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#me awareness month
andthebeanstalk · 1 year
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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.
#hlep#original#mental health#my sympathies and empathies to anyone who has to rely on this kind of hlep to get what they need.#the people in my life who most need to see this post are my family but even if they did I sincerely doubt they would internalize it#i've tried to break thru to them so many times it makes my head hurt. so i am focusing on boundaries and on finding other forms of support#and this thing i learned today helps me validate those boundaries. the example with the milk was from my therapist.#the example with the towing company was a real thing that happened with my parents a few months ago while I was age 28. 28!#a full adult age! it is so infantilizing as a disabled adult to seek assistance and support from ableist parents.#they were real mad i was mad tho. and the spoons i spent trying to explain it were only the latest in a long line of#huge family-related spoon expenditures. distance and the ability to enforce boundaries helps. haven't talked to sisters for literally the#longest period of my whole life. people really believe that if they love you and try to help you they can do no wrong.#and those people are NOT great allies to the chronically sick folks in their lives.#you can adore someone and still fuck up and hurt them so bad. will your pride refuse to accept what you've done and lash out instead?#or will you have courage and be kind? will you learn and grow? all of us have prejudices and practices we are not yet aware of.#no one is pure. but will you be kind? will you be a good friend? will you grow? i hope i grow. i hope i always make the choice to grow.#i hope with every year i age i get better and better at making people feel the opposite of how my family's ableism has made me feel#i will see them seen and hear them heard and smile at their smiles. make them feel smart and held and strong.#just like i do now but even better! i am always learning better ways to be kind so i don't see why i would stop
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my-autism-adhd-blog · 2 months
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Autistic trauma: School Edition
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Hiding in the bathroom
Feel like social outcast
Constant self monitoring
Know you are not liked but not sure why
Bullied
Hyper vigilant
Lonely
Crying at home
Last pick for games
No real friends
Not invited to parties
Littlepuddins.ie
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existennialmemes · 2 months
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Reminders for Autistic "Awareness" Month
Beware the Autistics. We live among you. We look like you. We could be your friends, your family, your neighbors, your coworkers. We could even be you.
The Average Autistic is 18 feet tall, has purple skin, and has 2 watt lasers for eyes, however many of us may mask our appearance with Occult Rituals
The Big Light is Bad!! Turn off The Big Light!!! Except for when it's Good. Turn on the Big Light!!
We are not Moths. I don't know who told you that but they're lying.
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lovesickeros · 9 months
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☆ even the gods bleed
{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, injury, light angst {☆} word count 2.3k
What was justice?
Focalors had asked herself that question many times during the long nights she spends awake pouring over the prophecy of a dead God, words replaying in her mind like a broken record until the sun rose like a blooming flower.
She was the God of Justice, an Archon, yet she herself lacked the answer to such a simple and yet so very complex question.
How does one define what is just and what is not? How does she know that what she believes to be just is right? Is it justice if one being alone may sway the scales of justice on a whim? What justice is there to be found in the cold, watery grave that awaits her nation?
She does not know.
Perhaps she may never know.
What she does know, at least, is that this is not justice.
It is a mockery of it.
She stands before the bloodied, broken body like the judge, her sword held so tightly in her hand her fingers feel stiff, a dull ache adding to the weight of what she's seen. For a long, horrible moment she almost thinks they are dead – something she would have reveled in, only a day prior – before she sees the subtle rise and fall of their chest. Breathing, but barely.
The rain felt heavier upon her shoulders at the realization – she was not sure if it was in relief or horror.
Her nails dig into her palm, mind stuck somewhere between that abject horror and confusion so palpable she swore she could hear the gears in her head turning.
For a long, silent moment as she stares upon the body beneath the heavy rain..she wonders if this is how it all ends instead. If the world itself will simply crumple in on itself and cease – without its heart, it will wither, after all – long before the waters ever swallow her nation whole.
Because, try as she might to rationalize it, for every drop of rain that hits her like pins and needles, soaking her down to the bone..the body of the imposter is completely dry. Even the water pooling along the stones dares not to leave so much as a splotch against their ragged, torn clothes.
