#If i even finish and post. lets also be real.

[entropicbias]

star trek online with a youtube video.

(note, this is an old post, but i've decided to do more blogging like this here, so i remembered it.)

i decided to try out star trek online and live out my trekkie fantasies the other day. my first run in with the game was eons ago at a thrift store, but my current laptop is lacking a cd player, so i couldn't really try it out for sure. i don't know if it would work anyways considering it's a copy of the game from, what, 2010? what would be the point of that.

the first star trek game i ever played was the TNG game for the snes. i emulated it on my shitty old laptop. it was unfortunately a bust, cause i had no idea what i was doing.

speaking of tng, before i do my review, did you know a certain somebody used to make tng edits? can you recognize that flute sample?

anyway, my best friend dave (who doesn’t even have a tumblr) brought it up, assuming i’d never heard of star trek online. TCH! who do you think i am, you simpleton? naturally, i had to flex on him. whipping out the cd like some kind of seasoned star trek online veteran just to make a mockery of him. but really, the joke is on me, because let’s be honest, no one takes a self-proclaimed star trek online expert seriously.

so, i downloaded it off steam and ignored all the mixed reviews! i didn't stay in character creation for too long, but i tried to make him resemble me as much as possible. that's because my character's name is john kirk. he is john tiberius kirk.

john t. kirk of the u.s.s johnterprise. because enterprise is a restricted word (STUPID AND LAME?)

here is what i was greeted to.

quite frankly, i'm a little upset at the amount of diversity aboard. already i am seeing TWO vulcans. this is absurd. there is only one vulcan that should be aboard my ship, and he hasn't finished downloading the game yet.

OK! TIME TO PLAY THE FREAKIN' GAME FOR REAL! :D

after picking some of my skills (i chose to be aggressive, pistol handy, and uhh... i forgot the other one but believe me when i say it was good.)

i am meet this son of a bitch

captain...? CAPTAIN? OF THE JOHNTERPRISE? THE HELL YOU ARE! GET YOUR FALLOUT CLAYMATION ASS OFF OF MY FREAKING CHAIR! i thought you started out as captain? what is the point of naming my ship if i don't even get to be captain??? i need to show this guy who is BOSS.

the second thing i figured out about this game, is that if you walk into an object and believe in yourself you can actually gyrate with skill akin to that of a zumba instructor. so, i immediately had to gyrate next to captain isaac carrot to put him in his place.

it was a massacre for garrett. if i was you, "captain", i'd hang my head in shame and go back to being an ensign from being so hopelessly outmatched. it was also at this point i remembered that i could record my gameplay, which countered my ability to remember that my computer's cpu couldn't properly cool itself and i hadn't turned on my laptop fan. so amidst scanning some debris, my computer shat itself and died.

AND THEN RECORDED THE REST OF MY GAMEPLAY! watch it here. https://youtu.be/eeEs0el8Woo?si=djN9iLpkH3bGwNle there is some impossibly hard to read commentary there, and you may be wondering why i don't talk, and that's because i sound like bart simpson, so it's best that you just squint your eyes and pretend like morgan freeman's sultry voice is narrating my captions. if you do not want to sit through half an hour of shitty footage, then feel free to skip to 24:47 where i realize that you do not get a chance to meet captain kirk at the end of your first rodeo, and it genuinely breaks my heart. that is todays post, goodbye. update from jan 2025: i haven't touched the game since because i realized that i was just not going to be all that invested if most of the gameplay was from outside of the ship and i didn't have my very own personal spock.

-eb

[whorevader]

Sneak peek of my actual first star wars edit in the making...... a prequels trio lenormand cards themed edit.... yay occult things nobody knows about yaaay!!

[dreamsy990]

some of the less nice thoughts about being aroace

extras below the cut

sketch

closeups on my favorite panels

bonus: adios

[onceinawhilemoon]

sure, sherry. your brother would just let M walk free after he literally checked every single box under Ways to Antagonize Mycroft Holmes by: killing his agents, actively fucking with intelligence and national security operations, being a literal threat to the nation, and committing the cardinal sin of stalking and threatening to hurt an overprotective mama bear’s cub (aka YOU), a crime easily punished by imprisonment, death, or worse (see: otto richter). but sure… 

[seagreenstardust]

Live and let ship people. I don’t care what you like, go nuts, but please don’t flood my ship tag with reasons why yours is better. I have my own reasons and you raining on my parade isn’t going to change my mind.

