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they should make a sugar mommy but for buying you all the food you want

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just some doodling around tryin to figure out his face

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Crystals study

i'm so tired

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people born in 24 Are 2000 now

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mcyt fans in 2021: i love this FICTIONAL MINECRAFT ROLEPLAY CHARACTER (PLATONIC) its a character NOT the creator make sure to ask their boundaries i'm not a parasocial freak i just think theyre very gender (their CHARACTER) not the cc dont call me weird.

mcyt fans in 2024: so how do you think ethoslab deals with his period pains.

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alright here's the rundown. more detailed version coming soon probably. the things i do for you guys

(transcript of prologue below the cut)

It's a lavender sky this time, this world. A lavender sky deepening to aubergine over a city of neon and brass. It's beautiful in it's way, just like any other city on any other world.

I-prime hasn't bothered to learn its name.

He stands in the hotel window, watching the burnished streets below gleam with fading light. The rhythmic thrum beneath his feet signals the rousing of the club below. They're playing a song that I has never heard in his life, yet part of him remembers it all the same.

The blank-faced watch on his wrist chimes a single long tone. I-piece taps its face without taking his eyes off the path into the nightclub.

"Hello, T."

"You're not in position," T says through the speaker. Their voice betrays none of the frustration that I knows he must feel.

"I'm where I need to be," I-prime says.

"We talked about this—"

"Yes, you talked, that's what you do. I make decisions."

T-piece's response is cut off by further chimes from the watch. Short, long, short, short—then the voice of L comes through.

"There's no time," she says. "The Boss just Held onto J. It's on, it's now."

"As expected," says I.

With a snap of his fingers the air before him splits. I-prime reaches into the crack between two universes and retrieves his sniper rifle. He looks down its sights, out the window, down the gleaming street.

Someone approaches the door to the club. A tall, svelt man with a face that I-prime is so sick of seeing other people wear.

I wonder what this one's named, I-prime muses as he lines up the shot.

Izaak? Ignacius? Indigo?

As he pulls the trigger on himself from another life, I-prime knows it doesn't matter what this alternate is called.

He lost track of their names a long time ago.

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CHOK(h)ER

The only place J would go after a mission asks That of her.

Tetris spoilers fanfic. because I'm like that now. Read it here on AO3.

Content includes: Canon-Typical Violence and Murder, Cigarette Burns, Fade to Black

L already knows where to find her.

The drawings on the wall replace what would theoretically be a nice view, this high up in the office. Haphazard splatterings of paint that slowly give way to something like forms, something like intent. A work in progress. J is sitting on the edge of the desk, facing it. Another drag from her cigarette at the sound of the door behind herself. She knows who’s coming in. No one has set desks, really. But this is their office. The only place J would go after a mission asks That of her.

L joins her on the edge of the desk, wrapping one arm around J. Immediately, J leans into her side, not even caring as the earring catches and digs against the side of her head. “It’s always you. It’s always you, when it goes wrong like this.” She almost doesn’t sound like she’s talking to L - but L knows. Not even O gets to see J like this. “Three in a row.” Her cigarette shakes in her fingers, the smoke twisting faintly in the air between them. “I know,” L soothes, bringing her other hand around to card through J’s hair. “I know you hate it when it’s my clones. I’d do it for you if I could, I promise.” Except she can’t. It’s the whole point. L can’t kill her own clones, not at the range they work at. She’s too close in the thick of things; if she runs into another L, there’s just more problems. It’s someone else’s job to take them out so she can play the role.

And J hates when it falls on her to kill the Ls. Anyone else - even herself - is easy. Anyone but L. But Her.

J has the Look in her eye when she starts to explain it. Like she’s not really here, no matter how tightly she holds onto L’s waist. The basics are familiar. S fucked up her positioning, left a gap that an L-clone slipped through and promptly ran into another L-clone, setting off a third. J was blinded in the Hold at the time, only able to hear the radio chatter as L herself was forced to pull back rapidly. Nobody else could get close before things got worse. Dropping out of the Hold was the only option. Two of the clones were obvious enough. Two of the clones went down with hardly a fight. Two of the clones left nothing but blood. And the third…

-----

Weapon skittering across the floor, too far to reach in this fight. Body pressing against her own, clawing at her. Instinct rolling over, pulling the body close to dizzy it.