She remembers the meeting so very clearly, and she thinks she is a fool to not have noticed sooner – the Creator upon their gilded throne, finger pointed in accusation at the visage far too similar to their own. The imposter. She remembers the lilt of their voice as they called for their death as easily as one would speak of the weather – and to no one other then herself would she admit the spark of fear it had ignited within her. Because beneath the divine charade there was a sick enjoyment in the way they looked upon the imposter – like a bug beneath their shoe.
She understands, now.
She had thought that perhaps finally – finally – she could do right by her people, by her Creator, if she rid Teyvat of this..intrusion.
Now she sees herself as what it all really is – blind lambs following the herder.
Perhaps she would be considered a heretic under the eyes of the law – beneath the weight of justice, heavy as the heart that bears its sins. Perhaps this is a mistake, one she would come to regret.
But for now, she sheathes her blade with unsteady hands, the sound making her ears ring – for what she had almost done, what she had already done – as she stumbles like a newborn lamb towards the broken body of..
..What, exactly? Human? Divine? She is not so sure what to call them. Creator? No. The name is bitter upon her tongue, now, burning like liquid flame down her throat.
Where once she had spoken it in reverence and admiration, it felt hollow and empty, now.
Her vision wavers as she kneels down against the rain soaked stones, the rain upon her back growing heavier as she reaches a shaky hand forth – and for a moment, however brief, she feels the weight of expectation, of a title she fears she may never live up to, wash away with the waters that fall from the heavens.
The bruises and blood smeared across their skin are like strokes of a paintbrush, their body the canvas from which such horrid art is created. It makes her ill.
Doubt wavers her composure briefly – her position is already unsteady. She has never been seen as an equal to many of the other Archons. Her own people do not see her as their Archon, but an actor in a grand play that they shall simply toss aside and replace like a broken doll the moment she bores them.
What does she have left to lose?
She reaches out again, her hand settling onto their shoulder and turning them onto their back. She..isn't sure what to do, actually. She's never been particularly physically capable – she tended to avoid fights, even if she oft provoked them – and she was certainly no healer.
Yet what choice does she have but to march on anyway? She is in the heart of the city, it is far more dangerous here then anywhere else..she had little time to make her move.
Fontaine was, after all, a nation founded on the principle of justice. To know an injustice has been made against the most Divine..the entire nation was in a frenzy.
Her eyes dart around nervously, hands clasped tight on their shoulders and her lips drawn into a taut line – someone would notice her absence. One of the Archons would point out her absence in the coordination of the search.
Her options were just as limited as her time – she couldn't just take them out of the city. Security was tight, and as much as she fancied herself an escape artist – Neuvillette could hardly keep her in one place for too long – she doubted she could do the same with the limp body of the imposter in tow.
..The Palais Mermonia it was, then.
Her room had a secret entrance that few knew about, and even fewer would dare to traverse. She just..had to hide them there for a bit and hope Neuvillette wouldn't notice anything different.
Probably.
Still, there was the problem of actually..transporting the body. As grim as it sounded. Her only solace was the fact she didn't have to worry about them catching a cold, at least, and their breaths were still audible, if only barely. So she had to resort to some..unexpected methods.
Seeing the limp form of, well, the imposter – she'd really have to ask for something else to call them when they woke up – stuck in a bubble of hydro wasn't exactly on her bucket list.
Then again, neither was treason.
Well, first time for everything, right?
It wasn't breaking the law if no one else knew about it.
..Neuvillette didn't have to know about it, really. It was fine.
She could, of course, technically try to talk some sense into Neuvillette – he'd listen to her, right? She thought she was pretty close with him..but he was also the one person more obsessed with justice then she was. Such a stickler for the law..so maybe she's breaking a few, it's fine.
But he was also pretty devout, as much as he tried to keep his worship private – with Focalors around, nothing was really secret. Maybe she could get him to settle down long enough to prove it.
..How was she going to prove it?
