its bad oops

rebecca sugar: it’s so important for kids to know about relationships and having queer characters! we also love to push the message of healthy relationships!

fans: ok but ruby and sapphire are very clearly incredibly codependent? that’s not at all healthy?

rebecca: sweating HERES SOME NEW GEMS

fans: also what happened to mystery girl???? that could have been healthy for pearl? But that plotline has been all but abandoned?????

rebecca: sweating harder   NE W GEM

fans: ok cool

i finished yowapeda and cried a lot but also where are my imaizumi/onoda/naruko hugs??? ;_;

jessyisjessy  asked:

Hi Leslie! Have you ever considered getting deals with Huion or Ugee where they send you one of their tablets for review purposes? I see a lot of art youtubers do it and considering your audience is big enough, getting a drawing tablet for free doesn't seem like it could hurt?

ive gotten contacted by companies before to do a sponsored video but i never take em up for the offer just cuz im not really interested. huion was actually the first company to try to contact me haha but i had just recently bought a new tablet and felt guilty to have 2 brand new ones and i wasnt sure if i could do a giveaway lmao. 

there was only 1 company i was interested in making a video for but they stopped replying to me cuz i suck lmao all well. my loss. 

Originally posted by tobigifs

  • <p> <b>Me when other people bind:</b> Always be safe. Don't use ace bandages. Stretch every couple of hours. Take it off if you experience any discomfort or pain. Do not bind for more than eight hours at once.<p/><b>Me when I bind:</b> Eight, thirteen, saME DIFFERENCE RIGHT<p/></p>

i feel so fucking bad some days.

i feel so fucking bad that some days i have to walk until I’m lost, until the soles of my feet ache against my threadbare shoes i can’t afford to replace. until I’m tired enough that the tips of my invisible wings drag along the asphalt. when i finally reach streets a place where i dont recognise anything in any direction, or i have been dissociating (or crying, or angry, depending on the day) for long enough to not remember which direction i came from, i allow myself to stop. next i phone someone random from my contacts and listen to them to tell me to use google maps, they’re busy, or i can’t come and get you right now. then i find my own way home, and sit alone, the same bad feeling rotting deep inside me that was there before i left. it feels like flipping over your sofa cushion and being surprised at how much has rotted away, grown over with dark mold, and six months later flipping it again and, again, being surprised at the rate of decay. 

some days, i feel so fucking bad.

my wings were a symbol of pride. their weight dragged me down, buckled the blades of my shoulders and cracked my spine into shards, regardless of their average size. they were weighed down by leaden feathers, some nearly the length of my palm, that sprouted thick and grey from skin. they were weighed down by the thick black ichor that pumped through my veins, always burning hot, always deadly. now i have the whisper of wind against the small of my back, the gentlest brush of feathers occasionally reminding me of their presence, but useless. useless.

where i once had the strength of a sun and a moon, battling endlessly and tiresomely against an equally matched enemy, if not to really win but to further the cause with which i was willing to give my life, now my fight is gone, the only trace left behind being the protection runes sharpied sloppily onto the bandaids that wrap around my knuckles, bloody and bruised in this weak form. i think tearing my halo from my head would feel the same as the slice of a guillotine across my throat, but the sensation of blood spurting from my severed throat would still hurt less than the knowing how alien the sting of my knuckles is when i can’t hold in my rage any more.

something about smoking takes me back. i thinks it must be the lazy smoke itself, pirouetting from the end of my cigarette like it did from the broken down rubble that littered every street i never called home. perhaps, instead, its the burn in the back of my throat thats tastes oh so sweet, just like the burning, rotting taste of holy fire. maybe its how how the stench clings to my clothes like rot, or maybe its how it makes my father disappointed. it certainly takes me back.

i dont miss heaven because I’m still angry about the war, and it is easy to blame them. i died there, or at least i think so. but i wasn’t angry in my old life - i was the perfect little soldier. i just wanted to feel a part of something. but war only brings death. and with death came new life. now I’m old enough and I’ve seen enough of this life and, God, i want out. i want back in my body, i want back my wings, i want back my strength. ill even trade back cigarettes smoke disappearing into the clouds for the clouds under my feet. ill give anything to never have to get lost again.

life isn’t a storybook, and i dont get to go back. but, God, i feel so fucking bad some days.