#IM SICK OF SUFFER NO FOOLS

[munchboxart]

I need them to add a Splat playlist or something in-game if they're not gonna add an option to mute the music, because I can't keep listening to the same Splatfest song that I hate every time

[llamasgotoheaven]

Especially upsetting now that there’s literally at least one study demonstrating how our brain capacity and ability to be productive caps at about six hours, and the rest of what we do at work is actually a sort of fruitless waste of time

I think it was in scandinavia somewhere that we tried introducing six hr workdays and it didn’t worsen productivity. What it did do was raise people’s life satisfaction and their wellbeing. Preventing mf burnout

I know I don't shut up about this but frankly not enough people are angry about the 5-day/40 hour workweek (and I am AWARE a lot of people work even more than that). I feel like a lot more people should be absolutely furious that we only really have two days a week and some occasional hours in the evening to socialise, run errands, do chores, or relax.

It's no wonder so many people are profoundly lonely and disconnected from their communities when maintaining a social life in what little free time we have is incredibly difficult. If you have kids, a second job, a very long commute, or other responsibilities, it's nearly impossible.

We literally aren't meant to live like this and I'll never stop being shocked how many people just take it as the natural state of things and don't want to throw a brick through a billionaire's window every time they think of it.

[bunnyshideawayy]

always insane to me how everyone is jumping to blame Nesta for her families poverty instead of their father?????? this happens the entire series and then when Papa Archeron shows up last minute for the finale battle everyone is just like “🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹” expect* for Nesta who can only remember how he actually never really cared for her and how she is the one who holds his mantel for not doing anything/providing for them. its okay though he gets a pass bc his knee! its shattered, expect it was miraculously healing before his sudden death! but that’s okay Nesta suffers and becomes violently depressed/traumatized by his death in which no one helps her progress through! it takes Cassian the entire book to finally realize the fire sounds like a snapping neck and that’s why she flinches around it. but he sure noticed her huge boobs on her sickly thin body!! absolute himbo frat boy chad of a man. guys on a serious note when are we going to stop holding Nesta accountable for their father’s actions? im getting sick of having this discussion. 

also i find it hilarious Cassian sticks up for Feyre here when he literally does not care about her, if he did he would’ve done the same when Rhys told him to keep the wings secret. just like if he truly cared about Nesta he’d stick up for her, too. instead he insults her and sets himself up to look like a fool all in one go.

[sillyjpeg]

BILL'S SOUL CONTRACT DECODED.

I was planning on doing this at some point, so here is the entirety of bills soul contract decoded! here is the contract just for reference:

if this flops i WILL cry, i spent 3 hours on this.

but here is the entire decoded version:

YOU ARE NOW TWENTY ONE GRAMS LIGHTER

THIS CONTRACT US LEGAL AND BINDING, WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO USE YOUR LIKENESS, FACE, VOICE, AND SMALL TOWN PLUCK IN WHATEVER NEFARIOUS MANNER IS DEEMED NECESSARY. SANE SOUL, YOUR SOULMATE WILL NOT RECOGNIZE YOU AND WILL WALK RIGHT PAST YOU ON A COLD AUTUMN DAY, NEVER MAKING EYE CONTACT. NOT EVER PROCESSING THAT YOU HAVE EYES AT ALL. NO AMOUNT OF INTERACTION WILL MOVE THEM TO A PLACE WHERE THEY CAN REMEMBER. IN FEELING, THE THOUSANDS OF LIFETIMES YOU HAVE ALREADY SPENT TOGETHER, EACH TIME CHOOSING WHATEVER FORM WOULD KEEP YOU CLOSEST LIKE OTTERS HOLDING HANDS IN A TUMULTUOUS RIVER. YOU WERE BIRDS, YOU WERE TREES WITH ROOTS ENTANGLED, DRINKING IN THE SUNLIGHT TOGETHER. WHEREVER WE GO NEXT, WHEREVER YOU CHOOSE, I WILL ALWAYS BE RIGHT THERE WITH YOU!!

THATS DONE. BUDDY, CONGRATULATIONS. YOU HAVE CHOSEN BILL INSTEAD. MCDONALDS RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT A GIANT YELLOW M ON YOUR TORSO AND FOREHEAD AND SEND YOU WALKING THROUGH A CROWDED TIMES SQUARE WHILE YOU SCREAM “THE FRIES, THE FRIES! THEY DON'T DEGRADE IN NATURE!!! ITS AN IMMORTAL FOOD!!! THAT WILL BE IN THE LANDFILLS LONG PAST OUR DEATHS!” GOOD GOD. THE THINGS I'VE SEEN. ME? WHO AM I? OH IM BILL’S PREVIOUS LAWYER. HE PUT MY SOUL INTO A QUILL PEN SO I CAN WRITE HIS LEGAL DOCUMENTS UNTIL THE SUN SNUFFS OUT LIKE A CANDLE IN THIS SICK UNIVERSE. I USED TO BE SO HOT. I WAS SO FINE. NOW I’M FINE PRINT. BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT YOUR SOUL INTO AN INANIMATE OBJECT, A STRANGE CREATURE, A CONCEPT, A SENTENCE, A TASTEFUL BUT RUSTIC MASON JAR WITH WILDFLOWERS IN IT.

IF AT ANY POINT YOU WISH TO HAVE VISITATION RIGHTS WITH YOUR SOUL, YOU WILL BE SWIFTLY DENIED. UNLESS YOU HAD A COOL SAY PLANNED FOR THE BOTH OF YOU. THEN BILL MIGHT WANT TO COME ALONG. BY SIGNING THIS DOCUMENT YOU FORFEIT ANY RIGHTS TO EATING SOUL FOOD. IT WILL TURN TO ASK IN YOUR MOUTH. A FITTING PUNISHMENT FOR A FOOL WHO SQUANDERED THE ONLY TRUE GIFT LIFE OWES YOU. BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO DRESS YOUR SOUL HOWEVER HE DEEMS NECESSARY. ESPECIALLY IF YOUR SOUL WAS A NERD BEFORE ACQUISITION. SOULMAKEOVERRR! YOUR SOUL MAY BECOME FRACTURED AND PLACED INTO DIFFERENT OBJECTS. THIS HAS NO PURPOSE AND WILL NOT RESURRECT YOU IF YOU DIE. SIGNEE HAS FORFEITED ALL RIGHTS TO ANY AFTERLIFE. INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO: HEAVEN, HELL, PURGATORY, BIG CORNER, FLOW STATE, THE DREAM HOUSE, AXOLOTLS TANK AND CONSEQUENCES HOLE.

