#I used to think it was “change” for the longest time

[starspangledbatter]

⭐️ “Dead Wife Rag”???: The Amazing Digital Circus Theory ⭐️

⭐️ About a day or two ago, Gooseworx released the entire soundtrack of episodes 3 and 4. Excited, I went and prepared to explore each and every one of the tracks individually. That is, until something strange caught my eye. This thing specifically, was a name for one of the latest tracks titled “Dead Wife Rag”. ⭐️

Now, this name could simply just mean rag. Rag as in a syncopated rhythm. But what if “Dead Wife Rag” is actually a double entendre? Let me explain…

🌟 You see, Gooseworx seems to title her tracks based off of the scene her tunes takes place in. “Character Quirks” plays during the living room scene where the characters show off what happens when they don’t breathe. “Still Friends” plays during the moment where Zooble comforts Gangle and admits that they are still Gangle’s friend, regardless of what happened at Spudsy’s. ⭐️

Now, knowing this information, the time and place where Gooseworx’s tracks take place seem to hold prominence in the track’s title names. So, knowing this, where exactly does “Dead Wife Rag” play within the series?

⭐️ Here. This is the scene where this track plays. The scene where a dead wife, Martha Mildenhall, explains to Ragatha that her husband accidentally kills her with his gun, while telling her about men and their “silliest priorities”. This scene follows with Ragatha turning to Jax, agreeing with Martha that she knows the feeling of dealing with a man who puts his own feelings over anyone else’s. ⭐️

Now, why does this matter? Well, what if I were to tell you that “Dead Wife Rag” actually means “Dead Wife Ragatha”, and that’s what makes the name a double entendre. This isn’t just my Bunnydoll bias speaking here. I actually mean it. Consider this.

⭐️ Jax’s episode is described as “guns!”. A gun is the thing that Baron uses to kill Martha, resulting in her demise ⭐️

⭐️ Gooseworx has said in the past that she “apologizes to the Bunnydoll shippers”, meaning that there’s something that could happen in the future that may strain their relationship, which could possibly involve abstraction. ⭐️

⭐️ When asked how Jax would react towards Ragatha abstracting or going missing, Michael Kovach responds with a tragic but surprising response (go to the 1:25:45 mark). He states that if Jax realized that Ragatha abstracted, he would be devastated. This is because Ragatha was someone he knew the entire time during his time at the circus. He would then continue to repress these feelings and pretend that everything is fine (like he did with Kaufmo, the stressful aftermath at Spudsy’s etc). ⭐️

⭐️ Jax’s episode (the gun episode) will explore each and every character, showing the audience how their personalities have changed amongst being at the circus. Maybe Ragatha and Jax used to be closer in the past? Maybe they weren’t always at each other’s throats? ⭐️

⭐️ So, where does this all lead to? What does all of this mean? Well, what if Jax does something in the future that hurts Ragatha emotionally. Something irredeemable, something unforgiving. What if Jax causes Ragatha to accidentally abstract, leaving the circus to cope with the death of one of their longest-surviving members? ⭐️

⭐️ Like Kinger said “In this world, the worst thing you can do is... make someone think they're not wanted or loved”. The worst thing you can do to Ragatha is make her feel hated or unloved. She doesn’t want Jax to hate her, despite how she feels about him and his actions. Jax always seems to push away others and constantly uses them for his entertainment. The only time he actually thinks about anyone but himself is during times that lack distraction. Maybe he says something that convinces Ragatha that he hates her. She believes in the one thing she can’t live with acknowledging. ⭐️

The guns aren’t actually guns. The guns are a symbol for a device or an event that leads to the accidental demise of a loved one. Kinger isn’t the only parallel to Baron. Jax is Baron. Ragatha is Martha. She’s “Dead Wife Rag” and he’ll have to live with what he has done. For the rest of his life.

[are-we-really-doing-this]

This song was meant for me I tell you, MEANT for me 😤.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thank you. I'm sorry.

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[puppyeared]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[epickiya722]

You know what, call it a "hot take" or whatever but when it comes to character designs in My Hero Academia, my favorite ones are the female character designs.