Anyway bkdk are soulmates, canon supports bkdk more than any other ship, and I do not have to flood the other tags with this message to enjoy it. Thank you.

[keeps-ache]

look me in the eye; i'm dizzy

[static image below]

[seaofreverie]

Sparkstember Day 28: The Sparks Brothers

I'm not a movie person... So when I do actually rewatch a movie (I mean, even watch it, at ALL, haha) it must really mean that something is up. I mean, well, it also IS a thorough, highly enjoyable and visually appealing movie about a band that I've been so incredibly invested in for the past several months. So maybe it's a surprise that I don't watch it more often actually. Because one beautiful side-effect of seeing it each time was getting an unexpected and very strong surge of motivation to keep on going towards the things that matter to me the most, despite any and all obstacles that could appear on the way. Another side-effect of it is being happy and joyfull and being filled with warm feelings and thoughts for the whole following day at least. Usually up to 3 days afterwards actually.

But ok, of course, what I'm getting at is that the Maels' story is so incredibly inspirational. Seeing how they persevered through all those years and NEVER lost their spirit or their vision, never gave up... is not only moving but also something that reminds me that wow, so much *really* is possible. I spent so many years fully convinced that there are things that I'll never be able to achieve. And sure, some of them are indeed pretty unlikely to happen. But if you told me from even one year ago that I'd be making art daily and not dreading being so much as perceived anywhere in the great world (so, including the internet)... well, I would have not believed it at all. I really mean it when I say that I used to believe that there are things that I'll just never be able to do. It's like it was simply not meant for me to be able do it and have those experiences. And yet...!

There's a lot I owe Sparks and this is one of the biggest things I'll always be grateful for. They really changed my life for the better. Truly nothing else before them reaches the same degree of how much it helped me. And well, I'm saying this on TSB day because this is where this feeling of gratitude and feeling SO lucky becomes the strongest. And the beautiful thing about it all is that they were always just themselves. They had their vision, they knew what they wanted to do and didn't care about how it would be received. Which is such an important and meaningful message to me, I can't even express how huge it is to me to see these two people who only really had themselves and their endurance and got exactly where they wanted to be.

Alright, some less grandiose observations now. Well, let's start with the fact that this was by no means my introduction to Sparks but it still really cemented my love for them even more. I loved being reminded of their whole journey and learning more about it, and even moreso I loved being able to see more of their beautiful brotherly bond and their wonderful personalities. Truly no other people in this whole world make me as happy as them currently. And the brothers' sense of humour hits super close to mine, so this is also a time filled with genuine laughs (I die laughing at the absolutely true Sparks facts at the end EVERY TIME). And since I'm a huge fan of animation and mixed media art and such things, this was simply a joy to view for my more artistically-inclined side too.

And damn, those two hours and 15 minutes really fly by so fast. When I have to arrange a huge timeslot to watch it all in one go, because that's the only way to do it for me, and then it feels like no time has passed anyway. And even with so much being said there, it feels like there's still so much more to get to. But it's still enough to lift my spirits completely for a pretty long time. And to make me cry a lot of the time too... Absolutely impossible to not shed a tear by the end of it all. It's moving, it's funny as heck, it's super fun and it's absolutely beautiful and truly lifechanging. 💖

[kyouka-supremacy]

Well.

[keepswingin]

Skz Minho + Paranoia by Kang Daniel, 1500 words or less

The rain wakes him, pounding against the covered window beside his bed. 

He turns his head and stares at the wooden planks that cover it for a long moment, waiting for thunder to follow. Lightning flashes through the lingering cracks between the planks that he never bothered to cover, and he sits up, shivers shooting down his spine, eyes fixated.