It smells like Her. Wraps around her head, intimate, sending it spinning. Not even the scent of blood feels foreign. She ends up above by luck more than anything. Straddling, scratched, fists clenched. A job to finish. She has to check.

Ripping off the choker, trying to block out the hands shoving painfully against her chest. Focusing. Dim light. Was it there, was it there, was it-Nothing. Blank. Smooth, soft skin, unbroken as it runs down towards the collar of her dress. Perfect and familiar and unmarked.Unmarked.

And then her own hands, wrapping dark and firm around it.  Gripping tighter than the choker still half-wrapped in her fingers. Staring at the neck she’s crushing, desperately, so she doesn’t have to look at the eyes. Eyes that widen, the way Hers do. The nail scratching her cheek as it flails at her, the way Hers do. Whining, writhing, underneath her, like Her, but wrong, wrong, wrong-

Slowing under her. Weakening. Quieting. Stopping.

Holding for a minute more. Ears filled with heartbeat overriding the static of a voice on the comms. Staring at her own hands. Refusing to let go. In case they come away and reveal the mark was there all along. Reveal Her. The real L. Dead at J’s own hands.

-----

The hand on her wrist brings J back to the present, as she realizes she has no idea what she’s actually said aloud. It’s stopping her from grinding the stub of her cigarette further into her knee. She drops what’s left of it, moving to pull away. L’s hand doesn’t move. J stops.

“Look up at me.” Gentle. Brooking no argument. J lifts her head just enough to stare at the dip of L’s shirt. A start.

L tips her own chin up, showing off the long line of her neck. The choker is tucked away somewhere, and the raised mark of a half-healed burn stands out like a sore thumb. Slowly, she lifts J’s hand at the wrist, pressing it against her own neck. The fingers stutter, splaying, like they can’t bring themselves to curl around another neck so soon. She presses firmer, and hesitantly they wrap. The burn sits, just barely touching the inner edge of the thumb. Rising into the touch with each breath and swallow.

“You would’ve seen it, see?” It’s a whisper, but by choice; there’s no real grip. “You would’ve felt it. I’m okay. I’m alive.” J stares at her hand, and the burn above it. She can feel it, even so carefully cradled. The burn, and the pulse. Pushing it into her thumb. Their mark. Burned in just before the mission, with J’s own cigarette. Half-healed over a line of mostly-healed, trailing around the line the choker covers. As they always do it. L is, as always, right. J wouldn’t have missed it. She would’ve known. She always knows.

L is alive.

Finally, J is able to lift her eyes, and meet L’s own. Relief wraps around the electricity coursing under her skin, leaving room for a different kind of rush at the look in L’s eyes. She doesn’t even have time to drop her hand before their lips collide, L pushing hungrily forward. Post-mission victory only holds in check for so long. The taste of cigarettes drowns itself against the heat and familiarity, and J’s heart rate picks back up. Her world narrows once more. The press of lips and tongue. The hand, dropped from her wrist to her collar, pulling. Another, lower, dipping under the hem of her shirt and down-

J gasps as the kiss breaks, hand finally falling to brace itself against the desk. She feels L’s breath as she laughs, low and warm and hungry. Turning to catch J’s cheek in her teeth just so, a playful pain. Fingers pressing deftly in.  L’s voice, cutting through the static like a knife parting clouds. “Let me show you just how alive I am.”

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is there any reason american rubbers are pink or are they just a little gayer than the rest of us

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DomestiC 4chumblR >,..,< fT babY tiktoK ȯ,..,ȯ

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One of the most bizarrely cool people I’ve ever met was an oral surgeon who treated me after a ridiculous accident (that’s another story), Dr. Z.

Dr. Z. was, easily, the best and most competent doctor or dentist I’ve ever encountered – and after that accident, I encountered quite a number. He came stunningly highly recommended, had an excellent record, and the most calming bedside manner I’ve ever seen.

