#Shout-out to

[fountainpenguin]

I got a wonderful comment on "Chalaza" today about how strong my Bdubs dialogue and his inner monologues come across!! :)

He's my favorite to dialogue for in the whole Pixels Imperfect series, so here's a compilation of Bdubs Bits I love in various 'fics of mine:

Martyn is dead, but unfortunately, no one's had the chance to tell that to Martyn. Martyn's in a fishbowl. Well, like… Martyn's soul is in the fishbowl- his skin fell in the Void. Or maybe got vaporized? Not sure. He looks like glowing blue smoothie stuff, complete with weird sprinkle colors, but Bdubs is pretty sure Etho would strangle him if he tried putting Martyn in a cup. Can you get drunk on real souls like you can on raw binary code? Huh…

Nobody in New Star Station's ever seen nothing like this. Or if they have, they sure haven't said that to Bdubs. Etho said the guy's trying to fight a system overload - Martyn; Martyn's trying (Etho says) - but it sure is violent. Geez…

"Chalaza" - Chapter 1

"Scar," Bdubs is saying, and Bdubs has his full wingspan on display. Saliva's dribbling from one corner of his mouth. His eyes are lanterns washing the road, electric green like lamps made of limes. "I love you. Oh, of course I love you… but it's not a full moon. That's our feed!"

[...]

"The hour's mine," Bdubs says again, trembling where he crouches on his hands and feet. His tail smacks once against the floor, wings flaring up. "I'm the devs' perfect killing machine. Aren't you scared?"

One and a Half Birds - Chapter 15

"Why… Why are we eating worms? Are we that low on resources already? I thought we had cows. Why would you do that?"

"Protein." Then, probably since Impulse still looks miffed and is getting miffed-er by the second, he tosses in, "Oh, quit complaining… The wheat is fresh! I just- Like, I just barely made it on the crafting table not five minutes ago. It's only got worms because I just pulled it from the dirt. Not because it's gone gross. It's got nothing to do with that. I don't eat old worms."

"You don't know how old those worms were."

"Babies. It's a new series, Impulse."

Scar, from the distance, "You ate a baby!?"

"Hickory (You Dick)ory Dock"

“Did you get the cobwebs?”

“Oh! Forgot. It was that witch, poking around here. She got me turned around.” Bdubs flapped his hand, already trotting off to get his sword. The sword should be a great way to pull cobwebs off the ceiling, right? You can twist ‘em up like cotton candy. If baby spiders are a thing, they probably crunch real nice on every bite. He checked back only once. And Etho stood there, shivering above a puddle on the floor. “Hey. You should strip. You’re gonna freeze to death.”

“S’okay. Spawn’s not that far.”

“All right… It’s your funeral. And if you die, I’m not burying your body in drippy clothes. That’s how you get mold. That’s how you respawn as a drowned or something.”

"Do Fish People Dream of Magic Gloves?"

"Um…" There's context here. Probably. Impulse pulls back anyway, exhaling hard. "I never had a flock before I joined the New Star portal hub. I had Skizz."

"You didn't have a flock?" Bdubs leans across the bed, eyes shining with invasive curiosity now. The mattress squeaks and dips. When Impulse tightens his lips, Bdubs throws his arms to either side. "Oh, no way! I was there when Skizz brought you to the station! They called me in to check you out! You were spawned beneath the full moon like me, right? 'Course you were; it shows. Only phantom hybrid I ever met whose wingspan beat out mine. 'Never had a flock;' Judas priest… I don't believe that for a second." He slaps the lower part of Impulse's back, which jolts them both as they briefly drain half a heart. They tick up again. Bdubs falls back on the bed with a whump. "Impulse, I was drooling over you and I wasn't even insecure about my status. You were captain material if ever I saw one."

"Like Newlyweds Do"

Getting Impulse into bed takes Herculean effort, and trying to cuddle him is a fight like you wouldn't believe. He's always so stubborn! For real, he acts like plopping his head down on actual pillows is an affront to nature and everything in it. And for what, huh? There's no way that makes him happy. Literally no way.