SIGNEE CAN NO LONGER BOARD ANY SOUL TRAIN AND IS ADVISED TO DISCARD ALL BELLBOTTOMS. SIGNEE CAN NO LONGER HAVE A PUPPY AS A BEST FRIEND, THEY CAN SENSE WHAT IS GONE. CATS ARE INDIFFERENT. SIGNEE MAY EXPERIENCE OCCASIONAL DEMON POSSESSION FROM HORCULUS THE RED, PLABOS THE MERCILESS, MORBUS SON OF MORTEN, PLAGE THE OOAING AND OTHER SUCH COMMON DEMONS ROAMING EARTH SEARCHING FOR  EMPTY VESSELS.

TIPS FOR RIPPING YOUR SOUL OUT AT HOME: WATCHING YOUTUBE COMMENTARY CHANNELS, ATTENDING AN EXTENDED FAMILY EVENT WITH AN OPEN BAR, USING GENERATIVE AI AND ASSERTING THAT YOU ARE CREATIVE, TURNING A BLIND EYE TO HUMAN SUFFERING, AMASSING MORE WEALTH THAN NEEDED, PURCHASING A BLUE CHECKMARK.

i was giggling decoding this, and my hand is now cramping. the punctuation is based on whatever i was feeling and made sense, comment if i translated something wrong.

[whentheskittlesfightback]

I FINALLY TRANSLATED THIS ENTIRE THING, AND AT THIS POINT I DONT CARE IF ANYONE ELSE HAS ALREADY I HAVENT SEEN IT. also all of the punctuation is the same tall rectangle so i had to guess, but you get the point of what it says. HERE IT IS!!!😋

this contract is legal and binding. we reserve the right to use your likeness, face, voice and small town pluck in whatever nefarious manner deemed necessary, sans soul. your soulmate will not recognize you and will walk right past you on a cold autumn day, never making eye contact, not even processing that you have eyes at all. no amount of interaction will move them to a place where they can remember, in feeling, the thousands of lifetimes you have already spent together, each time choosing whatever form would keep you closest like otters holding hands in a tumultuous river. you were birds, you were trees with roots entangled, drinking in the sunlight together. "wherever we go next, whoever you choose, i will always be right there with you". thats done, buddy. congratulations, you have chosen bill instead. mcdonalds reserves the right to put a giant yellow M on your torso and forehead and send you walking through a crowded times square while you scream "the fries, the fries, they don't degrate in nature!!! it's an immortal food!!! they will br in landfills long past our deaths!!!" good god, the things i've seen. me, who am i? oh i'm bill's previous lawyer. he put my soul into a quill pen so i can write his legal document until the sun snuffs out like a candle in this sick universe. i used to be so hot, i was so fine. now im fine print. soeaking of which, bill reserves the right to put your souk into inanimate objects, a strange creature, a concept, a sentence, a tasteful but rustic mason jar with wildflowers in it. if at any point you wish to have visitation rights with your soul, you will be swiftly denied. unless you had a cool day planned for the both of you, then bill might want to come along. by signing this document you forfeit any rights to eating soul food. it will turn to ash in your mouth, a fitting punishment for a fool who squandered the only true gift life owes you. bill reserves the right to dress your soul however he deems necessary, especially if your soul was a nerd before acquisition. soul makeoverrr! your soul may become fractured and placed into different objects. this has no purpose and will not resurrect you if you die. signee has forfeited all rights to any afterlife, including but not limited to: heaven, hell, purgatory, big corner, flow state, the dream house, the reincarnation processing center, axolotl's tank and consequences hole. signee can no longer board the soul train and is advised to discard all bellbottoms. signee can no longer have a puppy as a best friend, they can sense what is gone. cats are indifferent. signee may experience occasional demon possessions from horculus the red, plabos the merciless, morbus son of mortem, plaga the oozing and other such common demons searching for weakened, empty vessels. tips for ripping your soul out at home: watching youtube commentary channels, attending an extended family event with an open bar, using generative ai and asserting thay you are creative, turning a blind eye to human suffering, amassing more wealth than needed, purchasing a blue checkmark.

i feel insane. if i got anyfin wrong just tell me pleas.

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Dark aemond/dark aegon x oc reader snippet PLEASE BE PATIENT IM SORRY I WONT LEAVE AGIAN

Aegon's pov though.

Aegon married you and aemond is ...aemond, xD

Aegon's pov

Headaches plague me, visions of Maella dance around in that likely empty casket I call my head, as I sit the comfiest chair out of them all, yet I might as well sit on a chair, made of bones and skulls. Isn’t that all a throne is, in truth? A structure, a prison, made out of blood, bones, and skulls. We tell ourselves we do it for our families, for our loved ones, for our House, for duty, for love, for everything you can possibly think of. But we don’t do it for the reason we should be sitting there in the first place. We don’t do it for the people. No Targaryen ever cared about the smallfolk. No Targaryen ever will. 

A voice raspy, ghostly almost and most certainly haunting in a way, reminds me I am not alone, not even in my head. Not even in my own damn castle. ‘’Cheer up, brother. It is your wedding day.’’ My head snaps to the direction of a smirking brother who raises his cup at me in mockery and spite. 

He may act as ignorant and dutiful as he wishes, I know the true reason he is acting as if his lady troubles came two months earlier: He craved Maella. He didn’t love her, no. He wanted her for his own sick twisted fantasies, fantasies he claims he didn’t have, as he was the better brother. Love, we don’t know that concept. Neither of us truly do. Aemond lured her in his trap, Aemond killed her brother, slew a dragon, imprisoned the little lizard Maella owns as well and he brought her here. I should be thankful, shouldn’t I? He brought a traitor to me.

Yet the imbeciles on the council, they married me to this, bastard princess. She is not a true Targaryen, not fully. I suppose neither of us are, if we are being truthful. But at least me and my siblings aren’t bastards. She is. She is a spawn from Rhaenyra and Harwin and now my wife. My lady. 

I instantly reach for my own cup, throwing back as much wine as my throat can swallow, but it almost does nothing to dull the pain. I can only pretend it takes away my suffering, as the wine has become useless to dull my senses. Aemond has approached, now standing in front of me, wearing the ghost of a smile and his black still bloodied clothing. I raise my eyebrows at him, challenging him to speak, to make this snoozefest of a wedding entertaining. He is good at that. 

