#whatever gets the ball rolling

[supermaliciousmoi]

Both kids' books and adults' books can be fun, you just have to know where to look

[thesaltyace]

Y'all I did NOT know this about Harris, and I think it's really critical that we all listen and understand as we approach this election. Video at the end.

This creator's video describes how progressive Harris was as a prosecutor -- actively going against the grain to the point she was accused of being soft on crime. Accused of being a social worker, not a prosecutor. She calls it being smart on crime. She's pushing for systemic changes to give real pathways to reintegrate incarcerated folks back into society and prevent their past from continuing to haunt them moving forward.

"Kamala's a cop" is a catchy dismissive response usually used to shut down conversation rather than add nuance. But this kind of reform is ESSENTIAL to work towards a present and future that treats incarcerated people with value.

I fell for it in 2020 and have thought "Kamala's a cop" without further inspection since - and I'm sobered by the realization that (you guessed it!) I'm not immune to propaganda.

A better system only follows liberal democracy, because library democracy allows for exploration of better systems. If authoritarianism takes hold, it will not allow for the exploration of better systems. We will have to fight tooth and nail just to try to get back to liberal democracy, and I suspect we could not achieve it in our lifetimes.

Harris isn't perfect. But she's a hell of a lot better than many leftists have led me to believe. Don't let perfection be the enemy of good. Don't let perfection be the enemy of harm reduction.

We can either help elect Trump and usher in authoritarian fascism, or we can help defeat him and pull things back in the direction we want to go. Not liking the choices doesn't absolve you from participating and doing the most good you can with the options available.

I'll link the original video in the replies. The original video has captions if you need them.

[jesterspecter]

[mickedy]

yaaay update finally :p another slow one. not sure why this one took so long, it looks sort of ugly but i dont feel like working on it anymore. luckily the next one will be more eventful so i'll probably get on it sooner

if youve noticed, alice and julius have not been referred to by name in this comic. in vantablank, theyre just "the director" and "the assistant". i don't want to confuse anyone, so im just prefacing now that they will be called this for the entire duration of the comic.

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[mabledersteen]

current clor pecil wimps

[aeolianblues]

pop stars aren't born in the 70s anymore like they used to be. These days they're born in a year uncomfortably close to my own which makes me clutch my chest and cry out

[eternadreeblissa]

Ok but the potential for Silent Prince Link. In that roleswap or so AU in BOTW

Listen, imagine him, the descendant of Hylia, trying to achieve his sealing powers but his prayers keep falling on deaf ears. The suffering he has to endure with a strict parent who doesnt give him much freedom, failing expectations so exceptionally well he beats himself up silently and secretly resents Hylia. We all know that but imagine inserting darling for a sec: he meets this person, who's been nothing but kind to him. They don't berate him or scold him, they don't expect much from him and wants nothing more but for him to be happy and given relief from his duties. His heart has never been touched and caressed so gently like soul, so he just, follows darling around, maybe roping them in strolls somewhere outside the kingdom. He takes every excuse to spend time with you, including skipping his training, or, maybe he has you with him instead of Zelda guarding him.

Now, his relationship with Zelda, isn't the greatest. One of the people who speaks their minds aloud to him (AKA near outright berating). I imagine this Zelda thinks he has it easy, or that maybe he's so privileged that he can do whatever he wants. Whatever it is she just got the wrong idea abt him. She doesn't like the fact she has to babysit him or smth guarding him; the guy avoids her like a plague anyway! (Asides from escorting him to the shrines and all. But on Link's side, he just didn't want to handle Zelda's criticism on him on top of his own parent's disappointment) she was living her best life being herself bonding with her mom, but she had to be taken away bcs she had the whole knight lineage thing under her name.

Anyway meeting darling was a breath of fresh air to him. I imagine he thinks of them as an escape: similar to how people escape reality. He spends nearly every waking moment with them, or at least as much as time and duties can allow. He never met someone who saw him for himself: as Link. Not the prince, not the descendant of Hylia. Just... Link. And she loved and cared for him like a real person.

Zelda, didn't exactly like this. Mostly bcs asides from already getting in trouble for not having Link in her vision as part of her job, if she lets you go on you might as well steal the prince away from Hyrule the more he skips duties and she might even be replaced. And while that would be awesome she'll be in even more trouble with the king or queen, AKA: Link's parent. She couldnt go back to the life she once had, not when it was taken from her and robbed of her childhood and all...

