#yes but some people don't tag /at all/

[lexosaurus]

If you're only commenting on a fic to ask for an update or worse, to be passive-aggressive about wanting an update, then please do both yourself and the writer a favor and don't comment at all.

Saying things like "Can't wait for the next update!" as part of a comment about how you enjoyed the chapter is one thing, but just going into the comments and being like "Where's the update?" or "You haven't finished writing the next chapter yet?" or something similar is not only rude, but also I ASSURE you it only serves to make the writer anxious about writing at all.

Fic writers are not content creators. We're not robots. We're real people with careers, families, and other irl responsibilities. Writing is something I do in my thirty minutes before I go to bed to wind down from the day. Whatever I want to write that evening is what ends up getting written.

So by making me anxious and putting pressure on me to update a fic, especially in that passive-aggressive way that so many people do, all you've ensured is that when I open up my folder that evening to see what I feel like writing, my eyes will completely skip over that WIP that I got the rude comment on that day because I Feel Bad about it and now I don't want to even look at it.

So please, just follow the golden rule of "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."

[starscreamingg]

Detroit Become Human and why does this game decide that the problem in society is individual people treating androids poorly because those androids are choking them out of the workforce and NOT the corporations and governments who deliberately designed the androids to do this

[bayetea]

hate when I say things like "annabeth is an arrogant know-it-all" and people respond like "yeah I can't stand her" like NO. I love her for it. wrong answer you can't sit with us anymore

[iamthemaestro]

gender rant in tags

[seaweed-water]

ok i'm working on a new story that's about to be *super* dark and i'm excited to share it but god it's going to take a while and i promised myself i'd finish my works before posting them on ao3, just in case i need to go back and ensure continuity, etc,. wow what a run-on sentence. anyway, here's wonderwall:

The room is quiet, only the ticking clock on the wall and the psychiatrist’s pen clicking over bone. Derek doesn’t want to be the one to speak first, and he shouldn’t have to, a silent stare shared between the two men in the unsettling calm of the home office. Derek mirrors the doctor, his ankle crossed over his knee, leaning back into the chair with his forearms resting in his lap.

“Have you ever had therapy before, Derek?” the doctor asks with a raised brow.

Aside from forced and entirely useless counseling sessions after the fire, Derek has steered clear of anyone who could judge him certifiable. He doesn’t need that kind of negativity in his life.

��Not really, no.”

The doctor hums with a short nod, like he understands entirely. What he understands, Derek isn’t sure. He swears on everything unholy if this shrink says, ‘and why do you think that is?’ he’s going to lose it.

“So then, what’s brought you in today?”

The unexpected response takes him off guard, his brows twitching in before he relaxes his face again. His eyes wander the room in search of an answer, observing the book-lined wall, the ambient lighting, the atrium that separates the office from the rest of the house. On the other side of it, Derek can see a giant staircase with artifacts tucked into the carved-out wall leading to the second floor.

“Don’t you feel weird having people come to your house?” Derek asks. He can’t help but wonder what other kinds of patients the doctor treats, and why he’d feel so comfortable allowing them into his home. They could have a real antisocial personality disorder.  

“I don’t mind. I have a pretty good sense of people.” The man leans in, his lips curling. “I’m always prepared.”

The doctor’s low tone sends a shiver up Derek’s spine. He swallows, his arms crossing over his middle.

“Tell me what ails you,” the psychiatrist says, pushing up his glasses with long, spindly fingers before he clicks the pen over his kneecap a final time, resting the ballpoint to paper. His amber eyes meet Derek’s gaze, so penetrating that Derek can feel the warmth of them blooming in his chest. He averts his eyes, watching the man’s hands instead.

Derek isn’t sure where to begin with such an outstanding request. He can’t give too much away, but he’s here for a reason.

Dr. Stilinski’s heady stare remains, silent as he patiently waits.

“I’m losing control again. I can’t…” Derek pauses, thinking carefully, avoiding the doctor’s gaze, “I can’t stop myself from over-working out. I start to feel… insatiable. I want more before it’s even over.”

“I see,” Dr. Stilinski says, fingers curling over the top spine of his legal pad in his lap. “You’re used to feeling in control, but lately something’s changed. Maybe… you’ve been suppressing a part of yourself, but it’s getting harder, isn’t it?”