He waits, and waits longer, heartbeat growing loud in his ears, nearly drowning out the storm. There's a loud crash of thunder that feels as though it shakes the house, lightning, and then he sees it again, through the tiny gaps in the planks, trying to push through. 

He jumps up and runs to the kitchen, blindly searching for something, anything, stumbling over his feet, pricking his fingers, before he finds a knife and bolts back into the bedroom, brandishing it at the rotted fingers that try to claw their way through the boarded window. 

His chest feels tight, and it's hard to breathe, hard to think, but he needs to go to it, he needs to kill it, kill it before it gets inside and kills him - 

"Jagiya?" 

Han calls from his right, voice muffled by the blanket he has tucked up to his chin. When there's no answer, the sheets shuffle with his groggy movement. "Minho?" 

The knife trembles in Minho's grip. When he looks back at the window and waits for the lightning to flash again, the fingers are gone. It's just them. Nothing is trying to get in. "I'm - I'm here," Minho whispers, willing his voice not to shake. "I'm here." 

Han makes a soft noise that's meant to be a confirmation. 

"Come back to bed," he mumbles, and Minho exhales, hand lowering to his side. He slides the knife under his pillow as he climbs back into bed, and tries to pretend that he doesn't feel something else watching his back as he curls around Han once more. 

x

It's always hard to bring himself to unlock the door, his hands shaking as he reaches for the final bolt just beneath the doorknob. Han is already hidden away in the basement, something he does now without being asked, Minho locking the door behind him.

Han hadn't understood it at first, why Minho had asked such a thing of him, but then the older had explained, breathless and trembling behind a hot cup of tea. 

The air outside wasn't safe for someone like Han, someone with skin untouched by a toxic sun. It isn't safe to breathe, to look, to be near, and Minho's skin was used to the ashes, to the radiation and ruin and rejection of a planet that never recovered. His skin wouldn't bubble or bruise or seep, but Han's would, and he needed to go down into the basement to be safe whenever Minho went to open the door. 

Han always needed to be safe. 

Minho couldn't protect him from the world ending, but he could protect him from this. 

The door sticks to the molding when he tries to tug it open - the Earth was too hot now, too cold later, too inhabitable for anyone but them - he gives it a shove of his shoulder, heart stuck in his throat, and staggers outside. 

He looks around, takes it all in, and nearly chokes on the acid taste of the air. The troves of rumble and rock and remains. He tumbles backwards, slamming the door shut behind him less than a second later, breathing heavily, tears in his eyes. 

There was no outside anymore, no matter how many times he checks. There is nowhere for them to go. They need to stay here. They need to keep staying here. 

He needs to keep Han safe.

x

"Minho," Han calls, thumbing through an old book that predicts a world of gentle ocean waves and lush, endless forests. Minho hums from across the room, counting their rations, trying to make them last. He doesn't want to go back out, not ever. He's done looking. They could just stay here, and if they lowered their intake...if he ate just barely anything and gave Han what remained...they could make it. 

They could do it. 

Han flicks through a few more pages before he stops on one filled to the brim with jumbled bits of writing. "Is it safe?" Minho pauses his count. Turns towards Han and watches as he traches over someone else's writing, like it means something. The thought nearly sours his stomach. 

Han had him. Why would he need anyone else? 

"No," he says, watching as Han's shoulders hunch inward and his entire body seems to deflate. "I don't think it's ever going to be safe outside." The silence stretches long after his answer. It makes Minho uncomfortable in a way, that Han could ever sit in silence with him like this when there are so many other things they could be doing instead. 

Han's finger traces over the writing again. It's not Minho's writing. 

Minho's stomach turns and twists itself inside out. He stands when he can't take it anymore, crossing the short distance between them and taking a seat on the floor behind Han, tucking himself against the younger's back. His chin presses hard into the curve of his neck, and he wraps his arms around him, holding him close. 

He doesn't say anything else. He doesn't need to, when Han hesitantly slides his hand into his own a few moments later.

x

Minho feels pathetic today, standing at the kitchen counter and staring at the remains of an empty can. The remnants of sleep are crusted at the corners of his eyes, and exhaustion tugs at his body, weighing him down. His legs feel like lead, and his feet like cement blocks, meant to keep him below the surface, unable to catch a breath. 

