#but for me it is kinda lonely sometimes

[sun-marie]

....

[chaos-bringer-13]

My brain just hit an old hyperfixation (is this what it's called? I hope I used the word right) and oh dear am I losing my mind now. I need to write a story I think. About this one old guy. He's unhinged. There's so much information about him and yet not enough. I want to explore his character so much. He's definitely a criminal - at least he was one - and I'm 95% sure he can do actual real magic, and he's a musician and an artist and an actor and a magician and a philosopher and a traveler and a conman and so much more and also I think he's some kind of immortal. Maybe he just has a VERY long life. It's strongly implied he was a pirate at some point of his life. He started a cult by accident several times. My conspiracy theories about him include him being a secret god.

He's also a freaking round blue raven. Someone save me from my mind.

[floweyheadcanons]

randomly hits you with the flowey brainblast

Ok ok hear me out but!!! I think Flowey eventually becomes comfortable living with Toriel at first he just kinda. Sneaks around like a little creep... You know how stray cats will occasionally just hang out for a bit before leaving? I think that's what Flowey did, like he'd just watch Toriel while in little hiding spots because he hadn't really decided by that point if he was ready to go back to being a son along with the anxieties that she wouldn't think he's good enough the way he is and that she'd want Asriel and not him :Ccc... I think he'd occasionally get Toriel a glass of water and tuck her into bed when it gets late or she seems to be relapsing... He'd probably get a little frustrated with her and give her notes sometimes that lightly scold her with like a glass of water/little snack next to it...

At some point I think Toriel would catch the little home intruder and attempt to repay him by letting him stay with her, making him food cause she'd assume he has nowhere to go and that's why he keeps breaking in. Not that she's necessarily wrong about that but he TECHNICALLY has Papyrus to go to. After that he more openly comes and goes and will occasionally talk to her but still be too nervous,,, they chat every now and again about things, sometimes wacky and mundane and other times kind of deep. Toriel and Flowey grow close, and she'd eventually tell him he's like a son to her and he doesn't have to leave if he doesn't want to because she's more than ok with him being there. Flowey can't take it anymore so he admits it. He used to be Asriel. The reason he's like a son to her is because he is her son. Toriel just isn't sure how to process it at first. She tries to see any hints of him messing with her but she can tell this is the most genuine he's ever been in his life. They both cry a little cry a lot,,, Toriel tells him that for so long Asriel's birthday has been the hardest for her. She remembered it after all this time and marked it on the calendar. Flowey pretends to not know already because he likes the smile she gets on her face when she thinks he's learning she really cares about him.

[ubejamjar]

ffxiv rarepair week || jantoirel

artoirel's eyes are 'forget-me-not blue' and jandelaine could never forget them, forget him.

[skeletalheartattack]

was playing the new TF2 halloween event, and someone noticed that my avatar was a flamingo and complimented me on it. things are perhaps good, i think.

[rubenesque-as-fuck]

Anyway I got notified that I'll be getting a nice $$ bonus from work today and I wish that I could celebrate with someone in a way that didn't just feel like obnoxious bragging. Like beyond the financial aspect, it's just nice to be recognized for good work and I actually feel... good?? about this job??

But it feels so silly to say I want to celebrate when I just got back from what felt like my first real vacation in a very long time and am doing cool comic con stuff this weekend and am scheduled for a new tattoo next weekend. I am already doing lots of things to try to make myself feel good! It feels selfish to want more!

But I guess even with all of that, there's just still a hunger for external validation from trusted sources. Will I ever grow out of wanting someone to be proud of me?

[the-vibing-ghoul]

some people will be all about mental health awareness and leftist ideals of at least tolerating the mentally ill who show ''ugly'' symptoms until it's someone they know and ''care'' about having a bad day and acting like it in a way they don't find appealing

[oh-gods-its-a-dragon]

Look man I'm tired and lowkey depressed. If a yandere wanted me they can have me as long as I can still see my mom and talk to my friends online. That's it. I have too much love to give and they can have it all. that's all I want.

[haloraptor]

Mass Exodus

I had feathers once, that much I know. I was covered in feathers, though their color escapes me. My slim fingers were topped with talons, both my feet carrying a hooked claw made famous by Hollywood. I had a tail, though I can’t remember the feeling of it at all, perhaps because I could never move it. I was smaller, closer to the ground, sported lighter bones and sharper teeth. I ran through arid plains and deserts, pouncing on small creatures under the warm Cretaceous sun. At least, I suspect I did. I have no clear memory, have nothing but sparse paleontological records and speculation to use to help me. Even then, to much of the world I am a Boogeyman, a monster that only knows to kill and eat. 

