#mehhhh

[lychee-milk]

#i haven't been on here in a minute #idk why #but i guess im back now #at least for a little bit #kinda tired of all the transphobes on fb #and constantly getting flagged for telling them to kill themselves #at least i can say what i want on this damn hellsite #mehhhh #mine

[yunnd3]

resting

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #creyis #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 oc #baldur's gate 3 #artists on tumblr #mehhhh #im tired #...i want more than 20 likes #😭😔😢 #cuties #baldurs gate iii

[misscrazyfangirl321]

*Squinting at my tummy* No hurting. Stop it.

#i speak #mehhhh

[keep-her-wild]

#seems you cannot be replaced #personal #you know it's not the same as it was #i don't wanna talk about the way that it was #mehhhh

[whiskykitteeeeee]

somuchbettr

#artists on tumblr #cats #comic strip #drawing #life with cats #it be like that #ughhhh #mehhhh

[buckttommy]

I hate it when an episode synopsis is really good and has a lot of potential and then you get to the actual episode and it's like oh ok ! 😃 👍

#911 spoilers #mehhhh

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

event denouement

A few miles outside of Blacklight, Barfok's legs decide to rebel against her. It's quite sudden-- one moment, she's walking, the next's lying face-down in a ditch. Herma-Mora is tickling her face sympathetically and her limbs are cold as ice and her poor, tired legs just aren't listening to her any more.

"Rise, Barfok," Herma-Mora prods her gently with a tentacle.

She sniffles-- her nose takes in ashy soil and she coughs pathetically. "I can't," she snivels, "It hurts."

"If you lie there," says Herma-Mora, with infinite patience, "You will... die."

"So let me die," she wheezes. "Let me choke to death here, on this... on this hateful ash!"

"Barfok..."

The tentacles are all around her, the afternoon light turning soupy and green, like algae in a pond. She whines and pushes her head into a tuft of spiky grass, clenching her eyes shut, feeling branches rake her skin. There's no pain in it, not compared to the screaming hotness of her burned back.

Even behind her eyelids he is there. "Barfok, rise."

"No! I'll die here, I'll die here."

"Rise."

"I want to die. I want to die. I want to die."

"Rise, girl."

"No! Leave me alone! I want to die here!"

"Look at me."

"I hate you. I hate you, you stupid squid meal. You stupid inky pile of dung. You slimy wretch. I hate you. Leave me. Let me die."

"Child of Atmora, look at me."

It is not Herma-Mora who roughly tugs away her coat. Nor is it Herma-Mora whose cold, calloused hands peel away the tunic from her broken skin. Barfok screams a guttural scream and thrashes, but there is a weight upon her, then, pinning her legs to the ground. She cannot see her assailant, but she feels her clothing stripped away from her, feels flames fresh upon her mutilated back, feels hands, prying, oh, gods, there's a hand on her--

"Let go!" Barfok screeches, kicking like a wild thing. "Let go of me! Unhand me!"

"Child!" someone who is not Herma-Mora replies sternly.

"Don’t hurt me!" Barfok yells, kicking out, lashing around blindly, "Go away, don’t touch me, don’t hurt me!"

"Girl--"

Barfok's hand finds an arm and she rakes her nails into it. Then, all at once, the weight rises from her. Wheezing, mouth full of ash, Barfok rolls to her side, then scrabbles frantically to lift herself upright. She manages to peel herself from the ground-- her arms collapse. Someone catches her.

She finds herself lying in the broad lap of a strange woman. "Kyne," she breathes.

For the apparition must be none other than Kyne. The woman now holding Barfok is tall, very tall, and strong, with lean and muscled limbs. Her face is broad and ugly, but her eyes-- her hooded eyes are blue-white, clear as glaciers, pale as the winter's coldest snow, and her hair-- her hair is red like old blood, long and loose and floating around her, thick with electricity. Her skin is pale, her lips thin and dry, the teeth beyond them yellow. The very bones of the earth bend away from her in fear.

"Kyne," says Barfok deliriously, "You've come for me! Yes, Kyne, oh monah Kaan, yes, take me to Sovngarde, take me to bormahi! Take me where the oxen roast and where it no longer hurts, take me back, take me back..."

