What’s the feeling when you walk into your local library branch? The one you’ve been welcome in for thirty five years? Even as a sweaty kid with a cheap backpack with no parent home to care for them? Even as loitering vagabond teenager with nowhere else to go?

And you can walk in without a bank card or an id or an address and without sharing your data with Facebook or Amazon?

And there are water fountains and bathrooms and outlets and internet and computers and no one hassles you or charges you for using any of them?

(There are two men in here who are unhoused and one is telling the other “no one cares as long as you don’t hassle anyone” and the staff member at the front gives them the same cheery goodbye when they leave that she gives everyone else)

And there are BOOKS? The smell and feel and presence of BOOKS?

That’s right. I know the feeling. Gratitude. Home.

i am thinking how much poorer, how much less colorful the world would be if art was only made by "professionals." if all the music, all the stories, all the sketches & paintings & craftwork of the world was created only by the small category of people able to make a decent living from their art. imagine if the only people allowed to create were the experts & the renowned & those aspiring to the top. what a grey world that would be. how much joy would be bleached away! i love you people who create for the sake of creating, i love you artists who do art for tiny audiences, i love you people who make things even just for one person, even just for themselves, even if no one's watching, thank you thank you thank you for decorating the world in which we all exist

I think it's incredibly important to remind folks on testosterone or folks who want to reverse patterned baldness about their options, but man, does it sometimes suck wondering how much of our insecurities about our hair stem from backwards beliefs that to strive towards beauty is not only preferable but "makes you good."

As someone with a rather masculinized body pre-medical transition, patterned baldness has always seemed neutral. Hair is incredibly important (hell, much of my own energy is spent on my hair because I like it), but the pressure to have hair, to have hair the "right way" is something that I absolutely loathe.

I'm not here to judge people who don't want patterned hair loss or baldness, I'm here to say that those traits will never make you lesser. Not only is it neutral, but it is also just as worthy and beautiful.

rereading my own fic and yeah I'm a comedic genius I think

always enjoyed the Chess Set In The Foreground perspective framing used here

now also noting like, huh, a chess set in a general store just visited by marigold competitors who killed one of their guys and are now on the way back from their rendezvous point w/suppliers

florida man

on loneliness jenny slate / japanese breakfast, posing for cars / corinne von lebusa, big glow / dadushin / alejandra pizarnik, tr. me / fka twings, home with you / avocado_ibuprofen / fiona apple, left alone / anne carson, “the anthropology of water”, plainwater / kiki smith, free fall / alejandra pizarnik, diaries

...Ever heard of the sunset cowboy?

cw for a gun (poorly drawn one but stilll??)

.

.

.

*BANG*

jk jk he didn't shoot anyone, old man was just goofing around I swear 😔😔

I liked his original ver's phrase about his nickname and remade it a bit for the mob ver, but now that I sit here writing this I think if Colt even can still be considered that in mob au?? Well, now he can /j

Bonus silly I drew already a while ago but never posted somehow

character belongs to @thelone-copper

💥💥>:oD💥💥

Why is the anime so weird, it's not even the same series dude?? It's like,

Anime:

GOKU: I have a great idea to bring peace to the universe, and my leadership and compassion alone will unite us all. I have No Flaws and am A True Relatable Everyman :)

VEGETA: NO! I AM THE BEST AND I WILL CAUSE PROBLEMS UNTIL I AM RECOGNIZED AS SUCH!!!!

Manga:

GOKU: Vegeta what's cornmeal made of? I know it's what the corn eats, but what's it made of? VEGETA: Hey Kakarot let's play the quiet game until one of us dies.

Israels actions against Palestine make me sick to my stomach. Every time I look at the news I see some new horror they are committing, and see how they are justifying the inexcusable, I feel sick to my stomach with rage. But now, in the heart of Ramadan, the word angry feels too small for the fire I feel in my chest.

Palestine will not be able to properly celebrate Ramadan this year. Trying to explain the situation to people who have never interacted with the community is difficult. Even when thinking to myself, I have the urge to compare it to what I know. "Imagine if there was no Christmas." "Imagine if someone took away Easter." "Imagine there was no food on Thanksgiving."

