#sorry i'm not tagging all these people | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

12.7% of mobile users access Tumblr.

#sorry i'm not tagging all these people

miraluking-respectfully · 6 months

Text

I was thinking about some of my SWTOR Faves and my reasonings for liking them so much, which led to the observation that my enjoyment in some cases is based on mostly headcanon. I know I'm not alone, so I made this venn diagram to describe that feeling!

Feel free to steal! Including NPCs other than companions allowed & encouraged.

Here's my version:

I am sleepy and about to go to bed so I didn't notice I left out poor Mako and TeeSeven until it was too late! Sorry babes D:

Notes:

*A better version of this character's story exists in my head, but the character themself is still an unambiguous fave on their own merits and thus belongs in that category.

**I am not the only person correct about this character. That honor goes to my beloved friend & mutual @sealeneee <3

#swtor #swtor companions #venn diagram #alignment chart #sorry i'm not tagging all these people #well. except for #felix iresso #koth vortena #vector hyllus #holiday swtor

18 notes · View notes

thewickwheat · 27 days

Text

hey its a bunch of folks!!

Standalone designs I created for the tag charms

charms available for pre-order here

#ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy xiv #my art #endwalker spoilers #I'm not tagging all these people sorry lmao

2K notes · View notes

golyadkin · 9 months

Text

I cannot express enough that if your reaction, as a hobby artist, to not getting that many notes on your art is to say "maybe I should just stop doing art altogether" you need to stop posting art to tumblr

not necessarily forever, not even for long, but just stop putting your art on here and start doing it for you again, remember why you enjoyed doing art in the first place and stop relying on the attention of faceless people on the internet for your enjoyment of your hard work

believe me, I get it, nothing crushes the artistic soul quite like labouring for hours on a piece only for it to get like 10 notes, so you need to find your own source of joy in the act of creation and a lot of the time that means making art and not showing it to anybody

#not art #listen #for real #this is not about any one person because i've seen posts about it from a bunch of people #you think i post everything here? buddy i dont even post half my stuff here #every drawing you see is preceded by five more just like it #that never see my cursor close to the save button #i have a sketchbook i draw in regularly that i do'nt show to a single goddam person #i make cutout art from gels i steal from work and stick them to my windows and do paintings in my living room just for me #because that it the only way you are ever going to be able to retain your original love of art #is by doing it for the sake of doing it #not for the sake of seeing how many people stop and stare #anyways i'm sorry if this sounds terse #but i'm so sick of seeing artists put all their self-esteem and happiness in the hands of a blogging website #stop selling yourself short by measuring your self worth by how many reblogs you get and what people say in the tags #your artistry and your happiness are worth more than that #if you're an artist for a living that's another story #but even then #even then #anyways sorry i'm done ranting

3K notes · View notes

inkskinned · 2 years

Text

it is hard to explain without sounding vain or stupid - but the more attractive others find you, the more you're allowed to do. the easier your life is.

i have been on both sides of this. i am queer and cuban. i grew up poor. for a long time i didn't know "how" to dress - and i still don't. i make my sister pick out any important outfits. i have adhd in spades: i was never "cool and quiet", i was the weird kid who didn't understand how "normal" people behave. i was bullied so hard that the "social outcasts" wouldn't even talk to me.

i got my teeth straightened. i cut my hair and learned how to style it. i got into makeup. it didn't matter, at first, if i actually liked what i was doing - it mattered how people responded to it. like a magic trick; the right dress and winged eyeliner and suddenly i was no longer too weird for all of it. i could wear the ugly pokemon shirt and it was just "ironic" or a "cute interest."

when i am seen as pretty, people listen. they laugh at my jokes. they allow me to be weird and a little spacey. i can trust that if i need something, people will generally help me. privilege suddenly rushes in: pretty does buy things. pretty people get treated more gently.

i am the same ugly little girl, is the thing. still odd. still not-quite-fitting-in. still scrambling. still angry and afraid and full of bad things. of course it became my obsession. of course i stopped eating. i had seen, in real time, the exact way it could change my life - simply always be perfect, and things can be easy. people will "overlook" all the other things. i used to have panic attacks at the idea others would see me without makeup - what would they think? even for a simple friend hangout, i'd spend a few hours getting ready. after all, it seemed so obvious to me: these people liked me because i was pretty.

i worry about how much i'm being a bad activist: i understand that "pretty" is determined by white, het, cis, able-bodied hegemonies. if i was really an ally, wouldn't i rally against all of this? recently there's been a "clean girl" trend which copies latinx aesthetics: dark slicked-back hair, hoop earrings. i almost never wear my hair like that; i can hear the middle school guidance counsellor advising me that i might fare better if i toned it down on the culture.

the problem is that i can take pretty on and off. that i have seen how different my life is on a day where i try and a day where i don't. i told my therapist i want to believe the difference is confidence, but it's not. and when you have seen it, you can't unsee it. it lives inside your brain. it rots there; taunting. i get rewarded for following the rules. i am punished for breaking them. end of story.

pretty people can get what they want. pretty people can feel confident without others asking where they got their nerve from. pretty people can be weird and different. pretty people get to have emotions; it's different when they get aggressive, it's pretty when they cry with frustration.

of course people care about this. of course it has crawled into you. of course you want to be seen as attractive. it's not vanity: it's self-preservation.

#pretty in this post is a stand in for . literally all forms of normativity #warm up #tbd maybe idk #ps! hi!! i'm queer!!!!!!!!! it is how i identify! if you tag this 'q slur' i will fight you!!!#i am using it here in the EXACT way it is NOT a slur !! i am identifying as a queer person!#this is EXACTLY how people reclaim it !!!#it's like practically ACADEMIC in this usage!!#please do any reading into what the fuck the history of the word ''queer'' is before telling me #as someone identifying as queer #that i'm a slur. that the place i find comfort in is a slur #''well it makes me uncomfortable if people use it for me''#im sorry to hear that dude. that sucks. i hope things get easier for you soon #but you don't get to take it from ME #in case you can't tell by the REST of this piece #i DID hear queer used as slur against me. i DID get bullied with it. i DID hear a lot of shit said #i also heard it about lesbians #about ''being gay''#about pretty much any fucking term that could describe me.#i like queer. i like how it feels. and it's mine.#you don't get to undo the work i've done personally because it makes u uncomfortable #it's ahistoric to pretend like there are ''safe'' ways to identitfy if ur queer.#none exist. it has never been safe to be like this.

