#I’m gonna write that shit UP

[parkersbliss]

to the anon who put that keegan request in my inbox I FUCKING LOVE YOU ITS SO PERFECT 😭

[hypertechnica]

star trek as a concept is completely sexless. it is utterly devoid of sex. not one drop of convincing sexual tension has ever graced the screen on any star trek show. the weird unintentionally homoerotic psychosexual mind game shit on the other hand,

[simcardiac-arrested]

wait, that elias?

[eowynstwin]

Roommate Ghost who starts following you to and from work (without your knowledge) because it’s the only way, he thinks, to make sure you get there and home safe. Tucks an air tag into the seam of your work bag to keep tabs on where you go for lunch. “Accidentally” runs into you at whatever deli you choose, more than once. Insists on eating together. Will not hold a conversation to save his own life.

Has to get more tags for when you have dates—you only take a little purse with you, after all. DEFINITELY follows you on your dates. The world is a dangerous place and men are dangerous people, pet, how else is he gonna keep you safe?

[allastoredeer]

I fainted for the first time in my life today ✌️ what an experience

[chimerahyperfix]

You are a scientist. You like testing theories, making hypothesis. Working with dangerous materials that get you scolded. You are a scientist, and you are also a writer! You’ve swung at a few things before: sappy poems, work papers, crab, you’ve even attempted a horror short at Mirabelle’s inquiry. You’re favorite thing to write, though, are just basic letters.

You like to write letters. It's easier, to you, to write your thoughts on a piece of paper and hide it somewhere the recipient can find than to tell them what you think face-first. You’ve done it for years, long before you even came to the House to learn about the Change religion. A childhood habit that’s rolled over through your life like a wave on the sea.

So, of course, when time begins to loop, you write. Many, many letters. They all get lost to time when it twists back, and now, many loops in, that leaves a hole in your heart and a spot in your brain you can’t itch, for the words of each letter are mostly forgotten before you fight the King. It’s… fine, you guess? You can word things as many ways as you need to. Anything described can be described some more, after all.

For the first handful of loops, you wrote the same letters. Rather sappy, lovey things, your specialty. The furthest depths of your heart smeared onto a page for eternity, for you love and love and love, and you want those around you to know it.

Though as time trudges on, the same twenty four hours over and over in a nice single circuit built for it to run through, built by wishes and stars and twisted leaf-baring branches, so do your thoughts; therefore your letters move so, too, to adapt. More theoretical things. Questions. Ifs, ands ors buts and whys. Sadder ones after the bad loops, wailing and endlessly upset and mourning those who froze and those who were killed for standing in the King's way.

They get angrier as time goes on. More enraged. Wrath melts into the corners, edges fold and tear and warp under the weight. You stop delivering them, because you're here in this time loop hell to protect the ones you love, and you'd just make it worse if you gave them a letter like that.

You write a scathing letter, once. You write it after an absolutely abysmal loop, ending with blood and tears and probably the loudest you've ever screamed. It flows onto the page easily, and you leave it out on your desk, because you were hungry and hadn't eaten that loop with how beside yourself stressed you were.

Mirabelle finds it. Asks you, quite worried, if you're okay. You must've said something, and it had to be bad, because she flinched away from you like you'd tried to light her ablaze.

You panicked. Time looped.

Never again.

You hide them, after that. Shoved in your pillowcases or in piles of books, stacks of other papers. In the barrels. When you write only one or two you shove them in a bottle and push them to the back of your potions.

You're a shedding snake, a leopard changing its spots. Time is your prisoner and you are it's, and that melts into you as a human being until you are flesh and blood and twenty four hours that shouldn't continue.

Words spill from you, your mind, onto the page. You don't read them anymore. Just write and write and write, and tuck them away and pray no one finds them. You long for the days you could sit and write sappy love letters-- and sometimes, you still do them, but they're tinged with something, regret or rage or the absolute despair you feel, they're wrong, so they're tucked away as well. Letters just wrong, noticeably so. You’d be asked what’s wrong. Cornered. You can hear it now, “What’s wrong? What does this mean?” And all you can think of is the horrors you’ve seen.

One of these loops, whenever you get out, you expect to have a pile of ramblings with time-burnt letters and tear-stained edges. Whenever you get out, if there are any, you'll burn them. As a rite of passage, or something. A Change. Because time changed you, and the less people have to know about it the better. You can't get rid of your rotten voice or the tiredness in your bones or the way your brain has twisted to think, but you CAN get rid of letters.

You like to write. The horrors you write, of twisted time and dying and what being frozen in time is like— it can go. No one needs to know. No one WILL know. It’ll all fall on you, like every other crabbing thing in the time loops. And that’s okay, it’s enough.

[dollsdesires]

I hate making typos.