Derek inhales, his breath hitching as he meets the doctor’s eyes again. He feels like he’s been caught somehow, without having said anything technically damning. As nervous as this makes him, Derek is undeniably intrigued.

“Yeah,” Derek admits, unsure if he should continue. The doctor stares, blinking like he’s waiting for more. “It’s never been this difficult. It feels like if I don’t keep going, I’m failing.”

“Hm,” Stilinski starts, his thumbs tapping over the spine as he reads Derek from head to toe. “You’re not alone in that feeling, Derek. A lot of people have difficult impulses they can’t control. Maybe… urges that don’t fit in the lives they want to live. But perhaps they haven’t assessed the matter from every direction.” The doctor’s foot falls to the floor as he leans in, his arms resting over his notepad. “I can help you reform your thoughts about these impulses.”

Derek feels exposed under his stare, but unable to pull away. Something is off about this doctor, something Derek can’t quite put into words. It’s as if he’s holding back, skirting around truths he’s not saying, and it only makes Derek more intrigued. He wants to uncover the layers, to dig into the secret the doctor seems to dangle just out of reach. It’s unsettling, the way it feels like Dr. Stilinski can see right through him, straight to his core.

“Did you grow up here?” Derek asks.

The doctor tilts his head, his lips twitching. “Yes.”

“So you know, then.”

“Yes,” the doctor confirms, and Derek is once again caught off by his transparent honesty, expecting him to circumvent the question and segue into Derek’s childhood instead.

The doctor drops his pen and notepad onto the coffee table between them with a smack, his elbows over his knees as his hands clasp between his spread legs. Derek is unable to pull his gaze away.

“I’d like to help you, Derek. If you want that, you must promise me one thing.”

Derek’s heart speeds up. He’s not even sure what this promise is, but he finds himself nodding, a short twitch of acknowledgment.

“Do not lie to me. I promise, in return, to grant you the same courtesy.”

Derek nods again, his mouth slightly parted. Dr. Stilinski raises an eyebrow, a silent request for an affirmative verbal answer.

It’s not like Derek can casually announce it as if surrounded by like-minded peers in a support group: “Hi, I’m Derek, and I’m a murderer.” Promises mean nothing to Derek without a foundation of trust, and that comes with time and still a sneaking sense of suspicion; though he wonders if, when the moment comes, lying will even be possible. Derek can always tell, and he suspects Dr. Stilinski can, too.

“Okay,” Derek breathes out.

This seems to please him, the corners of his mouth twitching, his deep gaze locking Derek in. “Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

There’s something about him Derek can’t quite place, an air shrouded in deliberate mystery. It’s as if he’s setting the pieces on a board for a game only known to him, his every move premeditated, a mischievous glint in his eyes as if daring Derek to join him.

As Derek stands to leave, Stilinski rises with him and reaches across the coffee table to grasp Derek’s hand in a firm grip. The doctor takes a deep breath, shoulders lifting with the inhale, an easy smile playing on his lips. "Call me Stiles."

Derek’s not quite sure what to make of their first session. That doctor could read Derek like an open book, and he wonders what else Stiles might know about him if he grew up here. The thought of not returning crosses his mind, afraid of what Stiles might uncover if they continue. But an undeniable fascination settles within him as he glances back at the contemporary house tucked away inside a cove of trees, feeling eyes on him as he departs. Despite everything, he knows he’ll be returning.

[lameotello]

I hate that we've gone from "don't like, don't read" and not caring about what fucked up shit is depicted in fan media as a standard to hypervigilance and having to mind your every word so the group you've found yourself in doesn't know you ship the Not HOA Approved Ship

[tulpar-transmissions]

i love having to pretend to hate myself. i love not being able to tell people to stop talking about me like that. i love people telling me to my face what awful things they wish would happen to me. i love sitting here and typing out my own brutal deaths because i can't tell anyone who i am. i love having to pretend because everyone sees me as subhuman. /sarc

[danwhobrowses]

My dear Critters and Callowmoores, Divergence has had its beautiful ending and thus, only the Wrap Up Party remains. The Wrap Up will officially close the book on Campaign 3 as a whole and frankly, I'm still not ready for it. If I'm honest, a lot of that unreadiness is from being nervous, because it's the last chance until the next one shot of Bell's Hells - whenever that'll be - for there to be catharsis for my beloved ship, Callowmoore.