An exaggerated groan escaped her lips as she led the bubbled imposter – she really wished she didn't have to resort to that, it would be a lot a more awkward to explain then dragging the body around – through the winding streets of Fontaine. She's just glad she's already memorized the entire city like the back of her hand..and a little dramatics went a long way. People listened when the Hydro Archon spoke, and she was suddenly very, very glad for that fact, even if they treated her more like a mascot then a God.
And partially because she, maybe, just a little..stole a few documents detailing the layout and a little personal exploration of her own – but what Neuvillette didn't know couldn't hurt him!
After what felt like hours, though was really no more then half an hour at best, she'd managed to drag herself – soaked to the bone with rain – and the conveniently bubbled imposter up through the secret entrance and into her room.
The perceived safety, as flimsy as it was, was..comforting. Until she heard the rustle of fabric, the clearing of a throat and the pop of a bubble as she, in her surprise, popped it – and then the thud of the imposter hitting the floor.
She felt a bit of regret about that part, at least, wincing.
"Lady Furina." His voice was as sharp and cool as she remembered it always being – like fresh spring water, she'd heard it described. Soothing. It did not feeling very soothing right about now.
She turned sharply on her heel, a forced smile tugging at her lips on reflex, every muscle in her body tensed – she probably looked like a wet cat right about now, soaked with rain, but that was the last thing on her mind.
"Do you mind explaining what, exactly, you did?" Not what you're doing, she notes – what she did. He was mad. Oh, she was really in for a scolding now. She twiddled her thumbs, laughing weakly, though it quickly dies out at the awkward, tense silence.
"Well, you see – it's rather complicated! I can– I can explain." Her attempts to diffuse are met with a raised brow and the sharp tap of his cane. Every single thought is plagued with the urge to run, but the unsteady breathes of the 'imposter' keep her rooted in place. "Well?"
She was sweating bullets, her nails digging into her palm as she scrambled for any excuse that could warrant her not getting hauled off and scolded thoroughly at best – she was coming up empty. How was she supposed to prove that the 'imposter' was very much not what the 'Creator' said they were? Their unconscious body was doing no one any favors, certainly.
"The Creator is lying," She blurts out, immediately regretting her impulsiveness when she feels the sudden weight of his stare – the piercing hues of his eyes that remind her just who is the strongest between them. It is not her, she knows. It never has been. "You can see for yourself! Don't you trust me, Neuvillette–?"
Her voice is cut off by the sharp click of his cane as he strides across the room in only a few steps, his height making her feel like a child about to scolded. She hated it, but she grit her teeth through the exchange. She reminded herself that this was for the sake of the 'imposter' and any affront to her ego was..tolerable.
To her credit, too, she didn't immediately lash out when she saw him poke at their body with his cane, turning them onto their back – she wanted too, though. She considered it, but the thought was quickly shot down when his stare turned back upon her, and she felt frozen in place again, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth.
Yet she couldn't shake the sudden tenseness to his shoulders, his brows furrowed and a distant look to his eyes. It was..haunting, in a way.
She knows it well, she realizes. The realization and acceptance, the crumbling of every solid foundation you've ever known – leaving you to flounder in the waves, alone and afraid.
The gentleness in which he picks up the limp body surprises her though, his cane set aside. The rain howls like a horrid storm outside, but she cannot focus on anything but the furrow of their brows, the soft noise that escapes their lips.
"I trust that you know that this must stay between us," His voice is soft, like the gentle lap of waves against the shore, as he sets their body down against the bed, his hand lingering against their cheek with something almost like reverence – and if her eyes do not deceive her, affection. "Lady Furina."
She does not hesitate to agree.
"Well– well of course!" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at the feeling of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, a heavy weight that feels like it's dragging her down. "Just what do you take me for?"
He doesn't deign to respond.
It only makes her fume more.
Not that he seems to notice, unbuttoning his heavy outerwear and tossing it on the bed, rolling up his sleeves and focusing on the injured– er..yeah, she really needed a new name for them. Calling them imposter felt wrong.
"So long as you understand, then we will have no problems." She huffs again, pouting and puffing up her cheeks, sitting down on the other end of the bed with only an occasional glance towards him as he worked at peeling away the ragged clothes and examining the injuries marring their skin.
She suddenly felt out of place.