That last wasn’t the sweet gentle caretaking sort of manner, which some nurses have but you wouldn’t expect to see in a surgeon. No; when Dr. Z. told me that one of my broken molars was too badly damaged to save, and I (being seventeen and still moderately in shock) broke down crying, he stared at me incredulously and said, in a tone of utter bemusement, “But – I am very good.”

I stopped crying on the spot. In the last twenty-four hours or so of one doctor after another, no one had said anything that reassuring to me. He clearly just knew his own competence so well that the idea of someone being scared anyway was literally incomprehensible to him. What more could I possibly ask for?

(He was right. The procedure was very extended, because the tooth that needed to be removed was in bits, but there was zero pain at any point. And, as he promised, my teeth were so close together that they shifted to fill the gap to where there genuinely is none anymore, it’s just a little easier to floss on that side.)

But Dr. Z.’s insane competence wasn’t just limited to oral surgery.

When I met Dr. Z., he, like most doctors I’ve had, asked me if I was in college, and where, and what I was studying. When I say “math,” most doctors respond with “oh, wow, good for you” or possibly “what do you want to do with that after college?”

Dr. Z. wanted to know what kind of math.

I gave him the thirty-second layman’s summary that I give people who are foolish enough to ask that. He responded with “oh, you mean–” and the correct technical terms. I confirmed that was indeed what I meant (and keep in mind, this was upper-division college math, you don’t take this unless you’re a math major). He asked cogent follow-up questions, and there ensued ten or so minutes of what I’d call “small talk” except for how it was an intensely technical mathematical discussion.

He didn’t, as far as I can tell, have any kind of formal math background. He just … knew stuff.

I was a competitive fencer at this point in time, so when he asked if I had any questions about the surgery that would be necessary, I asked him if I’d be okay to fence while I had my jaw wired shut, or if it would interfere with breathing.

“Fencing?” he said.

“Yes,” I said, “like swordfighting,” because this is another conversation I got to have a lot. (People assume they’ve misheard you, or occasionally they think you mean building fences.)

“Which weapon?”

“Uh. Foil.”

“No, it won’t be safe,” and he went off into an explanation of why.

Turns out, he was also a serious fencer – and, when I mentioned my fencing coach, an old friend of his. (I asked my fencing coach later, and, oh yes, Dr. Z., a good friend of mine, excellent fencer.) (My coach was French. Dr. Z. was Israeli. I never saw Dr. Z. around the club or anything. I have no idea how they knew each other.)

So this was weird enough that later, when I was home, I looked Dr. Z. up on Yelp. His reviews were stellar, of course, but that wasn’t the weird thing.

The weird thing was that the reviews were full of people – professionals in lots of different fields – saying the same thing: I went to Dr. Z. for oral surgery, and he asked me about what I did, and it turned out he knew all about my field and had a competent and educated discussion with me about the obscure technical details of such-and-such.

All sorts of different fields, saying this. Lawyers. Businessmen. Musicians.

As far as I can tell, it’s not that I just happened to be pursuing the two fields he had a serious amateur interest in – he just seemed to be extremely good at literally everything.

I have no explanation for this. Possibly he sold his soul to the devil.

He did a damn good job on my surgery.

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BORN TO DO NOTHING WORLD IS A OVERWHELMING 鬼神 Put Em All Off 1989 I am executive dysfunction man 410,757,864,530 THINGS TO DO 

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👁‍🗨Ciphertology & The Dixons👁‍🗨

Sooooo…Emma May’s family was involved in a cult, right? Let me elaborate. As a fellow creative I have been known on many occasions to forget details big and small about my own world, but names? No, names are never something I tend to duplicate unless for a very specific thematic or world building reason. So color me stoked when I was curiously learning about Bill’s cult arc in the 1950’s and found one of his first followers was a young girl with the surname, you guessed it, Dixon!!

Considering Alex Hirsch is very purposeful with things and little hints, while also leaving the audience to figure things out for themselves while he sits back and laughs, I can’t help but feel the surname Dixon is a bit TOO coincidental in this instance. From what we see, Ciphertology and the followers were a mash of a bunch of real life cult references while doing the usual Hirsch thing of filtering Bill into a concept perfectly well.

