blocking makes a difference

I met you in the dark, you lit me up
You made me feel as though I was enough
We danced the night away, we drank too much
I held your hair back when
You were throwing up
Then you smiled over your shoulder
For a minute, I was stone-cold sober
I pulled you closer to my chest 

I knew I loved you then

happy phanniversary <3

au where arthur is some kind of forest spirit and alfred is a prince

not sure where this is going but i like it

blocked someone for leaving a mean comment on a snake video & damn it felt good. calling someone’s pet disgusting is so so gross, don’t do that pls. AND while we’re at it, let’s not joke about killing other people’s pets?

like, if anyone ever “joked” about killing Pangur or Furby I would block so fast my finger’d shatter. makes no difference if it’s a cat or a snake or a tarantula, someone loves that animal. don’t be cruel

6

3.10 part 5 - Bånder: The three times Isak broke eye contact, closed his eyes, or averted his gaze + the three times Even doesn’t let Isak let go of him

anonymous asked:

So I saw you don't really like shipping Lapis with anyone but I've seen Jaspis and Lapidot as well with a couple other shipping art with her from you. I hope I'm sounding rude I'm not trying to off that way ;_; But your ok with drawing her with Peridot,Jasper, Pearl etc?

it is true that ive experimented with lapis ships before and drawn them a couple times, but ultimately ive come to the conclusion that i dont enjoy them and they make me really uncomfortable (for reasons i didnt understand at the time, and after more thought to the matter, do understand now). i feel that everyone should be able to explore ships theyre curious about and come to whatever conclusion feels right to them about any particular ship! 

as for lapis herself… to give you some insight, she reminds me of some really nasty people ive had the misfortune of knowing, so shes very unsettling to me. she’s capable of some really terrifying things and its all conveniently hidden under bows and flowing fabric and a delicate thin physique.

aaaaghgghhgh i know this is probably going to upset some people, but i feel like i at least owe it to you all to be honest about my feelings so you can maybe understand where im coming from a bit better! 

as for the content i draw (ive had a lot of asks like “why dont you ever draw this thing”), please remember i do this all for fun!! i choose to draw things that inspire me and seem interesting or challenging or just strike my fancy! jasper is my very favorite so… thats why shes in the majority of my art LOL. i do enjoy drawing other characters and ships, but most of the time im the happiest drawing her, so thats what i do! 

archiveofourown.org
Probably Not What They Meant By a Game Of Cat and Mouse - leveragehunters (Monkeygreen) - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Captain America (Movies)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers
Characters: James “Bucky” Barnes, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Animals, I didn’t actually think that would be a tag, Crack, Ridiculous, Humor, Fluff, Bucky is a cat, Steve is a mouse, Familiar Bucky Barnes, Witch Natasha Romanov, animal to human transformation, Skinny Steve, Beefy Bucky, Light Angst, like the tiniest amount, Mice, Cats, Magical Realism, Ableist Language, only a bit though
Summary:

Once upon a time in an apartment block in the city there lived a cat named Bucky and a mouse named Steve.

Everyone knows cats and mice can’t be friends. But Bucky’s not a normal cat: he’s a witch’s familiar and a damn good one (just ask him). And Steve’s not a normal mouse. He’s…well, he’s Steve.

This is their story.

(Contains many true mouse facts for your edification.)

( @galwednesday  I kinda blamed you a little bit for this, sorry)

websites should make variations of block features like different levels like: 

-i don’t want to see posts from this person or notifications of their comments

-i don’t want this person to be able to contact me block them from messaging me

-i don’t want this person to be able to see any of my content or to see my pages block them from ever having proof i exist

Reminder to never be like mean J*nerys stans. We as a part of the Jonsa fam should always strive to be better people then them.

Never personally attack someone over who they ship.

Never send them anon hate

Never cross tag Jonsa/anti post with J*nerys.

Always stay out of their tags

And try to ignore their post.

There are so many rude people who take these things too seriously and take the fun out of something we enjoy. Let’s not be like them.

Let’s enjoy our Jonsa metas, gifs, and awesome fics we share as a family.

And if you are swarmed with mean J*nerys shippers in your post, ignore them or block them. That’s what makes us different from the people that can annoy us.