[...]

See, every relationship's gotta have that one guy who takes initiative. Otherwise, how are you gonna get anywhere? This is basic roleplay 101. He's the instigator; he'll break the ice. This is fine!

Aren't they supposed to be husbands in this game? Husbands should cuddle, probably. Bdubs pushes his shoulder again - shaking it, really - and whispers, "Hey… Are you still up?" in an attempt to get him to turn over.

[...]

"Shut up. Hey, come on. If you didn't want to roleplay married life with me, you wouldn't have agreed to be my husband. You're in love with me."

Impulse makes an excessively rude gesture over his shoulder with one hand, not turning over in the slightest. Bdubs sucks in a gasp, writhing up through the bed sheets, and shakes him back and forth again.

"Hey! You can't do that! What are you tryna say, huh?"

"You Can Sleep While I Drive"

Bdubs is the next to speak up, lifting his head. "Mom, we don't hunt in the Fox Dragon's territory. Scott's asked us not to leave the perimeter. So we don't."

"Your talents are wasted here, BdoubleO100."

"Not wasted." His hands are shaking, though. Martyn stretches out one foot, laying his ankle against Bdubs' own. I've got you, he says in the silence, and Bdubs relaxes his fingertips out from fists. He clears his throat. "I'm a proud captain. I hunt not only for my flock, but for anyone in New Star who can't. That's real noble."

"So it's about the sport?"

"It's about providing."

"Why is InTheLittleWood hungry?"

Another wave of silence crashes down around the table. Martyn's stare is on the numbers in his drinking glass. His hands are in his lap. Bdubs looks at Linda, then at Martyn. Then at Linda again. "Huh?"

Again: "Why is InTheLittleWood hungry?"

"Martyn's fine! He's got his own special hunting ground. He's fine."

"Mum's the Word"

"Why'd you come here in the middle of the night?" Bdubs asks, settling down on the bottom step. He folds his hands in his lap (in the wide, floppy hem of Impulse's shirt, which Etho is not looking at and certainly isn't jealous of). "Must be something big."

"Um." Etho didn't think he'd get this far. Maybe some part of him had still been operating on Yellow Etho instinct, because Yellow Etho wanders and bolts and flutters aimlessly around. He's grateful (maybe) that he opted not to put his chestplate on. He burrows his hands in the hem of his own shirt and kneads them together, much the way Bdubs is doing. "I just… need to talk. I'm having issues with my aggro. With Joel."

That gets Bdubs' attention. "Trouble in paradise? Oh, is this about the bite marks? I saw those. You know, I asked Joel at the pool party and he said you'd been hurting him just about every night. He seemed ready to kick you out. Take back his boat. Were those all from your aggro? He looked like he'd fallen in a pit of zombies!"

[...] "Um… I mean, I wouldn't say living with Joel is ever paradise… But I am having aggro problems. I can't… keep it down."

"I can go all night," Bdubs brags with a hand to his chest, and Impulse snorts on the landing above.

[... Etho] leaves down the hall to go clean. Bdubs follows him, leaving Impulse behind. As Etho starts scraping glass chunks together, Bdubs leans against the couch arm and shakes his head.

"I don't know why you get so worked up about it, Etho. Aggro's not gross. It's natural! We're all adults here; we've got needs! If Joel can't accept that, maybe he's not the right partner for you."

"I've been biting myself," Etho repeats, because Bdubs clearly got lost in the metaphor. Bdubs ignores him, tugging on the edge of his blindfold.

"Hey, there are plenty of salmon in the river. There are other husbands. I'll set you up. Grian and Scar are really going through it; do you like Scar?"

The glass makes a screeching sound as Etho scrapes it together with the broom. "Joel's not my husband." Etho doesn't know what relationship he and Joel are roleplaying. They're not roleplaying much of anything, which severely blurs the lines. Joel never did stop wearing Etho's shirt. He still does, and it's melded with the code of his current skin, and it's confusing and Etho never did ask. "He's my soulmate."