..What was she supposed to be doing?
As if noticing her sudden quietness, Neuvillette sighed, his back turned to her though his attention very much falling upon her. She really hated the feeling like she was being dissected whenever he looked at her. It was unnerving. She doesn't know how anyone else handles it..
"If you are so eager to do something, Lady Furina, then please have something brought up for when our..guest awakens. They will need to recover their strength."
Finally! Something she can do. She perks up, her heels clicking on the floorboards as she darts out like a bullet, unable to stay still for so much as a moment.
Neuvillette, for his part..
Feels an odd sense of serenity as he stares upon the troubled features of the..guest. A peace that lessens the burdens upon his shoulders, the weight of a nation upon his back.
He cannot hear the rain, anymore.
..It must have stopped.
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gabe-lovebot · 2 months
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councilor 3D model
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i learnt 3d modelling from the ground up to bring him to life. he's yours now. do whatever you want with him
[link]
please credit me if you make something using the model (or even ping/link me to it, i would love to see what you made!)
currently available as a .blend, .fbx and an SFM port.
#hello councilnation i'm finally releasing him to the wild#have fun playing toys with him#ultrakill#councilor#councilor ultrakill#3d stuff#obviously with the councilor having just 1 full body image of him means that some stuff i had to improvise on#so you get to enjoy my headcanons on how he looks#(like obviously the wings & halo)#(but also the chestplate design)#but did you know that the councilor's canon design has subtle engravings on his forearm armor pieces?#i only barely noticed them when painting textures and i was floored#i had to add them#to the sfm anon and whoever else wants to use this for sfm stuff-#i did my best with a port for sfm and i'm quite proud of the result#but please be aware i have never used it before so if you find that something doesn't work as it should please please let me know!!#gonna pour my heart out in tags as always so close your eyes if you don't wanna see me being sentimental but#i'm not kidding when i say i learnt 3d modelling from the ground up for this#i have meddled with blender before but never actually came close to finishing a project#and i don't know how i did it and how i kept going#(i do know) (it was my friend encouraging me every time i showed him progress)#this was like 1 entire month in the making#but i'm so fucking proud of this and how it turned out and people's tags in my act 2 render genuinely were such a huge confidence boost#so thank you guys for liking it <3#i'm still very much thinking of doing a version with just his bloodied head#but it might take a while because i want a break and i want to play warframe
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fluffypotatey · 4 months
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okay so:
the year is 2021. the month is june. the new season of hermitcraft, season 8, has just started, and everything is great! the hermits are all messing around, having fun, building insane things within the first week of the server being active, and generally having a good time. everyone's collected themselves into little factions, pranking each other, and it's all the fun, lighthearted, mostly-vanilla content hermitcraft is known for.
and then the split between minecraft versions 1.18 and 1.19 is announced. the delay of new terrain, and especially of new mobs like the warden, considerably disrupt several of the hermits' plans. but it's fine, they'll figure something out, they're professionals, and it mostly goes unnoticed.
about two weeks later, on november 9th, grian turns to mumbo jumbo in one of his episodes, and asks the famous question that would seal hermitcraft season 8's fate:
"mumbo, is the moon... big?"
suddenly, the fans panic. they search back through videos and streams, and realize that the moon had been abnormally large and stuck in a full-moon phase since october 30th. the Moon Big event has begun.
this is where the roleplay really starts. once the moon's size has been brought up, the hermits start a weird combination of scrambling to figure out why the moon's growing, and how to stop it- but also of ignoring it, hoping it won't be a problem, hoping someone else will deal with it. the moon keeps getting bigger, more hermits start realizing it's going on, and a creeping sense of dread starts to grow. but it's fine. it's fine, right? they do little plotlines like this all the time. they'll figure something out, the moon will go back to normal, and we'll laugh about it when this is all over. it's fine.
and then, blocks start flying away. just floating up out of the ground, and falling right back down! like for a moment, a square meter chunk of dirt has decided it's a ballerina and leaped out of the ground! but it's fine, right? the blocks are coming back. no lasting harm is done. they're going to fix it all... right?