Happy shipping Jonsa fam

Clingy Ex: Saeran Choi X Reader

Hiii! Could I please have Mystic Messenger Saeran and MC 12, 30, 31, 37. Thank youu!😁😙

12: “Who’s texting you at this hour”

30: Try me, bitch

31: “Bite me”

37: Okay Edward Cullen, calm down

Keep reading

This Is Us- Chapter 6

God, She Is Lovely 


Jamie raised his hand poised to knock when an unexpected high pitched squeal of laughter and thumping of feet penetrated through the front door. Suddenly his knees felt weak and, needing to feel some support under him, he quickly turned around to press his back against the door.

“Ah Dhia! She was real!” he thought.

He lowered his head a bit and used his legs to brace his body against the solid wood, counting his inhales and exhales. This was a trick he had learned during cancer treatments. The blackness quickly receded and feeling returned to his fingertips.

He was just about to push off the door and turn to knock when he felt himself falling backwards. He hit the floor with an audible thud. Having no notion of what happened, he just lay still, the breath knocked out of him once more.

His vision was blocked suddenly by a small dog coming in so close to his face his eyes lost focus. A sticky lick– no wait– a kiss?–on his forehead.

This was followed by a hushed, “Boo-boo?”

The body tilted away from him allowing his eyes to focus on the improbable sight of his baby girl, auburn curls in two pigtails, wearing muted pink overalls and carrying a sodden biscuit in one hand, much of it worn on her face (explaining the residue coating his brow).

She waited intently. He remembered to breathe.

Looking into her adorably smeared but worried face, Jamie couldn’t help but smile.

“Aye, lass, but yer kiss made it better. Thank ye!” He assured her and, not wanting to scare her by reaching for her, contented himself with a gesture which looked like the approximation of a courtly bow from his prone position.

“Mama, he’s better!” Faith nodded, head turned to her side, satisfied by the day’s rescue.

Jamie shifted his gaze and found himself looking into whiskey eyes the same shade as his daughter’s.

“Mr. Fraser, I presume?” Curly hair and raised eyebrows.

“God, she is lovely.” The thought came unbidden to his mind and he was startled to realize he wasn’t thinking about Faith.

***

For a man thrust into fatherhood, Claire marveled at his ease with Faith. He didn’t crowd her or try to win her affections in any obvious way. Instead, he followed Faith’s lead and let her do as she was accustomed, somehow intuiting that the novelty of a new person to talk and play with would naturally draw her to him far more effectively than chasing after her.

Jamie and Faith were sitting on the floor beside the coffee table working on a wooden shape puzzle. Claire watched as her daughter turned into a flirt, something she had never seen her do. Even with Claire’s good friend and a favorite of Faith’s, Joe Abernathy, Faith never played the coquette. Claire was amazed to hear her daughter cooing and watched her batting her eyelashes in his direction.

Claire realized this was no passing fancy when she returned from putting Faith’s backpack in the hall closet to find her reverently placing Jane, her favorite doll, a beautiful Jumeau Bebe given to Claire by Uncle Lamb when she was a child herself, into his outstretched arms. Faith didn’t even let their babysitter Mrs. Crooke touch Jane. A high mark of favor, indeed.

Jamie had been leaning with his back against the couch but sat up straighter intuiting the import of the matter at hand. He gave the doll a serious once over, weighing some significant consideration, Faith, standing up, was almost eye level Jamie and shifted her weight back and forth anxiously awaiting his verdict.

Holding the absurdly feminine toy between his large hands should have made him look silly but didn’t. Claire couldn’t hear what they were saying but picked up the deep rumbling undertones of his verdict followed by Faith’s high pitched squeak of a reply. All of his attention was focused on Faith and his interaction with her was completely genuine.

The exchange was so adorable, she snapped a couple of pictures. Claire added a few more as the afternoon went on, wanting to document Faith’s first time meeting her father. She was touched by the fact that, respectful of her home and Faith’s privacy, Jamie hadn’t so much as asked if he could do so himself.

Now, she watched Jamie building blocks side by side with Faith, Faith reaching over every now and then to take away a block from Jamie’s tower for her own or offer him one of hers.

Jamie was saying mildly, “Ye ken that’s the last of my purple ones. Do ye no’ want to leave me that one?” His eyebrows raised in entreaty.

Faith shook her head, smiling.

“But, lass my tower’s almost done and it was to be my crowning glory.” He said mournfully.

At this Faith giggled, for his tower was already twice as tall as hers and more blocks wouldn’t make much of a difference as far as she could see. Faith could tell Jamie was not convinced, though and she really wanted all the purple blocks. Her eyes narrowed, a look of determination stole over her face.

