#wanted to try something out

[slime-sandwhich-nom]

My son was never a talkative person, he preferred using noises to get his thoughts through.

Typical of a cat, I'm sure. I am one!

Never understood why, maybe because I never got the chance to use that technique (since my parents wanted me to know the entire English vocabulary at four years old.) but I never put too much thought into it.

Until one day he came up to me, right after he woke up, hugged me and stared at me.

I thought he'd slow blink, usually he does that instead of a "I love you", maybe he's hungry, or just wants me to pick him up, but he just stared.

I didn't get it.

Until he said his first words, ever. "I love you mummy." Those were his first words.

He knew how to speak, at least we assumed, he just never did. And the first thing he says is that.

Then just walked away, walked away and went to get ready for the day and play with his many toys.

Like if he didn't just say an entire phrase.

it was the first time someone told me they loved me aside from Richard. Not even my parents ever said that.

My son's first words, and they were just there to tell me he loved me.

I think I spent the next hour or two crying about it.

[elephantlovemedleys]

She was beloved by every- one—from the mightiest of diplomats to the lowliest of subjects. During her 17 years as queen, Elizabeth of York was exactly the consort needed by England to help end the ugly, internecine Wars of the Roses. Sometimes, a gracious personality far outweighs the power of the potentate. Elizabeth of York was such a queen. ⎯ Elizabeth of York: Queenship and Power, Arlene Okerlund

[canetteto]

Dazai

[corisandevontruckle]

Chapter One: Tick

Synopsis: Eventually, everyone will learn to understand that everything will one day change. It won’t happen quickly, no matter how much you wish it does. It only happens

Word Count (in this excerpt): 504

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Rain splattered the window and broke into lacquered pearls, rolling down and gracefully leaving tracks. I tapped the windowpane absentmindedly, as the mist of my breath thickly coated the glass. Fortunately, enough for us, the shower season started. It was earlier than expected as it would have usually shown signs during early March, but we were lucky, nonetheless.

We were driving through a bushy grove, a background of vivid green leaves and lucid entanglements of wildlife. I saw a red fox near the side of the road, peering out from a log taken over by plants and various species of mushrooms. I don’t normally see animals come out and, like the shower season, they never stay for long. I liked the woodlands, though, as it was one of the few green, non-artificial things I was privileged enough to see. When we lived in the city— which was a large chunk of my life, maybe six years— I couldn’t see anything as green. I mean, I did, but it just wasn’t as… you know, vibrant. It was kind of dull and not as deep nor as flush or as real.

Back then, everything was glass and metal, and the colors came in sterile bursts—neon signs, the glaring light of ads on every corner, and the same calculated greens planted in pots along the sidewalks, as if to remind us that we were connected to the earth. But the earth was something we only managed, never truly lived with. I remember the artificial trees outside the tower blocks, their branches twisted in perfect symmetry, so neat they could have been made by a machine. The city's air was so thick with filtered oxygen and chemical perfumes that you couldn’t really smell the rain, or the earth, or the grass.

Clean, controlled, efficient.

But here, the air is different. It’s heavier, filled with the scent of wet soil and decaying leaves. It smells real, in a way that the city never did. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. The mornings are colder here, and the sun— when it shows— seems to shine with more weight, like it has to fight through the clouds. It’s the kind of sunlight you don’t get in the city, where even the sun feels artificial. It was like there was a roof over the Earth and the hole was the only source of light in all areas of darkness.

The car jolted as we hit a bump, and I instinctively gripped the door. I turned to glance at my mother, who was driving in silence, her knuckles tight on the steering wheel. She wasn’t one to talk much, not anymore. It wasn’t like she didn’t care— she had just learned to keep most things inside.

I wondered if she ever missed it. The city, I mean. The life we left behind. It was hard for me to imagine, now that I had experienced this other world. The peace of it. The natural chaos.

The thought crossed my mind, fleeting but sharp: what would I have been doing right now, if we were still there? Still living the way we had before everything changed? Would I still keep living?

But that question, like most others, had no answer. Not yet.

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[gibbearish]

love when ppl defend the aggressive monetization of the internet with "what, do you just expect it to be free and them not make a profit???" like. yeah that would be really nice actually i would love that:)! thanks for asking

[luwha]

Not telling y'all that you should be able to identify AI slop (but it is a valuable skill, you totes should), but if you're to be accusing artists of being AI left and right at least go and do your homework, or at least do the bare minimum and use AI identification tools like Hive Moderation, so you 1- don't ruin someone's lifehood 2- don't make a clown out of yourself maybe

Like, i get it, AI slop and "AI artists" pretending to be genuine is getting harder and harder to identify, but just accusing someone out of the blue and calling it a day doesn't make it any better.

