#but i dont really got time to write it lately

[hyusworld]

hello if you dont mind me asking what is the au you uploaded art of about

hullo!

yeah sure! im really happy that someone asked about it! :3

its basically uni beatles au with language major Paul, art major John, engineering major George, and hairdresser near the campus Ringo

the plot is about s3r!al k!ll3r paul getting caught by john k!ll!ng yet another victim and now hes hunting him down by playing "cat & mouse" game; where john, whos playing the mouse role must hide from paul, whos playing the cat role, in the campus area. If he got caught, he would get k!lled. The twist is that there are unexpected participants joining the game; george and ringo, who turned out to be still in the campus area.

why geo and rings are still in the campus area?

paul buried the victim body near ringo's barber shop, then ringo discovered it. And at a totally-not-perfect timing, george shows up and saw the scene of ringo with his professor d3ad body. And welp, he passed out and ringo took him to the nearest med centre which is in the campus area.

in conclusion: john, george and ringo trying to survive from paul's sick game for one night on the campus!

[hammill-goes-fogwalking]

I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI.

[asclexe]

hhey guys. i think i mayy be experiencing a hyperfixation 4 the first time. not sure. sorry

[electrospherevaults]

A Dance With My Clone

[Find other stories from the 2024 Friday Writing Challenge here]

Cloning had recently been defined as an illegal theft of the soul. Not unexpected an outcome, really; ephemeral cloning lacked the charm to hold imperfections – they thought of these bodies made of flesh and marrow and blood as cheaper machines, and thusly they were stuck in a valley of uncanny gestures and stiffer movements. They were automatons, the same ones that would collapse when ordered to conduct an orchestra when all they were programmed for was to shove coal into a steam engine – except they breathed.

She understood that flesh and blood held more than that, however. Sure, it was true that the technology always operated under a veneer of grime and slime, a grey morality as she called it, through which bad men got away with doing worse things than they would be normally allowed to do. And if you proved you enacted against a clone and the original person was unharmed, was the crime still of the same significance? It was no surprise that so many parts of the known galaxy had long enacted such strict laws against the practice.

But she was lonely. An only child, a single heiress to the House of Fern – one of the oldest known names in the galaxy – and her daddy, whom she had loved very much, passed away suddenly in his sleep many years ago. More debts remained from him than friends, and thusly young Amelia Fern had to get crafty quickly.

And the rest, as they say, was history. She performed the first cloning, willingly, and she performed the first public appearance with her own clone. They danced under the moonlight together, two droplets of water identical to each other, observed by both top scientists and top men the entire night. A reproduction so perfect had never been achieved before.

A reproduction.

The word held importance. To create a copy of yourself is considered anathema in most major religions, but Amelia Fern argued that a reproduction held merit. She reasoned that without reproductions many pieces of art would have been lost to history, to rot and decay, and we would have forgotten what made us who we are. She saw her clone in the mirror and saw not just another being of flesh and creation, but an art form perfected. She saw herself perfected. And she saw not just friends and family, but company for the rest of her life, now stretching beyond her wildest imaginations.

And now her empire was to crumble in one swift signage, one flick of the wrist done kilometers away.

Sir Johnsen knocked on her door. He knew Amelia had stopped consuming the news through modern means, and relied more on others to relay them to her. The House of Fern had re-established itself as an untouchable modern bastion of progress and art. Why would the commoners’ law affect her again now? Johnsen rang the doorbell and knocked with more force.

She finally opened the door. Her slim cheeks and her red bow as familiar as ever.

“Amelia, I-”

“Mistress Fern is awaiting you in the lounge, Sir Johnsen.”

“Ah,” Johnsen responded, recognizing Amie the maid. A grave mistake. He left her his coat and his hat, and proceeded further inside the mansion. He did not need to address the help Amelia had cloned out of herself to help around the manor. The last heir of the House of Fern instead concerned herself with more pressing manners, such as lounging by the sofa, feet on the pillow next to her, sipping on a singular glass of wine from the second bottle she had just ordered Amie to open for her. She raised her glass and welcomed him with a big courteous smile. He relaxed a bit.

“I heard about the ruling,” he said, tone almost hushed, feeling as if he was being watched. “I thought I would pass by and check on you.”