12K notes · View notes

alevens · 3 months

Text

zolu is maybe one of the easiest ships i've ever liked. they're dating, except when they're not, they're best friends even when they're kissing and they're still captain and first mate when they aren't. they hold hands, they hug. they have sex. they don't.

Luffy can hold Zoro's katanas and Zoro can hold Luffy's strawhat and no one bats an eye. one says "You're so cool!" and the other says "You're strong" and it's just another way to say "I see you, this is why I follow you/this is why I trust you". it's not seeing each other for a long time and still knowing how the other's steps sound like against wood and sand. the captain runs and the first mate follows. it's always "Zoro and the others" and "Where's Luffy?"

if they're just friends, if they're something more, if they don't have a label for it, at its core, it's just about how they get each other. they understand how the other's mind works. however you view them, it doesn't erase they fact that they love each other in a way they don't love other people.

#zolu #on why i love zolu #seeing the hate its gotten on its own tag #i figured i'd put it on my two cents #i am aroace and i do hc Luffy as aroace #the same for Zoro if i'm honest #but the thing about this hc is that not only it isn't canon #but is an actual spectrum #what really made me pause was that the argument was that zolu was an “icky” ship bc of how they viewed Luffy as aroace #i would have prefered they just said they hate the ship #it makes sense as i do too hate ships without reason sometimes #but it was how they seemed to view aromatic/asexual people that fucked me up #both orientations are spectrums #the way i see it and experience it isn't the same other people do #giving this label and then saying it only woks on one way is disrespectful to the many people that fall under this umbrella #it isn't as simple as saying “aromantic folks can't experience love” and “yeah ace folks all find sex disgusting”#everyone is different everyone has different views and it's about finding what fits *you* personally!#sorry for the rant on tags i just wanted to get it off my chest #i've seen more people explain it better and break it down more coherently #and i'm so so glad to see so many big brained people ready to communicate on why that take just wasn't it #one piece

409 notes · View notes

mangofanarts · 3 months

Text

I don't know if someone has named all the cellmates yet but I wanted to try - feel free to correct me if I'm wrong btw! Philza - Quackity

Antoine - Roier

Baghera - Rivers

Felps - Willyrex

Cellbit - Vegetta

Missa - Wilbur

Rubius - Luzu (Arin technically)

Jaiden - Mouse

German - Lenay

Foolish - Mike

Bad - Aypierre

Slime - Elmariana

Bagi - alone

Pac - alone

Tubbo - alone

Etoiles - alone

Kameto - alone

Tina - alone

Niki - alone

Carre - alone

Fit - alone

Here's the list of cellmates without the pictures: Quackity - Philza Antoine - Roier Baghera - Rivers Felps - Willyrex Cellbit - Vegetta Missa - Wilbur Rubius - Luzu (technically Arin) Jaiden - Mouse German - Lenay Foolish - Mike Bad - Aypierre Slime - Elmariana Alone Category: - Bagi - Pac - Tubbo - Etoiles - Kameto - Tina - Niki - Carre - Fit EDIT: (They've apparently moved some people around during the event to be roommates with others - this list is not including them switching people around and is just who was paired originally in cells)

#qsmp #im not tagging all of these Im sorry #qsmp prison event #Sorry if I'm missing someone xd!! There's just a lot of people #I've decided to not include them switching around roommates because that would be too many vods for me to go through just to see whose new #cellmate is with who yknow #so this is just the original ones #People have been saying Fit moved in with Tina but when I checked Fit's vod - at the end of it he moved out of Tina's cell to go to another #to call his own so Fit and Tina aren't cellmates anymore and I think trying to keep up with the consistency of whose moved out of who #also would be a lot of work xd #I only know that Etoiles moved into Antoine's cell so they're together at least even at the end of it

266 notes · View notes

quietmonologues · 1 month

Text

So. I hate shipping discourse and I try to keep it off my blog nowadays. I also don't consider myself a part of the fandom. But, I find discussions about this series particularly engaging and interesting, and Elucien do have me in a bit of a chokehold these days so I feel the need to get this off my chest and put this out into the world.

A common question I see is "why do people ship Elucien? They don't even like each other". And to that, I say this:

What about it? This is why shipping discourse in this fandom (and in general) is so ridiculous, because why is there confusion as to why people ship Elain and Lucien together? SJM literally wrote them as a potential pairing, that's why she made them mates. Pairing = shipping. It's not rocket science.

Two characters not liking each other is never gonna be a deterrent for them becoming canon or for people liking them as a ship. That's why enemies to lovers is such a popular trope. However way you define enemies (on opposite sides of a war like Zuko and Katara, or thinking ill of one another based on misunderstandings and assumptions like Darcy and Elizabeth), when it's done well, the story of two characters changing their opinion about each other, getting to know each other on a deeper level, and growing to love each other after their initial discomfort/hatred/loathing/indifference is a compelling story. It's about the journey, the development, and overcoming all the hurdles and bumps that are in their way.

Another reason for why the "they dislike each other" argument is so weak is because you literally have two other canon couples in this same series who had very rough starts. No matter how you feel about these two pairings, it's blatantly clear that Rhys and Cassian did put Feyre and Nesta in uncomfortable situations and have hurt them (physically/emotionally). But clearly, that was not a deterrent for them getting together in the end. So why the heck are Lucien and Elain different? Why is "Elain is so uncomfortable around Lucien" a continuous argument? It's so hypocritical given the fact that Lucien is the only guy that isn't forcing himself upon his mate.

Also, I'm sorry but some people (me...I'm some people) are tired of the "dark, battle-born, winged-warrior brother" and "previously human, traumatized archeron sister" pairing. Elain and Lucien are both associated with nature, they're both social and like interacting with people, they both experienced a deep love previously, they both abhor violence, they are both overlooked by others yet have the ability to see what others can't. They are a compatible pairing to me because they share many characteristics that are harmonious and complementary. They are the anti-thesis of Night Court aesthetics and thought, and if they ever have a book together then I can only hope it's the best one in the series.