If you asked me which designs I like the most the list with mostly consist of the female characters.

That isn't to say I hate the male ones because I do have favorites and some female designs don't catch my eyes as much.

But just like in general of hairstyles, eye colors, skin tones, the vibes... whatever I find myself more attentive to the female character designs than I am for the male ones.

[fauna-and-floraa]

getting into a kpop idol group is like :) here's a whole playlist with a back catalogue of all almost their videos, music, tv appearances, radio spots, everything- oh and most of it's translated! getting into a jpop group is like Contact you're nearest black magic witch and set up a meeting, pray every day intensely, sacrificing 3 living creatures and maybe you'll find a blogspot that was last updated in 2012 that has a bunch of stuff uploaded by a fan translator, or else get good at navigating japanese websites and finding a company that will ship cds and dvds to you. What is youtube or a streaming site?

[aroaceofthesea]

Ship of theseus ass friendship

[legendary-guest]

Based on Dwelling by @gogofordrakgo and inspired by conversation with her. If you have read up until Chapter 17, that is all the context you will need to understand this one-shot. There are two endings in this. The second ending is a continuation of the first, and will be under a Keep Reading break. Constructive criticism is appreciated. REM Streetlights dotting along the sidewalk cut through the night-cloaked path to Drew's apartment, the not inexpensive prize of strawberries rolling around in their flimsy plastic carton. The time to justify such an absurd trip had evidently come and gone, as had the initial reason for buying them in the first place. He hopes he can remember it before they all go bad.

Shoe hitting the elevated edge of a concrete slab sees the strawberries fly out of his grip, hands now tasked with saving his face from scraping the pavement. Losing his glasses is par for the course.

Although the fall is not bad, his palms ache fiercely. Drew attributes it to the abrupt stop; but if that were the case, the pain should be in his wrists. Blurred vision is the single reminder of where he should be putting his focus.

Ache turns to sting as he glides his hand over the ground, not knowing why he isn't patting around for them to avoid agitating the likely injury. He's glad that he has no audience to watch the pathetic display. Tears threaten to form at the mere thought of stifled laughs and condescending sneers.

He finds them lens-side down, as expected. He can only pray (since when did he do that?) that there isn't a scratch, or worse, a chip, in the glass. World now in focus, the atmosphere changes. He isn't alone. Leaping to his feet, the distinctive glint of a knife grazes his peripheral vision. He stumbles backward, but only about a foot. Not far enough, but he can move no further.

Shadowed, the assailant is at least a head taller than him, and definitely twice as wide in a way that makes Drew wonder why he even needs a knife in the first place. His mind races, trying to figure a way out, whilst he finds, and maintains, eye contact. All is still, and the danger seeps in. Materialising between would-be victim and perpetrator, a girl dressed in a striking suit, skin faintly glowing in the inky black of the night. Intrigued, entranced, frightened, Drew can only watch as she extends a hand outward, alighting it, with what, and how, he doesn't know. Whatever it is, what happens next is a violent whirlwind of attack, a dazzling display of gymnastic grace and green fire. He is no match for her.

Battered and burned, the attacker falls to his hands and knees, whimpering incoherently for her mercy. This does not move her, and the sputtering pleas come to a halt.

A long silence ensues.

Drew waits with bated breath.

"You better get going, Sport. Before I change my mind."

The hulking mass recoils and makes his exit.

They are alone. He hasn't moved a single muscle, but he's panting as if he himself had fought. Turning her head in profile, she smirks, clearly satisfied at another job well-done. She starts forward, crouching down to surely spring off the very ground and fly into the starry sky.

"Wait!"

His hand passes through into the night, outside the perimeter of the streetlight beaming down on him. It's so intense he starts to sweat. She stops, straightens herself out, dark hair swaying, he can determine this much.

"Wh-who are you?" He asks, but a part of his brain that isn't submerged in unconsciousness alerts him to a vague familiarity.

In one smooth motion she turns around to face him, arms akimbo. Her hair seems to be the only thing animated about her, taking its time to still in comparison to the rest of her perfectly controlled movements.