Now, I'm not foolish enough to expect that a question or a discussion about it is guaranteed to show up - even if I do pluck up the courage to submit a question myself - and I'm not parasocially demanding that it's owed to us to be brought up either. I'm just hoping it will, but in this case 'hope' is less in the context of being confident and more in the context of being wishful - especially since even if a question is asked the answer can still risk being unsatisfying.

In the month since the finale my feelings about the ship's vague outcome hasn't really gotten better, I think LaterKaterSays said it best in their post about how we didn't get that 'shiny golden ending' - that feeling of vindication that proves that our support was not for naught, that it's real and intended and will serve as a comfort to get through the days after C3's end - but it was a little more than just that which left me a little forlorn. The finale already had us go through a lot; we had to endure Ashton dying - after it felt like everyone was finally safe - with a visibly distraught Fearne being their last embrace before their sacrifice, and then when they fell from the sky we watched Matt decide that a Nat 20 and a +1 Gust assist from Orym isn't enough for Shoebill!Fearne to catch Ashton like she wanted (but enough for Chetney at the same speed to push through a crowd and get underneath them for the Banish) and her desperate demand that the Kryn give her a beacon - all while holding Ashton's lifeless body in her arms - is brushed off without even a potential roll to try and sway the Bright Queen. Then, after Ashton comes back to life, after both of them become visibly altered in the aftermath of the god matter, and after all the other Hells and side characters get their time for their own stuff, we finally get back around to them and their last interaction's resolution is left up in the air. Every other ship gets to run, fly, and gallop off into the sunset - and I am truly happy for them, don't mistake this as me saying that they don't deserve it - and we're just left waiting, wanting, and wishing we could join them.

And then the next week is Valentine's Day.

One of the main times of the year in every fandom for a ship tag to flourish with art, writing, and overall positive content, and ours just, doesn't, not to the same extent. It feels like we're all holding our breath, holding our headcanons and creative ideas close out of fear that we'll curse or jinx it by letting it out. And I know Tal and Ashley - who I still admire greatly - didn't intend for this to be the reaction, but I think a lot of us riding into the finale were feeling hopeful, in the confident context, that things would work out and our patience would be rewarded, but then over 9 hours later, it wasn't; instead we're left reeling by a series of gut punches, nearly moments, and vagueness at the end of the tunnel.

I know that not everyone sees it this way, and there are those who are simply content or are able to lean on their other, more beloved ships for comfort - which, again, is not in any shape or form a problem or a slight if you do - but for me personally, I don't have that. This IS my number one CR ship, this is my comfort ship, and I know I made a post after the finale saying that we shouldn't sink into despair - and I do still mean every word - but as a result, this last month has been kinda rough on me emotionally. For someone who has used tumblr to do reviews and critiques, when it comes to my personal feelings I really do hate complaining - people are facing far worse problems and have far more legitimate reasons to be upset than I do after all - but I can't deny that since the finale I've felt less motivated for pretty much anything, everything just feels a little less than it used to - like a fire in me has been dimmed - and I keep looping back in my mind fearing that I missed something to explain why we didn't get the moment we wanted and could just live in forever, and I don't find it; every time I think back to their moments together I can't see anything less than the fact that these two characters love each other, that they understand each other on a level no-one else does, and, as they've already admitted to each other, they have the best time of their lives when they're together.

I know we each have our perspectives on where things go from here, and what suits them best, and yes, infinite possibilities does have its merits in this regard, but those possibilities also include bad ones that I could do without intrusively crossing my mind; I don't like fearing that Fearne will put off thinking about it, or that she won't be honest about her feelings and decides to settle for less, I also don't like feeling like this is the nervous energy we'll have to carry with us until whenever we see them next. Granted, if we do end up having to wait until the currently-unconfirmed reunion one shot with this uncertainty I Will Wait, you best believe that I will wait, but obviously I don't want to - nobody likes being persistently anxious after all, especially in places of comfort, and we've already waited a long time as it is.