And yes, the "Elain needs sunshine" and "Lucien is the heir to the Day Court" connection is important, my goodness. That's what symbolism is!

Sometimes it's that simple.

Okay, that's enough shipping discourse from me.

#acotar #elucien #pro elucien #anti elriel #i guess?#to all my mutuals...i'm sorry but back in the day this blog was a book blog so maybe i'm going back to my roots!#and yes this was spurred by that post i say in the tags where op was wondering why people ship elucien...which was promptly deleted!#bookworm

158 notes · View notes

fallinglikemagic · 2 months

Text

Okay, now that everybody's had some time to process and gotten some of the doomposting out, here's my thoughts on the whole situation.

First of all, I'm not really worried about whether or not RWBY will continue in some capacity. It's uncertain, sure, but no more than it was already. In February we got the update that they were talking to potential partners about getting volume 10 made, so clearly they weren't just relying on Rooster Teeth and Warner Brothers for it - maybe one of those companies will pick it up, maybe a different company will, either way I'm sure it *will* be picked up by somebody and unless they get real unlucky, the show won't be much worse off than it was before - if anything it might be better off, considering that WB have been shitty about animation for quite a while now (if you're not already familiar and you're up for some extra research, I recommend looking into the Coyote vs ACME situation that's been going on recently for a great example of WB's bullshit). And while it's unclear exactly how much involvement the original crew will have in the show's future, I'm pretty optimistic about it. I doubt the writers are going to let go of creative control without a fight, if for nothing else then for Monty - I don't like focusing too much on the whole Monty's Legacy stuff in general, but I do think that the crew are going to want to keep their friend's work alive and authentic and as accurate to what he wanted it to be as possible. None of this is a certainty of course, but I think RWBY is gonna be fine, things will just be kinda rocky for a bit.

With all that being said, while this may end up ultimately being a blessing in disguise for RWBY as a franchise, it sure ain't one for everybody who worked at Rooster Teeth. This entire situation is still horrible - so many people being fired on the spot, effective immediately, with no warning and with several of them only finding out by seeing articles about it being posted on Twitter, it's fucked. I know Rooster Teeth wasn't exactly lacking in controversy and problematic behaviour, to put it lightly, but there were still plenty of amazing people there who are now in a really shitty situation. On top of that, while again this isn't exactly anything new, especially for WB, it is the latest instance of a huge problem in the animation and entertainment industries. So no matter how things pan out for RWBY, we should still be really fucking mad about this.

And we definitely shouldn't be celebrating. I've seen some posts saying "good riddance" and celebrating RT's downfall, not just from people who hate RWBY (I mean don't get me wrong I'm sure the hatedom is out in full force but that's not the kind of thing I'm referring to right now), but people who like/used to like the show and just hated the company. And don't get me wrong, I didn't like a lot of things about the company either, I've actually been wanting RWBY to separate itself from RT for a pretty long time (be careful what you wish for I guess 💀), but there's a time and a place and this certainly ain't it. Plenty of people who have worked there have said that they loved their jobs, plenty of others said it was horrible and toxic and nightmarish, but either way a job is a job and in this industry work isn't always easy to find, especially in recent years. Celebrate in private if you want, but now is not the damn time to be bringing out the cake and confetti.

TLDR; I'm cautiously optimistic about RWBY's future, I'm pretty sure it'll be fine and they'll be able to keep the core crew to at least some extent, but this is still a really bad situation for everybody who just lost their jobs, don't be a dick.

#rwby #rooster teeth #what the fuck else are people tagging these kind of posts with uh #warner bros #I guess #anyway sorry if I sound kinda miffed in this post I'm just really tired. of a lot of shit #oh and just to be super 100% clear - even if RWBY had been just straight up cancelled the most important thing is still the workers #focus on giving them whatever support you can and don't pressure them to talk about the show and it's future #which I imagine most of you already know but just to be crystal clear on all this

222 notes · View notes

flowercrowngods · 2 months

Text

okay due to popular demand (3 people mwah!), here's all i have on prisoners ranger!steve, bard!eddie, and the royal entourage accompanying the diplomatic mission that went so horribly wrong

Steve’s whole body is made of pain, and has been for the past few days. His feet are aching and raw from trying to keep up as they were bound to horses and dragged along. His skin is chafed and bleeding where the unforgiving rocks have managed to destroy his clothes after one too many falls, and every smallest of cuts feels like his body is nothing more than a pulsating mess.

Worst of all, though, is the dizziness. He doesn’t know if his head is still bleeding or if the wetness he can feel running down his temple is his body’s testament to the unfamiliar heat, but it wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

There’s only pain. And nausea. His eyes are open but he needs a second to understand what he’s seeing — and what he’s seeing is a ceiling made of sand coloured stone. Distantly, he hears a door clanging shut, but that might just as well be a memory.

He’s going to throw up. Tough luck when you don’t even know where up is.

A groan leaves his mouth as he tries to take a deep breath and fails miserably. Instead, he can add two broken ribs to the list of misery.

Gods above — whichever of them are listening — he’s tired. But he fears that if he closes his eyes, he might not open them anymore for the sheer release that would bring. He can’t sleep, can’t rest, not when—

“Easy now,” a gentle voice interrupts his less than coherent thoughts and just moments later, a tender hand is combing through his blood-crusted hair. “You shouldn’t move, my friend. There’s nowhere to move to anymore.”

Steve frowns, his brain trying and failing to provide any information at this point. The hits to his head must have been worse than he thought if his short term memory refuses to work with him anymore.

“We have reached Capital City,” the voice continues and Steve has to blink the fog away to make out its owner. When he does, it must show in his eyes, for the worry in Theodore Munson’s eyes makes way to the briefest of smiles before returning even stronger than before. “Do you not recall?”

Steve just stares up at him. That’s all his wrecked body and mind allow him to do right now. That’s all they want to do when gentle hands comb through his hair and chase away some of the pain.