The darkness reluctantly relinquishes her to the light as she takes a single step towards him. His breath catches.

Not a girl, a woman.

Her suit covers every inch of her, save for her face and a sliver of pale neck. Yet, it doesn't shy away from showing her off, letting him know who, what, she really is.

"Thank you. For saving me." He has no idea how he has managed to say this, somehow looking her in the eye and ogling her. Some mental trick.

Maybe it's this heat. Yes. That must be it.

She smiles at him. Amused.

A jolt of fear and shame rush through him. Had she caught him staring?

"Shego." She breathes her answer.

"Sh-Shego." Her name breaks on his nervous tongue. Her chest rises, an intake of breath, the very first he has seen and heard from her, he realises.

"I..." Then he catches it, some flicker of expectation in her eyes. It floods him with confidence. "I think it's...customary," a deliberate pause, not a fumble, "for a heroine to be rewarded." He moves closer to her, and she tilts her head slightly upward to look at him.

Coy smile on perfect lips ease into knowing, but her response to him retains an edge.

"Heroines don't accept money."

"No," He agrees, his hand cupping her soft cheek, "I didn't think so." He can't help but rub his calloused thumb over her skin, imparting affection, assuring her he means no harm.

Nothing more needs to be said, as desire finally takes a hold of him. He doesn't resist, but neither does she, meeting him in the middle.

His tongue slides over hers. She tastes of alcohol. Caramel-apple.

Unable to turn off his thinking brain even amidst a passionate kiss, he wonders if this is what fuels her fire.

She pulls away, still so close as to steal a breath from him when she gasps. He almost makes the mistake of leaning in once more, seeking to capture her again, when she slackens in his arms.

How long had he been holding her for?

The last of her strength leaves her, and he is now supporting her full weight as she leans to the side, head hanging.

"Shego, what's wrong?" Careful not to drop her, he shifts forward.

Sweat is practically pouring down his neck and forehead by the time she meets his gaze again, expression pained and vulnerable. He even catches the tell-tale glitter of emerging tears in her eyes before she indicates with the turn, and then fall, of her head to her opposite side. Drew follows.

A clean, but ugly, diagonal cut to her right side from the top of her hip, stopping just short of the underside of her breast. That wasn't there before, was it? No way, he would have noticed it, it's huge.

The wound does not bleed. He doesn't question why or why not. She's injured and needs help, all the same.

"Shego, come on," He manoeuvres himself over to her left side, placing her arm over his shoulder, "My apartment isn't too far from here, I-I can help." Nervousness dares to break through, but when she rests her head against his shoulder, he steels himself.

The trek could have taken minutes or hours. He could have hauled her up a single flight of stairs or fifty. The time that passes, or refuses to pass, an age or a moment, it doesn't deter him. On occasions where Shego leans heavily on him, shakes her head at the futility of it all, he encourages her to stay awake, to hold on, to pull-through.

Finally, the two make it to his door. It gives him no trouble, and mercifully opens on its own. He sets her on the couch and he can feel, can see, her body relax. Shego leans her head back.

His eye spots a bead of sweat rolling down her jaw, trickling along her neck until it disappears between the gap of her throat and collar, beneath the suit. Drew swallows. The unrelenting heat returns, even under the weak incandescent lightbulb of the meagre living room.

Instinctively, he knows the first aid kit is under the coffee table, although this is not its usual place. He is thankful for being able to turn his back to Shego to retrieve it.

From the carpeted floor to sitting across from her on the couch, he finds his hands holding an open bottle of isopropyl alcohol and gauze, the kit not between them like it should be, but beside him. The fumes make him light-headed, though there is no pungent smell to accompany it.

No. It tastes like caramel-apple.

"Drew." His head snaps to her. Did he ever tell her his name?

"I want you to take it off." Clear, and if he didn't know any better, confident. She might even have some knowing look in her eye. Half an amused smile.

The heat.

"Wh-what?" His hands tremble.

"You...have to take it off," Her voice is weak again, pained, breathy, "If you...want to help me."

