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pawberri · 2 days

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The key problem with "proship vs anti" discourse is that the most extreme versions of each side, the ones who actually bother to identify with these labels, accepted each others worst takes as arguments they had to debate. "Fiction =/= reality" is, in practice, an absurdly reductionist, anti-intellectual, thought-terminating-cliche that dictates we can learn nothing about a person via art and that their fiction reflects no political or moral messaging worthy of critique. In response to this, the "puriteens" who are too young to possibly hope to articulate their discomfort, to untangle their position from what is often real trauma experienced online, simply argue "yes, fiction influences and reflects reality in a 1 to 1 capacity." They, and people who want to use the groundwork they laid to make bad-faith callouts, make bad arguments about how the action of engaging in problematic fiction is on equal ground to real life abuse, or is a clear indicator of interest in real life abuse. Both of these arguments are terrible, but each side seems to radicalize the other further and further into their own brands of anti-intellectual reactionary belief. "Proshippers" become libertarian absolutists about free speech and view all transgression as righteous and alternative and therefore leftist. They gain a reactionary nostalgia for the past, desiring a time when people didn't seem to care about the implications of art. "Antis" become authoritarian and hypervigilant for signs of moral decay, at their worst, willing to align themselves with government bodies that offer carceral solutions to the debate. They are willing to use harassment as a tool of punishment, which then leads to false accusations and a fear of openness that puts people at risk of being triggered via obfuscation. (That said, proshippers also take part in plenty of harassment.)

I will say that I believe both of these movements are equally sensitive to co-opting by right-wing forces. We see the authoritarian tendencies of anti culture in harassment campaigns and even the way Republican law makers co-opt "grooming." The proship/fic crowd has such extreme nostalgia for the past that I often see people align themselves with the cultures of 4chan or other happily right-wing websites. They so heavily reject the idea that a drawn sexual depiction of a child could reflect any desire that they are disinterested in analyzing what the motivation behind the depiction is. i.e If we track the history of lolicon in Japan we do find that is, yes, countercultural, but that counter culture is right wing, very misogynistic, and defensive of patriarchial Japanese culture as it is and was including its culture around rape and abuse. Plenty of fictional content works as radicalization material, and radicalization material needs to be ambiguous. There is a valid reason to be hesitant to trust people who consume this content, even if I do not believe most of them will ever be dangerous towards children. The mere presence of sexuality is not enough to make a movement left wing. This kind of thing can again be seen in right-wing libertarian movements in the US. (And even leftist movements can be bigoted and even "pro-pedophilia" or otherwise disinterested in social reform around abuse.)

Is all content with elements of age-play this way? No. But to me, that is why kink media deserves to be treated as art and analyzed, critiqued, treated seriously. It doesn't have to do anything to anyone to be worthy of a moral critique. Said moral critique just doesn't warrant harassment and cruelty and reactionary exaggerations of the person consuming said content.

Anyway, what's my point in saying all this? I don't know. I'm just begging you to tag your God damn content with specific tags instead of random and nebulous shit like "dead dove" or "dark content", and also begging you to stop harassing people who do tag their content so I don't have to guess what "dead dove" and "dark content" mean. No one will erase incest kink fics or people who feel sickened by the idea of them off this earth because we aren't god, but we could at least all be responsible about tagging, flagging, and age-gating our stuff.

#csa tw #long post #proship anti tw

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steviewashere · 1 day

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Make a Home Out of Hurt

Rating: General CW: Death of a Grandparent, Mourning Tags: Post-Season 4, Post Canon, Grief/Mourning, Established Relationship, Alternate Universe — Future Fic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Sad Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Absent Parents, Steve Harrington Mom is Okay, Steve Harrington's Dad is an Asshole, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Moving in Together

Had an evil little thought. Also, all these Fenton bunnies I mention are real! My nana collects Fenton. (She's alive, don't worry, but I thought about her the other day and it spiraled into this.)

🏡—————🏡 We’ve already seen this neighborhood, Eddie thinks, but won’t say.

Even though they have. They’ve driven by the same three houses. Yellow, pastel pink, and navy blue. White door, white door, brown door. Bushes and bushes and a bushel of red roses. One garage, no garage, no garage but large driveway. He’s seen them. Over and over and over.