“Jane says red is better.” She declared.

Faith herself clearly had no use for the red ones, they were stockpiled in the middle between the two of them, mostly untouched.

“She does?” Jamie turned to Jane, sitting up on the coffee table overseeing all the construction. “Mmphm.” Jamie grunted a Scottish noise in response, if not in consent.

“Weel I suppose I could. But do ye no’ think the princess would prefer climbing up a purple spire to go to scout her kingdom?”

Claire watched Jamie watching Faith from the corner of his eye, not directly looking but she knew he was drinking her in. She could feel the way he hummed with quiet delight in spending time with Faith.

Claire felt her face flame bright red as she realized that her long dormant libido had suddenly sprung to life. She was acutely aware of how long she had been celibate - longer than Faith had been alive, in fact. Jamie was striking to look at, an imposing figure but very handsome, so look she did.

However, her eyes were drawn to him for other reasons, too. At one point he caught her staring at him and raised his brow over their daughter’s head in inquiry. She blushed furiously.

“I’m sorry,” she said on a little embarrassed laugh. “I can’t help it. I keep catching a gesture here and there or an expression on your face and all of the sudden I think that you look so much like her….or I guess she looks like you.”

Claire waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I expect I’ll get over it soon enough. I just never expected to see it so clearly. Back before…before meeting you, when all I had were pictures online I thought that except for the shape of her eyes, the resemblance wasn’t obvious in the look of her.”

Claire paused, gathering her thoughts. “Now that I see you beside her, it’s clearer. The eyes obviously, a bit in the rest of her facial structure, too, but it’s…more in the way she carries herself.” Claire shrugged a little helplessly fearing she wasn’t making much sense.

Jamie smiled widely, his ears going a little pink at the tips. He’d noticed one or two such things but hadn’t spent nearly enough time with Faith to really see it.

Faith was toddling away from her parents freeing Jamie for the moment. He slowly reached his hand upward to Claire’s which was resting on the edge of the sofa cushion. He gave her time to pull away but she let him take her hand.

“Claire, I canna say how grateful I am to ye.” Jamie stared straight into her eyes.

Had she ever seen eyes that blue before? She could feel a slight tremor running through him.

“I never imagined, I never expected—” suddenly his eyes filled with tears.

Rather than become shy or try and bat them away in an effort to assert some misplaced sense of masculine pride, Jamie let them fall, let her see the depths of his emotions. He was so different from Frank. His willingness to allow her to see his vulnerability only made her more aware of the strength of him.

Jamie appreciated that Claire didn’t rush in to smooth over the awkwardness, nor did she try and pretend he wasn’t baring his soul to her. She simply accepted him, raw emotions and all and that stirred something inside him. Her small hand in his was nevertheless strong and he clung to it like an anchor.

He took in a breath. “When I saw the picture ye sent, I kent her straight away. I brought some pictures of my family, in case ye’d care to see?”

As if she would say no? Claire’s mouth was bone dry.

She knew a bit about his history. When she learned his name, the company had not yet launched so what she could find was rather limited. A report on the auto accident that killed his mother and brothers, his father’s obituary, Jenny and Ian’s wedding announcement. Then a couple articles on the start of Slainte and its relocation of production facilities to Scotland.

Since his product hit big, though, the archives grew and a more details were added, including the cancer treatments he’d undergone, videos of him as young man from all over the world were posted, allowing the public to get some feel for the carefree days of his past, living his life working in bars (no’ living my life behind bars, ye ken, Janet). These were bare facts, dates and events with no connection to the live flesh and blood man holding her hand.

As she nodded, Jamie moved to sit next to her and pulled out the precious package he had so carefully put together and wrapped safely in his pocket earlier in the day. He didn’t want to bore her to death, like looking at someone’s vacation photos and stopped, suddenly uncertain.

Claire squeezed his hand and waited for him to make eye contact.

“Tell me about them, your family,” she urged, touched by the anxious thought behind his hesitation.

He could tell she meant it and he let out a relieved chuckle.

“I’ll no’ go too many generations back, lass, ye needna be worrit,” he assured her.

After making sure Faith was happily entertained watching her favorite show about magical musical toadstools, she and Jamie spent time talking and generally getting to know one another.

Jamie was saddened to learn she was without any family at all, having been orphaned at 5 and losing her only relative a few years ago. Perhaps for that reason, Claire loved the pictures he brought and the stories he told her. When she saw the images of Willie, she gasped out loud.