But Ramadan is not any of those things. The fact that there is no Ramadan in Palestine should be enough to make you angry.

I've been living in a muslim country for six months now. Ramadan is not nearly as festive as Eid was, but its presence is unmistakable. You can taste the joy in the air. Children here get out of school early this month. There is a school across from my home; I hear their laughter every day. String lights hang from the balconies of my neighbors, wrap around palm trees, dangle from streetlights. In the news I read that the Sheik has pardoned hundreds of prisoners, paying off their fines himself in the spirit of charity. Shops here are decorated to match, with cut out stars and crescent moons and streamers. Many shops offer discounts. "70% off home delivery."

There are festivals in the streets and lectures in the colleges.

It is wonderful. And the people of Palestine do not have this. Their fasting is forced, their children out of school by force, their houses lit by firebombs and not crescent moon LEDs, homes that smell of gunsmoke instead of oud.

I hate Israel. It feels childish to admit this. It feels like a shortcoming; hate is what causes this crisis, I should be able to focus on loving Palestine instead of adding more hate to the world. But it is a word I can't help but feel when I think about what Isreal has done, is doing, will do to the people of Palestine. What injustices they will force upon them next. Hate. It's not something I say lightly, but it is something I feel I must say.

I am not disappointed in Israel. I am not sympathetic to their 'cause.' I will not censor myself to sound more moderate, to convince the undecided. I hate Israel. I hate Israel. I hate Israel.

Fig's line "I don't think I'm an artist, I think I'm just a good friend" has not left my head at all. Just...

You're Fig Faeth and your horns came in over the summer and you pick up the bard class as a form of adolescent rock 'n' roll rebellion, and it works! It's exactly the outlet you need! You give a guy you just met drumsticks and you start a band and it's good enough that within a year and a half you're touring. You are, in every sense, good at being a bard.

And then, finally, your junior year, you start to take it seriously. Your art goes from an outlet and a form of rebellion to a practice. A discipline. (Can rebellion exist within a discipline?) Your classmates know what they want to do with their work. They all have a thesis statement. And yeah, there's cohesion in the music you make, but you've never had to think about why you make it. You've never sat down and dissected what it is about bass that speaks to you. You've never poured over your lyrics to pick at any deeper meaning. Why should you? You don't play music for a grand design, you do it to... huh, why do you do it?

(Your art is the one form of self-expression that feels as safe as Disguise Self does, because even if you're pouring your heart onto the page and then screaming it in front of thousands of people, it's not like you're really making yourself known. You can sing I'm lonely, I'm scared, I'm furious, and your fans will sing it right back, and there will still be the distance between performer and audience to keep your heart safe.)

Now you're being asked to look inward to explain the artistic choices you're making, and you can't help but recoil at that, because you'd rather do anything than look inward. Meanwhile, your classmates have no problem with it, so you start to wonder if you're a real artist at all. Can your art be authentic if it only exists to bolster a thesis statement? Has your art been unauthentic this whole time because you've never really thought about a thesis statement before? Is that what makes it art, and not just the next track on somebody's teen angst playlist?

You can't think about yourself— acknowledging your own existence makes you want to puke. So if your music is an extension of yourself, (and it is, even if it's just because the spotlight reveals only what you want it to,) you can't think about your music. You can't. You have to. Your grade depends on it.

You're Fig Faeth, and you keep multiclassing because you'd rather be a good friend than a great artist. If introspection is what great art demands, then fuck it. You must not be a bard at all.

stormy weather

jason todd x gender neutral reader. 720 words. notes: a very abstract take on 'write a true story about you with characters instead of people', one of the prompts from the ever lovely @reaperintheroses drabble december! this was more 'write about feelings', but i tried. warnings: vague bad headspace on jason's part

he was in a mood.

you weren't sure what mood, but it wasn't good.

it was, however, familiar enough that you weren't surprised when he walked through the bedroom like a ghost.

all he took with him as he left it was a nail file.

you sat quietly, listening for the window.