The most terrible god amongst mortals frowns. "I am not Kyne," she says. "Have I wings?"

Barfok squints at her. "No," she rasps, "But you can take mine. I can feel them growing from my back. Oh, it hurts, it hurts so. Take those wings I'm growing."

"You are badly burned, little one."

"Is that what that is? The fire? Isn't that how a new forest grows? Oh..."

For, really, she got ash in her ruined back, and now that someone is holding her the wound is screaming with pain. She might have blacked out; when she wakes again she's lying on her side, and the thunderous god is behind her, rubbing something into the searing agony that is her shoulders.

"Who are you?" Barfok whimpers.

"I am Atmoran," answers the deity.

"Did Herma-Mora send you?"

"No. Do not breathe deeply."

"What are you called?"

"I am called many things. To the Nords I am Chemua. Brace yourself."

Barfok's world goes black again, and when her vision becomes something other than tentacles and eyeballs she's once more sitting upright, propped up in the woman's arms. She's shuddering all over from pain but the pain isn't bothering her any more. "Chemua," she mumbles, pronouncing it with a K- sound at the start.

"Tchemua," the woman corrects her.

"What did you do to me?"

"Bile of elf. A salve to replace the skin that was lost."

"That's gross."

"Yes." Content that Barfok might remain sitting on her own, Chemua moves around her, settles in front of her in an animal squat. "So," she begins, "Why is a daughter of Atmora dying in the east?"

Barfok certainly feels like she's dying. The earthbones are humming disconcerted  around her and her head is swimming. "Herma-Mora told me to," she answers pathetically.

The incarnate storm that is Chemua makes a contemptuous sound. "A Nord, then," she says. "Obedient you are. Like a sheep."

"Baaa," is Barfok’s feeble response.

"A domesticated animal," Chemua continues. "I should kill you as sacrifice, but Kyne loves not a domestic thing."

"Why are the qethsegolle afraid of you?"

"Because I hate them."

"What for?"

Chemua rises to her feet, glacier-eyes flashing. "For they are not Atmora," says she. "They are not the home that is lost to me. They dare to live when my home has died, and they are not home, and so I hate them. I hate this world, this vus, this task of Shor's. I hate it because I cannot leave it, and because I hate it, I vow to make it hurt. Do you understand?"

Barfok does not understand. She feels very confused-- and very dizzy, and very bashful-- but mostly confused. How can one hate Shor's work, when Shor's work is love, and made of love? How can one hear the qethsegolle and not love them? How does one peer into a candle and not have their face lit up?

Thoroughly perplexed, Barfok offers forth a "Baaa?"

Chemua snorts a laugh and it sounds like a gout of dragon-flame. "A Nordic answer." And, now thoroughly disinterested, she turns away.

"You helped me," Barfok says in wonder, as if that were any sort of argument. Then, "Can you tell me where to find Ysmir?"

This makes the Atmoran pause. "Go towards the mountain," she answers, meditative. "On the northern slopes there is an elven fortress."

"Baa. I mean, thanks. Do you really hate the world?"

"Yes," says Chemua calmly. "Very much.

"I love the world. I love the qethsegolle. Very much."

"No, you don't. If you loved it you would not wish to depart it."

Barfok can't even offer a baa to that. And then it doesn't matter; the pain creeps back, she loses her consciousness again, and when she comes to she's once more walking in shaky Herma-Mora guided steps, alone but for the daedra. And the next time her legs stop working, the next time Herma-Mora has to coax her back to standing, she finds herself whispering furious, indignant whispers: "I don't want to die!"  

#mehhhh

[jilljoycearts]

Did you know…..I can’t upload my animation as a gif? Now you know 🥲

It was originally 120mb, I already made it 50 for the portfolio, and now this… will upload as a video when I find fitting sound idunno

#mehhhh

[clavissionary-position]

#need 1300+ more words tonight #mehhhh #edit: need 1k now

[imwritesometimes]

finally having a sliver of inspo to start writing again only to realize I have to be up early tomorrow 😑

#i write sometimes #mehhhh #and just like that I'm 😞😞😞 and want to just space out and do nothing

[daddyregnor]

women.