“Oh, he’s beautiful, I can almost see how Faith will look in a few years’ time!”

Jamie smiled at her genuine response. Willie at ten, defiantly long hair, curly and wild down to his shoulders was indeed a sight to see. He was gratified to know that the strong resemblance he’d seen was undeniable even to Claire who’d never known him in life. Jamie also brought pictures of Ian and Jenny and their children. None had Faith’s gorgeous auburn coloring but all had the cat eyes and those outrageous Fraser lashes.

Faith turned then and smiled, coming to her feet and wandering over to her mother.

Jamie’s stomach growled audibly. He’d barely eaten anything that day, feeling nervous and slightly nauseous.

“Food?” Faith asked, hopefully. Her look of rampant hopefulness making Claire smile.

“Well, sweetness, I guess we know which side of the family you get your appetite from. Two peas in a pod are you and your Daddy!”

“Peas!” Faith demanded. Claire laughed, a high musical sound.

She stood and held her hand out to Faith, “Come darling let’s see what we can find, peas and carrots and maybe some chicken? You’ll join us, Jamie.” Said as a statement of obvious conclusion.

Distracted as she was, Claire didn’t notice as she and Faith wandered to the kitchen Jamie hadn’t moved a muscle, he simply could not. Just like when Claire opened the door on him and sent him reeling, his head was spinning once more.

Since hearing her voice on the other end of the line, he had imagined this going a hundred different ways. He had expected it to be awkward, stilted, uncomfortable, wondering what Faith would make of a 6’3” stranger, would she be scared of him? Would she give him a chance?

He’d had a quick call with Jenny in the morning trying to settle his nerves.

“Do ye think she’ll like me?” He’d asked.

“Of course she’ll like ye, Jamie, all the bairns love their uncle Jamie.” He’d loved the don’t be such an idiot tone of her voice, it was such a normal reaction that he found it oddly comforting. “You’ve a good heart, my dear. They all look up to you. Besides, am I no’ always saying yer just a big kid yourself?”

Jamie was feeling much better.

But then she said, “the person ye should be worrit about is her mother. If you need to impress anyone it’s her.” Though Jenny was, after all, only speaking the truth.

“Aye, I ken that. I hope we can talk a bit, mebbe see what she proposes.” He said.

“Weel, I expect it’ll take a bit of time. She’ll no be used to sharing the lass and given the way her husband treated her, she’s mayhap no’ verra trusting. If ye do run into stormy weather, brother call Gowan & MacKenzie– but ask for Ned, ye ken he’s the more ruthless of the two,” Jenny observed, causing Jamie’s blood to freeze like ice in his veins.

The thought of having to win parental time with Faith in a lawsuit pushed all kinds of buttons. It was the last thing he wanted to do– it had been the furthest thing from his mind. He was tempted to shoot the messenger and tell Jenny exactly what he thought of such a thing but he knew she was only trying to protect him.

“I thank ye, Janet,” unable to keep his tone light, Jamie made an effort to end on a better note, “I am hoping that since she invited me to meet, she likely is prepared to work with me on it. Wish me luck.”

Jamie had done his best to push the thought of custody battles from his mind, yet the implications of it had seeped in and colored his day even as he deliberately refused to dwell on the issue.

Though he took the precaution of coming prepared, anyway, to win Claire over. He wanted to assure her that he posed no threat to Faith, to draw her a picture of his own childhood so she’d know his dreams for Faith’s life, too. Jamie never anticipated how intuitively she’d read him; that a handful of stories from his childhood would allow her to see into his soul.

Somehow, over just an afternoon, Claire understood what it meant to him, having Faith. The grace she’d granted to him just then, her inclusive gesture, of fitting Faith effortlessly in his family line, connecting her to his past and his future with just a handful of words.

He’d felt it all afternoon but now he knew it in his heart, Claire would help him and Faith forge their relationship, as if it was already a foregone conclusion, his place in her life and hers in his, as if it had always been there, and always would be. He knew he’d have no cause to contact Ned or any other lawyer.

The afternoon had been magical. He felt a bone deep happiness, elated in a way he’d never experienced before. Ah Dhia, what had he done to deserve such welcome acceptance from Claire and his daughter? Overwhelmed, Jamie did what came naturally to him and, closing his eyes and sent up a prayer, the Gaelic words spilling quietly from his lips, calming to his racing thoughts.