“You need not to worry, dear,” Amelia responded. “Business will keep booming.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She brought the glass to her lips, a few drops spilling on her dress below. Johnsen, ever the pretend-gentleman he thought himself to be, turned his gaze away. She smirked once she was done. “You would be surprised by how many senators and lords still seek a body. Some even choose to have a body double even! Imagine that depravity, dear Johnsen!”

“I see…” he said hesitantly, taking a look around. He coughed, and he then saw Amelia right in front of him, offering him her glass, with the lipstick still printed on its lip. He brought it closer. The wine had a sharp taste, and her smile was even sharper, laughing the bitter aftertaste of those mushed grapes with joy.

“Don’t forget, my dear,” Amelia said, as she poured herself another glass, “that we made this business together. You were the last one that stayed loyal to my ailing father, may the gods rest his soul, and it was also your idea to pursue this trade.” He turned around, but she only smirked. “I am not complaining! A lady from one of the most esteemed houses of these lands does give a lot of credence – and I do love my sisters running about and helping me around my manor.”

She turned to look towards the maid, the one who had answered him at the door. She offered a gentle smile back to her mistress. He could only feel ambivalence about the creature; she was not Amelia, no matter how much she dressed them like her. In the end, he could only let out a weary sigh. “I am glad you are taking all this in much better humour than I am, because frankly…”

He stopped and turned around. Only a slight giggle followed after him. “Always the pessimist,” she retorted with some slight indignation and scorn in her voice. Gauloiserie wine was not for those faint of heart, or stomach – and gods knew if she has had anything to eat all day. “How about we change the subject…”

Johnsen turned to look at her. Music started playing. Eulenlieder. He winced.

“Would you like to dance?”

“I will see you in the morning, Amelia, after you’ve sobered up.”

He walked out the door after grabbing his coat in a hurry. And she laughed as she awaited his frustrated arrival in the morning. But until then, the night was young, and the bottle still half-full. “Amie,” Amelia dictated, leaving her glass on the floor as the music picked up. “Dance with me.”

Amie, who up until this day had never refused a call from the mistress she shared a face with, complied. She opened her arms, assuming the position, and took on the lead. Perfectly practiced, exceedingly well performed. A step left, a nudge right, a swing and pirouette – the former ballerina knew these rhythms well. She knew the rhythm her mistress dictated. It was said that Eulenlieder had been their mother’s favourite, the one she danced on her wedding day. This was the same dance that made her and Amelia famous too; a rhythm they knew by soul, through beating heart to beating heart, exercised out in the open on the ballroom of the Fern Mansion that fateful night all those years ago. She was not the Amie that danced with Amelia; she couldn’t have been. But Amelia did not mind. She preferred it that way, some might say. Not before long, they settled into their rhythm, dancing together as they had danced hundreds of thousands of times before. Amelia, the daze from her wine slowly replaced by the comfort of her perfume adorned by the maid that she made in her own image, laughed gently.

“You remember our first dance, my dear Amie? You remember how we swooned them together, just you and me?” She allowed herself to fall, to be caught by her hands. Amie never let her down. She never let her fall. She never let her go. She laughed, charmed as she hung in mid-air, her maid holding her so delicately and so assuredly. She pulled her back up, and they continued their slow dancing. The song was coming to an end. “You were, by far, my finest creation, my dear,” she said as she rested her head on her shoulder. Amie let her. She was shaking, feeling her breathing against her neck, the delicate hands they shared still intertwined. Her mistress closed her eyes. She instead turned her gaze away, out towards the glass window. She saw her reflection combining with hers; two drops of water that splash against glass on a rainy day, now finally conjoined. They formed a greater whole, what Amelia called a greater purpose.

She spent a long time swaying gently with her to the left and to the right, her mistress lulled by their rhythm that the proximity of familiarity afforded. She knew her, after all; she was her, after all; it was always her, after all.

Before she knew what transpired, she snapped her neck like a twig.

The last heiress of the House of Fern collapsed on the floor. The rain outside intensified. From the rooms adjacent, more maids came out; valets and waiters and staff Amelia kept in order to afford her still luxurious living, without having to change the amount of people that stayed in this manor.