All in all it’s a very interesting thing, but what I found more interesting were the people involved. Sure you have the puppet leader, Silas Birchtree and a bunch of other out there names, but amongst sits a simple ‘Madeline Dixon’….. Alex Hirsch I’m going to screAM :D

From what we learn, after the cult is forcibly disbanded by the US government and every trace of the town is wiped off of maps and history books, the people are spread throughout the country and given opportunities to start life over again. Not everyone followed that however and some continued to follow the Bill Cipher cult. And honestly I can’t help finding myself bouncing back to the very concept that is-

What if Emma May Dixon grew up in a recovering cult family? What if her family still believed in the cults teachings like some and practiced it in secret at home? And if that is true how am I meant to feel towards the idea that her future husband, Fiddleford McGucket, would become a cult leader himself all because of the very thing that was the foundation of her own cultish upbringing?

Honestly if that’s what Alex was shooting for, I’m calling him a genius cause that’s such a fascinating idea to work with. The concept that Bill has personally affected and rooted himself so deeply into the show and it’s characters that even those we don’t get to see still have dealt with him to some degree.

It just all feels too perfect too. The surname Dixon implies enough, thanks to Alex’s upfront and to the point naming, that Emma May too is a southerner like her husband. Or at the very least she’s in that farmy side of the country. And where did Ciphertology come from? Orchard Lake, Kansas. Madeline Dixon very well could be Emma May’s aunt or older sister considering the cult began in 1952. And assuming Em’s the same age as Fiddleford and the Stan twins then we can assume vaaaaageuly that she’d be born in 1955. Meaning she’d be either growing up in that recovering environment or indoctrinated into it.

We can assume well enough then that she didn’t follow the cults teachings considering she seems well adjusted with her family, living in Palo Alto, but it also kinda reaffirms why she’d be so quick to throw divorce on the table once she sees Fiddleford’s memory wiped condition. That on top of we can only assume his behavior was alarming and erratic and a far cry from the personality of her husband that she was used to (especially when you consider bRO made a homicidal pterodactyl robot because he was so distraught and upset towards the idea of being divorced..like yeah man..that might solidify her decision my guy..)

But if she ever saw the symbol of Bill’s eye or anything in relation to him anywhere in Gravity Falls?? Especially the Society of the Blind eye symbol spray painted all over? After either learning to fear Bill or worship him in her upbringing depending on what their family did after the cult was disbanded? I wouldn’t blame her for high tailing it out of there and worrying for her and her sons life- (Fiddleford..Emma May..I am your biggest fans, but y’all have me bonkers sometimes) But also consider how most ex cult members naturally want to give the very opposite traumatic life that they lived to their child? If Emma May were to see semblances of what she relates to Ciphertology in Gravity Falls, I don’t have a hard time believing she was getting tF out of there for the sake of Tate’s well being & future

In short- hi, I now believe Emma May’s family was in a cult and the very idea of that will ruminate with me for awhile :D But also double hi?? Madeline DIxon looks vaguely similar to how I envisioned and draw my Emma May design? Coincidence, I think nOT :P

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having mutuals who’ve never touched the mcyt fandom is so fun for me it’s like an entire cultural experience i’ve had. every so often i remember how many of my Beloved Mutuals don’t know about the mcytblr sexyman tournament. or scitties. they don’t know about the whoreslut survey.

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=>Scar: Try to get to a two block hole!!

An attempt to run and hide is being made, but endymen are as fast as they are strong. You are barely alive, holding onto a half-a-heart hope and you aren't quite sure this tiny hidey-hole is enough to keep you safe from the enderman's long reach...

Maybe if you cover your eyes the enderman will stop being angry at you? Oh who are you kidding; you just hope, that whoever your soulmate is, they won't hold a grudge against you for loosing both of your green lives like this...

And you want to know what the worst part is? You didn't even get to see the bastion, much less the enchanter. This trip to the nether sucked,

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Start Over - Go Back

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USERNAME LORE GIVE IT TO ME NOW YOU ALL