When someone else makes a typo? ZERO judgment and the utmost admiration.

When I make one?

My brain:

[pepperpixel]

“put me on a pedestal and i’ll only disappoint you

tell me i’m exceptional, and i promise to exploit you

gimme all your money, and i’ll make some origami honey!

i think you’re a joke!!! …but i don’t find you very

fuuuuuuu~nyyy”

More tagr art!!! Assorted stuff this time! Featuring some cute chibi stuff. Some solo gaz’s, a lil uhhh. Comic of an altercation.. and a very belated Halloween pic I started drawing last Halloween and didnt finish lol. Also featuring lyrics from pedestrian at best cuz that song rllly rlly fits my ver of tak lol.

[unfortunatelyilikebnha]

Bnha makes me so mad because it could’ve been good. It had a lot of good aspects. But in the end none of them were satisfyingly resolved so it just feels bad.

[froggies-bloggies]

I want to put Jax in a box made of sharp edges and glass and shake him around and then make him lick his own wounds

[persistentplums]

Nobody move working on thoughts about Brock and Dean similarities that include the fascinating passing down of masculinity especially within the idea of sexuality and sex that both characters are mirrors of and Dean copying Brock within that respect.

Basically Brock in the case of Hank and Dean Venture you ARE the father/mother

[nicomoon69]

every time I’m forced to see this image bc I have to describe what’s wrong w it to dumb ass ppl a small part of me dies

cw: ugly ass emo whitewashed genshin man

[cubikzoa]

fantasy nerds are always like “waaah waaah being immortal would SUCK bc you’re alone forever and your significant other always dies and humanity moves on without you 😢”

meanwhile I’m over here rolling my eyes heartily bc I’m an ADHD aroace introvert with an extreme passion for knowledge and cool shit, if I was gifted immortality I’d promptly fuck off to go hyperfocus for a couple centuries or just travel the globe until my feet fell off, I could procrastinate for 57 years and it wouldn’t matter, if we discover aliens 300 years from now I’ll get to see ‘em and you idiots WON’T, I will outlive both Jeff Bezos and my villainous student debt, I will experience infinite awesomeness and be perfectly content with my zest for the Loner Life™️, you cannot deprive me of this astounding opportunity go sit in the corner and suck on your loser lollipops of limited thinking and cry

[ya-what--ya-erster]

I’m taking the singular like on my prev post as a ye! So enjoy. And cry please

Tw for swearing, sort of talk of suicide but not really, and talk of sodas rodeo accident which I have dramaticified for the purpose of I wanted to. Read the tags.

…

Sitting in the truck on the way home, Ponyboy asks: “You’re real sad, ain’t you, Soda?”

And Soda, he smiles a broken smile and nods a little.

“Why’d I have to get hurt? Darry, why can’t I just ride?” His face slips from its half-smile.

“Life just happens sometimes.” Darry replies. And he should know.

“It’s what I dream ‘bout.” Soda says in an almost-whisper. “Every night, I dream about gettin’ hurt.”

“Thanks for tellin’ us.” Darry says.

“I usually wake up when that fucking horse steps on me. Then when I wake up my leg hurts. Or. Where it used to be. Feels like it’s there.” Soda’s crying so hard his head hurts now. “Stupid fucking leg.”

Darry thinks twice about correcting Soda for swearing. He supposes the situation calls for it.

“You need to find something you like doing.” Pony says. Darry his shoulder and shushes him.

“Nothing’ll ever feel as good.” Soda says.

“I don’t understand.” Pony insists. Darry tries to quiet him, but Soda tells him it’s fine. “I don’t get it why you get to be so sad. It’s been two years and everything. It’s not like you don’t have another choice for the rest of your life. All you’ve got to do is find somethin’ else.”

“Well, damn, Pony. If that’s how things work you oughtta get on with findin’ a new Johnny. I hear there’s a soc boy named Jack movin’ in. That’s close enough to Johnny, ain’t it-“

“Shut up!” Pony yells, hands over his ears.

“Soda!” Darry scolds at the same time.

“What?” He asks. “I’m only telling him the same he’s telling me-“

“It’s different and you know it. His best friend died.”

“I wish I would have!” Soda screams.

Darry slams on the breaks in the middle of the road.

“You say that again-“

“I wish I would have died.” Soda deadpans, staring Darry in the eyes.

“I’m not gonna stop your partners from comin’ over. Already told them it’s alright. But you ain’t going anywhere but work until further notice, cause I don’t think I can trust you out.”

“I ain’t gonna kill myself-“

“Until you find something else to try, you ain’t leavin’ the house aside from work. And after tonight you ain’t seeing Chet or Cherry until then either.”

“Dar-“

“Pony ain’t gonna talk for a week over this. Least you can do is take his damn advice, you hear?”