Yes, you and Link have to avoid Zelda a lot. He's actually pretty good at hiding. While he gets heavily lectured by his own personal guard its all worth it spending time with you.

But then... Hylia happened.

Why now, of all times, did his powers awaken and why of all people, did it have to be you? You were the real light of his life, in a world of darkness and oppression. The only one who gave him hope and more to live for than just his duties. Why now, when he was about to confess and run away with you, and he had you in his arms, did suddenly his own voice betray him? He wasn't himself— no, it wasn't him speaking AT ALL. THIS IS A DIFFERENT PERSON TALKING THROUGH HIM PLEASE STOP.

But he was helpless, helpless as his words were twisted to hurt you: no you weren't useless to him, you weren't in the way! You were everything he needed in life— no you were his life! He needed you! He truly loved you please! But your tears fell from his eyes, and just as he thought it was over, his hands glowed gold, he panicked, not understanding what's going on, but his hands were raised towards you, and his voice chanted; and in a bright flash, you were gone.

No. No... NO!

He fell to the ground. His life just came crashing down. Any light and joy and hope, all the good things he had in life, were taken with you as you were sealed— no, vanquished by his own hands. (he couldn't bear the thought he truly did seal you away from Hyrule forever)

It... It wasn't him. No it wasn't...

That light. That golden light. The one that his hands were forcibly used against you. There's only one person who he knows could do that to you: Hylia.

If he only disliked Hylia for putting him all through this not answering his call before, then he certainly hates her with every fibre of his being for making him lose you.

(Under the cut if yall are interested in how my OC Ava handles this! And it has some more details on how things happened—)

When she met silent prince link, he was out hiding from Zelda again and escaping from his well, life, while Ava stumbled into his world separated from the chain.

I imagine, she started off being all nice and everything to him. While Link is confused cuz this gal thinks he's the hero? Anyway, they started off a bit smooth at least and this first meeting alone had him enjoy her company, and wishes to see her more.

So they meet up more and more. Link clarified he wasn't the hero, or heroine in this matter, but didn't reveal he was the prince either. All he said to her was that, he was just Link, a nobody. And he wants to know more about her. Ava respected that, and they talked and all, but at some point Zelda found out abt her and shooed her off. (Link has never disliked Zelda more than he has now, astonishing really, currently nearly up with his resentment for Hylia)

Thank goodness he found her in some of the usual spots she visited. It was a good thing she told him about it too (if she hadn't he'd scour the entirety of Hyrule just to find her—) he tells her not to be discouraged to continue meeting up with him. He truly did enjoy his time together with her, and he doesnt like Zelda or pretty much all of Hyrule kingdom in general, sometimes including his own parent, and especially Hylia. He then spills his past to her, leaving his whole heart bare to her being.

Ava, in processing this, is then a little conflicted: His story is just like Wild's except... he's in flora's position? Wherever she is, she's somewhere very, very far. History can't be turned upside its head and forget everything and have... This. But how did it happen? Asides her thoughts, Ava understood, and would be more than happy to be there for him. Link couldn't be any more happier.

...There's just one problem: Hylia. She isn't sure how... They could continue on for long. She tells his she wants to stay a bit and help him out but, Hylia, as far as shes known that goddess, meddled a lot with her life. Often using Zelda to seal her away every time (sometimes she beats the Zeldas to it, by going back home on her own. Either the Zeldas sealed her away willingly, or forcibly, as there are some who didn't actually mean to do anything. Regardless, she was often in all sorts of troubles of messes because of her. All of this lore bit abt her can be explained for another day jsufbfhhb). She tells him Hylia doesn't like her, and if he's a descendant as he actually says he is, then she might.. use him against her.

Hearing all this, Link was furious. His resentment for that white goddess just increased a ton. He told her he won't let it happen. No matter what. He promises. Ava could only hope that promise can still hold true even with Hylia looming...

So they spent more time together, and they bonded a lot. But the King/Queen heard Link hasn't been doing his duty, (as if he hasn't already been slacking off in their eyes) so Ava didn't see Link for a few days and worried about him. The next time Ava saw a glimpse of him, he was out with Zelda, who seemed more of a hawk than she was before, heading out for training and everything.