the moon gets bigger. it's growing every day- local hermit weirdguy joe hills measures it every stream. the blocks start flying higher. gravity starts getting... weird, with players getting the slow falling effect at random, and being lifted off of the earth themselves. the players form cults and rituals and whatnot to try and appease the moon, convince it to leave them alone, making plans to escape. nothing works. things keep getting worse, and the moon keeps getting bigger. but it'll be fine. these storylines never leave lasting harm, or at least they never have before. they'll be fine.
and then the blocks stop coming back, just floating into the sky forever. the players have the slow falling effect more than they don't now. the moon is now so big it's visible even during the day, and fills the entire sky at night. they start planning their escapes in earnest, and say their goodbyes. some hermits jump into a void hole in the overworld (it was the centerpiece of their village). some flee to the End, some to the nether, some just fly with elytras and hope they can get far enough away in time. one brave hermit, tango, flies himself to the moon in a futile attempt to blow the whole thing up before it can crash.
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but in the end, the moon crashes into the server, and everything they'd built was destroyed. and the whole time, there'd been nothing any of them could've done. season eight was over, a full six months before anyone had expected it to end, and season nine wouldn't start until about three months later. and im still not okay about it.
(here's a cool animatic of the moon's crash! honestly i dont think you need too much hermitcraft knowledge to get the gist)
(also the moon crash happened on the day before my birthday lmao.)
….
holy shit
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Broke: "Happy Valentines Day!" Woke: Bobgoblin Bass is a big fish native to the Middle Thaliak River that is characterised by its often unusually long periods of unavailability and its next known window of uptime will fall on Valentines Day in certain timezones, making this the one and only time you can technically say "I'll Bobgoblin YOUR Bass this Valentiones!" to your loved one this very special time of year--
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falmerbrook · 1 month
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Happy Autism Month to these two specifically
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not-a-spiderplant · 2 months
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Happy international Asexuality day guys!
You can give me all your money via cash or card :)
It’s Autism month too so y’all better pay up
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featheredcrowbones · 2 months
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what did you say to him…
today is my birthday and it brings me great joy knowing that me and leviathan have close birthdays lol i was going to do a whole illustration of him but couldn’t finish it :( so have this older doodle that i still like. i’ll post the other illustration on his birthday
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fetchen · 2 months
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happy autism awareness month to gretchen wieners and cady heron specifically
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antisisyphus · 1 year
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i dont objectify my women, i womanize my objects *uses she/her on my microwave*
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lovesickeros · 1 month
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☆ you sow; & thus you shall reap what you are owed
{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, violence {☆} word count 0.8k
You are dying.
Gold melts into the dirt, bleeds into the very earth that you'd molded by your own hands – a familiarity you do not understand the source of – you know it to be true, yet you do not remember it as Teyvat does. It weeps, in turn, for the way you bleed upon it, the way your lungs strain for breath.
It is fury and sorrow and fear and hatred so raw that your mind buckles.
You will die.
"A dying godling and its judge, it's jury – it's executioners," The voice is hollow and cold, sweeps across your broken body like the first chill of winter, "Archons who saw themselves Gods, now brought to heel by their own hubris."
A cold hand upon your cheek, the brush of a thumb across your lip, the gentle caress of cold across your skin. You know her – you don't remember, you shouldn't recognize her but you do – and she knows you. The cold beckons and you follow, let her kindness settle in the hollow space of your chest. You want to speak, to cry and scream and rage, let the world burn around you in a fit of flames so hot even she cannot contain it – but she silences you, quiets the anger seeping into your blood, quiets Teyvat itself.
"Do not speak, little godling. Guide my hand," She is cold; her hands are not gentle, yet it is bliss compared to the callous, cruel hands that have shattered you. She is cruel and cold and brutal but she is love in the way she kisses the crown of your head. She is love in the way she is the bulwark between you and the world that has scorned you – she is fury in the way she brings them to their knees. "And I shall enact judgement most divine."
They will pray for forgiveness, and they shall find themselves wanting.
"It wasn't our fault!" They cry, but you cannot recognize the voice – it breaks and cracks like glass. "They were too human. How were we meant to know? We– we thought they were.."