And each time they pass the last one, the leather of the steering wheel squeaks. And each time, Steve makes a muffled sort of noise. And each time, Eddie wonders if resting his hand on Steve’s shaking shoulders would anger him or mellow him. And each time, the car gets just a little slower as Steve loses his control more and more.

We’ve already seen this neighborhood, Eddie continues to think, but knows he’ll sit here with those words. He’ll sit in the passenger seat. Window cranked as far down as it’ll go—half-way since Dustin busted the actual mechanism. Beemer’s been through a lot, so it’ll be here for Steve’s end all breakdown, too. With the radio volume low, playing the same double-sided tape on repeat, flipped by Eddie because Steve’s hands have been shaking: The World We Knew by Frank Sinatra. Because it was her favorite. Nana’s favorite. Nana Harrington’s favorite.

On the fifth drive through, Steve finally parks the car. At the end of the long, slow winding driveway. He looks out the windshield, hollowed and not quite here. With limp hands in his lap. Messy, greasy hair he couldn’t bother to style. Eye bags so heavy, Eddie barely believes he can hold them on his face.

Eddie can follow his line of sight. To the edge of the white picket fence, worn down a little with age, scratched up from the curled nails of an old brown dog, carved with her son and daughter-in-law’s initials, and eventually stained with yellow handprints from baby Steve. Yellow because, as Steve has echoed, “Lello, Nana. Lello like your dress. Your favorite!” Well, Steve’s favorite too, he just won’t acknowledge it’s because of his nana. Eddie knows that the paint has faded a bit since then, given that it’s been fifteen years since Steve’s had hands that small, but Eddie can see him. In his little white and red striped t-shirt, hidden by a pair of nicely pressed denim overalls, white sneakers, and his mom’s bobby pins in his hair—something she did because it just wouldn’t stop growing so fast and thick. Or so Eddie’s been told.

He’s been told a lot in the last week. Since the call came through the landline of their apartment. Since Steve had gone silent and collapsed to his knees and wailed, screamed even. Since he dressed himself in a suit that fit well, but looked out of place on his curled in body. Since…since the obituary was finally in his hands at the funeral, and he got so sick in the church’s restroom, Eddie had to drive them home in a daze—a quarter worried, a quarter tired, and half hanging by a thread. He thinks he’s heard everything, but what is love if not more than everything? If not all the words in every language, all known objects and unknown, every species and race and sexuality and identities combined?

He’ll hear everything. Until their old and grey and forgetting everything.

“There used to be a tire swing on that tree,” Steve states flatly, pointing at the weeping oak in his nana’s front yard. It’s crooked like it’s been kissed by the wind. A lot withering because the weather’s been harsh on her. Grey against the navy blue of the house’s siding.

I know, sweetheart, Eddie wants to say, so soft it gets lost between them. Instead, “Yeah? Bet it was a good tire, too,” he coaxes, still soft, all sweet. Even if he’s heard it each time they’ve passed by.

Steve nods once in his peripheral. Sniffs. “Yeah,” he states wetly, “one of the expensive ones. She didn’t want it to pop under me. Didn’t…She didn’t want me to stop using it.” His head dips down, looking at his fingers, where they’ve begun to absently trace the seams of his jeans. “I stopped,” he whispers shamefully. “You think she got mad because I stopped?”

“No, baby,” Eddie answers honestly. “I think that she was happy you used it at all. Think she was always just happy to see you, Steve.”

A sharp intake of breath next to him. “I used to come over here when my parents were gone. Or when they’d scream at each other. Or when…when they’d forget I existed,” he relays, quiet as a mouse. “When they’d forget, Nana would open the door and kiss my cheek and make me something to eat. I was always too skinny. So she made me casseroles,” he explains, a wisp of a smile. Gone in the blink of an eye. “She’ll never make ‘em again, though. She won’t—”

“Steve,” Eddie calls gently, a small warning. A siren before the tsunami.

“—Love me again,” Steve sobs, “Nana won’t love me again.”

“Oh, baby,” he breathes. Eddie steps out of the car, rounds over to the driver’s side, and yanks the door open. Carefully, he unbuckles Steve, scoots him so that his legs dangle over the side, and pulls him down into a gentle hug. “Baby,” he coos. “Just get it out, honey. I’m right here. We’re right here. I’ve got you.”