Drew nods. He can't even swallow, his throat is so dry and his tongue thick, heavy. Whatever he'd been holding had slipped through clammy palms and disappeared into wherever it is that forgotten things slip and disappear into. They couldn't have been that important, anyway.

Thumb and forefinger find the zipper of Shego's suit easily. He didn't even need to actually see it to know where it was. The metal is so cool on the edge of his last knuckle, even feeling it through the thick callous of his thumb. The teeth along the tape grin at their unveiling, exposing full, green-tinted flesh.

'Oh my God. She's perfect, every inch of her.'

Simmering desire, lust, turns into a rolling boil as he travels down, until it hits the top of her belt. Her belt.

"Drew, what are you doing?"

Panic burrows under his skin, racing across every nerve. Shego - Shea? Shea is Shego. But how can she be? They don't even sound, don't even look - he dares to steal a stupid, moronic, lascivious glance at her. Full, beautiful curves, now skin and bone.

The look of terror and disgust on her face is justified.

Even still, he starts blathering on like the coward he is, desperate to save himself from a fate he knows he deserves. Old habits die hard.

Shea screams expletives at him, shielding her small, deceptively fragile-looking body, holding the suit closed with one hand whilst the other is engulfed in a blaze of green and black-flecked flame.

His blathering is reduced to babbling, mouth forming word-shaped sounds when she aims for him. Unable to turn from her, he backs out of his own door.

Shea is a good shot.

He can't even feel the heat of the flame - plasma? The only thing he's aware of is the fact that he's falling, falling over the threshold of the staircase.

Drew wakes up.

Relief, selfish relief at the inherent deception of the dream is short-lived, as the slight shift of his hips reveals an unwelcome (filthy, sticky) truth about the trappings of his own mind. There's no winning.

[aria0fgold]

I got waaaay too attached to my farmer in Stardew Valley that I can't play a new save without them and I also didn't want to just create the same character (It'll confuse me...) but I really wanna try out the meadowlands farm. So instead, I decided to create a storyline in which my dear farmer dies, reincarnates, and proceeds to dye and style their hair in the same way it was in the past life.

[anothermonikan]

Me: Literally just trying to draw anything, anything at all

The irreversible impact these two fuckers had on my art:

[kulemii]

and so anyway, we're in love now. anyone interested in a wedding invite?

[justinefrischmanngf]

i need to stop giving people my instagram i think like it’s not conducive to appearing in people’s lives and then disappearing i think i should start a number/email/letterboxd only policy because i am in such a good place to meet people and then just disappear and that’s all i need from life rn and instagram is hindering me massively in that i’m literally going to start doing this

[darabeatha]

@ardenssolis ​​ replied ; Camazotz. 10/10. WORSE TO SLEEP NEXT TO IS PROBABLY JASON. I BET HE MOVES WHEN HE SLEEPS.

UR RIGHT!! Camazotz 10/10, he is grouchy and mean outside but in private he is much calmer (still grouchy and--- still prob a lil mean) and would 10/10 wrap u around his long arms and keep u tucked in between them like cocoon, not to mention that his badoonkers are huge which makes for very comfortable pillows ☝️👏👌🤝 the only thing is that sometimes he snores so u would have to lightly pinch his nose and he'll get back to sleeping like regular. BUT VERY NICE, VERY COMFY! He is pretty touchy so he would absolutely end up hugging u or scooting closer to u

JASON ABSOLUTELY MOVES WHEN HE SLEEPS HEELEPLLPLPLPLL I HATE HOW I CAN ABSOLUTELY SEE THAAAAT this man not only takes half the space in bed but also keeps moving around changing sleeping positions. One moment u might be sleeping next to him and the other he has his right leg up ur torso and his arms sprawled out across the (large) empty space In bed. Plus he sleeps quite profoundly so you'd have to really come to shake him to wake him up to move!

[voidscreamns]

./

[puppyeared]

Jitterbug

[kuromi-hoemie]

005554 was a banger. it wasn't even for me, Levi if you're out there please help. they have your passwords and I got calls for a year from so many different places trying to chase down your debts.

going through my texts and reminiscing about my favorite security codes i was sent this year