#It rotates in my brain regularly

[revenantghost]

The pretty fanart of the ladies in space made me watch a Signalis let’s play

I don’t know what happened but that was fun

OH MAN, Signalis is a trip. I love it so, so much enough that I wrote fifty-something poems for it lmao and it's lived rent-free in my brain ever since. I haven't watched anything more recent on it because three pistols brainrot, but if you want to dig more into the horror space lesbians (because it is very confusing depending on your playthrough, for sure--and it only gets BETTER the deeper you dig), these two videos in particular are very good, very relaxing, and so well-made imo:

[beescake]

yea i very much agree with ur take on sollux in his relation to older technology, u get it

please id love if youd share some more of ur analysis on his character (as well as ur art bc that shit is 👌👌👌)

either way, thanks for feeding my brain worms

im glad it resonated!! :') always happy to explore his character, he contains multitudes!!!

i think i may be out of sollux analysis for now, in the sense where i don't have anything new to add that hasn't already been covered in these posts? (please add if there's more...)

why i like sollux (lackadaisicallexicon, 2014)

comprehensive sollux status guide (syblatortue, 2016)

bioware machine (lime-bloods, 2016)

fridgestuck (LaureledEevees, 2017)

mary sue (3d-gla22e2, 2019)

favorite sollux trait (3d-gla22e2, 2020)

doom-bound static (gendertrickster, 2023)

however i will say there's another thing i really like abt him:

his Range!

he has a v flexible face.. even with his neutral expression, you cant help but read a tinge of melancholy/pensiveness to it.

he deters people from getting too comfortable with him by acting crude, but no matter how unapproachable he looks you can't help but wonder if he's ok. seems like he's never content with himself.

just like karkat, anger gives him purpose = something to care about & react to. without it he can appear aimless/uncertain.

it's especially interesting when you compare him to aradia, who despite having endured a lot of shit, ends up enjoying the freedom of expanding her worldview, riding the unpredictable tide of the narrative and observing the changes. sollux... doesn't.

he doesn't like watching major things progress in a way he can't predict. the lack of certainty actually overwhelms him.

and it's pretty clear why; imagine the only reassurance you get after unknowingly killing ur gf is that "it needed to happen". the only way to appease that sort of emotional turmoil is by intellectualizing those events as inevitable and out of your control.

(hs, A6I5)

when you’re just a tool for the author, trying to sit out is just feeble self-preservation until you’re needed again. if you’re not called on stage to help/assist in some way, it feels like your presence spells doom (either you or someone else will get hurt). so you avoid Events as best you can.

[to-rise-above-monsters]

dear bertholdt.

Summary: Reiner left his overcoat in preparation for a meeting and asked Annie to get it from his room. Begrudgingly, she agreed. Though she immediately regrets it when a box of letters falls from the top shelf. Maybe regret isn’t all there is. She found something more.

-

CW: angst, canon compliant (so major characters death,, Bertholdt is dead<3), rba centric, can be read as romantic or platonic reibert but reibert nonetheless

Takes place post-timeskip (the second one, post-war), a few years into settling into ambassador life.

Apologies for any ooc, I don’t think I’ve ever written a fic in Annie’s perspective/focus,, I also haven’t written on her before and also haven’t written and posted in general for forever

(This was meant to be a comic and is so clear in my mind but I don’t have the time nor talent to execute it 😔)

Happy Birthday Bertholdt can’t believe ur dead ♥️

-

Reiner told her to get his coat. What that asshole didn’t tell her was how ridiculously high his coat hangers were. It shouldn’t have loomed over her the way it did. It was almost taunting, mocking her with its impossible height. They had probably raised Reiner’s closet bar for his big, hulking self and possibly lowered hers as some sort of unspoken courtesy. Annie sighed deeply, already regretting being here. Sure, tell the short girl to get your big ass coat from your tall ass closet. Embarrassingly, she jumped; she jumped a few times. If a glare could kill, there'd be holes burnt into the pockets.