But my brother pretends to be modest, he rather plays tricks, toys with words, and deceives than he would ever dare speak his true mind. Gods save us all for when he does. ‘’You look like a man who is facing his execution. Not a man who is soon to lay with  arguably the most beautiful creature the gods have ever created.’’ He avoids my eyes at all costs, folding his hands on his back and keeps his eyes scanning the crowd. Maella is beautiful, yes. But I never cared for her.

When we were fourteen and six, she chased me around, declaring her foolish love for me. I believe I was drunk and yet somehow hungover too, so I threw her doll in the river, and promised her she’d be thrown in next if she didn’t leave me. Oddly, we never talked after that. I mean, why would we? She, the Princess of the Kingdoms, the Delight of the realms, truly. And me…

A man who will never truly live up to his famous namesake.

I have two wives now, his crown, his throne, his sword, his blood and his hair. But nothing will change the fact that I feel unworthy of it all. I feel as a forgery playing a masterpiece, and that someone can pull the curtain any time now. 

Aemond doesn’t see it, the fool. He sees that I sit a throne he aspires to have, have two beautiful women to lay with whenever I tell them to and more power and status than any of us deserve. The gods are cruel where they put their power, I suppose. ‘’I don’t enjoy being forced into marriages.’’ I comment, playing with my cup and watching the wine dance at the bottom of the cup. 

My younger brother snorts. ‘’You don’t know how much effort I put into capturing her, bringing her here and breaking her will for you so you have a good, obedient wife. At least pretend you are happy.’’

‘’For me?’’ I scoff. ‘’You didn’t do shit for me. You did it for yourself. Grandfather told me, you wanted her to become your wife, you even told him you'd happily breed, and fuck her until she is with child-''

''Someone has to. You won't do it.'' Aemond comments. ''You only see her as a helpless little girl. She is not the helpless little girl anymore. She has become a woman.''

''Don't talk that way about my wife-''

‘’She is not your wife-’’ Aemond hisses through his teeth, glaring in my direction. I slam my cup down on the table next to me, and the guests around us all fall silent.

I warn him. ‘’She is. You do well to remember that.’’

Aemond lowers his head, but his good eye is burning with fire unlike anything I ever saw before. Maella is not his love, it his obesession. I am sure he'd kill her, or she will kill him, if I let them come too close. ''Ýour grace.''

----

snippet ends here.

[transmutationisms]

If the biopsychsocial disease model is ontologically and epistemically dubious, tautological and smuggling moralizing language into seemingly descriptive statements, what other ways are there to understand "disease"? Can parts of medicalized language still be utilized by stripping them of this baggage, or is it a fool's errand?

im assuming this is in response to what i said about the biopsychosocial model wrt eating disorders. mostly what i meant in those tags was that i don't find bps to be a sufficient response or correction to the issues with the biomedical model where psychiatric diagnoses are concerned. this is for numerous reasons including that bps is chronically philosophically eclectic and predominantly dualist epistemologically; s nassir ghaemi has written on this.

anyway, the question to me would be: why would we want to use medicine's discourses in understanding 'eating disorders'? which terms, and to what ends? these are complex presentations because, obviously, there are serious physical complications from behaviours like food restriction and purging. so my point here isn't that it's not useful to talk about medical issues in medical language. (jennifer gaudiani's book 'sick enough' is a pretty good starter resource for patients on the medical complications of ed's, and the physician's concerns in treating them.)

rather, with the 'eating disorder' diagnoses, we're also dealing with the underlying desires and intentions that cause the food/body behaviours in question. although energy deprivation itself can and does intensify such desires/thought cycles, the vast majority of eating disorders do involve some degree of voluntary action and can't be resolved solely through physical treatment of malnutrition/starvation/ etc. on a disease model of eating disorders, the desire to starve/purge/etc is essentially a foreign intrusion on the sufferer's newly 'unhealthy' mind; some doctors will even go so far as to talk about the patient as 'split' into two people: the sick person, and the healthy one. the treatment modality here assumes that the goal is to expel or overcome 'the eating disorder thoughts', restoring the person to a 'normal', 'healthy' baseline.

i know that some people with these diagnoses find this ^^ narrative personally helpful and i don't wish to take that away from them. nevertheless, i believe it's insufficient and actively harmful to some people. it doesn't look at, for instance, the economic and social effects of weight stigma, something that makes 'disordered eating' appear a lot less disordered and a lot more rational and socially normative/enforced. the narrative also does a poor job, if any, of understanding food restriction/purging/etc as ways to manage stress/anxiety/etc, making the 'eating disorder' appear to be not so much an outside forceor attacker, but rather a person's best (though harmful!) tool for self-care. fundamentally the assumption in the above narrative is basically that no self-endangering desire could ever be 'native' to the psyche, that it must originate from elsewhere, and that a person can't truly desire two contradictory things or defend two contradictory interests. i don't find these assumptions to be true or useful (for ed's or for things like self-injury). these are incredibly bold assumptions to make about psychological 'normality' and 'health', and openly pathologise and stigmatise people who do experience such dangerous, harmful desires (and act on them). it's not helpful to sufferers; it's very helpful to the psychiatric establishment.

again, eating disorders are complicated by the fact that an energy deficit itself does have psychological-physiological effects on the bodymind; i don't deny that dialectical nature of the condition. and obviously medical care can be lifesaving when dealing with the physical complications, and everyone ought to have autonomous, freely chosen access to such care. i simply don't think that reducing the entire 'eating disorder' to a disease model (and bps basically also does this, just with the addition of 'factors' from social/psychological sources) is useful or sufficient for understanding or recovering from them.

[life-deep]

Just a Ghost

i knew what i was

you don’t have a clue

your indecision inclusive of what i foreknew

but something inside me start slipping

tripping like did i miss something or was i true

did this tightrope im walking finally give way

or was this the way i was supposed to fall

right into my heart’s grave

fell at the feet of my ghost and it showed me my soul

took a look and saw it’s blacker than coal

told me “you’re so angry, watch! you reap what you sow”

living my life in miseries and woe, “want to see the hell you’ve bought with what you sold?”

“in three years, isn’t this all that you know?