And Steve cries. Again; though Eddie’s lost count. He squirms against Eddie’s chest. Head nestled to his neck. Crying big sounds that sound too large, even for his adult body. Sounds that carry boats, that poison with oil spills, that home orcas. He slobbers onto Eddie’s skin, grand globs of hot spit that gargle in his throat before launching from his mouth. His unshaved stubble scratching at the side of Eddie’s face—where his skin is sensitive and smooth and will most definitely be raw with Steve’s aching.

He sobs until there’s no more tears. Until he’s a whimpering, shivering mess on Eddie’s chest. Bunched up and small and fisting Eddie’s t-shirt like a lifeline. Squeezing the fabric in his hands like two lemons.

Eddie runs his hands up and down Steve’s spine. From the small of his back to his hunched shoulders, squishing him. He sways them ever so gently like the rustle of the old oak tree. Hums something incoherent and unrecognizable. If only to get Steve to stop shaking.

“Eds?”

“Hm?”

He takes a long, slow breath. Breathes out, “Why’d she give me the house?”

Eddie pulls them apart. One hand on the middle of Steve’s back, the other cupping his left cheek. Swiping at the tacky tracks from his tears. “I’m not sure, baby. Maybe she loved you so much that she wanted you to have it? To always be safe there?”

“Shouldn’t she have given it to my dad? I don’t…” Steve’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion, his mouth frowning. “I don’t deserve her house?”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie sighs. “She chose you for a reason. You, Stevie. Not anybody else. Just you. If she wanted to give it to her son, she would’ve. But she didn’t. She thought of you, put you in the will, and now it’s yours.” When Steve doesn’t respond, Eddie gives him his moment of silence. Running his palm up to Steve’s shoulders. Pressing his thumb into his supple skin. “You may never know her intent, but she probably had a reason. It was a home you came running to, where you felt safest, where you felt…loved. Grandmothers always have this air to them, like they just know things about you before you say ‘em. Maybe she just knew you needed her and her space before you even realized.”

Steve sniffles. His eyes are still wet. Bloodshot and tired. Rumpled all the way around, exhausted and quiet. “She used to play with me in the yard.”

I know, Eddie thinks once more. He goes with the topic change though, if that’s what Steve needs.

“And when we played hide and seek, she always made sure to look until I was found. Because she didn’t want me to feel forgotten, her words.” Steve’s fingers are fidgeting with one another again. Picking at his fingernails, peeling at hangnails. Eddie moves down and takes them, rubbing soothing circles into their backs, just so Steve doesn’t harm himself on top of everything. Steve continues, hushed, “When I’d stay the night, she would sleep with me. Hold me close to her. Scratch my back and scalp and tell me stories…all the way until I fell asleep.”

“Kinda like I do, huh?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods. “Yeah,” he croaks. “Think that’s why I feel so loved and safe with you.”

And Eddie hasn’t cried, not really, not yet. But this may be it. Because he knows, beyond everything, that Nana was special to Steve—so special that just one negative comment, one complaint, one little fuss about her was enough to get you shunned by him. He’s seen it play out with Dustin, he’d been banned from coming over for two weeks. And with El, who didn’t understand quite yet, but had lost conversational abilities with Steve for two whole days—ergo, the Silent Treatment.

This means something. It means everything. Eddie kind of wants to cry about it.

But he reigns himself in for now. Because Steve needs him like water. For somebody to just be there and be present and be patient. Through it all.

“You wanna head inside,” Eddie offers, “I’ve got the key in my pocket.” He gestures loosely to the inside of his vest, the safest pocket near his heart. When Steve nods, Eddie leads them inside silently. Opens the door first, per request made by Steve days prior. Sets his shoes by the front door—not told to, but just out of respect. Hangs up his jacket, his vest. Takes Steve’s jacket, too. Unties his Nike sneakers. Smacks a quick kiss to his cheek. And then he waits by the front door for Steve to say or do something.

The first thing he does is gasp. Eyes roaming the hallway, the living room, and the fireplace that connects the kitchen and living space together. He takes a few tentative steps before stopping in front of a tall, full China cabinet.