there it was, about half a minute later: the sliding sound of the window in the frame was quiet but unmistakable, as was the sound of it sliding shut behind him.

fire escape brooding.

you sighed- that was a surefire sign that the mood had settled in completely. you had hoped, somewhat naïvely, that it would be a "wrong side of the bed" situation; had hoped he would be able to shake it off.

with the mood here to stay, you put your phone aside and slid out of bed.

it wasn't something to fix. not days like this. as much as you wished you could carry the weight of this for him, you settled instead for trying to share the load.

you took your time walking through the apartment, giving him his space for a little while as you boiled water and steeped tea for him.

you dug out his largest, warmest sweatshirt, tugging it on to brace against the cold you knew was wrapped around him both mentally and literally. then, with a glance at his silhouette in the window, you picked up his mug and approached.

he barely reacted to the sound of the window opening, only shifting slightly so his ear was towards you in silent acknowledgement.

"i made tea," you said softly, leaning on the sill. "interested?"

jason hesitated a moment, the only sounds the traffic below.

he shrugged, twirling the nail file between two fingers.

you reached over, gently pressing the mug into his free hand, watching as he pulled it to his chest with a hum.

"do you want space, or would you prefer i join you?"

"...you can." his voice was steady, but uncharacteristically quiet and lifeless. "not gonna be much company right now."

you slid out the window, closing it behind you, and he glanced up at you blankly. "you don't have to be," you said firmly, quietly, as you sat down beside him. "i'm just here."

the metal was freezing, even through your thick sweatpants. it would take more than a stretch of the imagination to call it comfortable, but you settled in like it was memory foam.

you sat in silence, listening to him breathe beside you and watching it fog in your peripheral.

you sat until your legs ached and your nose felt about ready to fall off from the cold. you sat for far longer than it took him to drain his mug. you sat long enough that the rush of lunch traffic came and went below you.

you sat watching gray clouds churn in the sky, offering the only comfort you could: he wasn't alone.

eventually, he inhaled deeply, and you felt something shift.

"you want a grilled cheese?" his voice was rough and quiet, but using it was a good sign.

you recognized the offer as the thank you that it was.

"yeah," you matched his volume, gently breaking your silence. "that sounds good."

it wasn't over, not by a long shot. you could feel it in the air around you, as though jason was a storm and the front was rolling in. it would be a few days, you suspected, of this- of disconnect, of that distant look in his eyes.

and that was the best case scenario.

he pushed himself up and off the ground, wincing when his bad ankle popped unpleasantly, and you changed your mind. he wasn't the storm. a storm in his own right, sure, strong and beautiful and immovable to all the world, but in this case he was standing on the coast and watching the storm turn the ocean angry.

he reached a hand down to help you up.

you took it, squeezing it once, twice, three times in quick succession as you hauled yourself to your feet. once there, you relaxed your grip.

he kept his, keeping your palm against his own. bracing himself against the wind.

you'd be damned if you let him board up the windows and sandbag the doorways on his own.

I absolutely LOVE the Squirtle/Wartortle illustrations by kantaro in Pokemon 151!

The Squirtle jumping so joyfully from the rock into the ocean, the colors are STUNNING! I love the contrast of the Squirtle's aqua blue framed in the vivid orange sky, the soft bit of blue reflecting in its shell and its tail just catching the sun, how little and squishy its body looks as it launches itself towards the water with such tremendous excitement!

The lineless style of the background gives me the feel of a travel poster and I sense the tropical environment around it from the rocks and trees framing the corners, the waterfall splashing with as much energy as the Squirtle!

The layered blues on the surface of the water and the bubbles rising at the corner make me FEEL the liquid rising to meet the Squirtle--I can just feel how the next moment it's going to break through and be immersed in a cool island swim!

And the Wartortle running along the sunset beach, this is somehow everything I always imagined for Wartortle! I adore the way the rich purple melts into the warm red/orange sky, the matching purple clouds and shadows in the foreground, and how the dimming sunlight glows red on Wartortle's deep blues!