As Claire came back into the room to see what had been keeping Jamie, she noticed he’d not moved from his place on the couch. He was murmuring something in Gaelic, a language she heard often enough but understood only a little. She didn’t need to know the language to recognize a benediction.

Her heart did a skitter step and her throat closed tight with an answering pull lower down. She’d been trying to ignore her body’s response to him since hearing his lovely deep voice with its rolled “Rs” on the phone.

Claire had spent any number of nights worrying herself about what Faith’s father would be like. The Jamie she read about online and in the archives, at least on the surface, had a lot of appeal. As the mother of a daughter, a surgeon in a male dominated field, she couldn’t help wondering what kind of man he would be and praying he would be a good man, the kind of man who would support a daughter to become anything she dreamed she could be.

His chief chemist, the head of legal and his plant manager were all women, which must have raised some eyebrows, though neither the PR team nor Jamie himself had ever traded on inclusiveness or gender balance as a way to bolster corporate image. That gave her hope that he would raise their daughter to be confident and independent. He was handsome, smart, and had a self-effacing humor in interviews she’d read. In person, he was all of those things and more. Seeing him with Faith had touched her in ways she could never have imagined. He had a good heart, of that she was certain.

Claire had been prepared to make his meeting with Faith a good experience for both of them, she even had a box of Faith’s favorite activities set aside– new picture books, music cued on the stereo, and a train set that Faith loved but had so many pieces it was only brought out on rare days, out of line of sight but nearby just in case a little bribe or distraction had been needed to smooth the way for father and daughter.

The reality was, she needn’t have bothered. Jamie was a natural with kids and she knew he was the kind of adult who was comfortable with them, he wouldn’t need help finding things to do with Faith. Just as importantly, Faith clearly adored him. She wanted to pinch herself.

When he pulled out the photos of his family and told her a little of each one, deliberately minimizing the sorrow of their loss to emphasize the joy they gave to him during their lives, she felt the weight of all of the unknowns and what ifs inside her lift and something else fitted itself into place that lightened her heart. There was a rightness about his being here with Faith and with her that thrilled her and scared her to death.

Claire felt a little lightheaded. Once, in their medical school years, Joe Abernathy, had talked her into bungee jumping at New England Gorge. Crystal blue sky above, roaring river below. They’d strapped her into her harness, metal clips jingling, bound tight with the wide belts digging into her sensitive places, the anticipation of awaiting her turn, hearing the screams of surprise, joy and fear from the rest of the group.

Her hair whipped around her face as she stepped out on the platform, spread her arms and dove graceful as a bird, wind rushing so fast it forced tears from her eyes, the only sound the surge of air in her ears as she dropped weightless, free. The intense snap when she hit the limit of the rope, blood rushing to her head as her heart got caught between water and clouds. The relief, the thrill as her displaced body tumbled end over end sailing through the sky.

She felt exactly like that girl of long ago, giddy foot planted firmly on the ledge looking straight down, with her other foot leaping confidently into the unknown, having no idea of what came next, just standing there watching him express his thankfulness to God for the gift of his daughter. Months later she would come to recognize that this was the moment she fell head over heels in love with Jamie Fraser.

Claire processed information physically, tending to rely on her senses more than her intellect. Seeing him there, she did what came naturally to her. Jamie startled when Claire’s arms came around him. His face was tucked into her chest so he could hear her heartbeat, so his rhythms would slow to match hers. Some unconscious part of him recognized the power of her touch, understood that her intention had been to offer him the tranquility in her heart as a balm to the rawness in his.

After a moment, he brought his arms around her hips, then higher. When she felt his hands splayed across her back, she pulled him into her tightly. With both hands he managed to cover most of her back. Having set out to try and sooth him, she recognized the irony of it. It had been a long time since a man had offered her the simple comfort of a hug and she stayed for several extra heartbeats then pulled away a little, looking down on him.

“Ready to come to the table? I’m not much of a cook but you won’t starve.” She waited patiently for him to open his eyes. When he did, she smiled at him and said, “Pease?”

A lovely rumble of laughter greeted her.

“Aye, I’d love to have dinner with my lasses.”

He’d said it without thought, his expression went from tender to embarrassed in the blink of an eye. She merely tilted her head. Jamie nodded and followed her to the kitchen.