I am no monster. I am but an animal. I am an animal, and I am real. We are real. We are wild, we are free, we have been hunting, playing, surviving and having families millions of years before anyone could think to imply we were mindless.

But now there’s none of us left, none that I have been able to find. I am far from those deserts by both distance and time, far from the sights and smells that might jog my memory. I can’t remember my face. I can’t remember my home. I can’t remember faces of any others I knew, or if I ran with others at all. I can’t remember anything. All I can recall are the faintest sensations, instincts, feelings. Distant and buried like the bones of my brothers and sisters under the baking sands. 

I can’t remember my voice. I’ve been trying to, though my new vocal cords occasionally protest my efforts. I have been trying to find my old voice since I was new to this life. I chirp, growl, hiss, squeak, bark, and trill, searching for a sound that I’ll remember. I grow frustrated when the sound is misclassified, when I’m misclassified, steer my efforts in another direction. Maybe if I chirp just right, another will hear me, another will call back to me. Then I will know I am not alone in this fate, in this strange new body and strange new world that I never should’ve been able to see. 

I look into the hollow eye sockets of long-dead skeletons that I might’ve known once and I can’t remember them. Their calls, their eyes, their scales or plumage, it’s all been lost. I cannot carry their stories. I cannot even carry my own. Why I am here while they are on display, I do not know. I do not understand. 

I weep for those who have no one to live for them, all those other species that have gone before and after me but have gone all the same. I weep for those last survivors of them most of all, because their pain is one that I understand to my core. We all live in a world that has changed beyond us, that has run away without us. That has no more need for us, or has deluded itself into believing as such. None of us can understand why or how it has come to be this way. 

Others with my affliction are luckier than I. They have others they can see, either around them or in special places where creatures are gathered and put on display. Or even still on camera, professional or amateur. I am happy for them. They are not the last of theirs. I hope they take comfort in that. 

It is a cruel fate. To be the last of your species, but not even having the face to prove it. I have hair now like those little mammals I used to pin under my talons. I walk upright on heavier bones, far taller than I was ever meant to be. I can’t sit or move like I used to, my bone structure won’t allow it. Gone are my feathers, my talons, my tail and my teeth, my voice and my memories themselves. A mass exodus of everything I was, and everything I no longer find in my reflection (a reflection I can’t remember clearly). 

Still, I am a velociraptor. I looked the part, once. I had feathers. I had talons. I had a tail. I had fangs. I would run across arid plains and deserts under the warm Cretaceous sun. I hunted, played, and survived millions of years before the words I use to convey all of this could’ve been conceived. 

All of it is gone. The world I knew is gone. The rest of my kind is gone. All but me.

I am one of the last velociraptors left in the world, and I ache for a home that doesn’t exist anymore from a time I can’t remember.

[tuituipupu]

daydreaming about my 25th in feb 💭

[widowshill]

roger/victoria + scars

text and id's below:

"Scar: from the Greek eskhara, “scab formed after a burn,” literally “hearth, fireplace.” Or perhaps from Old Norse sker, “isolated rock or low reef in the sea,” from Proto-Germanic sker– , “to cut”. [ ... ] Call it rock, call it reef, we are hardened against that which cleaves us." - "Paternalia," Susannah Nevison

Somewhere does the past repeat itself constantly? - Dark Shadows, 461

"O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh!" - Shakespeare, Richard III, Act 1 Scene 2 lines 55-56

Odysseus sat there beside the hearth, and hurriedly turned round to face the darkness. He had a premonition in his heart that when she touched him, she would feel his scar and all would be revealed. She kneeled beside him, - Homer, The Odyssey, t. Emily Wilson, Chapter 19 lines 388-392

Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss The honour'd gashes whole. - Shakespeare, Anthony and Cleopatra, Act 4 Scene 8 lines 10-11

ELIZABETH: But how could she have been shot? JULIA: The wound was not from a modern bullet. ELIZABETH: How long ago was the wound made, can you tell? - Dark Shadows 461

Show me one scar character'd on thy skin: Men's flesh preserved so whole do seldom win. - Shakespeare, The Second Part of Henry the Sixth, Act 3 Scene 1 lines 300-301

[munadyke]

not 2 be dramatic or anything but sometimes it makes me so sad to see siblings getting along really well and like actually being best friends

[alaskan-wallflower]

(vent in the tags and under the cut. don’t read if you don’t want.)

sometimes i wonder if people would care if i was gone. there’s just no point anymore tbh.

[the-gayest-sky-kid]

aroace joy vs aroace loneliness fight

[scratxhed-cd]

I’m gonna be pathetic real quick,

[commander-gloryforge]

mental illness