Art Time!

Feral Silco having one of his psycho moments and reader is on the sidelines waiting to pounce cuz he's so delicious. Gotta write a fic.

Thank you for the tag, we love these games so much!!

Taglist: @bunnis-monsters @livelaughlovesubs @lexirosewrites @the-witty-pen-name @aspenmissing

I saw this on Instagram and had to try... Don't know who started it, I'm sorry!

Type "literally my characters" on Pinterest and add 6 photos

Honestly... It's really accurate!

Tagging (no pressure): @bubbles-for-all-of-us @fieldofdaisiies @moonlightazriel @thelov3lybookworm @kennedy-brooke

saying ao3 needs to censor certain content is like saying a museum can't have still life art that includes strawberries because you don't like them.

these are not real strawberries. you do not have to, and in fact cannot, eat them. no one with a strawberry allergy will be harmed by looking at them. no migrant workers were exploited in the picking of these strawberries. there were no questionable farming practices or negative environmental impacts from growing or transporting them.

because - and i cannot stress this enough - they are not real strawberries.

if you don't like strawberries, you don't have to look at the paintings. in fact, you can get a map of the museum that lists what works are in what rooms and just. not go in there. if you see one by mistake, you can look away. just keep walking. there's plenty of other stuff to see.

yes, real strawberries can cause real quantifiable harm to real people.

but again. these are not real strawberries.

you may have whatever feelings you like about strawberries, and so can i. you can draw and write about whatever fruit floats your boat, and so can i, even if that happens to be strawberries. and we can hang our art side by side in the same gallery, provided you understand that my strawberries are not about you (and your kumquats are, shocker, not about me) and that - and this is true - neither are real.

and when the fascists break down the doors and grab all the strawberry paintings and heap them in the street and set them on fire, please know that they are coming for your kumquats next.

so if you want a place where you can show off your beautiful kumquat art safely, you're gonna have to tolerate having some strawberries in the next room.

and that's okay. because the strawberries aren't real.

More art!

This girl doesn't have a name yet, someone on Discord suggested the name Jade. What do you all think?? I think she's just so cute, I can't wait to develop her lore lmao

Please reblog if YES so your followers will know!

I live in America and I'm so terrified of Trump winning the election. I'm an 18 year old pansexual(women leaning) woman who does not want to get married or have kids. I work in a grocery store(known for getting shot up/harassed by customers). I'm Hispanic. I'm fucking scared. I'm hoping that Kamala wins but my own mother thinks she won't. This is why I'm voting. My original plan was to not vote, but I'm too scared. I hope he doesn't win. I'm scared if he doesn't win. His supporters are crazy. I wish we didn't live like this.

Just went to see Gladiator II. I need to write for this man immediately.

God he looks so... Pathetic, almost. Insane, but pathetic. I need him. I need him to whimper. But I want to brush his hair, too. The possiblities....

This is a reminder to:

Never mention a possible pregnancy/abortion to anyone, especially not through a social media app messaging service such as messenger, WhatsApp, Instagram DMs, Snapchat, etc.

Delete all period tracking apps and to start tracking using a planner or physical calendar

Book appointments for a form of birth control if possible, or to always carry condoms for yourself and other

Look into sterilization options if that is the route you want to go down (here is a list of 1000 doctors willing to sterilize you without a fight)

Protect your fellow person, protect the women in your life, the queer people, the disabled people, everyone will be affected by this

Form communities. Tell your people that you love them. Protect one another. Check in on one another. None of us are alone.

Alternate ending to this post

Gojo first noticed something was off with you a week or so ago. Instead of your usual movie night, you opted to go to bed. This was by no means strange, but it was unexpected. He let it go, thinking you needed more sleep. You had been working quite hard, after all.

But, then you turned down the idea of going to get ice cream with him. You never turned down ice cream. He tried to ask you about it, but you said it was nothing, you just weren’t in the mood for ice cream. He had wanted to inquire further but your tone and expression made him bite his tongue.

He began to notice your hair becoming a little messier than usual but decided not to comment on it because of your exhausted expression. He was worried now.

When he tried to get you to go out or spar with him, you replied with “I’m too tired, sorry” or “I’m not feeling it today”. He had heard those words before.

Gojo started to worry more. Your attitude, your body language, your home, it was similar to that of his late best friend. Never in a million years did he think he would be comparing you to Geto, yet, here he was, in his own home, comparing the two of you.

How could he fix this? How could he make you feel better? Especially when he couldn’t even save the man who had basically been his brother?

Were you going to lock yourself away? Forever? Would you leave him?

He was frantic now, quickly calling you despite the ungodly hour. When you answered, he asked to come over. You said yes.

He quickly arrived at your house. You answered the door, clearly still half asleep.

“Are you okay? You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Satoru… what are you on about…?”

He let himself in, sitting you on the couch and then sitting next to you, noticing how your house was in disarray.

“You just seem… down lately.”

He watched as you deflated slightly, curling into a ball.

“It’s… nothing…” you mumbled into your blankets.

Gojo reached over and took your hand in his. “Please talk to me, I’m here for you.”

With that, you burst into tears, hiccuping and blubbering incoherent words into your blankets.

Gojo was startled, to say the least, but quickly held you against himself, stroking your hair and staying silent until your breathing evened out. He stayed quiet; he wanted you to speak on your own terms.

“I don’t know what’s wrong.” You start, sitting back. “I’ve just been… down… it's hard to get out of bed…”

Gojo nodded solemnly. “That’s okay,” he murmurs, “It’ll be okay.”

You sniffled, looking up at him. “How? I try so hard and it doesn’t get any better.”

He hated how you sounded so defeated, so exhausted, so… done.

“We'll get through it together,” he promised.

it ain't much, but I sure love a man with pointy ears