It is then that reality slowly comes back to him and he realises where he is. Where they are. What is at stake if they fail any more, if they decide to torture information on Elanor and William out of them — out of him. He’s not sure how much he can take. They have been held prisoner for weeks. Steve has been hurting for even longer.

Shame rises in him and he has the urge to apologise to Jim, to explain, but moving his head to the side, he sees that his old master isn’t any better off. He appears to be sleeping, his face bruised, and a teary-eyed Maxine is wiping blood away from his face with a piece of her cloak.

Steve blinks once, twice, and takes in the man who practically raised him, watches the steady rise and fall of his chest and listens, beyond the pulsing rush of his own blood, that his lungs are not rattling. Shame makes way to satisfaction when he sees that none of their party has taken as many hits, kicks and punches as himself. His distractions have worked, then.

That’s good. Now if only they didn’t make him so nauseous. So tired. So…

“Don’t fall asleep, Steven,” Eddie demands, and the world tilts slightly, which makes everything worse until… soft. It’s softer now.

Eddie has moved him so his head is resting in his lap now.

“You don’t look too good, Ranger. Sleep is dangerous in your state, no matter how badly you might need it. Give it a few hours, please.”

A beat passes where Steve tries to process the words that are just too many. Since when does Eddie talk with him so much?

“Lies,” he says after a while and with greater effort than should be necessary.

“Lies?”

“I look very good. You just can’t see it under all the blood and the bruises.” He tries to crack a smile, but even the huffed breath jolts his head too much.

Eddie does him the favour of a brief chuckle, and Steve feels better for it. Lighter. Light is good, he finds. Maybe all he has to focus on is Eddie and his hands working out the clumps of dirt and blood from his hair, maybe all he has to do is make him smile and the world will be a bit less painful.

His world narrows down to all the ways Eddie is close to him and it does keep him occupied, but it also gets his mind wandering, the adrenaline of the past days wearing off.

“Keep doing that and I will fall asleep,” he says after another beat of silence. Fall asleep and dream. Dream of what this could mean. Dream of smiles that make me feel lighter.

“Keep doing what?” Eddie asks, and Steve senses a trick to just keep him talking, no matter how slurred his speech is. He needs a moment to remember what he said.

“This,” he says eventually, and Eddie only hums. Finding words is hard. He tries. And tries again. “Being gentle.”

Another smile, and Steve wants to close his eyes to keep it there to hold on to. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my friend.”

“Can’t not be gentle?” He’s losing force on the consonants. The pain is getting stronger, his nerve endings more frayed and his vision blurry. This is familiar. He gives himself another quarter of an hour at most before he will lose his consciousness, no matter how hard he tries to stay here. With Eddie and his wavering smile.

“Not with my friends, no.”

This time it’s Steve who smiles at the word friends. He likes to be Eddie’s friend. The man, as it turns out, is admirable, he’s strong, he’s wise when he wants to be and gentle with young Maxine. He’s kind, he’s quick-witted and patient, and his hands are impossibly soft.

“I know you said not to sleep, and I’m not normally one to deny a well-respected bard’s command, but…” He swallows. Words are hard. He’s not sure they come out as planned, but he perseveres. “I’m afraid I have to prove to you now how stubborn the Queen’s Rangers can be.”

Another hum from above him and Steve opens his eyes he hadn’t even noticed closing. The world is fading, but still Eddie is at its centre.

“I’ll be here when you wake up, then, stubborn Ranger.”

Will you smile at me still? Steve wonders.

“Always,” Eddie says, but before Steve has time to wonder if someone else has said something, darkness has swallowed him whole.

———

Steve wakes to something cold touching his forehead, moving to his temple where suddenly a jarring pain wrecks his body and he can’t quite suppress the flinch.

“Forgive me,” comes a quiet voice from above and Steve opens his eyes to the darkness of a cell, only faintly illuminated by the flickering light of a torch somewhere and the redness of the setting sun. “But I am glad to see you awake.”

The voice belongs to Eddie, who is looking down at him, a piece of cloth in his hand. Gently, he presses it to Steve’s forehead again and the cool sensation comes back, gentler this time. It takes a moment for Steve’s tired and frayed mind to catch up with reality, but when it does, he realises that the bard is washing away the dried blood and cleaning his wounds.

What an odd picture they must make.

“Tell me,” he says before he has time to consider his words. “Is it normal for a bard of Northlands to take care of wounded Rangers?”

“No,” Eddie says and there’s something to his voice Steve can’t quite identify. He’s not sure he likes it, not sure what it does to his insides. “There are never any Rangers there.”

Even through the dim light, Steve can see the mirth in his eyes and it makes him laugh – if only briefly, for his body is quick to remind him that any sort of movement is a bad, terrible, truly horrid idea. He just barely manages to suppress a groan, but nothing could get past the bard’s eyes, and his hand moves from Steve’s forehead to his cheek almost immediately.

“Careful, my friend. You shouldn’t be laughing.”

“Stop making me laugh, then. That would make it all so much easier.” There’s no heat behind his words and he doesn’t even try not to lean into the touch.

Eddie hums but stays quiet otherwise and keeps wiping Steve’s face clean, watching his every reaction. A frown slowly forms between those brows and Steve wonders what that is for. Did something happen while he was out of it? Time passes differently in the desert, yes, the sun and moon following different paths, but he can’t have been unconscious for more than three hours. It is barely yet nightfall, their cell colder than before.

Three hours. And Eddie still sits cross-legged with Steve’s head on his thigh.

Guilt and embarrassment shoot through him and he wants to move, wants to get up and release the bard from his demeaning task of playing nurse to a wounded Ranger, but his ribs protest and his head pulses with white-hot pain before it sends his world spinning again and Steve sags back into the warmth of Theodore.

“I must be painting the most pathetic picture of her Majesty’s Rangers. I swear, most of us are better than this.”

It comes out light hearted as always, despite the pain it leaves inside his chest to be presenting himself like this. Representing all Rangers to the kingdoms of the South with his weakness. All that on top of losing Will. Again.

He closes his eyes against the pity he is bound to see in Eddie’s eyes.

