虹色の嵐

you get an invite to a gay wedding

you open the card

“WARNING: SHONEN-AI, YAOI, BOYXBOY, THAT MEANS BOY KISSES!!! LIME/LEMON LATER. DON’T LIKE DON’T ATTEND, RSVP PLZ”

File this under posts from 2012 that deal immense psychic damage

happy 10th birthday to one of the posts of all time

It's almost over🥜

A friend on instagram requested this. Inspired by that one screenshot of howl and Sophie from Howls Moving Castle.

★ 【Alex】 「 SPY×FAMILYまとめ 」 ☆ ✔ republished w/permission ⊳ ⊳ follow me on twitter

I CCAN'T BREATHE

brown sugar and cinnamon are lesbian married

i mean this from the bottom of my heart: no one is impressed by your loud ass car. actually we talked about it and we all want you dead.

i don’t know how to tell people that deriving pleasure - sexual pleasure included! - from art* is good actually, and that creating specific kind of art “just” because you find it hot or whatever is just as good a reason as any, and you don’t actually need some “deep and meaningful” reason to create art about things. pleasure - sexual pleasure included - is not the devil, it is not Bad and shameful, and it’s not any less valid of a reason to create something than because you want to, idk, explore the depths of the human consciousness or something

* art here includes writing

i’m glad this post resonated with people because i lost a years-long mutual over it when i made it lmao

the older I get, the more the technological changes I've lived through as a millennial feel bizarre to me. we had computers in my primary school classroom; I first learned to type on a typewriter. I had a cellphone as a teenager, but still needed a physical train timetable. my parents listened to LP records when I was growing up; meanwhile, my childhood cassette tape collection became a CD collection, until I started downloading mp3s on kazaa over our 56k modem internet connection to play in winamp on my desktop computer, and now my laptop doesn't even have a disc tray. I used to save my word documents on floppy discs. I grew up using the rotary phone at my grandparents' house and our wall-connected landline; my mother's first cellphone was so big, we called it The Brick. I once took my desktop computer - monitor, tower and all - on the train to attend a LAN party at a friend's house where we had to connect to the internet with physical cables to play together, and where one friend's massive CRT monitor wouldn't fit on any available table. as kids, we used to make concertina caterpillars in class with the punctured and perforated paper strips that were left over whenever anything was printed on the room's dot matrix printer, which was outdated by the time I was in high school. VHS tapes became DVDs, and you could still rent both at the local video store when I was first married, but those shops all died out within the next six years. my facebook account predates the iphone camera - I used to carry around a separate digital camera and manually upload photos to the computer in order to post them; there are rolls of undeveloped film from my childhood still in envelopes from the chemist's in my childhood photo albums. I have a photo album from my wedding, but no physical albums of my child; by then, we were all posting online, and now that's a decade's worth of pictures I'd have to sort through manually in order to create one. there are video games I tell my son about but can't ever show him because the consoles they used to run on are all obsolete and the games were never remastered for the new ones that don't have the requisite backwards compatibility. I used to have a walkman for car trips as a kid; then I had a discman and a plastic hardshell case of CDs to carry around as a teenager; later, a friend gave my husband and I engraved matching ipods as a wedding present, and we used them both until they stopped working; now they're obsolete. today I texted my mother, who was born in 1950, a tiktok upload of an instructional video for girls from 1956 on how to look after their hair and nails and fold their clothes. my father was born four years after the invention of colour televison; he worked in radio and print journalism, and in the years before his health declined, even though he logically understood that newspapers existed online, he would clip out articles from the physical paper, put them in an envelope and mail them to me overseas if he wanted me to read them. and now I hold the world in a glass-faced rectangle, and I have access to everything and ownership of nothing, and everything I write online can potentially be wiped out at the drop of a hat by the ego of an idiot manchild billionaire. as a child, I wore a watch, but like most of my generation, I stopped when cellphones started telling us the time and they became redundant. now, my son wears a smartwatch so we can call him home from playing in the neighbourhood park, and there's a tanline on his wrist ike the one I haven't had since the age of fifteen. and I wonder: what will 2030 look like?

My grandfather, who is 100, remembers his dad’s accountant doing math on an abacus. Now he texts me “<3” on his flip phone.

★ 【@pixiescout】 「 仕立て屋で 」 ☆ ✔ republished w/permission ⊳ ⊳ follow me on twitter

magion02

My grief cannot be measured. Yuri on Ice has been part of my life since it aired in 2016 😭

I hope that we can keep the fandom alive.

Twitter announcement here.

When you go to the store for "just one thing"

A porcelain figurine - one of a kind, handmade.

The relationship between shipping and fanfic is so much more than a binary choice between "niche ship where it's impossible to find anything" and "popular ship where it's impossible to find anything readable". There's also "niche ship that has thousands of fics because it's captured the imagination of an extremely specific kink subculture that you're not into at all", "popular ship whose writing community became established during an early hiatus and never incorporated any subsequent developments, instead diverging into an alternative canon that's unrecognisable to fans of the actual source material", "moderately well-represented ship where literally everything seems to have been written by a single impossibly prolific author whose grammatical quirks drive you up the wall", etc.

一色