It was quite horrid for Link :'(( so when he got back to her, he was latching onto her like a koala, wanting her attention on him and only him. If anyone tried to take her eyes away from him he glares and it's the most chilliest thing anyone has ever seen, nor did they even know Link was capable with that kind of expression! (Considering his lack thereof, in the public eye). Ava had to distract him and tell him to stop or at least, lessen that just a bit, as she takes him away somewhere more isolated where nobody will, hopefully get hurt. (He looks like he's just one breath away from hurling a book at someone's face—)

Anyway, Link wanted to catch back on lost time spent being away from her. And they did that! But again... Hylia happened.

After coming back to train once again or so, Link felt different. A bad different. He feels like he wanted to wash himself off from this feeling all over his body. He probs bathed like 3 times but, it didn't get rid of it. Probably bcs he despises Hylia a lot now and being around her mere statues or stuff just sickens him. He hopes all of that will be forgotten or washed away around Ava's presence but haha it couldn't be any more worse :'))) just like time and time again, Hylia used Link, awakening his powers and sealed her away.

...In the end, she didn't learn her lesson did she? Try as she might, leaving before she was sealed off from any of Hylia's vessels but, here she is. She stayed too long. She got attached again. She got both of them attached again and now, they're both going to be hurt, wounded from this. It's her fault she let this happen. She could only hug him in tears, trying to be there for him and comfort even though he spoke piercing words and trying to get her off from him. But deep down, this wasn't him. It was Hylia. Link always told her he loved her company and wanted nothing more but for her to stay. But just like before, with every link she met, no matter what she gets separated every. Single. Time.

So before she completely vanishes into the light and she burns in pain from its power, she could only tell Link, through her tears, she'll come back again. Just like before, as well. Because even though despite the fact she will always end up leaving or not staying for as long as she wanted, even though both her world and his wanted them apart, they'll just meet each other, again and again. In another time, or a different era, maybe a whole other world even. It cannot be helped, they were both connected. Maybe in his case, the hero's spirit didnt call her like it did with the others, simply because he doesn't have it, being Hylia's descendant. But somehow, even without it, she was here, met Link again, and similar scenarios were played. It's almost like... They truly were soulmates weren't they?

Because of that, she assures him: she'll come back, as a goddess. She'll train more, work harder, learn, just so she can stand against the selfish divine who kept meddling with their lives. She'll be there for him, and he won't have to suffer for so long in silence, but for now... It's farewell, until they meet again.

It was the one hope Link clung onto for dear life, as everything else in his world faded from mind.

[itsalwaysdark]

i like overthink everything now it makes me feel so dumb. i used 2 be able to just talk 2 ppl but nowadays every single thing im like Is that actually going to make them hate me. Yes probably. and then i just dont respond which makes ppl hate me. this is how it is

[so-i-macedup-abit]

apologies to the inbox on the fil ask blog and mine

[joelletwo]

giving up on going to bed proper tonight i am Not getting everything i need to do done in forty minutes [adjusted for time it took to write this post. 30 minutes]

[palms-upturned]

.

[starlooove]

Anyways nothing in the show made me cry till seeing ekko and Mel sitting there alone and it doesn’t even have to do with powder and Jayce it’s the fact that they have to get up the next day its exhausting like there’s so much work to do.

[pwesident]

once i get car going (soon) n job going after that think im gonna save up funds n go to school for i think two years to be an x-ray tech, two friends say its decent work n pay. if i can do that then that’ll be a solid financial base to go back to school Again for psych if I still want to pursue that atp

[antebellumite]

douglas, breckenridge, and atchinson pulling in front of jeff davis's flat on a sunday: 'get in loser we're going to force the president to support the kansas nebraska act'.

[ifyourereadingthisblinktwice]

i need to stop forgetting things exist the fucking second they leave my field of vision. why is is impossible for two things to occupy my mind at once especially when im tired. like. i feel like a sim. i feel like actions are being canceled and i just. move on. and completely forget what i was doing moments before. i fucking hate it

[antigoneikk]

do i dare//disturb the universe?

chapter 1/2/3/4

pairing: Eugene Sledge/John “Bucky” Egan

tags: crossover, post-war AU

summary: Eugene Sledge and John Egan are both adrift in the wake of the War. They find each other in a small bar in a small corner of Chinatown. And the rest, as they say, is history.