“You paint a picture of bravery such as I scarcely saw it before. Never in my life did I see a man move so slowly, so unseen unless as I was looking right at you. You are excellent with the sword and the bow, and even the weapons of the desert folk are natural to you. I can imagine the pain and suffering you have seen, some of which you must have caused in the name of justice, yet you carry inside yourself a light-heartedness that is refreshing to say the least.”

Steve swallows, has never been good at taking compliments, and luckily hasn’t been in the position to accept them in quite a while.

“Light-hearted?” he rasps. “You can’t be talking about the same Rangers I know, surely.”

“I was talking about you, Steven,” Eddie admits quietly, and his voice is so tender when he says his name that it makes Steve’s breath hitch.

“Oh,” he says intelligently. Swallows. “Then the head injury must be severe.”

“Admirable of you to hide a concussion for so many days. I think healers of all kingdoms would have a lot of questions for you if they knew.”

Steve huffs and smiles through the pain of his undoubtedly broken ribs protesting. “My apologies, Eddie. Queen Joyce of the West and Sir James himself would both have my head if I taught you our concussion-hiding ways.”

“A pity,” Eddie says and there’s that smile in his voice again that doesn’t show on his lips, at least in this light. Steve doesn’t care, though, as he smiles up at him.

This moment in time belongs to the both of them as Steve finds he can’t quite look away, and it’s not the pain that keeps him.

Eddie opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it again. The frown reappears between his brows and Steve wants to reach out and smoothen the creased skin above his nose. If only moving his arm didn’t require such strength that keeps evading him, the night weighing heavy on his limbs.

After another minute, Eddie does find his words, though they are quiet this time. “I worried.”

“About what?” Steve asks when he doesn’t continue.

Eddie resumes his endeavour of washing the crusted blood from his hair and face, the sensation soothing his skin but not his nerves. Steve does reach up this time to still his hand, and the bard meets his eyes again.

“That you wouldn’t wake up.” It comes out small, void of that usual easy confidence.

Steve swallows every comment on the tip of his tongue about how the rest of their group could easily keep Eddie entertained without any concussions bothering them. It’s not often that he has control over his tongue, but in the face of such open worry and vulnerability, his heart aches and he wants to say the right thing.

“I’m awake, Theodore Munson. It takes far more to put me out for good.”

It’s a lie, he knows. It would not have taken that much more, but Eddie doesn’t need to know that.

“Don’t let them hear that, they will take that as a challenge.”

Steve only gives a non-committal hum and closes his eyes again. If he didn’t, the darkness of the cell and the kindness in Eddie’s eyes would have made him say stupid things like, Let them, if that means everyone else is safe. That would surely dim the light in those black eyes and very likely make Jim throw a boot at him. And Steve really doesn’t want to have to deal with either of those things.

Eddie resumes his task of gently cleaning him, and Steve gets the feeling that the bard must be doing it for himself just as much as for him. It’s something to keep himself occupied, and the way he talks betrays his intentions in turn of keeping Steve awake and occupied, too.

A gesture that is almost too kind to bear, as dusk turns into night and the silver light of the full moon illuminates their cell.

———

Jim lies just a few feet beside them, and now that his eyes have had the chance to adjust to the darkness properly, the concussion already weaker than it was earlier, Steve can see that his eyes are open. Or, one eye is; the other is swollen too badly. Another wave of guilt and shame clouds his senses for a moment and he has the urge to ask forgiveness. He feels responsible, even though he knows Jim would hit him over the head if Steve so much as mentioned that.

His eyes cut back to Eddie above him when a yawn interrupts the bard’s steady movements with the cloth that is barely wet anymore.

“You never got any rest, did you?” he asks – stupidly, because the moment the words leave his lips Steve remembers the very reason for Eddie’s wakefulness. He winces before the other man even gets the chance to answer. “Right, my fault. Forgive me.”

If the ground beneath him could open now, he would have a banquet in its honour. With a groan, he moves to sit up and free Eddie of his dead weight, the motion pulling on his cuts and bruises, irritating his broken and burning ribs in a way so sudden it steals his breath for a second. Steve is well acquainted with pain, but the all-encompassing nature of it right now is thoroughly unwelcome.

Hands come up to steady him, guiding him to sit up and lean against the stone wall, his own shoulder coming to rest against Eddie’s, who only slowly lets go of him.

“Thank you,” Steve breathes, looking at him out of the corner of his eyes.

“It’s hardly a question of fault,” Eddie says in that calm, soothing way of his that keeps making Steve want to reach out and hold on. Hold him. “And it was no hardship to stay and… be gentle.”

Something in the back of his mind wants to tell him something but it’s too foggy to grasp.

“Gentle,” he says, inquiring, as though saying the word out loud would tell him its meaning.

“Even Rangers of the Kingdom deserve gentle hands and smiles. Even if they are too badly beaten and concussed to recall their request.”

Eddie’s words aren’t making sense, but what they do is make his heart beat faster for some reason other than shame and embarrassment. He presses his lips together and tries to find his voice.

When he finds it again, it’s barely more than a whisper hidden in the moonlight. “Allow me to return the favour, then. Rest, Eddie. Find some sleep while I ensure it is safe.”

Something shifts in those black eyes and Steve wants to chase it. Eddie cast in silver light of the moon is different than the golden figure of the past days. Less imposing and more… fragile. Gone is the teasing, replaced with something more… More. It suits him, the light of the moon, as much as it makes Steve’s heart and mind race.

“Will you smile at me still?” Eddie asks at last, and even the darkness cannot veil the quiver in his voice.

Steve is reminded of something he must have dreamed of earlier, but he cannot focus on that, not with the way the moonlight catches in those dark curls that have managed to slip out of the band keeping his hair bound at the back of his skull. Not with the way it illuminates the twitch of his lip or the impossible way he is looking at Steve still.

“Always,” he says before he can even think about it. Always, he thinks. However long that may yet be.

Another smile twitches and tugs at the bard’s lips, lingering in its nature as he closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall behind them. It can’t be comfortable, and Steve has half a mind to offer his own lap, but there is something about seeing Eddie so calm. He doesn’t dare to interrupt him.