Bdubs shrugs, releasing the bandana. "If you're not comfortable… We could offer you a place to stay here. Impulse and I can put you up. You could join our polycule."

There's a shatter of glass in the kitchen. Followed by thumping palms on the counter, followed by an intake of breath. "Our. WHAT!?"

"Canadian Idiot"

The dogs. Oh, those stupid dogs. They snap at his heels as he tears through the pines as fast as his shoddy boots can take him. He lost one back in the river. He fell. Lost Impulse along the way- they're… they're separated now. Not in roleplay; not the marriage. The marriage is fine! Bdubs has the wedding oath clock on a gold chain around his neck, bouncing up and down against his chest with every flying step he takes. Impulse looked okay, though, like the 'maybe not drowning' kind of fine. He's not. Bdubs would feel it if he were drowning.

His crossbow bangs on every other tree trunk as he sprints across the snow. The dogs are freakin' everywhere. Is this all Pearl's been doing when they play? She never had a soulmate to cuddle up to, so she just kept breeding dogs? There's like a dozen of them, all with huge paws scooping the snow and flinging it behind them on every leap.

Gotta get outta the snow… Where's the- Where's this snowy forest end? I saw the drop-off just a second ago. The wolves prob'ly won't follow over the cliff. Bdubs has a water bucket. The dogs don't. And he'll let them fall. He will, maybe. He doesn't care- they're just stupid dogs. And he likes dogs, but these ones haven't been cuddly puppies in a long time. 

"Seeing Scarlet"

I don't need NOBODY'S social approval or permission. That's my husband. Still gets his tail wagging and everything, even if he doesn't show it. Gosh, isn't he a sweetie? He and Impulse don't always wear their rings, 'cuz it's not like that as often in the Between dimension now like it used to be, but it's… You know. It's still clocks and hugs and elbows in the chest, even if it's not all mwah-mwahs and low-roaming, backside-squeezing hands.

Well. Sometimes it is. I mean, why shouldn't it be? They both had fun. No one's mad at them for it. See, that's the lovely thing about Impulse- ain't he sweet? Bdubs can turn the roleplay on and off with him, and Impulse just goes along with everything. He's wonderful. It's a real shame there aren't more Impulses, because everyone deserves to hang out with him from time to time.

Bdubs tries to find a better place to stand where he's not getting pushed at and stepped on. Not that he can feel it, but it's the principle of the thing. Since he is one of the two shortest in their gang (though he's loath to admit it), maybe he needs a place near the front.

He pushes forward. Souls blur together, blue and overlapping, and the glowing doesn't help with the identity stuff like at all. He can pick out Tango (facing away from him) by the enormous white gash scarred down his right shoulder. Not pointing fingers, but that one's a Bdubs original. You're welcome for helping you look so cool, you're turning heads.

"The Man He Sets His Spawn With"

Impulse keeps breathing. His chest heaves, eyes unraveling Bdubs' entire code and piecing him together again. His gaze dips low, then lifts like a boat at sea. His fingers clench tighter around the sword hilt, which rattles like broken glass in his hand.

"… If I kill you, you just respawn… and I've broken the rules. I'll get in trouble. That's not what I want." Impulse recites it like he's explaining all of this to his first-year self. One hand claws through Bdubs' hair, feeling for… something? It pulls. He's silent. Bdubs keeps breathing too. Then Impulse dips the sword tip lower, against the bobbing spot of his throat. He's really leaning forward funny to get the angle. Maybe 'cuz he's a slime, he's sticky and won't fall. Maybe he's got perma-crouched benefits. Maybe perma-Swift Sneak. At least he's blocking most the rain. Then Impulse whispers, "I think this… isn't how I fix this. Maybe we can just… talk about what happened in 3rd Life? About the betrayal?"

Bdubs gawks up at him, bleeding horror out from every shake. "Can't you just kill me?"

Sparks dribble from Impulse's cheeks, mingled with lightning static and slime blobs and the rain. He's still clutching Bdubs' hair, the sword all too tight against his neck. "Just apologize for betraying me! We were Day 1 alliance in 3rd Life- You, me, and Cleo!"