(tw: brief attempted SA)

“At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;

Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,

But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,

Where past and future are gathered.”

…

“Here is a place of disaffection

Time before and time after

In a dim light”

-TS Eliot, Burnt Norton

——————————————————————

All night he thinks about it. John’s smile. He lies in bed thumbing through Four Quartets, trying to concentrate on the page. He can’t for the life of him get past the line, “At the still point of the turning world.” He feels stupid. Around one in the morning he stops thinking at all. Stares at a crack in the wall.

It feels alien to be anything resembling happy. But he is. He feels less lonely, which makes absolutely no sense. He doesn’t know anything about John. He knows he was an officer. He knows he likes jazz. He knows he likes to hear himself talk. The type of information you learn about someone over a dinner party. Not anything you could base a real connection off of. Not like he had with Merriell.

Except that’s not true. He hadn’t really known Merriell any better than he knows John now. Loving someone and knowing them are two very different things. Try as he might never could break through. Walls on top of walls. Every time he got close he was shut out into the cold, Snafu’s mask of cold cruelty coming back with vengeance.

This feels different. John is nothing like Merriell. John’s not like anyone he’s ever met. He can’t figure out why that is. Maybe it’s the way he seems a bit too large for life. Always looking like he’s trying to crawl out of his own skin. Like he might shoot up ten feet tall and swallow up the whole room. Trying to touch something outside of himself that’s real. Something that reminds him he, himself, is real. Eugene understands the feeling. Seeing it reflected back on the face of another patches over that deep dark hole in his chest that started expanding ever since he first fired his first 60mm mortar.

I’m projecting, he thinks. But the feeling persists. He hears a baby cry next door and falls asleep with a pillow crushing his head into the mattress. He thinks about John’s smile and makes everything else go away.

It takes two weeks for them to meet again.

Eugene spends the days in between loitering around Central Park. He gets up every morning, with a birding manual he picked up at the library and notes every new species he finds in his small moleskin notebook. At first it isn’t about avoidance. Not for that first day at least.

On the first day he writes names down. Mourning Dove. Song Sparrow. Northern Cardinal. Blackpoll Warbler. The thought that he used to hunt these types of creatures for sport fills him with unease, a probing guilt he can’t shake even as their beauty overwhelms him. He thinks again of Four Quartets.

“Here is a place of disaffection.”

He thinks of finding an empty tent, his book of poetry left behind. Sid had thrown it away. Thrown it all away. He remembers how Sid’s friend had ribbed him for carrying a Bible. He remembers asking the man, Lucky maybe, what he believed in.

“I believe in ammunition.”

Two and a half years later the words still stick with him. Lucky, Leckie, had been shipped off at Pelelieu. Was home now, last he heard from Sid. Probably didn’t remember Eugene at all. And yet the words stuck with him through two campaigns, through three countries. Two continents. The truth of them.

Somewhere when the days melted into weeks and he stopped caring about eating with dirty hands. Somewhere around there the law of survival had become his new God. And the law of survival demanded sacrifice at its altar. It demanded violence from its people, it demanded priests of ammunition.

All these beautiful birds, all these fine feathered things. And here he was lumbering amongst them out of sight, a creature of violence. A thing that is tied in horrible knots between two wavering faiths. A thing who hates himself for it.

Here is a place of disaffection. Here.

He has killed birds and now loves them, eats besides a Mourning Dove, tossing it little pieces of sourdough. Thinks. I have loved man and I killed him too. And I enjoyed it.

John flew a plane. That he knows. It’s not the same. Killing from afar and not knowing. Different from watching the life leave another’s eyes. And wanting more. Feeling that deep wrath take hold of you. John, for all his great size and large smile and air of danger is just like the rest of them, the doves that fly about his head heedless to the fact that they are in the company of a hunter. That he could snap their neck in an instant. With complete and utter disregard for their right to life. It’s better for everybody if he stays away. That way he won’t get hurt. Eugene lies down amongst the sound of birdsong, and rustling leaves.

And so; for the next two weeks, he dedicates himself to the careful art of avoidance.