He waits until Eddie’s breathing has evened out before he gives in to the urge to brush the treacherous curl behind his ear. It leaves his fingertips with a tingling sensation that makes him want to do it again, so he does. Sitting there, trying to breathe through his broken ribs and his fluttering heart, Steve doesn’t dare to do it a third time, as much as he yearns for it.

He rests his own head against the wall, too, and watches the bard, because watching him is easier than letting his gaze wander and be reminded of the situation they’re all in.

The moonlight guides his gaze towards Eddie even as he tries to look away, and Steve watches as it caresses the bard’s features in such a way as though that is what it has been sent here to do.

It makes Steve smile even as the ache in his chest grows stronger. He is starting to realise what this is, and he’s too weak to fight it. Not in this prison cell, not in this foreign country where the sun is out to kill you and the moon will watch you shiver helplessly.

How could he fight the moonlight and its tender caress, the world tinged in silver as he lets it work its magic on him? Only a fool would be able to resist.

“Steve.”

He just barely manages not to flinch as Jim’s rasping voice rips him away from his musing – no, his yearning. Turning his head, he finds his eyes in the dark, though he can’t make out any question or command in them. Has Jim caught him? Does his old mentor know his thoughts regarding the bard, has he seen the twitch in Steve’s fingers as he refused to let them reach out and touch?

Jim’s silence is as good a command as any, and summoning all his might not to let his face betray the pain shooting through his body, Steve gets up with a suppressed groan and walks over to his old mentor.

As slowly as possible without giving away the pain that feels like his ribcage is being both torn apart and pressed together, he sits down beside Jim, guiltily thanking the swollen eye and the darkness, for he seems none the wiser to Steve’s injury.

“Don’t do that again.”

Steve freezes, his thoughts tumbling over themselves trying to figure out what exactly Jim refers to — the guilt still warring inside him insists that there are many things he should not have done.

“What do you mean?” he asks, feeling like he is but a green student again, getting berated by his mentor after he did something wrong.

“Take a beating for me. I understand why you would do it for the others, but—”

“Jim,” he tries to interrupt him with a gentle sigh, but the old man won’t have it.

“No, Steve. They hate me more than you, we don’t need you riling them up and making things worse for yourself.”

“I will not let them break your arms and ribs, James. I can take it, I’m—”

“If you say you’re younger, Steven, I’m going to throw you out of the window..”

An innocent grin spreads his lips and he inclines his head, meeting Jim’s good eye. “But I am.”

He sees the hand coming, shooting out from below, but his range of motion and reflexes are still heavily impacted by his injuries that he can’t manage to get out of Jim’s reach in time. Before he knows it, Steve loses his balance and falls flat on his back without any grace but with all the more agonising pain.

Nobody would have been able to hide broken ribs and a nearly split skull like this, but Steve still mentally kicks himself as the wheezing groan of pain leaves his lips.

All traces of mirth leave Jim’s expression and everything turns into worry as he, too, sits up with a groan to check over his former apprentice.

“By the Gods, Steve, are you okay?”

Another groan that is supposed to be somewhere between “Just peachy” and “Fuck off”, but even that sound is pathetic with the way the air has been pushed out of his lungs at the impact. All he manages is a whimper, and he doesn’t try to open his lips for more than that.

He doesn’t even attempt to sit up this time, can only try to catch his breath and breathe through the agony with more wheezing, rattling whimpers. Hands hover over him in the dark, but he shakes his head rapidly, scared that Jim would try to touch and feel the injury, only to find a broken rib or two. Or five, at this point.

His lungs don’t work right and he can’t quite catch his breath. It is only experience that tells him this is normal, this will pass, he will breathe right again. Hopefully.

“For God’s sake, why would you hide an injury like that, Steve? Why would you… You idiot!”

There is movement around him in the cell, the others waking up from Jim’s anger and worry and guilt, but Steve keeps his eyes closed lest the tears fall.

“Breathe,” Jim tells him, and Steve finds that to be a wonderful idea, actually, so he tries. And he tries again. “Yes, good. Breathe, Steve. It’s all going to be fine, you’ll get through this.”

“Have to,” he presses, barely any sound to his wheezing. “So you can throw me out of the window.”

“Fucking moron,” Jim mutters, though Steve can hear the emotion in these two words. It makes him smile despite the situation.

“S–sorry,” he wheezes again, and trusts that Jim understands that he means more than his sarcastic retorts or the hiding of the wounds. Sorry for losing Will again. Sorry for not saving Elanor in time. Sorry for failing the mission. Sorry for being weaker than you need me to be. Sorry for—

“It’s alright, Steve,” Jim promises and there are fingers in his hair again, wetness running down his cheek. Did the fall open his head injury again? The situation must truly be dire if Jim is being outright gentle and worried. “Just don’t do it again. Let me take them next time.”

He wheezes again, but won’t make that promise. If their captors come back, he knows he won’t sit and watch them hurt his friends, won’t sit and watch them treat Jim the same way they treated him on the journey here.

It takes a moment for the world to right itself again and for the cell to become quiet, but somehow Steve manages to get his breathing under control and the pain subsides from agonising to miserable, like before. He rolls his head and looks at Jim through a blurriness in his eyes that he has to blink away.

“You think we’ll make it out of this alive?”

Maybe it’s the pain clouding his mind, maybe it’s the darkness that has always made it easier to ask such questions, but Steve finds the words falling from his lips easier than they should have.

Jim’s expression that just a moment ago has been filled with worry and anger sobers now, and Steve doesn’t quite like what he sees.

“Will is still out there,” he says, evading the question and answering it in the same moment.

“Yeah. He is,” Steve says, not sure if he believes it or not. Not sure if it changes anything. “You’re right.”

They stare at each other for a moment, the moonlight catching Jim’s eyes in a way that highlights the emotions in them. The desperate hope that Will is out there, alive, and reunited with his sister — they have their ways of finding each other against all odds. Always have. Steve likes to believe that they won’t stop now, that a desert can’t keep them apart. That they found friendly faces who won’t betray them, and bring them home.

