When Steve’s parents get a postcard from him they’re relieved because after they fought with him about being in a relationship with Eddie that put a huge dent in their relationship. They were taken aback when they say a picture of Steve kissing Eddie on the cheek and Eddie was flipping off the camera with his tongue out. On the back of the card was a message, it became clear who the message was written by just from looking at the hand writing.

“He chose me bitches and we’re getting married. Guess who’s not invited…YOU

HAHAHAHA!!!!!!

.p.s. He calls me daddy now :)”

Steve’s parents lost their minds completely after reading that and their dislike for Eddie grew stronger, then again that was Eddie’s goal.

you've heard of first person neopronouns now get ready for no first person pronouns

i do unironically think the best artists of our generation are posting to get 20 notes and 3 reblogs btw. that fanfic with like 45 kudos is some of the best stuff ever written. those OCs you carry around have some of the richest backstories and worldbuilding someone has ever seen. please do not think that reaching only a few people when you post means your art isn't worth celebrating.

also worth noting that "abusive" doesn't actually mean "irredeemable" either.

there's a lot of people that have done things in the past that were bad, because they weren't taught any better, or they were in an overall toxic situation where EVERYONE was shitty (like a cult), or they were just at an especially low point and hurt others for it.

you don't have to forgive them. you don't have to ever speak to them again. you can be angry with them until you die if you want.

but society cannot function if we don't allow them to move on. to change their behavior and fuck off somewhere else and build meaningful relationships without bothering you again. we need a path for people to change, or nothing ever will.

“Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust?”

trans women are everywhere and are so eager to be seen and heard but only if they feel safe around you. if you hardly ever have trans women interacting with you, especially online, then consider there might be a reason for that and you should address it

Friendly reminder that you should

Write that fic

Draw your OC

Redesign that blorbo

Plan that comic how you want

Create the content you want to see

Be cringe

Be free

The only thing that matters is you having fun! Not what others think!

humble contribution

tshirt that says NO LIVE ORGANISM CAN CONTINUE FOR LONG TO EXIST SANELY UNDER CONDITIONS OF ABSOLUTE REALITY

Remus x Lily evil laughter - a kiss shared during a game  ( truth or dare ,  spin the bottle ,  etc ) &  ❛  you  know  what  i’m  waiting  for .  ❜

❝ Yeah mm — Sorry, I mean yes...yes, I am quite aware, Miss. Evans. ❞

The formal use of the mischievous redhead's name is more of a taunt, despite the giddy nervousness that has begun to permeate from the poor wretch in raucous waves. He knows he's being ridiculous. It's a simple task, really. The game they're playing doesn't exactly involve rocket science or complicated magicks beyond their admittedly impressive repertoire. Seven minutes in Heaven — or seven minutes with the expectation that their lips (among other body parts) will likely touch. Merlin, it's not even like he's a bloody virgin! It's just that...it's right fucking complicated.

He licks his lips, honey mead gaze lingering on her own plush mouth. Lily Evans is beautiful and there isn't a git alive that wouldn't want to snog her. Even Remus isn't immune...but he's also loyal. He knows that James carries a torch for her. He knows that it's more than some silly little crush on a pretty bird. Hell, he vastly understands exactly what it is that his best mate sees in the remarkable witch because he sees it too. He always has. She was always so kind - so incredibly warm - and she knew exactly when she needed a soft word or a gentle touch.

"Right," he breathes out slowly, voice gravelly with anticipation and repressed longing. "Clock's a tickin'."

The long digits of his left hand tentatively reach out to touch her angelic face, fingertips tracing the high crest of her ivory cheek with a trepidation that straddled the war-torn and entrenched border of devotion and fear. The Gryffindor ducks his head forward slowly, hard-pressed to stop the stilted intake of air into his lungs when their mouths first touch. The world hasn't ended. James hasn't come barging through the door. She isn't rejecting him or pulling away in revulsion.

It just - it felt like falling into your nice, warm bed after the worst goddamned day of your life.

A groan escapes the starving boy as he deepens their kiss, the soft touch Remus had held on her face becoming an insistent but gentle cradle of fingers and palms. "Lily," he whispers her name like the reverent prayer that it is right there against her lips. "Oh, Lily. Lily. Lily." A grin curves at the corners of his own mouth, breath leaving him in an appreciative rush of burning air. "You taste like sugar and spice." His tongue teases her lower lip, coaxing her for another taste.

can you tell the brain rot is coming back

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

The more I think about the last minutes the more I’m sure Crowley was saying goodbye from the minute Aziraphale told him he’d said yes to Heaven. He doesn’t confess his love like he’s hopeful, he confesses it like a eulogy. He doesn’t kiss him to make a beginning, he kisses him to seal the end. He watches him go like it’s the last time.

Crowley knows Heaven. He knows they’ll want to either make Aziraphale just like them, or destroy him. Either way I think he believes he’s seen his angel for the last time.

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

I hope he has many, many regrets about coming back.

#ineffable idiots