Fuck off.

The stupid coat was simply out of reach. She could usually manage by grabbing the shoulder and lifting it from there but even then she couldn’t manage. She kicked the closet door in frustration, hard enough to make it rattle, and looked around for reinforcements. Somewhere nearby had to be a stool or something, anything, to make this easier. 

She found a tall chair and dragged it over with a bit more force than necessary. The legs scraped against the floor and that sound annoyed her even more. 

Finally, she lined it up, climbed up with a huff, and snatched the coat off the hanger in one triumphant, final fuck you. But as she jumped off the chair with her prize, she heard something else fall. A clatter, a shuffle, the distinct sound of things spilling. She grumbled and turned around.

If I have to do one more thing, I’m killing someone.

She cringed when her eyes fell onto the mess. Her jumping and kicking and overall exasperation now had a bunch of shit spilled on the floor from the top shelf of the tall closet. An old box, the size and look of a shoe box, had lost its lid and scattered papers everywhere. She at first started to snatch them up without discretion, just trying to stuff them back in. But a name caught her eyes.

Bertholdt.

Her fingers froze. She didn’t want to snoop. She would have killed anyone who went through her stuff like this. She tried to cast out the memory of seeing the name. She quickly tried to collect them all and put the box, along with this moment, far back into the closet. But there it was again, unmistakable.

Bertholdt.

Something came over her. An overwhelming wave, pulling her under before she could even name it. It felt so sudden, so heavy, all-consuming. She held the pages in her hands, her grip tightening unconsciously. 

The small, trembling pool she had collected seemed insignificant against the sheer ocean of papers spilled out before her. They spread across the floor like a map of emotions she wasn’t sure she wanted to navigate. And each one… each one bore the same familiar name.

Dear Bertholdt,

Her chest tightened, an ache spreading in places she thought she’d long since numbed. With a breath, she carefully placed them in the box one by one. It blurred past her, the same line repeated over and over. Her eyes couldn’t help but snag on the same arrangement of letters, the same handwriting. There were a hundred, maybe even more, all addressed… and dated. She paused.  

They had an order. 

Written at the top of each of them was a date. Everything was spilled all over the floor and each one was supposed to be neatly tucked away in order. She bit the insides of her cheeks.

Forgive me.

Dates flashed by. She tried to put them in order without reading any of its contents. It felt impossible, especially when there were letters that seemed to be multiple pages long. She tried to group them to the best of her abilities, organizing them by date and putting them in piles face down when she found the correct order. But words blurred past, recognizable phrases, handwriting that got shakier, years and years and years, consistent dating on every one.

“I miss you.” “I’m sorry.” “If I could go back…” “I wish you were here.” “I can’t forgive myself.” “You deserved better.”

Her breath hitched, the edges of the pages almost cutting into her fingers as she clutched them tighter. She tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat, but it only grew heavier with every second she spent kneeling there, surrounded by years of unspoken… emotions; emotions she never knew she had.

When did I start crying?

A tear fell from her cheek and nearly hit the precious paper. An aching feeling had creeped into her body. Emotions she never really thought were there seemed to spill. She couldn’t name it. It felt like a sudden burn in her nose, the need to swallow a bitter taste, eyes blurring. She was drowning. 

30.12.854

The letter she held was dated shakily at the top. She’d seen that same date come up again and again. For a moment, she tried to remember if maybe New Years or any holiday around that time meant something to them; as warriors, they didn’t really celebrate holidays, let alone religion. 

She took a breath and put it in the 854 pile. She looked at the stack. 854. That would have been… that would have been the year of the rumbling. It would have been the year everything changed. 

And he never got to see it.

She looked at all of the piles she’d now made, how each represented a year. She tried to push any judgements or perceptions away from her mind. But some years piled higher than others. Three piles in particular. She gathered the final loose letters. 