Bring them home even when Steve and Jim can’t follow them. And Maxine. Princess Elanor would turn the desert into an ocean before she left Maxine to die. But down in their cell, the ocean would leave them to drown all the same.

Jim has hope, though, and Steve decides to follow his mentor again. Just for tonight, when all he feels is pain, when his head is being split open, his chest crushed and bursting, his limbs bloodied and bruised. Just for tonight, he will allow himself not to think, not to worry, and to trust Jim blindly like he did all those years ago.

“Sleep, Steve,” Jim says then, and only now does Steve realise how tired he is, his eyes closed long ago.

He spends a brief moment thinking about Eddie and the promise he made the bard to be there when he wakes up. It’s silly, because he’s merely a few feet away, but it still hurts to have abandoned him to lie there by himself while everyone else has company. When he never moved while Steve himself was asleep.

“You should sleep, too, Ranger.” A sudden wave of warmth washes over him when he hears that voice with its foreign inflections. “You both need your rest, I can stay awake for some time to keep watch and wake you up at the first sign of danger.”

“Eddie, I really don’t mind—“

“I insist, Ranger James. You two have taken the most of their hatred and displays of power, it’s the least I can do.”

Jim seems to hesitate for a moment, but Steve doesn’t open his eyes to look. His lids have become far too heavy, even heavier still when a certain hand is back in his hair to comb through it in even movements, mindful of his wounds. He doesn’t fight the secret smile this time.

“Well, if you insist, bard,” Jim finally concedes, never one to really pass up an opportunity for sleep. “Good night to you, then.”

“Goodnight, my friend,” Eddie says in that calm, kind manner of his that is still new to them, and Steve feels as though he breathes easier for it. “And you, Steven,” he lowers his voice, appearing closer now, “truly are a fool.”

“Oh?” he says, wishing that it wouldn’t hurt to laugh or even just to huff. “What happened to brave, kind-hearted, and whatever else you said earlier?”

“You can have those back when you stop lying about being injured.”

“Keep them then,” he says, and it’s meant in jest, but that doesn’t translate well when you barely have enough strength left for a voice, he finds.

“Sleep,” Eddie repeats, gentler this time, though he sighs long and hard after. “You impossible man.”

It makes Steve smile again, even as an impenetrable darkness wraps around him.

He’s sure that the hum and the whispered, “I see you’re keeping your promise still,” are figments of his imagination, his tired mind playing tricks on him. But it’s a dream he likes to sink into, filled with moonlit skin, gentle hands, and kind words.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume@steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround@pukner@i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic @bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @awkwardgravity1 (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently) and also @ashipwreckcoast and @universal-gay and @marismorar bc you asked me to post the thing (and also b!)

#steddie fic #steddie #steve x eddie #this isn't really anything but also it's everything to me rn like it's literally what keeps me sane i go about my day and think of them #and all the tenderness and angst in that prison cell #this is a ranger's apprentice inspired au if you will but nobody knows what that is in my experience lmaoo #dio words #sorry tag list gang this aint really a thing you don't have to look at this i'm really just posting this for three (3) people who asked

203 notes · View notes

blackkatdraws · 1 year

Text

SOMEONE IS REPOSTING ART WITHOUT ASKING FOR CONSENT OR CREDITING THE ORIGINAL ARTISTS!

Unfortunately these were the only screenshots I managed to get (I only wanted them to remove my art but they ignored and blocked me) I don't know what to do in this situation :(

Please try get this account down! Report them, reblog this post to spread the message, anything will do.

Please try not to spread hateful messages to them, I only want them to take down my art. 💗

#helpppp #what do I do #clock 0ut #the stanley parable #I'm gonna put these tags so people will see this in their page #sorry if it's annoying but I'm gonna need all the help I can get 💗#the stanley parable ultra deluxe #tsp #tspud #narrator tsp #tsp narrator #stanley tsp #stannarrator #stanarrator #sad ist #yellow zone

640 notes · View notes

browngirl-inthering · 5 months

Text

decade accurate marauders era wardrobes - lily evans

hair: long and auburn, often worn down and parted in the middle. styled with curtain bangs and two chin length pieces that frame her face.

clothes: consists of muted shades of brown, red, green, and yellow. waistcoats, fitted tops tucked neatly into trousers and skirts, turtleneck sweaters, dresses with short hemlines, and the occasional band tee. lots of plaids, suede, and buttons.

miniskirts were a popular but controversial item of clothing that have origins in 1960s london. prior to the 60s, it was completely unheard of for a skirt's hemline to ever be above the knee. however, during the course of the early to mid 60s young women in london began to wear their skirts shorter and shorter. as the miniskirt began to grow in popularity, it also gained negative attention as well with critics dubbing it as "mad" "vulgar" and "just awful". despite the heavy criticism, the miniskirt only continued to rise in popularity amongst women all over the globe, and with this played a key role in growing feminism and womens liberation movements. the miniskirt was comfortable, didn't restrict movement, and most importantly, allowed women to have autonomy over their bodies and how they wanted to present themselves. the history and meaning behind the miniskirt is why i feel lily would especially love miniskirts and still wear them despite the fact that they somewhat lost popularity in the 70s. she is a canonically brave and intelligent woman who stands firm in her opinions and isn't afraid to make them known. i believe she would have strongly identified in the feminist movements of the time and would wear miniskirts as a sort of her own personal protest.

i don't really see her as a big t-shirt wearer tbh. t-shirts were largely viewed as undergarments until t-shirt printing became easier and more accessible in the 60s and 70s which began the trend of graphic/slogan tees. she definitely loved abba and fleetwood mac though so they're the exception.

for some reason waistcoats are very lily to me. they came in all sorts of sizes and designs and i know she looked good in every one she had.

shoes: clogs, knee high lace up boots, and loafers. not much of a platform on them but still very 70s.

accessories: oversized square framed sunglasses, newsboy cap, headband scarf and a small purse.

THE one and only iconic lily evans cap™

she has an array of different colored and patterned scarfs that she uses to tie her hair back with.

