanji's heart skipped a beat at the last sentence. You were in love?

"I know I shouldn't," you continued on, no longer looking at him but at the starry sky above you, "that my feelings will just ruin everything. I know I'm not his type, and I know he will never look at me the way I want him to. I know he will only ever see me as a friend at most but God, if I just didn't love him as much I do. I want to do so many things with him, for him, to him– I want to be by his side and love him."

"He is a very lucky man," Sanji's mouth felt dry as he spoke. The food he had eaten suddenly seemed to want to come out the way it had come in and Sanji was sure that the only reason he hadn't puked yet was because you were in his arms. You, who were in love with some other man. Probably someone from the crew. (Was it Zoro? Sanji never actually hated the guy, despite his claims, but he felt like he really might resent him a little if the mosshead was the one receiving your affections.)

"Is he?" Your voice wavered. "He won't ever look at me that way. It kills me when I see him with other girls because I know he will never see me beyond a comrade because that's just how it is. I'm not, I'm not the type of girl he would fall for."

"He must be blind then," Sanji said loudly. You had reached the Sunny and got onto the deck, but he simultaneously wanted this conversation to end and not end. Who was it you liked? Zoro didn't flirt. Was it Ussop? He sometimes fooled around. "To not notice you, to not, to not realise your value." To not realise that he was a lucky bastard who got your love when Sanji would do anything for it. Anything. "W- Who…"

Sanji swallowed the lump in his throat before trying again.

"Who is he?"

You didn't answer for a few seconds. He tried to gauge out your reaction and found that you looked angry. Your mood swings were really extreme.

"I hate you," you hit Sanji's chest without any real power in it. The words were like a slap to Sanji, who looked at you heart-broken. You were angry, but you were still crying. "I wish I could mean that. I wish I could look at you and not constantly feel so in love with you. I wish you were mean or horrible or a jerk so I could get over you but you're, you're kind. You're sweet. You treat me like I'm the most precious and important person to grace the earth. You comfort me and you hold me and you flirt but never force anything on me. You're a gentleman, you're caring and I see you. I see who you are and I fall in love. I'm sorry, Sanji, I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for ruining everything, for taking advantage of your kindness, but I can't make it stop. I can't–"

You sucked in a deep breath, scratching at Sanji to let him let you down. The chef did so, too shocked to say or do anything else.

"I can't look at you and not love you, Sanji," you whispered, eyes reflecting a broken and sad look. "I'm sorry I love you."

For a few seconds he didn't know what to say, brain trying to catch up with everything you had said. Him. You loved him. Not someone else, him.

You seemed to take his silence as your answer and turned around to leave but Sanji panicked and tugged at your hand, making you bump into his chest. His hands came around you in a circle, holding you with a desperation he didn't know he had in him.

"Don't be," he said breathlessly, feeling winded from the rush of his own feelings and thoughts. "Don't be sorry for making my dream come true, not when all I have wanted is for you to love me back. And don't be sorry for entrusting your heart to me. I swear, sweetheart, if you would let me, I'll take so good care of it. I'll never let you regret it. So please, give me your heart. Because I already gave you mine without either of us knowing."

You chuckled, the daze of having your love returned making everything feel unreal. You turned around and got on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss against his lips.

"Silly boy, it was always yours to begin with."

Sanji's heart was still hammering as he looked at you giving him a sweet smile and pulling him into a hug. You stayed like that for a few minutes, just the two of you under the stars on an empty ship, swaying lightly to inaudible music. A few moments passed before Sanji realised that your breath was evened out– you had fallen asleep in his arms.

That made him laugh, looking at your peaceful and smiling face burrowed in his chest, right next to his heart. Remembering what you had said before, Sanji carefully tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, and pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Then silly girl, you should know you were always my exact type, to begin with."

°•❀•°

Taglist:

@phantasmagoricalzenith | @secretlife028 | @100520s | @toertchen | @suga-tofu | @theluckyplaces | @luvfzw | @katiemrty | @writingmysanity | @akaashi-todorki

all likes, comments, reblogs are appreciated ♡

[arthursfuckinghat]

You guys I don't think I will ever ever get over how breathtakingly fantastic the whole world of rdr2 is webbed together.

From the very beginning of the game to the very end, from starting in the mountains and ending on one, from the game holding your hand as you navigate this harsh word to the game letting you go as you explore this equally beautiful world around you.

From the specific placement of cheat codes to the foreshadowing in the story, to the intricate missable details to the memorable moments of late night playing that you'll never forget.

From the side missions with characters that reflect what life could have been, to collecting bones or trinkets scattered all over the map for you to discover.

Fom the rewards and the punishments for your actions, to the love and grief you feel for those part of this huge story.

"To call it not only one of the best games of this generation, but simply one of the greatest games ever made, wouldn’t be an exaggeration in the slightest."

[deanpinterester]

hello! i haven't seen anyone on my dash talk about Lebanon yet so i thought i'd bring it up in case there are those who don't know:

as of Sept 24th, more than 500 are killed and hundreds more are injured from airstrikes and bombings (CTV article linked here for further reading).

no doubt more info on how to help will come out (or probably already have) but for starters i've donated to Doctors Without Borders / Medicins Sans Frontieres (Canadian website linked but they're available in other countries as well) and hopefully anyone who is able can donate too.

[vaguely-concerned]

the fact that they've been blindly deceived

by those who preach, and pray and teach...

A Garashir thing I've been messing around with on and off for a while, featuring lyrics from the song 'Lion's Roar' by First Aid Kit! That song gives me such big post-war Cardassia Garashir feelings, they could trade off singing parts of it to each other and it would fit perfectly.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

thinking about how mulder loves to get scully a gift, usually terribly heartfelt, even if disguised as something flippant:

the superbowl vhs tape he brings her when she wakes up from her coma in one breath (and her deadpan "i knew there was a reason to live")

tickets for a football game to watch together in irresistible

bringing her flowers to the hospital in memento mori (he lies, saying he stole them from a guy with broken legs to make her laugh)

the birthday keychain in tempus fugit (and when she finds a meaning to it, he claims "i just thought it was a pretty cool keychain")

that is a man who is always thinking about her.