“Sorry, Darry.” Soda mumbles, tears threatening to break yet again.

[main-character-moment]

I think the reason Alastor shipping discourse is so annoying to me is the fact that, yeah. Ship what you want forever. But consider you’re also straight up erasing a queer identity that the creator went out of her way to include in the show!

People bring up the argument of “oh but people always make straight characters gay! Why can’t we make aro/ace/aroace characters be in relationships?” Because you’re erasing a queer identity. If there was a canonically gay character in a show, and a huge portion of the fandom went “actually no I want to write him with a woman instead” there would be bloody murder over it. But when an aspec person has their identity erased? It’s always “I’m just having fun with the dynamics! Vivienne said we can ship what we want!” And that’s well and good but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re still erasing an extremely underrepresented queer identity.

There’s also the argument of “but aro/ace/aroace people can still have sex/date/whatever”. Also true! But a lot don’t, and I see no one calling out that fact. The only people I’ve seen saying that are saying so justify their ships. Outside of fandom it’s always an argument that aspec people shouldn’t/can’t have sex/date. There’s also the fact that Vivziepop has heavily implied he’s aro and not that into sex, be it repulsed or neutral.

It just bothers me so much that people will go out of their way to ignore identities. Like, ship him all you want with whoever you want! I can’t stop you! All I can ask, though, as an aspec person who’s neutral/positive across the board, if you’re doing so to explore dynamics, ffs remember his identity. It’s an important part of his dynamic with other people. Plus, it’s an interesting one to explore! How does an asexual (and implied aromantic) character deal with the very sexual hell? How would a relationship form with someone who wants genuine romance? In radiosilence/one way broadcast you have a plethora of ways that you can fuck around with dynamics too!

There’s so much you can do with it. Please I’m on my knees begging. For once just let aspec people be aspec.

[chimerahyperfix]

Being frozen in time definitely does something to you. Physically it cages you. Mentally it throws you into the longest dream you could ever have. It's not comfortable-- far from it in fact-- but you've grown to look forwards to it, when you loose. It's better than being mashed to dark paste at least.

You're frozen right now, in fact. Waiting in silence for time to loop back. Stuck with your thoughts and a vauge feeling of a dream. The house is around you and you're moving through it. Empty rooms and endless hallways, curling and twisting in ways that make them feel alive despite the lack of any living thing that isn't you. No sad monsters, no frozen bodies, no dark stains. There doesn't seem to be an exit.

The dreams you have when frozen seem to correlate to how you're doing emotionally. Most of them have been lost to time, like most things in your life now. Dreams, wounds, emotional bonds; everything is turning back with you, and that’s started to do something to you, because now you can predict the actions of those around you with quite a bit of accuracy. You can recall little bits of things, but the further back you go is just static. There was a bunch of dumb things that you can’t piece back together anymore, there were times with those you love, there was endless rage flowing through your very being, and there was this. The desperation. The empty halls of the very House you’ve worked so hard to protect.

You want out.

You've kept count of how many times you've been frozen. How many times you've died. How many loops. 61 is the counter and it's far, far too many times to relive the same day over again. You grew tired of the monotony by the tenth go around. Twenty five felt like a stab wound. Forty, like you were being split in two. Big 6-0 felt like drowning. You don't feel real anymore.

But that's fine! You can still see the good in this, if you stretch your imagination like taffy, as far as it'll go. It's better to be just you, just one person, than everyone else! You can live with the weight of the country on your shoulders for a bit longer, if only to keep it off of Euphrasie's. You’re doing this for her! For everyone. You can do it for a bit longer. You just need to find the King’s weakness, or something. Make a more powerful potion, or scrap together the materials to make a second craft bomb, or, or something! You’ll find it soon enough. You’re smart! You can do this!

You have to.

You turn down the hallway. Find yourself on an entirely different floor. Just as much of a ghost town. Just ice and cold and tiredness, your breath forming clouds in the air. That’s fine. This is just a dream or something, anyway. You’ll wake back up at your desk any time, with the looming vials of all sorts of toxic stuff you keep drinking that you crabbing neglected to put away because you didn’t think time would crabbing loop, because realistically, WHY would you assume that would happen? Preposterous! Ignore the burning feeling in your throat and the smell of sugar and push on. Wait for it to start all over again.

Because it has to be you, doesn’t it? You wished for this, or something. You don’t remember. It was a long time ago. It has to be you, because only you have the power. It HAS to be you, because who else would it be? Euphie? She’s already got enough on her hands. Mirabelle? You’d rather die. It’s better you do this than the ones you love.

It has to be you.

it has to be you it has to be you it has to be you it has to be you it has to be you it has to be you it has to be you it has to be

It's sucks, having to be the one to do it. Your limit was a long time ago.

You can't do this forever.