The AI clowns shifted to styles that have less "tells" and the AI arts are becoming better. Yeah, it sucks ass.

They're also integrating them with memes, so you chuckle and share, like those knights with pink backgrounds, some cool frog and a funny one liner, so you get used to their aesthetic.

This is an art from the new coming set Final Fantasy for MtG. This is someone on Reddit accusing someone of using AI. From what i can tell, and i fucking hate AI, there is NO AI used on this image.

As far as i can tell and as far as any tool i've used, the Artist didn't use AI. which leads to the next one:

they accused the artist of this one of using Ai. the name of this artist is Nestor Ossandon.

He as already been FALSELY ACCUSED of using AI, because he drew a HAND THAT LOOKED A LITTLE WEIRD, which caused a statement from D&D Beyond, confirming that no AI has been used.

Not to repeat mysef, they're accusing the art above, that is by Nestor, to have used Ai.

REAL artists are not machines. And just like the AI slop, we are not perfect and we make mistakes. The hands we draw have wonky fingers sometimes. The folds we draw are weird. But we are REAL. We are real people. And hey, some of our "mistakes" sometimes are CHOICES. Artistic choices are a thing yo.

If you're to accuse someone of using Ai, i know it's getting hard to identify. But come on. At least do your due diligence.

[salamispots]

when your dog starts vibrating because treat

[lil-lemon-snails]

sometimes you just need to hear it v some stills below the cut v

[kinou]

early spring, back at the 41st

[paintedcrows]

It is imperative to me that Bill and Stan do torrid Duchess Approves roleplay and argue about character motivations

[isjasz]

what you see is the void beyond

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Just your average male living space.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[morganbritton132]

Fic where Dustin recruits Eddie to help him get his brother a girlfriend because, “It’s getting kinda sad. He keeps going on a these dates when he’s obviously in love with his best friend. He just needs to see it.”

Eddie’s got literally nothing else to do so he says yes and then immediately gets hit in the face with:

(1) Dustin’s brother is Steve Harrington, same guy Eddie’s had a crush on since the dawn of time.

And

(2) Dustin is trying to set Steve up with an obvious lesbian.

Eddie takes all this information in and decides that it’s going to be hilarious so, “Yeah, I’m in. What do you have planned?”

[bootpoot]

trying smth out

[westrnbound]

coyote fur study

[inkskinned]

we were sitting on the floor and i was cutting out tiny pictures to make a collage for a friend's birthday. you were on your phone and you laughed about something, and i was still in love with you then, so i asked what had you giggling.

"sorry. i was just..." you took a moment and went back to texting. "i was telling someone about how you're afraid of the dark."

i'm afraid of the dark because something bad happened. "oh." i felt a little slinky of shame crawl down my throat.

you glanced up, and maybe it showed on my face, because you rolled your eyes and held the phone to the side casually so i could see the group chat. "what? was it a secret?"

i looked down to the scissors in my hand. "i just..." no, it's not a secret. it just felt like something private, something serious. saying why would you tell someone that just feels like an accusation. it's unfair. i honestly am not even ashamed of it, it's just a fact about my person that i don't usually share.

what a strange experience. is this a human thing or a generational thing? for our grandparents: did they need to worry about how quickly someone can just... share your personal information? again, i didn't even really have a true objection. what could i say? i want any person in my life to feel they can be honest with their friends. it's not like i said don't tell anyone this.

i cut out another letter to complete the rainbow happy birthday, started hunting for the exclamation mark. i heard you sigh dramatically.

"don't make a big deal about this," you said.

this entire conversation was a pattern for us, and this was when we got to my least favorite part of the pattern. i would get my feelings hurt in some oblique not-technically-terrible way, and then it would be making a big deal about something. you'd get frustrated for me for being soft, but i was born soft. you knew i was soft when you pierced me. it's one of the things that made controlling me so easy.

"i'm not," i felt my voice crack. the question came without my wanting. "why are you guys talking about me?" and why are you saying that thing? why not like - i'm telling them how you're generous and kind and pretty.

you let out this low, tragic groan. "oh my god." you tossed the phone away from your body. "there, see? i just won't talk to them if you don't like it."

the rest of the hour went the way it always went, between us: i said i don't actually mind if you talk to your friends but -, you found a way to call my minor expression of discomfort "being dramatic." you got upset that i had been offended. i ended up apologizing, even though i hadn't actually done anything.

afterwards, you picked up the phone again. after texting for a little bit, you snorted. "okay," you said, "but it is kind of funny you're afraid of the dark. i mean, when you think about it."