If a question does get asked about it or the matter is brought up by the cast, I think all that those like me really need is assurance. Confirmation that Yes, Fearne thought about it and she didn't change her mind - that would honestly be enough. It still means the possibilities are endless, but they'll all be good possibilities that feed and encourage us to create and gush and flourish without the shadow of doubt. I have absolutely no right to ask, because in the end it's not about me, but I don't think that's asking for much; it's, after all, nothing as elaborate as retconning a hag pact that promised eternal service, or something as fantastical as bringing mortality back to an undead PC, much less doing it twice. But for those wondering what I am wishful for, that is it: that's all that I wish to get from the wrap up and that's all that I'm hoping for, and on Friday morning when I get to check it out before -and likely during - the start of my shift, I hope with all my heart that this wish will have come true.

[silusvesuius]

this tree from my new drawing looking goated afffffff 👑👑

[danzafila]

i'm a petty bitch. if i see otherwise pretty art of a character i like spammed in unrelated characters' tags, i'll simply refuse to like/reblog it sry 🤷🏻‍♀️

[pigeonclaw]

the amount of times I have potentially controversial opinions that I type up and then save in my drafts forever because I still feel them but am too shy and afraid to choose violence in any way

[bluesway]

seemingly this is an unpopular opinion on here but i tend to agree w the reddit posts about lack of content lol

[bitchy-peachy]

I really wish that antis stopped using real life sa victims in their shit especially since they tell real life sa victims that we deserved our assaults cos we all handle our trauma differently.

[svtskneecaps]

here's how it goes:

everyone spends valentine's day in DEEP denial. tubbo isn't dead, he CAN'T be. when they die they come back, that's how it is, how it's ALWAYS been. the island is hell but at least fatalities don't stick, except in specific cases and all of them in the same white shells. of course philza jokes, he's thinking about tubbo, he can't stop. he's expecting tubbo to jump out at any moment, he's expecting to go to fobo and see tubbo hidden in the basement throwing darts at a picture of fit and pac looking at each other, he's expecting to go back to the dungeon and the body is gone (he hopes). tubbo's not dead. he can't die. none of them can, just the eggs.

(it never takes this long to come back; he knows something is wrong)

here's how it goes:

tubbo tells the kids "i'm on my last life." the eggs have always had lives. i don't think some of them have ever understood that the players have infinite chances, with their insistence on protecting their caretakers from deaths like their caretakers do for them, charging back into the eye worker war, refusing to back out of a dangerous dungeon before their parents do, wanting to protect. i don't know if they understand that to the players, death is like spit in the face: unpleasant, sure, but no big deal.

tubbo tells the kids "i'm on my last life" and of course they believe him. death is their constant companion, no more than two doors down. some eggs are used to it being a breath away.

here's how it goes:

tubbo is dead. the children mourn him. the players are scared. defiant. they always are. who among them has died? dan, missing; spreen, gone; maximus... well there was no body, no announcement, surely-

(how long did it take pierre to accept it? to realize it? to take down the missing person posters? not a day. not a day.)

juanaflippa died and there was a court case to save her. bobby died and the whole server journeyed to save him. when is the last time the players have taken death lying down?

here's how it goes:

tubbo dies, and he dies unloved (fit's arm is stretched out to save him). he dies without purpose (sunny is there, she's waiting, she knows he won't move). he dies and no one cares (chayanne refuses to leave, his godfather, he failed his-)

here's how it goes:

the valentine's party is so loud but too quiet. there's a name in the air, even when no one is saying it

"wow sure is good tubbo isn't here" phil says (he's said this before, he'll say it again, but isn't it strange how many times? perhaps even he doesn't believe it. perhaps he's trying to convince himself.)

here's how it goes:

a creature with too many faces comes. it tells them the truth they won't face. tubbo is gone.

quesadilla island says, "not for long"

[fagdykevash]

oh sorry, did i not lick your boots enough when i wrote that image description for you? my bad

people's accessibility discord, for your ID needs

[blissfulalchemist]

Aria Dawson (uncharted) // Siberite Akagane (ffxiv) // Alma Pataki (ffxvi) Tia Caro (bloodlines/va) // Clio Zandra (twc) // Sahar Mahin (m*rv*l)

Got tagged by @rhettsabbott @shellibisshe and @adelaidedrubman to use this meiker to create some ladies so have this variety pack of them!

tagging: @belorage @florbelles @unholymilf @strafethesesinners @confidentandgood

@shallow-gravy @chyrstis @jackiesarch @leviiackrman @deputyash and anyone else that wants to!

opt in tags ver. 1 and ver. 2