“Her Fenton bunnies,” Steve breathes.

Eddie slowly approaches behind him. Wraps an arm around his waist, tugging him into his side a little. “Are these the ones your mom was talking about on the phone?”

“Yeah. I just…Didn’t think my mom was telling the truth,” Steve murmurs. “She told me Dad didn’t want these. Takes up room or whatever. But they’re so pretty here, how could you not want these?” His left hand reaches for the knob of the cabinet. Twisting it gently as to not rattle the glass shelves. With the doors swung open, the bunnies under the cabinet’s lighting are free to touch. And so Steve picks one up, carefully in his hands like it’s alive. Maybe it is, Eddie thinks for a moment, alive with her spirit.

He breathes silently by Steve as he investigates the glass item in his hand. Running his thumbs over the ears. Down the smooth back.

“Satin glass,” Steve states, “It’s like touching the fabric, which is so weird. Nana used to talk about it all the time, but I never believed her. She never let me touch. You wanna?” He holds the bunny up to Eddie’s face. In offering, for him to pet. So he runs a slow thumb down its back. And sure enough, soft as silk, cold to the touch. “All of them are here.” He replaces the silk, purple bunny on the shelf. Picking up a chromatic shifting one next. “Carnival glass,” Steve explains, “it’s heavier than the other one, feels like. But so shiny. Think Nana used to say it was amethyst or something, but that might be what the color shift is called?”

“You sure listened to her well,” Eddie murmurs, “know a lot about this.”

Steve chuckles, a little choked to Eddie’s ears but he makes no comment. “Yeah, I guess I did. Mom used to say that I had selective hearing. That I listened when it was something I cared about.”

“And you cared a lot about Nana,” Eddie concludes.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, “cared a lot about Nana.” He sets the carnival glass bunny back on the shelf. Standing idle in front of it all, taking it all in. “She has one upstairs, in a different glass cabinet. It glows green under the special blacklight upstairs. Said it was radioactive.” He chuckles again. “I gave her that one. As a gift for Mother’s Day in…I think ’77? Mom helped me pick it out—she was nice about the bunnies, about finding this stuff. She loved Nana, too. And she…” He laughs low in his chest and Eddie blossoms a little at the sound, unheard in so long. “Mom would pull out the long box of tissue paper and gift bags from the crawlspace. She’d unfold the prettiest gift bag—this one was a little brown one, covered in peach colored peonies. Stuffed some off-white tissue paper in that one. Wrapped the little yellow—well, it was supposed to be yellow—Fenton bunny in bubble wrap, covered it up with a bunch of caramels. Gave it to Nana, and she squealed! Apparently, she already knew it was radioactive? Thought it was the best gift ever. Which, ouch Nana, I gave you other bunnies for Mother’s Day, c’mon.”

Eddie snorts. “Maybe that’s what earned you the house? That radioactive bunny was probably the key to her heart,” he jokes. Though his stomach turns at the possibility it wasn’t appropriate to make.

Steve laughs loudly, though. Shaking his entire body with it. He slips his hand into Eddie’s back right pocket, sighs, and leans against him relaxed. “Dad should’a tried harder if he wanted Nana’s heart,” he comments, “all it took was a damn bunny.”

“Among other things, I’m sure.”

“Probably,” Steve sighs. “I think she was just excited to have a grandkid. She had a weird relationship with my dad. They didn’t get along very well. So maybe she was sorta…trying again?”

“Stevie, I think she just loved you. There doesn’t have to be some grand, deep meaning behind it. I think she just loved your company. How your laugh fills a room and your smile is seen from across the yard. And how you’re always polite, despite having reasons to not be. Maybe because of your terrible puns and how awful you are at quoting Shakespeare? You charm everybody, Steve,” Eddie monologues. “There’s not a reason to not love you.”

For a moment, the room falls completely silent. Distantly, there’s the slow tick of a wall clock. A few birds singing out in the backyard, where the bird bath probably is—only known through Steve’s memories. A slight hum from the radiator. The cars passing by on the main road just around the corner. Hawkins is quiet when there’s mourning; maybe it’s felt through the whole town, through the soles of Steve’s socked feet, from the beating of his ever love absorbent heart.