As a final post on this “discourse” sideblog, I want to talk about something not specific to the ace discourse, but rather something that cuts across all groups, all people online or off. Whatever you are arguing or whatever side you are on, we as humans are prone to confirmation bias and the online world is no better place than to create echo-chambers.

I have always felt that teaching myself skepticism was one of the best things I could have done for myself. It was during that time I was also active in the atheist community, online and off. The skeptic and atheist community often overlapped and it was from these groups that I became a feminist.

New atheist groups often wonder why they are largely made up of white men, and if you challenge them on their sexism/racism etc… it becomes obvious why, which is what happened to me. I was the darling women on a majority male forum agreeing with them that religion is the source of all evil, therefore exempting atheist men from things like sexism and all other bigotries. It wasn’t until an argument about rape culture came up that I saw just how deeply misogynist some of these men were.

So my venture into skeptic and atheist groups not only taught me the scientific process and logical fallacies but it also steered me towards social justice. I am no longer friends with any of those people in real life or online. Once I became a feminist and was able to identify their sexism, I wasn’t their darling atheist spokeswoman anymore. It was another valuable lesson in the way people form their groups and their echo-chambers within. How people will ignore some really bad things just to stay included and how they will turn when someone strays. Some people may be thinking of trump supporters now, but everyone is susceptible to this type of behavior.

Fast forward a few years later, but still a few years ago and I had to deal with a callout on an anonymous forum I moderated bc they monitored my tumblr and I made the sin of reblog from and being in mutuals with the wrong people, (who were just ppl they didn’t like including people I’ve since met IRL.) I was dubbed a transphobe not for anything I explicitly said or did that was transphobic, it was guilt by association. Had to leave the forum, as this was also invitation to make up other horrible things I never did bc they could and now ppl were ready to believe.

This is around the time TERF started catching on, and while I certainly agree with calling out transphobia in feminism (I would never insist a trans woman is male, I think thats a violent act against trans women! And I despise it being done in the name of feminism) but at the same time it turned into a witch hunt for anyone who talked about sex-based oppression that even ended up attacking other trans woman for not towing a certain Tumblr rhetoric on these issues!

I’m no LGBT elder by any means, but I have been online since I was about 12 and I’m 32 now. I remember a time when the internet was far more horrible on SJ matters but also far more anonymous. People never dropped their real name; now one of the biggest social media sites requires it. And before that even happened I still saw a lot of petty bullshit happening online that wound up really hurting people IRL. So now with it easier to find out who people are and where they live, I can only imagine how online drama has ruined lives. We know it has driven people to suicide, and so as fun as it is to get self righteously angry at people for whatever your cause is, there’s still a person at the other end and no one’s perfect.

I am truly disturbed at how incredibly cliquey SJ groups are online, how callout posts aren’t for extreme racist sexist bigots, but for some drama I can’t even parse in their so called “proof”. And then you have activists on this site who block anyone who disagrees with them so their criticisms can’t show up in the notes. Some even go so far as dox people now for daring to disagree! K(And let’s be clear, I shed no tears for literal nazis being doxxed and losing their job, that’s just not what I’m seeing)

It’s easy, its human nature to fall into social pressures and conform to whatever the Big Names in your group are saying without question and to defend an absurd position based on emotional attachment than logical assessment. And we know it’s also easy to fall into a mob mentality and scapegoat people for all our problems. It’s also super fucking easy to plead mental illness and pretend you should be allowed to say anything you want without criticism, something that I hate so much as one who suffers from many mental issues including anxiety. (That’s why I created rules for myself when arguing online so I didn’t end up giving myself panic attacks over an internet edge lord)

I say this knowing I have participated in this behavior myself as well as having been a victim of it. But a lot in my life has changed and I am an older and sicker… and still likely to make similar mistakes. Point is I have learned and I have trained myself to not to fall into these traps and it does help. Experience is one hell of a teacher but it doesn’t have to be the only one.

No one can know if they are 100% right on any given issue, we all have our convictions for a reason. The difference is are you willing to listen to dissent? Are you willing to challenge your opinion and put it to the test? Or do you make block lists and shun anyone who entertains any different opinion? (a classic tactic amongst anti-vax groups when a parent sees the science) My convinction of many of my beliefs comes from the fact I have argued them over and over again, discharging beliefs that did not pass the test, while strengthening my arguments for and belief in those that do.