“smoking to hide your intelligence, bury yourself in indifference

“isn’t it your ambition you abandoned,

“yet your pride is always heightened

“looking at people feeling indignant

“you indite them for lack of allegiance to their own lives but look at your own life?”

just a ghost grinning at me in my dreams when i get my daily lack of sleep

kept seeping into my thoughts, what are you reaping?

are you reaping your soul? carving out all you know to make room for yourself and more of yourself

ego never been bigger, swagger never so superior, hell never been more severe, the fires never been hotter

just a ghost smiling at me, holding a deflection of my own inventions

so dark i can’t see my reflection

but i’d never stop to take a look, just a stranger

my feet never stopping, ghost never not haunting

running from the coroner but i’m the murderer

all i’m good at-

just a ghost running from the grave

anything but the deeds i left in my wake

never see the burning bridges which i razed

just a ghost running to my next waste

my next crave, living convinced im dead digging my own grave,

can’t get the image of my own face, face of the devil all the sins i hate

sick fascination i can’t look away

twisted in pride at my own fate,

setting fires and running like it doesn’t matter anyway

just a ghost, all i’m good at-

“look what you’re doing motherfucker?”

“given this life acting like a martyr?

“but what do you stand on? the ground you run on, crumbling behind ya?

“keep running sweat out all your water

“but you’ll never fight the hunger

“polydispia, you’re plagued by nature”

“you’re not dying you’re already dead like another

“you said you’d never forget now look at ya?

“said life meant something now you’re going round humping and bubbling in fiery water

“remember what it felt with the knife to your throat?

“remember promises made you broke years ago?

“remember every failure you’re miserable you know you are, you’re dying like a wilting flower the power of the flood from above is drowning ya, you can’t bear to look at the sight of life

“you kept doubting, you can’t bear to look at the self you distorted, this life you contorted, convinced you’re a ghost when you’ve been given breath in the Father

“who are you fooling? keep pouring oil on your soul till you die in your cesspool

“or let yourself fall into the arms holding heavenly water

“turn away and quench this thirst you can’t fight,

“let the light fill the void only the truth can set you free

take a look at me!

“embrace your suffering little one and never stumble, you’ve been running so long you know how to hustle, turn your eyes from the pavement, look at the stars and behold”

Oh my soul!

[happypot0001]

Just find it

…Where?

!!!!!!PROBABLY WILL DELETE LATER!!!!!!

Guys I’m such a cry baby istg HAHAAA….anyways…..👋

Uhhh I made this post because I was feeling a bit upset today..obviously 😭😭 ig I’m feeling a bit better but I hope there are people that can relate to this too!! Can I just say first though that I had to STRUGGLE to make that stupid gif HAHHH! I’m now going to try to go into depth of each of the important parts of the gif 👍

Feet - I seem to kick everyone around me down. I’m pained that people suffer regarding my sake. Be it for me or because of me. Be it physically or mentally. I can’t help but hurt people who are close to me. I’ll end up with no one because everyone has been harmed by my presence. I only see the backs of the people who have turned away from me, unwilling to speak to me as I’ve already disappointed them far enough.

Hands - I seem to have no talent. I’ve used these hands to draw. To play. To write. To learn. But it has never been enough. It seems like it never will be. No matter what I’m always one step behind. I can only try to work harder, but all my efforts only seem like they’ll eventually end in vain. When is it good enough? It never is…as that’s what I’ve learned. Am I on the right path? No one can tell me. These hands have done me good, but in the end is it of any use? To play. To draw. To waste time. What’s the point if I’m not good at it.

Heart - I seem to succumb to my failure with ease. Help me find it. Is it my heart? Is this why I feel that I’m being tortured inside? Is that why I feel my heart wants to leap out of my chest? Is it my weakness. Is it my lack of willpower. This sick feeling in my stomach, it’s because I’m weak? It’s because I cry too often? It’s because I take their words to heart? It’s because I know they’re probably right. Everything is connected to the heart. That’s why I feel this way. I need to find it. Maybe that’s the answer: I’m weak. There’s no problem. No. No one did anything. I’m just weak.

Mouth - I seem to speak only for me to displease others. I’m boisterous. I’m loud. I’m too much. It’s all too much. Don’t talk to me. I’ll spill. I’ll speak. I’ll practically yell. Listen to me. Or don’t. You’ll go deaf by the time I’ve finally shut my mouth. So I won’t. I won’t speak. Zip. Nothing. Nothing out of me. But. Right. It’s seems they’ve all left. Once an enthusiastic fool, after a ghost to not be seen. To be the loud me or hide it. It seems there’s no choice for me. How do you find that balance. Tell me your secret. But I can’t ask you. I have a terrible ego I have to protect. Why do so many people like you? I’ll never know.

Head - I seem to never have the time to think. The biggest. The one that matters. The one I know will only lead to a path of misfortune and disappointment. Still. It matters. I can’t help it most times. Am I smart? I’ve been told numerous different claims. I can only divide them into two sections. Smart. Stupid. I’ve been called stupid……why? Why. I DONT WANT THAT. IM NOT STUPID RIGHT? Then why can’t I think. Why can’t I learn like I’ve seen others learn. I’m not smart. I’m not creative. There’s no form of intelligence I can seem to fit myself into. I can ace every other test with a 100 in math….but the time I fail…I feel like my life has shattered. I’ve seen myself do it…so how could I mess up. But I do. I’m grateful. I’m grateful I can do something. But what if it wasn’t enough. Some call me smart. But I can only see someone dumb. Past mistakes have affected me in today’s time. Because. I was dumb. I was really dumb. I made mistakes and I was so dumb. I was so so dumb. It still affects me. I was so dumb. I can’t believe I did that. And because of it. I have to suffer. I was so dumb. I was so absolutely dumb. I shouldn’t have messed up in the past. I wish I hadn’t been dumb. Everyone else around me seems so smart. All of these artists. Unique characters. Compelling stories. Amazing people. I’m not like that. I’m not creative. I don’t have a complex enough brain to form new ideas on my own. I always need help. I always need support. I’m dependent. I can’t stand on my own. I need help. Help in every way possible. But I can only fail on my own. And I’m sorry if you’ve had to carry by burden. I’m dumb.