Her mind drifted to her time in the crystal. The silence had been maddening, a suffocating void she couldn’t escape. She had been awake in that void, terrifyingly, agonizingly awake. The only light that had ever pierced through the endless dark had been Armin’s voice, Hitch’s chatter. Their persistence had saved her, kept her tethered to something beyond the emptiness. But it always puzzled her why they did it in the first place.

I know.

She placed the final letter. The paper felt different; crinkled and messy, rough and smeared. 30.12.850; old, the oldest one. She finally gathered all of them, stacking them neatly away in the box.  She stared at the box in front of her, now neatly packed, the letters arranged in quiet, solemn order. The shoebox felt heavier than it had any right to be. There was only paper within it. Something else weighed it down. 

I know.

She exited the room quietly, holding the coat tenderly in her hands. She gave it to him when they met in town without a single complaint. She never spoke about what she had found to Reiner or anyone else for that matter. 

Their now shared secret lay in a small box that once held shoes for a warrior.

[lover-of-skellies]

"Nothing to be afraid of. Just an animatronic, right?"

EXCUSE ME, WHAT THE F—

[covertblizzard]

Leslie’s blatant disapproval of some of Bruce’s actions

I just think if fandom wants or needs someone to find out something and do a Bruce call out and stuff, Leslie should be used more often. Because (as a few people have pointed out) Alfred is much more lenient with Bruce and is quite the Bruce-enabler, whereas Leslie is much more openly disapproving with him and tries to convince him to change his methods actively (and in this one, she’s supposedly his mother figure too, so it works quite well). She seems far more likely to yell at him over him crossing the line and trying to pull him in the right direction again.

ANYWAY why isn’t there more Leslie as the Batfam’s grandma because I want that. Please and thank you. Like I’m not even making it up the implications are thereeee...

(Also another scene would be the one with Robin Jason nearly dying)

[sicc-nasti]

“A Couriers Call”

Wonder who he’s talking to? :3

I commissioned the amazing artist Ghost to draw my silly mailman and oh my god did she deliver something so remarkably beautiful. I’m so incredibly in love with this piece. The details, the brush strokes and textures. Gah. In love.

[grimalkinmessor]

I love reading fics where Light is less evil and going through terrible angst and pain because it gives me fuel to then go use my incandescent rage (affectionate) to write my own fics where Light is twice as evil and having the time of his fucking life

[0-parasol-0]

Gay people in my Sanrio

[autism-disco]

the unending cosmic horrors of the universe versus A Song

[straponstrapoff]

I need to start writing down my stories perhaps

[mossy-covered-bones]

Oh gods i am NOT beating the autistic allegations am i

[quiet-admirer]

Source: Archaeologists from Stanford find an 8,000-year-old ‘goddess figurine’ in central Turkey

An 8,000-year-old marble figurine of a voluptuous woman was unearthed in 2016 in the Neolithic urban settlement of Çatalhöyük in central Turkey. The figurine is 17 centimeters long, 11 centimeters wide and weighs one kilo.

[bikananjarrus]

ok i’m done now

[countdown-til-sanders-take-over]

what have you been thinking about these days

There’s been nary a coherent thought passing through my mind unrelated to school for the past week

[joycrispy]

Some pre-Covid campaigns/characters are continuing (the partner and I are lucky enough in friends/good enough at the game that 3-4 years on, everyone is still eager to pick up where we left off. Hell, some of them had new character songs to show me for my character), and for that one-shot we played last month I made an entirely new character who has been slowly rotating in my brain ever since.

No idea if I'll post about any of this, but it's notable that this is something I'm able to do again. OCs are such a great hobby, I'm glad I haven't lost that.

[mirage-of-the-virtuoso]

{Due to cat-pocalypse wrecking half of the game and my catmander finally being #exposed with this outfit, all productive efforts have ceased and my brain will be soup for the rest of the day, perhaps even the rest of the week}