#yeah remember when i said i was planning on doing sirius next. i lied im sorry🧍🏿‍♀️#i WILL get to him though!!! hopefully sometime this week!!!#i have so many thoughts™ on sirius' sense of style but unfortunately i have so many other important things that i have to do #and these take a long time for me to do #tysm for the people who followed me for the series + left nice comments on the james one i did i rlly do appreciate it 🥹#lily evans #lily potter #marauders #the marauders #marauders era #the marauders era #mwpp #mwpp era #decade accurate marauders era wardrobes #<- the tag i'm filing all these under

129 notes · View notes

emaiiyaru · 9 months

Text

dusts off ask box

it was just genshin chars in wonderland roles, there isn't really any lore to it outside of the disney movie that i was following

i don't really follow kpop groups but i do like Twice and BTS songs

i can't believe we're getting three generations of women into genshin impact

it's pretty cool that you can share your interests with your family honestly

thanks i really don't draw them as much as i'd like to

i was more worried about my proportions back then but i'm glad to hear that my old art is still holding up

thank you, i've really been beating myself up lately

what the heck!! that's insane.. genuinely thank you for supporting me for so long

#i'm really sorry if my responses sound a bit dull #i'm emotionally drained right now #i can't imagine following me for like 4 years what the heck #i think we're all victims of the genshin pipeline because this game just hauled everyone from ALL over #godh tumblr is so nice..such a whiplash from twitter #it really felt like i couldn't draw throughout this past month but nice msgs from inbox and tags #really made me want to draw again #and now i'm actually drawing again #it also makes me happy that people are still writing into my inbox despite my absences #some of these are pretty recent actually like i rarely ever get simultaneous asks #again thanks everyone

190 notes · View notes

sciderman · 1 month

Note

I swear I have read your big post regarding Peter Parker's neurodivergence and why it is best to avoid labelling him, but he definitely has a weird brain

Can't find it and feel kinda sad about it cuz I deeply related to it

i know exactly which post you're talking about and i can't find it either! i've raked through my archive, and it's just - nowhere to be seen. i think tumblr eated it (it happens.)

really, tumblr's search functionality is so so useless, i don't know what to tell you. there are plenty of keywords i can search to find it that post, but the search functionality actually just does not work!

undiagnosed audhd-addled peter parker, my darling, my light, my life, my everything.

i think peter parker's such an interesting creature to write, because a lot of people will point to a certain behaviour about him and say "this is an autistic thing, right?" but a lot of those behaviours are actually, in my head, tied to certain traumas in peter's life too.

people say "oh, the food thing, peter's a picky eater because he's autistic" and yes, absolutely. but also it's tied to his trauma with his parents.

peter gets overstimulated, and yes, it's an autism thing, but also he was bitten by a radioactive spider and his senses are dialled to 11.

it's a similar case i've found for myself, too – where a lot of friends i have kind of diagnose me because i have autistic traits, but actually - i'm hesitant to claim the label or pursue diagnosis because, actually, i know where these certain behaviours come from, and they come from certain traumas. there are events i can pinpoint in my life and say "yep. that's where this behaviour comes from."

so - i think there's a lot of overlap between trauma and autistic traits. the brain is very complex! i think the reason for that overlap is maybe as simple as the fact that people with autism and people with trauma are both doing the same thing - developing behaviours to protect themselves or soothe themselves. so - i think it's nice to be able to see a character like peter parker, who may or may not be autistic, but recognise behaviours in him and see yourself in him.

people who go undiagnosed for whatever reason - people who are really good at masking - so good, in fact, that they have no idea they might be on the spectrum - everyone and anyone at all can look at peter parker and recognise themselves. because i think we discredit the thought that every single brain does the same thing! develops certain behaviours in order to survive. every brain has that same software - we've just all been faced with different hardships that we need to overcome, and that's were all the differences come in.

autism is a spectrum, i guess - everyone falls into it to some degree. and i think events in your life probably push you along on it. but i don't know, i didn't study brain science. probably what i'm saying is very stupid and uninformed. of course there's brain chemistry involved. but i know people in my life living with autism and certain events in their life have exacerbated certain behaviours or made coping with it a lot more difficult. so maybe trauma is a catalyst.

#a lot of my traits have been exacerbated lately and i remember it was much easier for me before #and some of my friends have said “oh it's because you've been masking too long and now you're facing autistic burnout.”#and that made sense to me i think.#but then i found out about the stress thing. me overproducing stress hormone. and that's a very physical thing.#and that explains why i've been overstimulated more than usual lately. and why everything feels like too much.#and i wonder how many of these traits of mine are going to subside once i have lamar removed #and it makes me wonder a lot of things. and it's so weird how much your brain is tied to your biology.#i wonder how much i'll change. i wonder how i'll feel. i wonder if i'll still feel like me. i wonder how much me is me right now.#and how much of me is being altered by weird freaky hormones. who am i?? who will i be??#i'm almost looking at this as like. a superhero origin story of some sort. like this is my spider-bite moment. maybe.#will i be different? will i cope with things differently?? now that my body isn't fighting something anymore??#maybe i'll be normal. i don't know. i don't know.#i don't know what it'll mean for me.#but all of these things mean i relate to peter parker in a certain kind of way #i don't think you have to be diagnosed with autism to recognise and empathise with those traits i think #i think everyone can see themselves in peter. and i think that's the benefit of having characters that aren't diagnosed.#because there's so much overlap in the human experience. and certain feelings aren't exclusive to just one group of people.#peter has such a rich identity actually. it's an autistic thing. it's a queer thing. it's a jewish thing. it's a trauma thing.#there are so many overlapping parts of peter's identity that inform who he is and how he behaves and it's never just one thing.#it's a product of all of his things.#just like me! just like everyone.#so me? i guess i can be a million things. you can explain what i am in a million different ways.#a hundred different psychologists can all come up with different ways to explain why i be the way i be.#i don't think it's something that can be simplified.#sorry wow. i'm really going off here in the tags.#i hope people don't think i'm stupid. i don't know brain science. i'm just philosophising as usual.#sci speaks

58 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

cutecraftnetwork-blog

Cute Craft

avat6aj

Untitled

standing-in-v-formation

scratch them all, spit casually

kemarukseks

hungry for sex

lachicavoltron333

beyaz gül bahar :3