Hahaaaa….I’m sorry I wrote all of this. This was kind of a downer…huh? 😭😭 Heh. I’m sorry if you’ve read it all. It’s not great. And it’s not entertaining. It’s sad. It’s a disappointment of a post. I can’t make it any more appealing. 😆 Because that’s who I am. I’m a simple minded person who overthinks for the wrong reasons. I’m scared of change. Oh my god…I’m so scared of change. But I don’t want everything to be the same. The idea of something being permanent…it…it’s scary. What if I want to change it later? What if it wasn’t worth it in the end. That thought is terrifying. And…I think that’s why I feel I like my hearts about to burst. I’m scared. I’m scared? I don’t know….but…I’m sorry. I’m sorry to anyone who can’t find their pain. I hope this helps you relate to something. And I hope you can find whats hurting you. But don’t worry, you don’t have to find it right now! If you do find it, I hope it helps in the long run. I wish that you do well in your future. ❤️ 😆😆

Lots of love to anyone who may be reading!💕💕

[obsessive-clown]

One of my favorite things to do as a kid was put my yogurt tubes, go-gurts for you brand people, in the freezer and literally WATCH the time tick by so I could have my frozen yogurt and bite at the frozen wrapping. I feel like 1. That was an awakening for a chew stim and 2. Art the clown would LOVE frozen yogurt sticks.

I also used to punish myself when I got angry at myself, as a kid too??? Like I would put the yogurts in the fridge again so they weren’t frozen and I’d have to suffer the knowledge that I couldn’t chew on my frozen food to help calm myself.

Anyways, applying this knowledge to Art the clown, I think on a ‘domestic’ level, or a level where Art just stays with you a lot of the time, if you did that to him, he would probably either a.) sit still and pout somewhere because you grabbed his attention and it made him stop tearing up your house. Or. b.) tear up the house more and act like an absolute fool.

Art would love frozen go-gurts and I will NOT listen to anyone say otherwise.

someone help me im on my third yogurt and I’ve been sick for three weeks straight

[paging-possum]

So one of my friends who makes games (here’s her itch.io, she’s made some REALLY neat stuff AND is currently making some even neater stuff right now that I may or may not be helping with) recently told me about the concept of developer logs. And I heard that and immediately was like… “Well I love talking about my projects…and I’m currently working on a comic.” So I'm making the Milwaukee Protocol devlog! Which will hopefully keep me on track with working on it! I’ll also throw in smaller updates about other side projects at the same time, just for fun. 

Milwaukee Protocol is a horror comic about- you guessed it- rabies. It follows Lyssa (named for everyones favorite virus, lyssavirus) after she gets bitten by a weird animal in the woods and starts experiencing rabies-like symptoms despite the fact that medically, there’s nothing wrong with her. It’s about losing control! It’s about changing in ways nobody understands! It’s about suffering the consequences of completely avoidable choices! It’s about instilling the sheer terror/fascination surrounding rabies that I’ve had since I was a child in other people! I’m not sure how coherent it is, but it’s still being written, and at the very least I’m excited about it.

I’m still writing the script and working on actually figuring out what everything and everyone looks like (something I skimped on for the last comic I made, which I think made it suffer), but I’m hoping to put my all into this one! I’m hoping to have the script done by mid-November, and this is where we are now. 

Thrilling. I know. God I love Notion. I'll hopefully have actual drawings of them next week but it has been a very overwhelming 2 weeks and also im sick so things are going very very slow.

While I figure out how to put this beast together, I'm also trying to put together some search and find pages just for fun- I started one for the Fool tarot card, since it felt like a fun theme to start with. That said, I'm not a huge fan of the composition so I might go back and redraw it. I'm also making a comic for college using a rubber duck as an allegory for having a crush on someone because they make you do weird stuff in art school sometimes.

I'm also listening to a bunch of stuff this week! A lot of Parkdale Haunt, which is a horror podcast about two women and the creepy old house that one of them inherits. Probably not the best when my only roommate right now is a fridge that makes sounds like human breathing, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for a good horror podcast. 

[cataclysmgrcve]

A Killer Night | Kitty Nygma

Drabble under the cut. TW for blood, violence, knife / weapon, & murder.

I swear guys I can write when Im really focused on the idea in my head.

The sounds of the city were always so loud. Constant. Never ending. You'd either hear shouting from school children, cars rushing through the streets, a few warning shots as a bank was being robbed by a rookie criminal…. screams of terror weren't unusual in Gotham.

Pounding music… heels clicking against the tiled dance floor… drunken idiots.

Kitty knew spots that allowed teenagers to be in nightclubs without being carded for entering. She was only sixteen. The bartender knew not to ask for any form of ID with her. They probably didn't want to deal with her father. Can't blame them for that. He could get rather violent and scary if he was truly in the mood.

It never really mattered if the bartender did try to card her anyhow. Boys always gave her drinks. Why say no to something free?

Fingers wrapped around a martini glass. Something sweet….she always hated the taste of alcohol. It had to be hard, don't hand her a beer or glass of wine, she'd just spit it out. The spirit needed to be mixed with juice or soda. Plus cocktails made you drunk quicker anyhow and any boy interested in the redhead always bought the most expensive drink they could. Trying to show off their riches. Trying to look good and gain points in their favor. It was embarrassing how these snobs cared for their reputation. Never wanting to look foolish. 

Of course Kitty wasn't fooled like the airheaded bimbos these little jerks normally pulled. She was only getting attention due to the way she dressed. Which she specifically put on the highest heels her mother owned. A tight red dress she had hidden away in her closet. Fishnets adorned her legs. A garter belt around her thigh with a hidden knife. Couldn't exactly hide a gun on her body with this sort of outfit. So the butterfly knife would have to work in case she needed to get out of some trouble.

Trouble she was about to cause.

That sharp blade was currently digging into the flesh of her victim. Two centimeters deep in the toned abs of a jock. Pain filled shrieking entered the air of the cold bedroom. 

“I never really cared for blood. Used to make me sick to my stomach thinking about someone bleeding out to death after their throat got slit wide. Now I don't really care. It's a beautiful color anyhow. Crimson splattering against a dark cherry wood. Beautiful hmn?”

“You sick twisted bitc— ARGH!” His head thrashed back as the blade easily went through more muscle and tissue. Sinking in as if he was a turkey being carved for Thanksgiving dinner.

“Ah ah ah…. You must still have some manners, Daniel. Didn't your mommy raise you properly? Unless she was too busy sucking on CEO cock to even care.” Tutting him like a small child. “Maybe you should think twice next time before publicly embarrassing a sweet girl that did nothing wrong but ask you to prom. Too good for a shy nerd girl, huh? Fucking popularity get to your head didn’t it?”

Head tilted to the side ever so slightly just like a confused puppy but she knew exactly what she was doing. “Think you can only have the pretty trophy wife of a girlfriend under your belt. Well don’t you worry. You won’t have to deal with those kinds of thoughts any longer.” The butterfly knife was pulled across his stomach. Wound gushing blood down his undone pants. “Prized Quarterback of Gotham Academy….. Killed himself because he couldn’t handle the pressure of being perfect. Yet this is such a gorey way to go out.”