There's blood on the counter. There's a knife beside it. 

He thinks it's his blood. 

He doesn't remember whose blood it really is, when a million eyes had turned and stared and asked him why. He doesn't remember taking the knife and running it across his wrist until his wrist had turned the color they had wanted it to be. He doesn't remember the smile they had given him as they had asked for more. 

Minho feels pathetic today, unable to finish the job they ask of him, unable to look Han in the eye and pretend that what they do is right when it all just feels wrong. Han was never supposed to be here, and Minho was never supposed to invite him in. Minho was never supposed to get lost - steal a glance at Han and never want to let him go, greedy in the way he grabs at his wrists, hungry in the way he presses close and doesn't turn away. 

Selfish. So selfish that he deserves being told to end his life so that another can start. 

Gentle fingers curl around his shoulder. Minho doesn't react. If they've come to take him, he won't fight. He's sick of them looking at him like this, sick of the torment, sick of all the images they paint for him on the backs of his eyelids.

"Hyung," Han whispers, gently tugging him back. "What'd you do?" 

Minho feels a shaky exhale rattle through his body, and doesn't know what to say. Does he say the truth, and let Han discover everything he's been trying to hide? Does he lift his arm and allow the blood to run freely onto the kitchen tile? Does he take the knife and slit his own throat before - 

"I thought we were eating dinner together." 

Han's cheek presses against his shirt. His careful fingers travel down and play with a loose string at the hem. The tone of his voice sounds...playful, not absolutely horrified, like Minho had thought it would've been. Something isn't right about this. He should say something, ask if the other is seeing what Minho's seeing, what Minho is, at the core of all of this, a twisted being with a disgustingly twisted mind. 

But then Minho blinks, and the world is brought back into sharpened focus. 

The counter isn't stained with blood, it's stained with what was supposed to be their dinner. Beets fresh from an old tin can, smeared against the counter, against the side of the sink, painting the side of the knife's blade. He dares to glance down at his arm, so sure it had been dripping blood, only to see more red. But it's the red of a vegetable, and not the inside of his arm. 

He hears laughter. Han's not laughing.  

Minho feels sick, and then he feels nothing at all.

x

He wants to say he doesn't remember how the fight started, but the truth is that he does, and there's glass shattering two inches from his head before he can stop it. He looks up and it's impossible to miss the glare Han shoots him, or the tears slipping down his cheeks. He's upset, and angry, and every other emotion close to it as he reaches for another picture frame. 

There's a part of Minho that tells him to stand there and not move, to stand there and let the glass puncture his body, his arms, his face, to let it stab him in however which way so that he can actually feel something that isn't the stare of a million eyes or the feeling of rotting hands pulling at his feet or Han's red cheeks and running nose. 

Han yells and tosses the frame, choking out another sob. Minho's body moves against his mind's wishes, allowing the picture frame to hit the hardwood floor behind him, glass fracturing into tiny pieces. 

Minho turns and looks back at the picture, half out of the frame and crumpled around the edges. It's one of him from what feels like another life; he was seven and had won his first sports contest, trophy clutched tightly between two tiny hands. His mother's finger is in the picture, taking up one corner of the frame. 

His father was gone by then, and it didn't take long for his mother to follow. 

"Don't you have anything to say?" Han screams, jolting Minho back to the present as he turns just in time for the other to launch himself forwards, fists pounding on his chest. Minho's back hits the wall with a thump as Han cries and hits him, over and over again. "Why aren't you saying anything?" 

Minho swallows, and avoids looking at the boarded windows, the duct-taped vents, the busted doorknobs. It's never enough, not when there's millions of eyes and only one of him. He can't keep them both safe anymore, not like this. Not when he's broken, and Han is ripping out the rest of his pieces. 

There's nothing left to say. 