"Yeah? And I was Cleo's dearly devoted husband back then, and you our 'secret girlfriend' who wanted to get under the armor of everybody on the server; what's your point, Littlefinger?" Bdubs jabs a finger up at him. "Do you want a Get Well Soon card or something? Maybe a care package? A subscription to the Mod of the Month club?"

Dog's Life - Chapter 19

Bdubs paces between them, pulling the throat of his mossy cloak over and over again. A classy gold clock bounces on his hip. "You… you can't do that! You outrank her! This is- Oh, this is gonna be big… This is gonna be the biggest thing people talk about for months. You're getting fed by someone you outrank… Oh, wait 'til BigB finds out about this. Heck, wait 'til the rest of the flock finds out! They're gonna be all over you!" He throws his hands in the air- "Is everybody breaking rules today?"

Aw, geez… Martyn bristles. Cleo shuffles out of the way. "I'm hungry." It's a statement, not a whine. Did he forget I needed food tonight?

Bdubs shoots him a look of pure disgust, his nose all squashed and lip hooked high. "So? Go hunt something. I hunted tonight, and I don't even have wings. Cleo too! It's not like it's hard."

"Bdubs-" Cleo cuts in, but neither looks at her. Martyn flaps out his wings, but Bdubs stays stubborn and glowering all the while.

"Are you gonna watch the eggs while I do that?"

Bdubs laughs. It's a cackle, edged with ribbons of the infamous phantom shriek. He throws back his head. "Freakin' no! I'm not putting in the work just so you get credit for it!"

Dog's Life - Chapter 21

And a bonus sneak peek of this jungle duo scene coming in Dog's Life Chapter 61 (Give or take):

“That’s okay. I’m proud of you for trying. Do you want more?”

Grian shakes his head, pushing his plate across the table. “I shouldn’t. I’m an omnivore; I can eat other things. Anivores eat first. Isn’t that proper?”

“You don’t have to eat it,” Bdubs tells him, pushing the plate back. “But phantoms, we say the souls of insects are for the birds. It’s your right as much as mine. All predators can eat the prey. It’s the abandoned things that get snapped up by phantomkind.”

“Yeah, but I don’t need it.”

“Does your hunger meter fill when you eat souls?”

“That’s not the point.”

Bdubs shrugs. He stabs his fork in another piece of soul, then brings it to his mouth. “More for me, then. But I’m serious, G… You should figure out what you want in life. Unlearn shame! Why deny yourself the things that make you happy?” He takes the soul, tines sliding past teeth, as Grian watches with interest from across the table, his head tilted to one side. Bdubs reaches out to take another piece, and Grian’s breathing gets a little stronger. By this point, Bdubs is standing just to lean, stretching over the table and taking scraps two or three pieces at a time with the stabbing trident tines. As he draws them to his mouth, fangs on display and saliva dripping, he meets Grian’s wide eyes again. So the trident stalls.

“You want it, baby?”

“… Yes.”

===

He is so ?!?? <3

[slavicbeastie]

jinx | hot

[ironictoon]

[notasouleater]

There’s a ghost in my house.

“Ghost” may be the wrong word. There’s a spirit. An apparition. A burning hole in the shape of a person.

House is also the wrong word. Place. It comes out there, when I am alone. But even outside when I cannot see it, I feel it at the corners of my vision, falling into nothing.

There are more important things, than the ghost. I have a nursery and store to tend to. A life to tend to. Friends, to tend to.

My friend is a good man. In hard times, truthfully, but doing his best. His husband passed not long ago, a dear friend of mine as well. He took it as well as you would expect, especially when it happened so suddenly, to a man in good health. He barely spoke for a week, and even then his words were truly not for himself but for his young daughter. She was the only reason he started moving again. His older brother and his brother’s partner, his only family, came down to help for a while, but had to leave on business. He’s doing much better now, but I still help where I can.

He often forgets things as of late. He doesn’t like to admit it, not when he feels he must keep everything together. It’s getting better, but he still won’t hear a word on it. I help where I can.