She could have gone for the throat or for his wrists. That wouldn’t have been enough. He needed to suffer for being such a stuck-up bastard. Kitty really hated men that only thought about their image. Treating women like objects. Yes he was only a teenager just like she was. But oh he wouldn’t change his ways.

“Don’t worry. I’ll write a nice note saying that all your belongings will go to helping struggling women.” This gothamite heir had bank accounts filled with thousands of dollars. Play money is what it was. “All your secrets will be safe with me.”

A lie. Everything would be put on blast shortly after she cleaned up. Automatic posting was such a nice thing to have on an anonymous account.

The killer teen walked out of the bedroom, finding a butcher knife, going back to stab into the boy and make the wound more brutal. Making a point that it wasn't done cleanly Keeping it there on the wooden paneled floor. Fingerprints wouldn’t be found. She wasn’t stupid. Kitty knew how to make sure nothing of her was left behind for the police to find that night.

“So long jackass.” Taking her exit via the window.

Next time she might not be so nice.

[excedrinpm]

lmfao heads up for hot fucking takes and unpopular opinions about jirai kei

this is just me venting abt petty shit bc I have no real like friends to even begin to explain this to it's rly not that serious:

the more I look into jirai kei on other social medias the more I realize the JK community as a whole actually just fucking sucks I'm ngl.

Like yk if the shoe doesn't fit don't wear it but holllllllly shit its actually a shame that I like dark girly kei fashion & generally enjoy jiraiblr because I feel like I'd be way better off just not even thinking about Jirai Kei.

Like on twitter they're actually just fatphobic proana girlie-pops with horrible self-righteous attitudes who act like they're justified in being horrible for some reason, and on reddit they're all a bunch of lolita wannabes who bully people to hell and back for not "wearing the fashion right" like I've literally seen people bitching about the shade of pink not being "jirai" enough bestie wh...what, and tiktok is just a bunch of kids who are over-romanticizing toyoko kids and sex work in japan and repeating the same four unfunny jokes.

Also like I truly do not understand why the idea of being a toyoko kid is so cute and quirky like they're literally in terrible terrible situations a lot of them are not having fun it's actually so heartbreaking and why are we acting like its an UWU quirky thing to be like borderline forced into engaging in underage prostitution and surrounded by people ODing on cold medicine and self-harming, like what... what part of that is super cute and quirky to you. That's one of my biggest issues is the way people talk about toyoko kids, so many people completely disregard the real gravity of the situation and the way some people talk about them you wouldn't even get a basic idea of the VERY REAL mental suffering a lot of them are enduring.

ALSO and this is so fucking petty I will admit but I'm so sick and fucking tired of seeing people talk about ryousangata like it's a fashion by itself. It literally just means "mass-produced" it's a term used to describe the most popular non-mainstream subculture of the time, like it was used to describe Gyaru through the 90s and 2000s and they never had this issue, and then I've seen people complaining that Liz Lisa and MA*RS are moving away from the "ryousangata" look to other fashion styles like BABE IM SO SORRY but if Liz Lisa and MA*RS are selling it, it's pretty much ryousangata by default I don't understand how you can be so pressed about what is considered ryousangata changing when it's literally not even a fashion by itselffffff its just used to describe whats popularrrrr of fucking course it's changing it has changed multiple times over the yearsssssssssssss oh my GOdddddddddddddddddddddd. Your misunderstanding of the words you are using is literally the only issue here and you're making a fool of yourself as a reSULTTTTtttttt.

and while I'm here bitching about jirai kei completely unprompted I know I've said it before but can we please get your quirky jirai kei memes out of the menhera tag I am on my fucking knees begging you. IDK if its just because its like younger people who are part of Jirai kei and don't actually understand what menhera is (also I'm going to be honest I've never understood the beef between Jirai Kei and Menhera outside of the tagging issue like maybe it's just my experience with the menhera community but I've seen so many people be like "menhera bullies people who aren't in recovery" which I've literally never seen???????? I'm confused??????????????) Like there are overlaps but be so fucking on god you know that jirai kei and menhera are different things and being one does not inherently make you the other and I stg if I see one more dark girly coord or meme about strong zero in the menhera tags I'm going to fucking scream.

Like honestly I bARELY engage with the community outside of tumblr (and honestly even on Tumblr it's only a handful of blogs but i think that's mostly bc I don't rly interact with minors) bc I'm not going to fucking lie I find a majority of the larger jirai kei community absolutely fucking insufferable.

'tis a shame, but I guess it is what it is.

[arealdisappointment]

Ay yo, you know what I love about Tumblr the fact that you can just do stuff and I'm bored it's 1am and I'm losing my marbles cuz my parents didn't pay for therapy, take some stuff from the note I have saved in my phone called don't trust your mind past 9pm

(all of these are separate)

I think my whole purpose in life is to hate myself, i was made out of a false sense of love and how can you love something thats not real, something made out of lies? It has come time again that i try to reinvent myself because the only thing that consumes my every waking thought is that i hate myself and i will continue to hate myself until i can find a version of me that is worth love. The version of me that is worthwhile the version of me that is enough for you. And while it drives me insane it is the only thing that allows me to keep my sanity.

I miss my mom, and whats so heartbreaking is the fact that i look nothing like her in my day to day life. There is very little reflection of the woman who made me in myself. But over time I've noticed one thing, when i cry and when i am at my lowest i see her in my reflection. I see it in the way my eyes gloss over with unshed tears and the way my mouth curves in a frown as i try desperately to keep my voice from breaking. I see her so clearly im the way my brows furrow together in anger at how unfair the word is. I see it in the way my dimples come out of hiding, and the way the edges of my face soften. I see her when i am in pain and when my anguish and anger are no longer contained inside me, the way i assume she existed because despite the fact that she is my mother, i know next to nothing about her.

There is something so pathetic in the sense of desperately wanting, needing, begging to be loved and admired and wanting to love yourself. How is it that I've hated every aspect of myself since early childhood. I guess ive always known that I'd never amount even a fraction of what my peers were like.I haven't been able to look at myself in the mirror since i was a toddler . I am like an ugly beast trying to fool the world into believing that im just like them, trying to fool them into thinking that i am socially acceptable. No matter how much makeup you put on a pig it'll still be ugly. Theres nothing more that i want than to be loved, wanted, desired. I wish there was someone out there who could look at me and want me. In any way shape or form i wish to be loved. I crave validation like it's my only source of life, it fuels me but in a sick twisted way i will never be good enough for anyone. I sit desperate on my knees in front of god begging to be loved, to see the image that i was made in, to believe that im worth it. Every small mistake i make chips away at the armor ive so carefully crafted until the doubt and self loathing have infected me, till the belief that im worthless crawls under my skin and infrcts my very being. My mind corrupted with the idea of dying, if i cant find my worth here whats stopping me from looking on other planes.