————————————————————

John is admittedly very, very drunk. He didn’t mean to be. It just happened. The night had started at the pictures. But he started to itch. Needed to get out. Halfway through Gene Tierney crying to the ghost of a dead Sea Captain he was legging it to the bar. It had been two weeks since he had seen Eugene. He had tried to find him, but the kid was damned slippery. Like a cat burglar. Turned sideways and just disappeared into the shadows. Couldn’t spot him at Church or at the Grocer’s or even on the block outside their buildings.

As shameful as it was to admit. John didn’t have many people to talk to these days. Not any who would want to talk to him. Gale had promised him. In the Stalag. That he would be worth knowing. That someone would think he was worth knowing, the version of himself he had deteriorated into. But that was a lie. A sick of a lie as any Buck had told him. No one wanted to know the new John. Not even John himself. If he could run out of himself into the street. Find a new face a new set of skin to step into. Someone, anyone else. But he was trapped.

And then came the disgust. Self-pity was the recourse of the cowardly. It wasn’t for soldiers. It wasn’t for men who had led others into battle and survived to tell the tale. His father never acted with self-pity. No, he got up and he shut his trap and he went to work twelve hours a day without a singular complaint. He would feel sick if he could see John now. His father’s cross around his neck burns.

Instead of self-pity John got too drunk and lost his money at dice and took the long way home, down darkened alleys. Hoping for something. Maybe. Hoping for a chance to feel someone else’s skin beneath his own.

And then he heard it. Soft noise, the sound of someone speaking. A southern drawl. He picked up his pace. Something inside him recognized the voice even from blocks away. Little cat burglar wasn’t gonna slip through his fingers this time.

He rounded the corner and had to stop for a second. Eugene was there, pushed up against the wall, broken glass bottle to his neck. His lip was bloody and so was his eye. But he looked completely calm. Soft brown eyes had become a cold, dead black. Their gaze met above the assailant’s head. John could hear the man as if through water, “Fucking faggot—“

And then John was leaping forward. Grabbing the man by the back of his collar and slamming him into the ground. The action came so naturally he barely even registered he was doing it at all. He looked up, trying to assess the damage. To see how bad Eugene was hurt. But Gene wasn’t looking at him. Instead he was stepping forward, slowly. And leaning down into the shitty little punk’s face. And then he was hitting him. With those cold dead eyes not looking at anything not wanting anything in particular. Like a walking ghost he hit the man without feeling, again and again. Until a tooth came loose and hit Eugene in the face. And then John was grabbing him instead, holding his bony spine steady against his chest, wrapping his arms around his stomach as Eugene struggled to get free. Shouting out in rage, battling against him. If John were any shorter, he would have been forced to let go. Instead he held on for dear life. He held on as the robber ran out of the alleyway. As Eugene finally realized where he was and went limp. As he collapsed and took John with him. As John sat there in complete darkness, until he felt brave enough to raise a hand and drag it through Eugene’s hair, like he might have for his little sister.

Like a damn bursting Eugene began to cry. John let him have his privacy. Was going to. But then Eugene grabbed onto him. And it had been so long since anyone wanted to hold him, since a person had touched him with anything but violence in mind, that he found himself grabbing back. Pulling Eugene into his lap and running his hand again through dark red hair.

He didn’t have anything to say. He was never good at comforting people. His mother would say it was one of his worst habits. Instead of speaking they sat there and he imagined the swing outside his childhood home to pass the time.

How he would sit there waiting for his father every day after work. Time passed slow back then. There was the worry of course that if John didn’t wait then his dad wouldn’t come home at all. But it was an easy worry. The worry any child might have. And for a while there his dad did come home every day. And the relief of it all, of not being left behind, left him smiling for hours. The two of them would swing back and forth, back and forth, watching the cows in the distance. Not speaking.

Time passed slow then. But now everything seemed to last forever. The good and the bad.

Eugene pulled away from him, hand over his face. John recognized the emotion. The shame over crying in front of a stranger was hitting him fast. He didn’t want to see Gene ashamed. Drunk and dizzy and quick he stood up and grabbed Gene with him.

“Listen, kid. I ain’t gonna make it home alone. Probably fuckin’ brain myself. Be obliged if you could, you know, help a fella out.”