I was at his house when I first noticed the strangeness, though I didn’t know it at the time. We’d had a lovely evening (I cooked), and were playing with his daughter. She’s a smart girl, and is enamored with stories. She takes great pleasure in reenacting the ones she reads in books, or ones she makes herself. She was just crowning her papa- with a paper crown decorated in crayon- when someone passed outside the window, loudly playing a song.

It was one that took me barely a moment to place. A favorite of my friend and his love, one they’d often danced to. I looked to him, and for a moment an expression I could not place flashed over his face, before it settled into something unreadable. This wasn’t unusual. He hardly let himself face things like that, or in essence, the one big thing. Not out in the world, where he needed to be a sole breadwinner, or in his house, where he needed to be a sole homemaker, and especially not in front of his daughter. Not after how hard he fell that first week. 

I worried, but he immediately turned back to laughing as he took his crown, and the evening continued as a pleasant one. I worried too much, it seemed. Happiness was creeping back in.

It wasn’t long after that he started to take ill. Not that he didn’t try to hide it, but even for a man with a talent in illusion, he had little energy to spare for it. One day I was watching his daughter for him after school, and ended up walking her home when I was sure he’d intended to pick her up. He opened the door with his usual energy, seemingly as unaware of any mix-up as his child was, but I could see him blinking away sleep, and tightness around his smile. I cornered him the next day, and he confessed he’d been sleeping poorly, and was starting a cough. 

I convinced him to let his daughter stay with my mother for the weekend (a visit both were more than excited for), and to stay with me for the same time. He was easier to sway than I would usually expect, but I suspect he was feeling worse than he was letting on. But I suspect he had a buried wish not to be alone that night.

We stayed mainly in the house. It was nice, we hardly had full calm days together anymore, even before. Work and families and all good things, but still with days like this one. He mainly kept to the couch, not quite dozing off, and I kept my work to the same room. 

For the better part of the day I only left for long enough to bring back food. Nothing that took preparing. His husband was always the cook among us. In a way I was privately glad I was sure it would go without comment. What was there I could say? Some bring poetics to grief, but he’s just gone. I lived as before, and he was utterly gone.

I ignored the smoke in the corner of my eyes as I left the kitchen.

Eventually there came a time in the day where I had to head out for a bit. I made my friend promise me to stay on the couch (to actually rest) and left. My tasks were mainly in busy areas, groceries and such, but the crowds didn’t stop the burning hole in the corner of my vision, which ebbed and flowed to its own strange reasoning. Quiet as I looked through bulbs but a screaming silent void as I tried to find vegetables. I gave up before I entirely finished collecting the produce, lest I do something drastic in the middle of a store.

At long last I was able to head back, and looking through the window saw my friend had made good on his promise to rest. As I wished not to disturb him, I had nothing that would require refrigeration, and I had tasks to tend to anyways, I went around back to the nursery. It’s smaller than the one connected directly to the shop, but a more controlled environment for plants that might need more care.

It was peaceful there. The rhythms of the work were calming, and I relaxed into the feel of dirt under my fingers. There wasn’t much to do, but I took my time doing it. A hole started burning into the corner of my vision. I ignored it. I pushed the time before returning to the house.

But something within me bucked. Perhaps it was the strain of the preceding days, or just my growing frustration, but I found myself struck with fury at this emptiness, this void in the shape of a man. I told it to go, shooing it in ways I hadn’t tried since they failed when it first appeared, and worked just about as well now. As I did, it pulled away from the corners, starting to fill my vision as my voice raised, until I could stand it no longer, grasping around and wrapping my fingers around the first object I found to hurl at the monstrous apparition.

In a blink it disappeared.

This surprised me. I hadn’t honestly thought it would work. I ventured cautiously into the room, towards where the broken remains of what I could now tell was a small trowel lay. It still did not reappear. It was only when I truly turned my attention toward the ground that I realized what I had done.

It was a simple trowel. Hand held, mass-produced, with a wooden handle that often tried to splinter and was now split from the head of the shovel. It was simple, cheap, and broken. And it had been a gift from my departed friend.