"I wish there was someone in my life who I could lean on and tell me it's going to be okay and explain grief to me and walk me through it and hell even just let me cry and express my anguish and this pain that consumes every fiber of my being. Instead I am forced to listen to the sorrows of everyone around me. Forced to comfort those who only ignore my pain. I want my pain to be recognized too, does that make me selfish ? Am I a bad person for wanting to express my pain too? How much do I have to hurt in order to be seen. When will I ever be enough. Am I just meant to bottle everything up and let it eat me from the inside out. Why is it that no one is there for me the way I am there for them. What did I do so wrong in a past life to be forced to suffer alone and yet be surrounded by people"

[makahimetenshi]

Processing and Healing - Paladin Danse x Sole Survivor Fallout 4 Fanfic

This is the 12 part of a series of fics im writing lately, the order will be:

Falling or not?

Danse cuenta de algo

May I use your shower?

Volver a tener algo

Addicted to Chems

Fooling around together

Sleeping for nightmares

Traumas at the Commonwealth

Being awake

I like being this close

Have you ever had sexual relations with any species considered non human?

Processing and Healing

If you are very very very delighted with one fic and want a continuation I didn’t write or post you can donate me at least $5 bucks, most of this fics have next chapters I don’t finish because lack of motivation but hey a $5 is a $5, I see a few reviews and coments that fics that are abandoned months laters receive coments of wanting to know what happends next. Here it is, I finished my handling with you all, enjoy the fic

Nate sometimes had great ideas.

This time it wasnt the case, not really.

The commonwealth was a very humid place, humid and cold on the winter, the fog penetrating into every hole of your clothes to bathe your spine and make you catch a cold that may put you in bed for at least 3 weeks, fog that will last for days before actually spreading a bit leaving a tiny ity sunshine appear into the clouds. But in the summers...gosh it was nasty, hot and humid as fuck, makes you wonder where all that cold goes away when the season changes, for Nate it was nothing like when he moved to that neighberhood 210 years ago, nono, it was another type of humidity, sticky and slimy into the skin making his clothes attach to every fold of his body, heavy enought to make his hair go down and loose its form, compressing every tiny hair against his forehead giving the impression that he didnt bathe at all, loosing all his shine and making his freeze go crazy up, it was awful.

Danse understand his suffering, but not so much really, sure there wasnt as much fog and rain in DC but that place was very humid too with the proximity to the sea. At least it wasnt that big of deal for him, but higiene was a very different value between Nate and any born wastelander, he suffered from it a lot, like, really a lot, something that itched him in the core for real, which was strange to see, usually most of the people just live with it because there no other alternative and complain about it will not change the weather but…

In the hot days, the people of Sanctuary will bathe on the river that boarders the neigberhood,  Danse will bath to refresh with the people, but Nate doesnt, claiming that he isnt interested in bathing in radiated water without a real reason, that unlike Danse, he will get cancer if he bathes there.

And it was true, Danse will never have cancer, because he is a synth.

All wastelanders are born with somekind of advanced cancer, everybody tells the general that, that he shouldnt worry about it, he is going to die anyway from sometype of leukemia, its a thing of attitude if it kills you first a bullet on the head or a degenerative desease.

But Nate isnt a wastelander, he is different, and for some reason the sole mention of cancer ruins his day for good, always, no matter who says it.

Of course Danse knows why. It was a long battle for both, and so many people more.

So when the general wake up at 6am with his neck and balls already wet and burning like he didnt fucking had a shower at night yesterday, he dress up and prepared breakfast for both men, waiting for Danse to wake up. Having a synth boyfriend wasnt that bad actually, in fact, a robo boyfriend was a big update, right now while he heatens the premade pancakes  Danse sensors must be waking his systems telling him that the body that was emitting heat next to him for the last 6 hours of sleep wasnt in the bed anymore at his side, what before his blind betrayal was good survival skills inside the brotherhood or sharp perception...both understand now that its programming, and while it makes Danse sick to the stomach to think about it, Nate can only see the benefits, specially for survival.

It wasnt that bad.

Just like he thought in no time Danse was walking to the kitchen looking for him.

-Morning -said the ex paladin sitting on the table, much more easeful now he find where Nate was, even knowing the man since a few years it was always a jumpscare waking up and not see him in his side of the bed.

-I have an idea today -said Nate- its something i wanted to show you since a long time, i suppose you are ready

Usually this things werent good

-Do you think is smart to eat breakfast first then? -Danse can still feel disgust and his stomach stirring despite rationalizing a lot of things about his synth body this last times, horrors are still horrors after all, synth or not.

-Yeah dont worry about it  -said Nate leaving his plate on the table -its not going to bother you as much it should bother me -the ex paladin raise his eyebrow at him- its going to be fine

It was funny because the general will not bathe in the river but wont protect at all from the sun, going out the house in this hot climate with hawaiian shirts, shorts and sandals, really walking around like there was no danger, even Danse was surprised that he didnt want to carry any kind of weapon but they where walking a very linear path, easy, from the house to the...oh no...not that place.

-Nate -Danse called- where are we going? -the synth was also walking in sandals and shorts, kinda using Nate wardrobe  this hot days.

-Just wait until we arrive there-the general had under his arm two foldable chairs and a bag with four beers

-I know where the fuck are we going but why? what do you wanna do there? -it wasnt an easy walk with this temperatures tho. The synth was sweating a lot and that always make him anxious and irritable.

-Like i said theres something i want to show you -why the man wasnt meeting his gaze? he was avoiding it.

-Nate i…

And then the general stop in his place, Danse behind him surprised, he took a big breath and then smile to ease him.

-Just follow me okay? -he said  clicking the beers to make the glass sing playfully.

Danse shut his mouth and swallow saliva down the throath, willing to cooperate and just follow him down to the vault 111. Always funny how from the really small neightberhood of Sanctuary you have to go up a little hill and then go down the elevator to enter into the subterranean vault.

Vault 111 was Nate vault, entirely, literally, all his and no one else for everything he wished and wanted to. The man will expend entire noons trapped down here without anyone  company despite actually 3 years passing since...well since he was decryogenized here on purpose, time for Nate passed more slowly on his grief.