#women #mehhhh #oh no feelings #no no no #no notes

[caramella120]

Y'all ever just

#mehhhh #myself

[paganrebel]

True crime podcast and ramen 🍜 for supper .

#lazy af #work was so awful #I’m so over it #and I hate being home alone #I feel so alone - like - I hate it #I’m so scared at night #why can’t I have my own place? #but then you live with me ? #making it feel like truly home ? #mehhhh #supper time #I’m so hungry #these noodles better be good #I ruined waffles the other day 😂 #fml 🤦🏻‍♂️ #don’t think you’re supposed to feel so awful #every day when you come back ‘home’ from work #ramblings of paganrebel #home ramblings of paganrebel #true crime community #true crime #podcast

[persephinae]

.

I feel like naming your characters cool video game character/greek mythology names in sci fi only works the farther you are from present day

If you still have "Michaels" and "Gwens" and "Rebeccas" floating around and the time period is only 100 or 200 years from now, then it's kind of immersion breaking if your sci fi story of "society now but slightly in the future" has a "Trinity" or "Aphrodite" or "Persephone" or "Zero" or "Circe"

Those kind of names I feel belong in some distant future where Earth is a memory or some futuristic cyberpunk story

"Hey Gwen! Want to get some ice cream?"

"Sure, Trinity Zero Main Character McCool!!'

#wank kind of /// #mehhhh

[therewithinthestars]

shout out to levi to still somehow being my comfort character that i remember in the middle of nasty sleep paralysis attacks despite not being in aot fandom for years (the only comfort character i can remember in those moments btw)

#sleep paralysis #sometimes you just gotta chant levi levi levi to drown out the Noises tm #and try your best to imagine him slashing through whatever is tormenting you that day #idk okay #i hate when I have these.. half lucid nightmares where the images are super fast and even when i try to take control of the imagies #they just keep twisting and getting uglier and out of control constantly #like a lucid dream gone wrong #it reminds me of my ocd hallucinations kinda it's similar in a way where it's like intrusive and you can't get rid of it #mehhhh #it's the season #anyways thank you levi i dont give a shit about ait but you're forever a real one 🖤 #RANT

[invisiblerhythmcat]

ok, I think I need to stop reading mlc meta that doesn't include a disability framework..

like, I get that bicha poisoning allows for all sorts of readings around philosophy and culture and queerness (and I fucking love the analysis coming out in this fandom, it's so rich), but the reality is that Li Xiangyi's and Li Lianhua's story is a narrative of disability

and while the canon may only see his disability as a narrative tool (as it often is in cdramas), I don't need to keep seeing that

and also, Fang Duobing's story is also one of disability. Yeah, it's a cute background story to explain his obsession with Li Xiangyi, but the fact that he was born sick and grew up sick informs all of his actions and future storyline. We were robbed in not being able to see more of him as a child.

and so is Di Feisheng's - losing all his inner power, building it back, risking the consequences memory loss to keep his power

These are three incredibly different experiences and perspectives on disability. Li Xiangyi and Di Feisheng lose everything in a single moment and need different ways to build back their lives. But Di Feisheng can build back to who he was before and will desperately do anything to keep it, Li Lianhua can't and has had to learn to live with that, so their entire experience of the same moment is different and they bump against each other with misunderstanding. Similarly, Fang Duobing grew out of his illness, he found healing, so, for him, of course the solution to Li Lianhua's poisoning is also a cure.

(and there's so much to talk about in how Fang Duobing and Di Feisheng see each other...)

and that's in addition to the smaller side moments, like the boy with the stutter than Li Lianhua just waits for, or the man desperately risking everything to find a cure for his child's tree syndrome and kindly being directed toward a doctor who is studying that specific rare, genetic disease

I've seen things like this in cdramas a lot, and disability is very much a narrative tool in a lot of these things, but never to the extent it is in mlc and that's part of what makes this particular drama so special

#mehhhh #i'm just tired #there's just so much richness in this show around disability #and it's exhausting to see it treated as a simple narrative tool to serve other purposes #maybe that's what it is #but as a disabled person who related heavily to li lianhua #i'd to at least see this recognized a bit more