She died November 7th, 1993. Just a few days ago. Maybe it’s the anniversary of Will Byers going missing that Hawkins is feeling. Maybe it’s just tragedy. It’s love persevering—even in the most dire of situations. Where Joyce Byers was screaming about where her son may be, all those mismatched theories, and the ways in which the town thought she was crazy—even when they believed her and cried over her son’s body being pulled from the water. Where Will is actually thriving now. Where Sandra Harrington no longer is, though she was a fixture in several communities and families, Steve’s own being included.

“How’s your boy doing?” Wayne asked the day after her funeral. Eddie had shrugged, admitting he wasn’t sure because Steve had gone terribly quiet and sick. “Tell him I’m sorry. That he has a home with us. That he can come over and cry and I’ll make him hot cocoa. Alright, Ed?”

God, even Wayne knew. And there was silence after his condolences.

There is so much silence.

Until, finally, Steve asks, “Will you live with me here?”

“Wh—What?” Because surely he didn’t hear that right.

“Live with me here,” Steve repeats, a little more urgent. “I don’t think I can handle this place alone. And…I know how to use her gas stove. I can make you the spaghetti dish she used to make. And the casseroles she used to bake. We can open up her recipe box and I’ll teach you how to make her apple pie—the one she gave me for your birthday two years ago?

“And we can read your Lord of The Rings books on the porch on the bench she has out there? Grill in the backyard when we have everybody over. Robin can have the room that used to be my nursery. We can…We can live our lives here.”

Stunned, Eddie gapes momentarily. Before gripping harder at Steve’s waist, drawing him closer even when there’s no more room. Two solid bodies connected from shoulder to foot. “Are you sure, Steve? You don’t wanna—“

“You’re my family, Eds. I have loved you since that bullshit in ’86. We have seen each other through our absolute worst. Of course I’m sure. Of course I want you here,” Steve swears. “I know what I’m getting into. Even if it hurts to look around here right now. But you’ve been here by me through one of the worst heartbreaks I’ve ever experienced. I want you here—preferably always.”

“Stevie,” Eddie breathes. He reaches out with his free hand and cups the right side of Steve’s face. Swipes over his glistening cheekbone. Under his shadow beaten eye. The tickling brush of Steve’s bottom eyelashes on the tip of his thumb. And he kisses him tenderly, with every word he could ever imagine to say, all emotion he could ever feel, with an intensity seen in atomic bombs. He pulls back to see Steve’s eyes closed. Flushed and bright in the cabinet’s full white lighting, doors still open, and fragile glass bunnies as witnesses. Promises, “I want to, Steve. I want to be here with you. Through it. All of it. As long as I get to love you.”

And on his thumb there are fresh tears, gone cold but skin scalding. Steve’s lips trembling with silent cries. His eyelashes fluttering. Him and him and him. Beautiful and raw and open. Gentle like flowers and strong like wind. Aching and romantic and with a heart the size of the universe itself. Because Steve Harrington is everything—

Or so his nana has said. But Steve doesn’t know. And that’s Eddie’s own secret.

“Okay,” Steve mutters, “make a home with me, Ed.”

🏡—————🏡

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #angst and hurt/comfort

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nico-di-genova · 2 days

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Hmmm I don’t particularly have any questions but feel free to just ramble on about any ideas you have, because I would love to hear more about this au because I honestly feel like this is them in a parallel dimension lol. Or, alternatively tell us more about how Strollonso met for the first time :33

I have SO many ideas.

So I was already decided on Fernando being a retired athlete of some sort. After all the strollonso motogp discussions today, I’m firmly settled on him being a retired rider.

He and Lance meet at a monthly car meet in Estero. Lance isn’t really a car guy per-say, that’s more Pato and Esteban’s thing and he kind of tags along. He likes looking at them, likes driving them sometimes, but he usually prefers his bike when it comes to getting around. Fernando is a car guy though, brings his own car to show off and sees Lance walking around in his motorcycle jacket, with his helmet in his hand and strikes up a conversation while Pato is ogling at his car.