Minho tries to grab his wrists, but Han jerks away from his touch, and one of his fists knocks into Minho's shoulder hard enough for it to sting. It stuns him, that the one person he's done everything to protect doesn't want his protection anymore. It echoes in his mind until it's the only thing he can hear, and he reaches a hand up to the side of his head, tugging at his hair. Han hates him. He hates him. Minho can't protect him anymore. It's all over. Everything's over. 

He should've known it would end this way. Nothing ever lasts, and he was foolish to think that this would. 

Han shouts again, and Minho blinks, tilting his head up. His heart aches. His head screams. Han cries into his hands until his tears spill onto the floor, one after another. Minho wants to reach out for him, hold him until he quiets, just like he used to when he first found him. He would cry for hours and hours, and all Minho could provide was the warm comfort of his own jagged body until Han had finally realized this was exactly where he belonged. 

He still belonged here, even if he didn't think so. 

"Han," he whispers, the letters bitter against his throat.

"That's not my name," Han says, sniffling, red-rimmed eyes locking with his. "Do you even remember?"

Minho's mouth opens, and then closes. They laugh at him from the shadows, cruel and callous, but Minho was cruel and callous, wasn't he? When he took Han in, and called him by a different name until it was all he could remember. Because his real name came from the outside, and they were no longer apart of the outside, not now, not after all of this. Minho never was, but Han used to be. 

He used to be.

"Let me out," Han says, already moving towards the door that sits on the other side of the room. 

Minho's heart jumps, beating hard against his ribcage as he stumbles over his own two feet. No. No, anything but that. He can't leave, he'll die if he leaves, his skin will burn, his breath will get caught his throat and Minho will be left all alone and he can't do this if he's alone, not anymore, not after being with someone else for so long -

"No!" Minho yells, throwing himself forwards, fingers slipping around Han's elbow just as he reaches for the knob. Han stills, still sniffling, chest heaving. Minho grips him tighter. Anything but this. Anything but losing the one thing he has left. "Please," he says, fighting against the sound of his own choked tone. "Please don't." He pauses, unsure of what to say. Would anything make him stay now that the truth has come out? "I can't lose you." 

Han huffs, the sound strangely twisted. "You already have," he mumbles, defeated, and before Minho can stop him, he's pulling out of his grip and reaching for the door. It's easy for him to unlock even though he's never touched the bolts before, something that itches at Minho's skin, because how would he know when he's down in the basement every time Minho tries to glimpse the outside? Unless...

The door is thrown open. Minho flinches, stumbling back.

Han opens the door, expecting ruin. What is revealed to him on the other side is anything but.

[skitskatdacat63]

Notes:

I think I definitely like the original versions more than the edited ones. I'm more happy with the grumpy Fernando one, whereas the bratty Seb one made me want to cease painting forever. So hopefully he looks good?????? I'm sure I'll soften on it, but yeah, not TOO pleased with it right now. His facial expressions are so cute and dynamic and unique until you have to try and paint it and then you dont love him anymore(kidding ofc, how could I ever hate my beloved boy king 🥺)

Anyways, these are them:

[piningpercussionist]

Template by @juni38

Im going to be completely frank with you all... and admit that I read these options and wasn't sure how to take this chart,,, so uh. Under the cut is Another Version. I'd apologize but I've given you the option to keep scrolling ¯\_(･･)_/¯

(If you notice characters missing on Kim's side, I probably figured she doesn't know who they are lol)

For the record,,, if they *wanted* me to pull their hair-- *is shot several times before I can continue*

Uhh Matthew is here because I have been converted fully on he/him or enby lesbian Matthew I think. He lives in my brain rent free now, very gender. I'd pull his hair but also I think he mostly just deserves to have it played with nicely.

And Scott's here because 1) I enjoy trans Scott, 2) Kim Pine Brain Rot possibly, 3) idk he's like,, the exception. God damnit, I've fallen for the inexplicable Scott Pilgrim Effect. What the fuck--

I did think about doing this chart like everyone was actually applicable to my tastes, but even if they were I think the ones I didn't put up would have to fall on the caress side bc I just don't feel that way abt them lol.