Something broke. It felt like a second funeral, but if I had been the force that struck him down. He couldn’t be any deader than he was only minutes before but it felt like he was. I didn’t realize the volume of my grief, or even that I was crying, until my friend rushed in from the house, roused from where he lay.

I felt bad about that. I tried to reassure him but that ship had firmly sailed. I didn’t need to explain what happened at least, he saw the shovel and figured it out, though he assumed it had been dropped. I don’t think I could’ve handled admitting I’d thrown it.

Despite my attempts at downplaying, he remained resolute. He refused to leave or sit, and surveying the damage he informed me he knew a woodworker who owed him a favor (I swear half the town does), and that he believed that while modifications may be needed, all the original parts should be salvageable. 

I don’t know how to say why, exactly, that last bit meant so much to me. But it helped. It helped a lot.

I still wasn't entirely back, and he could clearly tell. I tried to apologize for bothering him over something so small, but he waved me off with a scoff, and told me not to say that. I told him I barely had reason to be upset. Of course I was sad to break something our friend had given me, but it didn’t change anything. He was just as gone either way.

He gave me an odd look at that. But he gave in, and allowed me to pull him (and he, of course, pulled me), back inside.

Even as the daylight faded, we stayed up for a while, after that. I stopped it earlier than I might have under different circumstances though, he was still sick after all. He tried to convince me he would be fine if we just stayed on the couches, but I insisted he move to a proper bed. He took a familiar post in the room just across the hall from mine, but requested I leave my door open. He didn’t want me to get sick from him, but he’d sleep better with an extra assurance I was there. Truthfully, so would I.

I could hardly see him from my bed, of course, but I listened for the longest time through our twin doorways. It took longer than I would wish, but eventually his breathing steadied into the steady thrum of sleep. I waited, lying awake, but aside from the occasional faint cough it stayed strong.

I was finally able to settle down to sleep, but found it evaded me. Something felt just felt off, and anytime I started to drift I would suddenly jerk awake. The sense of wrongness grew until it reached a point where I decided to get up. I planned to do a quick lap around the house, just to reassure myself that nothing was awry, but as I stood I noticed a fog as I had never seen before outside my window. No sooner had I seen this than I heard creaking from the hallway, and when I rushed out I found my friend. His eyes were barely open, still caught in the delirium of slumber. Sleep-walking then, but he had a strange purpose as he passed me, stepping quickly through the house and pulling open the front door before I could stop him.

His husband stood there.

I stood frozen but- no. It wasn’t right. Not even a ghost, an apparition, like his deceased visage seen through the ripples of a dream. Its clothes shifted, like a picture that changes at different angles, and no matter how I turned I could never quite find his eyes. It held out its hand, and my friend took it.

They danced. I less heard than felt their old song as it swelled around them, guiding their movements the same as it so often had in life. As they swirled I caught my friend’s eye through the mists, though he didn’t see me. He looked only at the face of the vision, his own face serene in a way that spoke of coming home from a long trip, contented just to be among friends. Any waking worry was smoothed from his brow. I was transfixed, unable to move lest I interrupted the scene.

I don’t know how long they danced for. It may have been hours, but eventually the music began to fade. The dance came to an end, pulling back to the house, and the specter slipped out into the mist, away from my friend’s still outstretched hand. He watched it go from the doorway, an emptiness in his face. 

As my friend seemed to go devoid of feelings in the apparition's absence, I felt my own rouse. No wonder he was getting sick, how long had he been losing sleep and spending nights barefoot out in the cold? What wicked thing cast this spell on him? Pulled him from his home with nothing to offer but a cruel reminder left in its wake?

I rushed to his side, and ushered him back into my home.

He didn’t say anything, for the longest time. He was definitely fully awake, but he just sat upon the couch, studiously avoiding my gaze. Finally, in a quiet sort of voice, he asked if I had seen it too. I said yes, and his face poured into relief. I told him we would find a way to stop the thing, but he gave me a funny look. 