Lance has no idea who he is, but they get to talking about Lance’s bike specs, one thing leads to another…

This fic will probably feature a substantial amount of bike rides tbh. They’re both adrenaline junkies, but also they spend a lot of time on the golf course too (Lance’s major and all). Since Fernando’s mansion is literally built in a golfing community, Lance spends a lot of mornings there. They sometimes race each other in the golf carts, much to everyone else’s annoyance. Lance teaches Fernando how to golf, Fernando teaches Lance how to ride (read that as you will).

Lance’s frat brothers are used to him showing up to meetings late, usually like 20 minutes late with a dunkin coffee and apology donut holes for everyone (which, ya know, they can’t eat really, since it’s not kosher but it’s the thought that counts ig). He was late before Fernando because of poor time management, now he’s late and the hickeys on his neck are the obvious reason.

If this fanfic had a scent it would probably be sunscreen and leather. Bike rides to the beach and Lance lazing around on Fernando’s yacht. Late nights spent at galas and banquets and fancy dinners where Fernando pays because Lance likes being taken care of and Fernando is happy to do it. Motorcycle helmets and suits because they ride to all of these events on Lance’s bike (they alternate who drives, sometimes they take two bikes, but Lance likes the feeling of Fernando pressed against him as they do 100+ mph on the interstate).

Idk, I have to stop rambling, this is getting nonsensical, but yeah. Strollonso college au 🥰.

#strollonso #I am living in this au rn #it is so very real to me #a lesson in braking

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yolkcheeks · 6 months

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My bones: pain

My brain: also pain

My legs: sweet Angel baby kitty is sleeby yes I shall ne’er move a-gain I am most blessed

#nightposting #brain dump #chronic pain #mad grad and dangerous to know #the gorls #it’s Her Ladyship of course #also I thought of an alternative tag for Them #le raGATze #Geddit?#bad puns

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touchlikethesun · 4 months

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#creds to soma for summing up my thoughts it's the perfect caption #i think the post game bus sleepy bus back scenes are some of my favourites #it's a very necessary catharsis both for the characters and for the audience #they are also normally quite soft and aesthetic and i swear they draw them cuter on purpose #like i couldn't put this in the post because there too much too talk about but #yachi's little nod tanaka and noya leaning on each other kags fighting the demons #TSUKKI AND YAMS #the way they're alternating breaths has my heart all up in sorts #and yes i included them twice in this clip no it's not like that in the show but i needed to see more of them #haikyuu #karasuno #i can't tag everyone so i'll just tag the ones that i already have a few posts for #hinata shouyou #kageyama tobio #kagehina #tsukkiyama #tsukkishima kei #tsukki <3 #yamaguchi tadashi #yachi hitoka #kiyoyachi #kiyoko shimizu #sugawara koushi #sawamura daichi #asahi azumane

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diathadevil · 5 months

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Do you ever think about how Fakir, after him and Ahiru finally broke everything that kept the town of Goldkröne in the ghostly hands of its writer, after they finally have some air of peace over the town finally being able to live in its intended early 2000s environment, that Fakir still feels at times like it's not real and that for a while he fears that if he closes his eyes it'll be back in Drosselmeyer's control. Like it just doesn't feel real to him during that first year of calm, until he feels the dull pain on his recovering hand injury and Ahiru who follows him without a pendant anywhere to be found.

He doesn't feel it's real, the calm finality of this town, but he makes sure to feel the scar on his hand. And he makes sure to hold the little duck and realize that she is who she has always been. Him and the town are finally living peacefully.

#dia talks #princess tutu #He probably starts planning on writing Ahiru into the world mayyybe like 3-4 months into his recovery #he doesn't know what a cell phone is yet but he sure as hell can look at a bookstore and ask for a notebook and pens #i bet that first year in Goldenkröne must be hell because trading deals bring all sorts of new things into the town #Just Fakir going “what the fuck is a scooter?? Wait what's a CAR---”#he ends up having to read a bunch of newspaper articles about “Goldenkröne booming in German tourism!”#Actually does he even know his country's name... Did they all even know they lived in Germany and not JUST a city????#Drosselmeyer would've really pulled one on them for only talking about the city and its outskirts and NOT the country it resided in #But let's assume they did know. Fakir would have to figure out so much has changed in 2002 Germany compared to whatever time they were in #My god just thinking about the thought of Fakir learning what a television is... or a radio for that matter has me howling internally #local amateur writer is put into a coma after hearing for the very first time german rapper Sido #alternatively: local amateur writer's brain explodes after hearing german Happycore artist Blümchen and dance pop group No Angels #ptutu spoiler #i know its a +20 old show but just in case people wanna watch it i love it enough to tag the post show headcanon #ptutu analysis #ptutu headcanon #ptutu post canon #Also sorry i keep jumbling between Goldkröne and Goldenkröne in the writing its 4 AM and the german part of my brain is a mess lmao #(its supposed to be Goldkröne but for some reason I keep making it into the attribute word Golden so dont mind the mistake)#(if you do i will sob please be gentle towards my polyglot self)