I love how the yellow and orange of the sky illuminate the lapping waves, I can just feel the gentle motion of the sea at dusk. The aqua color of the ocean matches Wartortle's ears and tail and sets off the red-orange sand, I just love how the colors are here!

Wartortle looks so round and squishy, I love its happiness as it goes frolicking through the shallows, chasing the bubbles caught in the setting sun! The shine and deep shadow on its shell give it an almost jewel texture like real tortoise shell; I love the silhouetted splash Wartortle leaves as it goes running across the shore. It's so full of energy and delight at the end of a gorgeous day! The colors in these are SO vivid and harmonized and the style is so cute and bursting with energy and joy. I just LOVE it (also Squirtle is my starter)

it's easy to read the situation between li tongguang, ruyi, and yuanzhou as a love triangle on a superficial level, but looking even one step further, it's clear that there's no triangle about it. li tongguang is obsessed with ren xin; ning yuanzhou is devoted to ren ruyi. ltg's obsession is fervent and all consuming, but it's not devotion. like ruyi herself notes, his feelings to her are on the basis of her as a mother figure in his life, as a replacement for what he never received from his mother. is there an element of romantic/sexual love/desire to it? maybe. more likely he's deluded himself into thinking that, because the truth is, it's doubtful that ltg even understands what love is (platonic, filial, familial, romantic, all of the above, etc), because he has no basis for understanding. ruyi's teachings and actions towards him are the closest thing he has to hold up as an example. what he wants is ren xin, is a replica of the master he had. he doesn't want ruyi, because he doesn't actually care about ruyi. therefore, he doesn't care if she's sad, angry, mad; he just can't bear her 'abandoning' him. we saw this way back when she first meet and left him, both at thirteen and seventeen. although he distrusts her first, she saves his life and cares for him in the way no one else has, hence her first being raised on a platform in his mind. when she leaves for good, ending their master-disciple relationship/training, even though it's for official business and she's not abandoning him, in his mind that's exactly what it is. so now that she's in his life again, he won't let her leave again. he was powerless before, a child with no proper name, but now he's a recognized member of the imperial family, a man who can meet her as 'equals' (even when that's far from the truth). as a child, he could only cling to her legs and beg her, but now he has the power to keep her by his side. it's telling that when he finally gets confirmation of her identity, it's not ning yuanzhou he seeks to harm (even though he detests him and their relationship), but yang ying. yang ying is ruyi's new disciple, and as ltg doesn't know she's a woman, he only sees her as his direct replacement.

ning yuanzhou, on the other hand, is devoted to ruyi. he wants to build a new life and future with her, instead of slotting her into a spot in the life he already has. he's someone who accompanies her on walks and makes her midnight snacks, who holds her when she needs to be held and lets her go when she needs to do things on her own. when she speaks her mind, he listens, even when it makes him discontent/it's not what he wanted/wants to hear. he sees her unabashedly as his equal, and though he acknowledges her skills and abilities, or points out her naivety, he never does it to belittle her; to him, she is his peer, deserving of the highest honor and respect. he trusts her to have his back, and she has come to trust him to have her. he did what she might have thought no man would ever do: he proved himself reliable, so she came to rely on him. yuanzhou gives her freedom and autonomy as both ren ruyi and ren xin. of course they run into problems, but they both learn and grow from them, as individuals and as a couple. yuanzhou's belief in her is unwavering, but adaptable, whereas ltg's is unwavering, but frozen in time, disallowing for any new information to be presented. yuanzhou works with ruyi to accept the changes thrown her way; he seeks the core behind her actions in order to better understand her. li tongguang cannot accept the changes in ruyi's character, because they run contrary to the master he has on a pedestal in his mind.

what li tongguang wants is to return to the past, but yuanzhou offers ruyi the promise of a future, even one that might never come to fruition. there's no triangle about it.

PROLOGUE

TRANSCRIPT:

In a far corner of the world, there was a continent once torn apart by war and greed, fighting over old grudges and forgotten slights.

With time came new rulers, and against all odds, the neighboring empires built an alliance.

The unexpected love between an empress and an enemy prince brought on peace after decades of strife.

Together, they bravely fought for the future.

For themselves... and then for their children.