Eugene dragged a bloody hand across his nose and eyes and then grew a bit colder again. Wasn’t a cruel cold feeling though. Not like before. More like the feeling of cool water from Lake Erie. Soothing. Sure of itself. Still water that you could wade in up to your waist without fear of being dragged into a riptide. Lake Erie was always John’s favorite.

“Alright.”

————————————————————

He didn’t know how he did it. But he’d got Eugene back up to his apartment. Drunken giddiness was coursing through him. He could see the kid sat on the rotting wood, next to John’s camping cot and pile of blankets, flipping through his copy of Maltese Falcon. John grabbed a passably clean glass and filled it with water.

He looked at home. If you could call a place like this a home. A cave seemed more accurate.

“You like detective stories?”

John sat the glass in front of him. Sat himself crisscross so they could really get a look at each other. Gene’s hands were bruising but it didn’t seem to bother him. His eye was swelling.

“What can I say? I’m a man of taste.”

After a silence he forced himself not to break Eugene answered.

“Thank you. I…I’m sorry.”

It didn’t seem like he had anything to be sorry for. Not really.

“Don’t be. No harm in fighting back when someone’s robbing you—“

“He wasn’t—“

“Wasn’t what?”

Eugene looked frustrated.

“He wasn’t robbing me.”

It took a second, watching the blush rise up on Eugene’s neck, to realize what he meant. Oh. Oh shit. He had thought or hoped maybe, that they were of the same sort. But not in any real way. His type were few and far between. And he was pretty shit at finding them. And none of them had ever…and then he realized what Eugene was implying.

“He. Was he hurting you?”

————————————————————

Eugene felt small, sitting on the floor, worn paperback in his hands. John was pacing, reeking of whiskey and lavender scented aftershave and cement. He had just wanted to go to a place where he could….just without worrying about being judged for it. He liked going to the queer bars. It was one of the few times he felt truly honest and at home inside his own skin. He’d gone outside for a smoke, trying to avoid this ginger asshole who kept trying to chat him up. Except that hadn’t worked out very well. Instead he ended up pinned to the wall by that same prick, screaming in his face when he wouldn’t bend over and give in like he wanted him to. He was a goddamn Marine. He wasn’t gonna let himself go down without a fight. He would have had the guy too. He knows he would have. Could have killed him if John hadn’t turned up.

John runs his hand through his hair and sits down again across from him. He grabs Eugene’s wrist, softly. It reminds him of being back in between those large wooden church doors. The touch this time is so soft he doesn’t even think to flinch.

“Are you okay?”

The fear. Being alone in an apartment with someone so much better than you in every conceivable way. Someone so beautiful. Someone you could tell should hate you for your very nature. John was a ladies man. Even if they had maybe sort of flirted one time a few weeks ago. Or he looked like one. But he didn’t seem disgusted with Eugene. He held his wrist gently. Wasn’t afraid to touch him.

“You…I don’t.”

It was hard to put into words. John shuffled closer, put his fingers to Eugene’s eye. All the air in his chest choked out. He couldn’t breathe. That line from Four Quartets. At the center point of the turning world.

“I should get you ice but I don’t have any.”

“You’re not disgusted by me?”

Eugene placed his hand above John’s wrist, lightly. He couldn’t help himself. Now they were connected. Wrist to eye to wrist and back again. Knees touching.

“It would be pretty hard to be disgusted by you when I’m the same way.”

Men like John… they weren’t like him. He didn’t get to be lucky like this.

“I’m okay.”

John didn’t believe him. That was obvious. He fussed over him the rest of the night like a mother hen. Tucked extra blankets around him and kept forcing glasses of tepid water in his hands. Cleaned off his split lip with a damp rag. Eugene had to physically hold himself back at that. Just because they were both homosexual didn’t mean John would want someone like him, anyways. He didn’t try to but he ended up falling asleep on John’s shoulder. Listening to the man read from the Maltese Falcon.

“He said: "I'm going to send you over. The chances are you'll get off with life. That means you'll be out again in twenty years. You're an angel. I'll wait for you." He cleared his throat. "If they hang you I'll always remember you….”

Words like ammunition and survival seemed so far away when you were warm, and comfortable, and you could feel another person’s stubble on your cheek scratching, the ever lively traffic outside a calming white noise.