I thought he must be confused. I had seen it, yes, but it was still a dream. It wasn’t the person we knew and it was hurting him.

He immediately pushed back at me, distraught. He was under no illusions, he cried, he knew it was only a dream. But he needed this dream. He needed it.

This gave me pause. What good could something like that do? But I thought back over the events I had witnessed. The spirit itself, in truth, seemed to pose little danger, and after the shock wore off his face I thought looked empty before now focused into something wistful, not hollow. 

I could admit he seemed happier for it, these past few weeks. But even if the vision wouldn’t hurt him, the problem stood, as I told him, that he only met it in the dead hours of night, and not in his home but out in the cold. Their meetings were pushed into the dark, and it was sickening him.

He sat in still quiet. He didn’t know if he could meet it anywhere else, he admitted. But he could try.

We slept in, for a long time, that morning.

We spent that next day much in the same way as the first. But sometimes, as I passed him, I could hear him humming.

The next week we made more plans together, after, of course, he was feeling better. He even started looking well rested. It was just simple shopping, or walking together to pick up his daughter from school. It was nice. Often, as we walked together, I could feel the hole at the corner of my vision. I’m sure he could see me glancing at it, but he let it go unmentioned. Somehow, its presence didn’t feel as oppressive as before.

There was still a moment again, when I was alone at home, where it grew, and I felt it should swallow me. I reached again for something to throw, but looked this time, before. It was just a winter hat, but one that belonged to my departed friend. Funny I’d barely noticed it these last months, it only became mine after he forgot it so many times I decided to just keep it. He hadn’t noticed for at least a week. When I remembered myself, and pulled back to the present, the emptiness had withdrawn back to its corner.

I wore the hat the next day. My friend noticed it with a smile, surprising me by actually speaking the memory. We laughed together about the only man in the world who could fail to find the hat he was looking for on his best friend’s head. There was no proper reason for it, but it felt like he was walking with us, and the specter hardly burned at all.

Later that week his family came to meet me at my shop. He pointed out flowers to his daughter, naming the ones that had been his husband’s favorite (anything yellow, really). In the quiet moments as I put together a last bouquet, I could see him swaying. We walked home together, sticking to each other up until the last moment when I split off to my home. 

I sit there now. I have new flowers in my sills, now that it is warm enough, little golden buds peeking out. The void is still there, and perhaps it shall always be, but it is smaller now. And when I glance at the flowers in my window, it doesn’t scream, but sings.

[emilnikos]

love it when my friends say "you would do numbers on Tumblr" buddy I am on Tumblr. and the number is 3

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

it's healthy for academics to have professional feuds. enrichment activity

[azvhaalk]

glorious evolution

[pinkypastal]

Let's..... go lesbians?

[cyber-corp]

Having your own personal blog is honestly quite a nice change of pace compared to Reddit. I could put a funny GIF of George Bush getting hit by a shoe on here and the worse case scenario is that no one even notices.

You put that on a big subreddit and you get your eyes gouged out and a heap of political discourse underneath your post.

[paintedcrows]

*through tears* HER LITTLE POG CHAMP

[julnites]

Red riding hood comic collab with the wonderful @yeehawpim (go check out their blog for loads of great comics!) 🌷 See the layouts he did here!

[nonbinoclard]

[Smile widely and give him a thumbs up.]

original image inspo! and thumbnails for my bad memory hehe

[spitblaze]

I don't see people gas up gnc and butch transfems nearly enough, can we get a fuckin round of applause for gnc and butch transfems

[aerial-ace]

sick and tired of seeing these ace trainers brag about their super smart badass level 100 shiny mons.

This is Sol. She is a fucking idiot. She regularly forgets that she is a flying type and sits at the bottom of cabinets n such crying cause she doesn't know how to get up. I would die for her.

[winterfoxo]

Something I touched up from a whiiiile ago in celebration of pride this year lmao

I also took this as an opportunity to add the grey in her hair this time around because I forgot to add it when i first shared this AAAAH

[caleohateclub]

"When's your tramp of a mother gonna choose a new husband?"