Again, not to say that's the case for the gals over on that side,,, I just think I would want to be gentle w them shxkdjsdhbd with the exception for Lynette who probably deserves to have her hair pulled, but again I fear she would Hurt Me,,, but maybe in a fun way,,,

Anyway No One Look At Me....

(,, also,,, Ramona is so far over bc I think she would enjoy it,, otherwise she'd be closer to Kim in that section. Same thing w Roxie)

If anyone actually looks at this version, I'm not opposed to doing a version like this for Kim btw! Just ask for it so I feel like I'm not just Dropping This and scurrying away

[genshin-projection]

i don't think i can be normal about Sunday guys

[scionshtola]

i don't want to reblog the fic Again but im just spinning shb corishtola in my brain SO fast these past few weeks

[mihai-florescu]

Was himeru always in my top 5 characters...?

[keeps-ache]

!! what if i made another outfit for Teddie. just cuz

[haootia]

variations on "feel old yet" meme:

lying (overshooting): feel old yet? the first episode of spongebob aired 36 years ago

lying (undershooting): feel old yet? the first episode of spongebob aired 7 years ago

lying by a ridiculous amount (overshooting): feel old yet? the first episode of spongebob aired 900 years ago

lying by a ridiculous amount (undershooting): feel old yet? the first episode of spongebob aired 15 minutes ago

real date of event no one reading was alive for: feel old yet? the great san francisco earthquake happened 118 years ago

real date of event no one reading was alive for or cares about: feel old yet? prince frederick henry died 395 years ago

event no one reading was alive for and also lying: feel old yet? the great san francisco earthquake happened 4 years ago

event that did not happen: feel old yet? brian mulroney was assassinated 48 years ago

event that did not happen and even if it did this would be a lie: feel old yet? brian mulroney was assassinated 197 years ago

real date of event on a cosmological scale: feel old yet? the sun was formed 4,600,000,000 years ago

lying on a cosmological scale (undershooting): feel old yet? the sun was formed 12 years ago

lying on a cosmological scale (overshooting): feel old yet? the first episode of spongebob aired 12,000,000,000 years ago

real date of a personal anecdote that only you know or card about: feel old yet? i made a really good stir fry 5 years ago

reversal: feel young yet? frozen 3 is coming out in 3 years

reversal on a cosmological scale: feel young yet? the sun will collapse in 8,000,000,000 years

reversal (lying about event): feel young yet? the first episode of spongebob will air in 3 years

reversal (lying about time, overshooting): feel young yet? frozen 3 is coming out in 8,000,000,000 years

reversal (lying about time, undershooting): feel young yet? the sun will collapse in 3 years

reversal (lying about time, really undershooting): feel young yet? the sun will collapse in 12 minutes

real date of a recurring event that wasn't very long ago: feel old yet? halloween was 13 days ago

lying about recurring event: feel old yet? halloween was 10,000 years ago

reversal of recurring event: feel young yet? thursday is tomorrow

reversal of personal anecdote: feel young yet? my laundry is done in 52 minutes

real(?) date of a nonspecific event: feel old yet? something happened 2 years ago

lying about the reader (undershooting): feel old yet? you were born 5 years ago

lying about the reader (overshooting): feel old yet? you were born 650 years ago

making a reasonable guess about the reader: feel old yet? you were born 22 years ago

technically telling the truth about the reader: feel old yet? you were born between 0 and 120 years ago

threatening the reader: feel young yet? you will die in 7 days

non sequitur: feel old yet? half of all chameleon species on earth live in madagascar

non sequitur (lying): feel old yet? chameleons are immune to fire

lying on several levels: feel old yet? chameleons were invented 36 years ago

self-reference: feel old yet? i started writing this post 40 minutes ago

giving up: feel old yyet?th e emmenkr,tn dbw a 8 gn m hk\

i can't finish the joke someone else come up with a punchline: feel old yet?

declarative statement: you feel old.

subversive declarative statement: time isn't even real.

reference another meme: feel old yet? yeah. this is the beach that makes you old.

reference another meme specifically about injecting non sequiturs into long posts: feel old yet? the glue that lets you walk up and down anything was invented 36 years ago