Not sure if it was the darkness, the underground climate or the systems of the vault still working to make suitable enviroments for people to survive inside but once they were down everything feelt so refreshing in comparison with the hell up there, and the sun, specially the sun, Danse never liked coming down here that much but right now it feeled just right to be scaping that torture of UV lights... -Gosh my skin its burning and we walked only 5 minutes

-Look at that -pointed Nate at a gun behind a closed crate, for his habilities that lock seems too easy to open, makes the synth wonder why it is still behind that bars- Thats the Cryolator, If this hell continues on earth I'm going to use it to make everyone cold margaritas with ice cubes.

-Never used it? -ask Danse looking at the flamer that shoots ice in detail.

-Just read the logs about it here on the terminals, apparently theres no ammo once you run out so im saving it for an special occasion, thinking very seriously to use it on my balls if we keep like this- Danse rolled his eyes, nah he didnt meant it, Nate was too stingy to use something that couldnt be replaced easy, mostly he will save it forever or try to find a replacement before using the actual thing

They walk, and every step foward the place felt more...cold... cool of course, refreshing after the horrible days they had up in the surface but it was getting like cold not cool slowly, like chilling in your bones really bad, the temperature was really really low, even small breezes of cold air where visible as they walk until Nate stop in front of a room with cold water on the floor, melted water more specifically, it was humid inside that room but cold humid, really cold humid from the temperature machines and engines around. At first the ex paladin didnt get it until he saw the walls and oh shit he already was in this place once, it was funny how he can never remember details of this cursed placed, everytime feels like the first time he enter to the house of horrors

-Oh nonono, im not going inside, i have principles.

-Relax -said Nate, opening one of the foldable chairs in front of a cryopod in particular- its much better than the surface

-I get it but... -Danse look at the chair and then up at the cryopod, closed but not frozen enought inside to cover the windows and avoid seeing what was inside, water was leaking from it, drop by drop into the ground

. -Nora this is Danse. Danse this is Nora, althought i already presented her to you never did formally -Nate sat open the second chair at his side and then sat on his own chair. Legs open, like it was nothing.

-This is fucked up -said the ex paladin, not wanting to exactly take a seat.

-A bit, it would be worse for my sanity if she was already in a more advanced state of decomposition like really really dead but...-Danse get it, the micro climate inside this room keeping everything cold and humid didnt help for her body to actually die, the conditions to keep her body like the day she was shoot in the head were ideal, and Nate never had the courage to open the cryopod again after taking her ring and promise to find Shaun back- im not in denial, she has a round shiny bullet in the middle of her forehead which makes everything so obvious…

-And you come here to be fresh in front of the body of your dead wife?

-And to talk obviously, manners makes the man -he said finally picking up a beer using the side of the chair to open it.

-Dont you think this is a little fucked up for me...?

-Look buddy, i was straight before knowing you but you cant try to compete with the woman that gave  me a son -the smirk on Nate face tell Danse that this was all a game for him, maybe it was more traumatic for him than it was for the old man, right, after 3 years he should have at least a piece of this events a bit solved, a tiny piece processed

-Well we know how that ended -Danse take a seat unconfortably on his chair, looking at her bloody face.

-Im not letting you talk shit of my dead wife, watch it, that was more my fault than hers -no it wasnt, but Nate will feel culprit forever for what happend. It wasnt the fault of any of them.

-So you come here to spend the noons fresh as a lettuce... -said Danse picking his own beer from the bag- behind the blood and all i can see the appealing

-She would be beautiful even as a ghoul -the way Nate smiled at the cryopod gave Danse a bad chill on his entire spine, of course you would say that if you have an history of fucking ghouls- You are hot and everything but I was so lucky that she turned to see me even just once in life, you may be right now the love of my life but this woman was my other part -Danse smiled uncomfortable, opening his cold beer at the side of the chair- we were so alike and complemented so well on eveything, people that know us often say that we were equals like twins, i often swear to the skies that she somehow had to be my sister

-I can totally see you fucking your female counterpart -its true, if he uses the right corner of his eye he can see a resemblance between the two of them, specially the nose- you are narcisistic enought for that -despite being a six Nate had a really high standar of his image and persona, she was also kinda a six.

-Oh here we are narcisistic the bitches would say -now Nate drank on his beer, smiling, playing, he was just playing, shit talking- Psycologist on the army would also say that

-Well im not a professional and the standars may change in this latelys 210 years but...why? -ok if this wasnt really crushing Nates heart...as traumatic it may be to drink beer next to your dead wife frozen body, it wasnt that bad, he wasnt having a meltdown yet, they were just chatting, casually next to a dead body of someone really important, but most because it was cool.

-Bitches started to get on my nerves once a recording of me and a fellow mate got leaked, yes, he shoot the unarmed prisioner from behind, big deal, but us laughting at his body was their interpretation, not a fact -a cold shiver ran across Danse spine, sometimes Nate talked like a raider.

-Were you really laughting?

-How i am supposed to know? We done stuff in the war, i cant exactly recognize myself in everyrecording i am on a power armor, that could be anyone! -then the general make silence, an actual long silence while his face looks really deep into thinking- the execution was my buddy, that was true

-Oh my gosh you are a war criminal -said Danse picking up his chair and moving it 10cm to the left, laughting a bit of how hilarious the situation was.

-You? A wastelander? Judging me? -Nate appeared to be a bit offended while drinking on his beer- i shoot thoose bullets in the name of freedom, you all cut necks to prepare breakfast!

-I also shoot unarmed wastelanders, but i did it under the orders of the brotherhood -now Danse drank- you and the Enclave are this close -he made a sing with two of his fingers barely closing, leaving a tiny space in the air- to be in the same side

-You feeling funny? I can send your ass up to the surface

-Did that thing about marrying a lawyer come before or after she found out about the war crimes?

Well at least Danse knows that Nate is healing the subject of his dead wife little by little, one small talk at a time, burrying it slowly in the depts of vault 111 where everything started after the bombs dropped.

Next time he wants to refresh and cool his balls from the heat up in the surface he is going to ask to be in another room tho, cant compete with the woman that gave him a son after all.

[ochrophyta]

im halfway through golden fool and i cant handle this im sick and tired of reading about gay people theyre pissing me off so much. i hate it here this is worse than queerbaiting. people who hate getting queerbaited need to read RotE and understand what true suffering is.