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namari-hime-moved · 7 months

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Hello there! I’m your doppelganger!

#mels funny art #pokemon #pokemon sv #trainer florian #trainer juliana #body horror #scissors #ask to tag #florian vidal #juliana vidal #two of a kind am i right fellas?#HERE IS JULIANA VIDAL AND HER FUCKED UP DEFINITELY NOT AN AREA ZERO BEAST BROTHER FLORIAN VIDAL #i licherally cannot explain any of my thoughts on these two its just (CAR CRASH) (EXPLOSION) (BABY CRYING) up in my brain #basically oops. time machine malfunction. julianas alternate timeline self florian is running around and has been running around for a whil #he's literally not built to exist in this timeline and accidentally combined with an area zero terra crystal to keep himself alive #top ten guys who realize theyve accidentally been using their loved ones as energy sources for the past. however long #he may be all that but also hes funny and julianas brother and also a parallel to the ai professor and not the protag hes just A Weird Guy #sorry for not really talking about juliana. i swear shes the worlds silliest girl who loves history and her friends and her pokemon #theyre like a rabbit and a hare they made me insane aughhhhh #doomed siblings forever. they cannot exists without each other but one of them is literally NOT meant to exist #THEYRE PARADOXES (get it. get it. like the pokemon)#aughhh these two #poke-mel #eyestrain

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leenfiend · 9 months

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I’m scraping myself off the ground like a piece of gum and throwing myself at klance fics does anyone have any recs

#erm warning I have read so many of them already.#rlly speed ran that tag #alternatively…………if anyone has any canon compliant zukka fic recs I am also open to those…….#I have read like 2 short ass fics for them and I think I’ll only like it when it’s canon compliant slowburn bc I just wanna read about #the gaang hanging out #with a little added drama and romance u know what I mean??#anyway I also like canon compliant Klance 🤭#I’m the most boring person on planet earth I really always just want fics that are an extension of canon #Colleen thoughts #I might just have to roll up my sleeves and start rereading the ones I liked #klance

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loveletterworm · 1 year

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i wanted to draw sage again after i beat the game, but i kept forgetting to do that until just now...ah well better late than never or something

...also psst a spoilers version. yes i know its been a month since the game came out already im putting it under the read more anyway. don’t worry about it

Damn...she got autobalanced...

#my art #sonic frontiers #sonic the hedgehog #sage #i still dont know how we tag this character is just the name fine...#she doesnt have a title......#also i forgot to pull up a reference until after already doing the sketch so i failed to properly reflect #how giant and weird her hair is she's got spherehead. sorry for flattening it a little bit.#also i gave her white eyelashes because i think when ingame screenshots of her were first being released #i briefly thought that she had white eyelashes. but then more of those came out and i think it turned out to just be weird lighting.#but i thought it was cool so i colored them like that anyways...#also to be able to make an alternate coloring of this i had to make it have like 1 billion layers csp got really mad about it. sorry.#sth #<-- i keep forgetting i have that tag for my own organization. whcih kinda defeats the prupose

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sendmyresignation · 4 months

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finally reading dance of days (thank you ohiolink and oberlin college <3) but my most consistent takeaway thus far. is oh my god. people who think punk is primarily ideological and not subcultural/musical. are so out of touch.