Make no mistake, when it does come to the so called “discourse” both sides can be guilty of this shit. I claim no purity.
And I am in no way implying that we tolerate hate groups and violent hate speech, like those of nazis bc unfortunately nazis are actually relevant again, but I am saying some of you need a reality check on what that exactly entails, because a lesbian speaking her truth is not it.

And for god sakes don’t put teens on block lists, you know it invites harassment, you fucking know it.

Each playable Investigator in Eldritch Horror have a pair of special abilities; invariably, one is an Action ability, the other a Passive ability. In structuring each character in this way, it emphasizes the importance of Investigator investment even when their turns aren’t active. Players are expected to keep track of their own bonuses/detriments, and in a game like this, even a minor boost or block could make all the difference.

So I just need to get this off my chest because I saw someone on fb today who had been onto an ongoing (fenced off) archaeological excavation, dug out some artefacts and taken a lot of photos. When pulled up about this by professional archaeologists, some members of the public accused the archaeologists of “looking for a reason to be upset”. “The area is going to be built over with a block of flats anyway, what difference does it even make?!”

(NB: I can only speak from the perspective of someone in the UK, not everything I say here will apply worldwide.)

First, the majority of archaeologists - in the UK anyways - are actually commercial archaeologists. That means they work in the construction industry. That means that the majority of archeological sites are not what you’d see on Time Team or on a university dig, or even on a heritage site.  They are working developments with construction workers and a large amount of heavy machinery. Archaeologists are not the only ones who work on these sites, so things like diggers, dumper trucks and steamrollers are around. Heavy machinery isn’t the only danger - sometimes deep excavation is required (>1.2 m depth) and aside from the danger of accidentally falling in and hurting yourself, the soil may collapse on top of you or from under you. Trench collapse is a very real danger and it kills people. It buries them alive.

As a result, archaeologists have to go through a lot of training with Health and Safety to make sure everyone knows what they’re doing. I don’t say this lightly, but people are in danger of getting severely hurt or even killed on these sites if they’re not careful.

Secondly, archaeologists can only understand what’s going on if you leave things alone and let them do their job. If you go on a site and dig up what looks like a forgotten bottle or piece of pottery, you’re disturbing the context and the soil. It might not look like you’re disturbing anything, but that’s because you haven’t spent the time training and getting your eye in. Context is the only way archaeologists know what’s going on. It can date ditches, tell us building usage, even whether someone is wealthy or not. Not to mention, if you’re not careful you might actually disturb a human burial. Which, needless to say, is incredibly invasive and disrespectful. On top of this, if you’re tramping around a site you’re walking all over the archaeology. I guarantee you’re probably messing up the soil surface, meaning we can’t see what we need to dig. (We do actually have to clean sites, believe it or not.)

Thirdly, I’ve been told a lot that we shouldn’t be building on top of these places of heritage. After all, if they’re important enough for us to be there and get upset about people disturbing the site, they should be preserved and made into visitor centres! Now that’s a great idea, but given that the UK has been populated for over 5,000 years, and most of it’s major cities have some form of occupation dating back to the Neolithic, if we did that with every site there wouldn’t be anywhere for the people alive to live. It’s unrealistic. In terms of us being there, it is UK law that we be there to rescue anything of importance. Developers will dig everything out with a machine, they don’t care. The archaeologists are the only ones preventing your history and heritage from going down the toilet.

We work under stressful and tight time constraints. We get paid the least out of almost everyone on these construction sites - despite often having the most qualifications. (I’ve worked as a digger alongside people who have PhDs and post-doctorates.) We work all year round and only stop when the weather is too dangerous, meaning we work through wind, snow, rain, and 30C+  temperatures. We work hard to try and preserve your heritage, so when one of us tells you politely that what you’re doing is dangerous or damaging to the site, please listen to us. This is a job of passion, not monetary gain, and the only reason it’s worth doing is so that the rest of the country can learn more about their own history.

elishavilla  asked:

Can't u block u haters

No. c: they’re going to stay and see everything. I want them to start working their heads and learn something. Few will and some won’t. I know that. But if they won’t learn from the things I said. Then idc either. If I block they’ll still act like a clueless needy person. Going around and insulting one another… At least not blocking them makes a bit of an difference because when they see, they’ll try understanding. If I block they won’t see it and will keep acting like that.. That’s at least how I think. And how I want it to be.

Some helpful ok notes to self:

Art is tough but practice can make u better

U don’t need to draw everyday.

Art blocks happen at different time lengths. It’s ok.