Silence.
You watch your judge – the executioner, the blade that shall carve their sins into the very marrow of Teyvat, stand above you like death. As cold as winter and just as brutal. Your temple has been painted in the gold of your divine blood, and she shall complete the masterpiece with their own. The Archons shall become the grandest art in the world – this temple the canvas, their blood the paint and their bodies the palette. The cold that cuts sinew cradles you – it sings to you, whispers sweetly in your ear and carves bone from body in the same breath. The cold presses it's lips to your wrist and it cradles a heart within it's palm – judges them and finds them guilty.
It is her spear that rests between their ribs, her sword that dissects and her dagger that carves – the cold devours.
In the breadth of this divine sanctuary, the Archons dwindle. They become the pieces of a divine work of art, they bleed and bend and break upon her hands. She shakes the heavens and carves mortality into the bones of the divine – your word is Law, and you weave their deaths into the roots of Teyvat itself.
They shall know of their grand folly in every moment henceforth and longer still and they shall weep.
And as the curtain falls, as the world crumbles beneath fist and blade, she cradles your face between hands too cold – as gentle as a shard of ice between your ribs, as brutal as the kiss of gentle snowfall. The world buckles at the loss of six, but she alone does not allow it to break – you will have to mend the wounds of the world when you are well, but today you weep and Teyvat weeps with you.
And alone, the cold remains.
Stone has eroded, the wind has ceased, the flames have been extinguished, the storm has been silenced, the forests have gone quiet and the seas go still.
But the cold remains, bathed in gold.
It wraps you in thick furs, cradles you against the winter storm that brews beneath a veneer of composure. It brings you home – lets the world settle into a stillness and silence that inspires only dread and still she presses a kiss to your brow.
It is cold, but there has never been something so warm.
Where hands have broken you, she drapes you in furs, wipes away the thick gold that clings to your skin. She pieces you back together where you have been shattered, reshapes you where you have been bent – makes of you something new. Not a god and not a mortal but something wedged between them.
But you are yourself.
And you are where you belong.
They shall put you back together and you shall know only the worship worthy of the divine. They shall carve this world into your image, tear out and burn away the rot that festers.
All you need to do is say the word and they shall be your tools to make this world your own.
One word and those who wronged you shall burn, too.
Just one word. That's all it takes, and they shall take away your pain.
#sagau#genshin sagau#self aware genshin#genshin impact sagau#self aware genshin impact#fic tag#genshin cult au#genshin impact cult au#tsaritsa#“eros you left for a month again” yeah.................#anyway. posts tsaritsa fic and leaves#i kept it kinda vague but the fatui are all on your side. whether or not your actually the creator or not though..#now thats up for debate.#did they tamper w teyvat to kill the archons? to break the world to be remade in whatever image they see fit?#using you as the means of their end?#maybe you are the creator and they just saw an opportunity. maybe they are just devoted to you.#i just think lowkey villain au but specifically imposter au where the only ones who side w u r the fatui like OUGH#i love the fatui. them being the only ones 2 side w u is so tasty#prime material for angst bc the self doubt if the only ppl who believe u r the “villains”#a lot of this is just like. tsaritsa posting again though#the tsaritsa who loves so deeply yet cannot love#contradictions all the way down#she loves you but she cannot love you.#she loves you but she will put a dagger between your ribs. she loves you but she is incapable of love#tsaritsa the woman that u r ough#harbingers and their complex relations 2 love my beloved#smth smth tsaritsa seeing an opportunity to install a puppet “creator” which creates a separate imposter!au when the actual creator pops in#did i write this just 2 write tsaritsa being vague and Weird and horrifying and a horror and a lover and just a woman and#yeah :]#please talk 2 me abt the tsaritsa pleas epleas pleas eplease please please please p[lease please pleas
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skunkes · 4 months
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cold!
unused bc i felt it was better without, but i like the shapes
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ehhgg-art · 1 month
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happy autism awareness month to me
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thestuffedalligator · 7 months
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youtube
I completely forgot Le Collège Noir was getting an animated adaptation, and oh my god this looks unimaginably cool.
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