#three thought threads excuse it but okay.#first as much as dc punk was not political for much of its history (revolution summer/positive force nonwithstanding im talking oldschool)#i do think the structure of diy and creating an alternative subculture economy is more radical than. making an antireagan song lmao.#even if i think the result was a bit of a failure. the intention was significant! imagine a world where artists do not have to contort #themselves to majors and can be supported by an alternate network of payment and such. would be nice if the arbitrary ideas #of like 5 dollar shows and zero pr and not fighting for what your worth didnt infest that ideology but whateves #okay then also. what the fuck how did i not know the bad brains homophobia was that bad. anyway.#third thread. hilarious that dc punks were.. hesitant to work with positive force bc of its association with revolutionary communist party #lol lmao even. now that im sufficently deep into these tags i can say what all this made me think of which is that #oh my god mcr is a punk band. well theyre more than a punk band but they unequivically came up in punk. they are based in punk. their first #lbum is a posthardcore record without question. in the context of punk as a MUSICAL SUBGENRE mcr is under that umbrella #more than they are Most Other Things #mcr is punk in the outsider-opposition sense which was as defined as some poltics were for a lot of early bands #and shit like black flag which my chem drew on was not textually very political at all it was a subcultural thing #equal opposite force to The Establishment. charting your own path even if it meant fighting for it #obv though black parade barely qualifies as a punk record it was an evolution for them #(and a really interesting zigzag since many of its influences are 70s rock- the very thing og punk was reacting against!#but which now represented a past oldschool rocknroll (esp with glam))#anyyyway #my posts

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bookwyrminspiration · 1 year

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I don't really have a final conclusion for this, I've just been thinking recently that I appreciate the effort Shannon made to say its okay to learn differently than others and have unique needs, however Exillium being the medium through which that message is conveyed in Unlocked falls short (at least for me) because...that's also the punishment school. Having different educational needs and being sent to a different school--not to mention one that's not even part of formal society and is literally in the wild--for poor behavior/choices are two very different things, but they've been lumped together.

Yes, it's entirely okay to learn differently and have unique needs, but that's not why kids get sent to Exillium. It's not a school to help accommodate their learning. Kids are, from what we've seen, sent almost always because they've caused problems and are deemed unfit for the typical schools. Disruptive, problematic, criminal, lesser, etc. So also having it be the alternative learning school kind of implies a correlation between having different needs and making poor choices/having problem behavior. Like none of these students "learn differently" (that we've been told at least) they caused problems (intentional or not) that people didn't want to deal with. Maybe this isn't representative of all Exillium students, but it's all we've seen so far that I can recall.

And yes Exillium is improving and did have a positive initial intention, but as it is right now I find myself (personally, these are my feelings) uncomfortable at it being used to say its okay to learn differently. Because it doesn't feel like it follows through on that message. Having the school where kids with criminal behavior are sent out of sight separate from the rest of society being the school for alternate learning styles just doesn't sit quite right.

And yes, some of the kids sent there were just labeled disruptive/problematic and they didn't actually do anything wrong but be themselves, but their being fucked over by the system doesn't change that that is how the system works.

I'm not really going anywhere with this and it's difficult to articulate (I'm sure I've missed a few clarifying points because I keep debating with myself back and forth) because I do think Shannon meant well, I'm not an expert, and there are always arguments to be made to the contrary (like I said, I've been debating with myself). It's just something I've been thinking about because I always feel icky reading that part of Linh's Exillium commentary, but maybe I'm making a problem out of nothing.

#kotlc #kotlc discourse #i keep doubting myself like is there actually anything there or am I making this up #i don't think I am?#for aforementioned reasons #and also...what alternate learning does it even show?#i don't have experience with accomodated learning styles so I can't say for certain #but I thought it was about learning the same things just in different ways presented differently #exillium isn't teaching them differently its just teaching them different things entirely #perhaps I am in over my head #and the fact exillium's being criticized and improved renders this null #and the fact students were having problems in the usual schools does indicate a different learning style thus rendering this null #but it just doesn't sit right with me #like none of these students 'learn differently' they caused problems people didn't want to deal with #and I. don't like that the two are lumped together #does any of this make sense?#long post #added one of these tags to the original post because i think it summarizes something well #i have read over this so many times. releasing it into the world now please be nice #<- doesn't not mean you cannot disagree or offer alternative perspectives just don't be rude about it #i'm genuinely trying to think and reason it through because I'm doubting myself and keep going back and forth #on whether or not there's actually anything to this

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