Try media ur not used to. Perhaps u’ll take a liking to it and want to learn more

Draw what makes u feel nice

Don’t force art if u don’t want to draw. It can tire u out.

Even tiny doodles for a day are productive.

Ur health comes first. rest when needed.

Fuck Perfectionism.

so unfortunately, no amount of blocking will make up for six inches difference so this square is not going to be the tarot cloth I promised my mom (she wants something to spread readings on with the stipulation that it is made of 100% silk)

but when I told my mom about the size mishap, she said that she’d actually prefer a 30″ x 30″ square rather than a 24″ x 24″ so really it’s good I can make another square for her

in good news though, I was going to make a bag for her out of the same yarn so now I’m thinking this can be repurposed (sewn, knit ends together, etc.) to make a bag… I’m just not sure how - any suggestions? 

other options include unraveling this yarn and using it to knit a bag, or seeing if I have enough yarn left after the new square I’m knitting and knit her a bag from the get-go… so many options

Originally posted by jinwoodies

(31) In awe, the first time you realized it. 

Part of the: The way you said “I love you.”


Did something die in here?

A quiet, pained whine fleets somewhere from underneath the blob of blankets that could only be Seunghoon, whom she hadn’t heard a peep from the past week.

The room smelled of something she’d rather not know of and she’s stepping warily over a bunch of things strewn on the floor, flinging the curtains open to let in the much needed light.

Seunghoon makes yet another noise that she couldn’t quite pick out.

“Hoonie, you’ll get sicker at this rate.” She chides, sighing out her concern as she treads over to the lump on the bed, “Then something will really die in here.”

“Did you just really wish me dead?” The blanket shifts irritably and the muted grumble tugs a smile on her face.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” She asks, tone softening as she sits at the edge of the bed, close to where he is.

His fingers curl over the top of the blanket, dishevelled brown hair peeping through as he comes into view all sorts of grumpy. Seunghoon squints with one eye open, groaning at the sudden stream of light and he looks puffy and swollen and definitely sick.

“I didn’t want to worry you.” He sounds just the same, snivelling through a blocked nose.

“And finding out this way makes it any different?” She clicks her tongue, worry deepening over her features as she eyes his flushed face.

Seunghoon still manages that frustratingly endearing grin of his and it tightens her chest that he still tries to hide how shitty he’s feeling, just like always.

“I was worried sick, you ass.” Her voice cracks a little, one hand still gripping the plastic bag hauled with what seemed like the entire drugstore.

“What’s that? And why are you soaked?” Seunghoon croaks out, scrunching his face as he struggles to prop up on his elbows.

He feels terribly warm when she reaches out to steady him, “Just some vitamins and liquids you need to be taking, there’s also chicken soup in the kitchen.”

Seunghoon shoots her a sheepish smile, “Aw, did you cook for me?”

“I hate you.” She mutters, glaring at him and he breathes out a throaty laugh because if anything, her cooking won’t do much help to the situation.  

“Did it rain?”

The sun surely did look a tad bit cheery for it, but then again he shouldn’t be one to talk for someone who hasn’t seen the light of day for heaven knows how long. As clueless as he is, no one could miss that getting to his place wasn’t exactly a walk in the park for her.

“Maybe— anyway, Hoonie, you should—” She shrugs it off casually, half standing as she rustles through the bag she bought for him.

You’re the one getting sick at this rate.” He pulls her gently by the elbow, concern evident in the way she looks at him and it tugs his heartstring a little.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” A small chuckle leaves her, tilting her head as she combs her fingers through the tangles of hair on his head where her face turns sour in a split second. “Oh god, when was the last time you showered? You’re the one stinking up this entire place, Hoon!”

He’s completely infected by something other than the flu, coughing out a laugh that makes her stoop back down, brows furrowed as she pats soothing motions on his back. Seunghoon reaches out for her hand comfortable on his thighs, gingerly stroking the tender skin. Warmth seeps through his chest and she’s utterly a sight for sore eyes, always leaving him to wonder what it was about him that managed to catch her eye.

He’s not exactly so pleasant to be around right now yet here she is, paying little mind to how much of a mess he is. It swells him with so much adoration and he couldn’t stop staring like a fool.

She catches him and locks his awed gaze, a smile threatening her lips.

“What’s with that look?”

“What look?”

That.

“Nothing. I just—”

“What? Tell me.”

“I love you, you know that right?”

“Seunghoon—”

“It’s long overdue, I know. But I do, I love you.