After all, it was only her.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent-ish things ~

[jackass-jones]

Recent disney and pixar movies have felt like movies in the way that monster high movies feel like movies. And I don’t want anyone to see this and go “but at least monster high movies are good!” cuz, sure whatever I don’t care, just listen. What I’m saying is these recent disney movies are so forgettable and I don’t think it’s just because of the rise of streaming services fucking up how the films are marketed and viewed, they also feel unbelievably pointless. They feel like movies made around a plot that would be forced into a ten minute episode if it were a cartoon made by smaller creators rn. The plots are so simple I feel like a toddler like I feel like the stakes have gotten increasingly lower and everything is underwhelming. Toy story 4’s big conflict was woody needs to get the plastic spoon back to the little girl. Inside out 2 was the emotions needing to get back to headquarters while riley is just at hockey camp and they learn their lessons in five minutes. Encanto is just mirabelle talking to her family and then singing songs at her. Strange world was a very basic father/son relationship story with no real stakes. The main thing luca wants in luca is a vespa and the main thing mei wants in turning red is concert tickets. Not even gonna glance at wish or lightyear cuz like who watched those what are those movies even for. I can’t remember any of these movies and even the ones I liked are still underwhelming and I walked out of them trying to justify that to myself like “oh well not every movie has to have a crazy plot, sometimes they can be simple”. But it’s like. All their movies now. And the characters are uh, they’re okay in some of them I guess I dunno. And this isn’t even to say that the more beloved older disney movies never had simple plots cuz like look at Cinderella, half of that movie is just animals getting into shenanigans to fill time. But idk, it felt like people actually wanted to make that movie and put love and attention into it. Now these things are just disney pumping out vague emotions that might get them an award while coating everything with this “look at how much money we have” polish

[pyrriax]

pyrr pyrriax is significantly less productive when it spends several hours just bouncing between vcs in pursuit of human interaction

[poisonouspastels]

[snailune]

wiki how do I stop spiraling about my life once every 2 weeks I'm getting sick of it

[halfdeadwallfly]

i had a nightmare last night that i was i was in a poetry class and accidentally turned in the beginning of a poem i was writing and the ta started reading it without realizing i was still there. and i was like oh thats mine can you give me your critiques on it. and then they basically started talking about how much they hate it and how cliche and unoriginal it is and how embarrassing that is. and not only how bad it was but how there was no potential for improvement and that they hate beginner writers and i should just quit because its an embarrassment to the form and they actually hated me personally for writing it. and then i left and started crying.

[tojbnuy]

by popular demand and since i hit 1k! here’s a part 2 💞 find part one here! art by @ _3aem on twt!!

bestfriend!satoru who always takes you on late night drives if you’re feeling upset. he’ll buy you something sweet and when he drops you back home he’ll always leave you with a little kiss. he doesn’t want his favourite girl being sad.

bestfriend!satoru who absolutely adores the way you smell. everytime he’s near you in class he places his hands out for some of your hand cream and he sits there sniffing his hands afterwards.

bestfriend!satoru who will always suggest a horror movie when it’s movie night with your friends. he knows it’s only a matter of time before you’re freaking out and you’ll climb into his lap. ‘sshhh you’re okay baby i’ve got you’ and while you’re distracted his hands will find their way under your top and start stroking your back and tummy.

bestfriend!satoru who insists on massaging your back when you come round. ‘take your top off baby it’s just me’. he’s working on getting you to take off the bra too, all in good time.

bestfriend!satoru who is so used to you wearing long sleeved and baggy hoodies that the random times you wear something that clings to your figure he all but passes out. suddenly his hands are all over you and to everyone else in the room you probably look like a couple. (just how he intended)

bestfriend!satoru who insists kissing your best friend on the lips is normal. it’s cute. ‘come on baby another one. i’m your best friend’. is using tongue normal? he doesn’t care.

bestfriend!satoru who wears compression shirts around you all the time because he overheard you talking about how much you like guys with big biceps. he doesn’t want to sound big headed but he’s caught you staring a few times now.

bestfriend!satoru who goes through your underwear drawer when you’re not present. he wanted to know your cup size but the pink and the lace got him distracted.

bestfriend!satoru who really is such a perv when it comes to you. he can’t help it you’re like a drug. sometimes he knocks his pen off the table because he knows your sweet self will quicky bend over to retrieve it for him. he’s left with the adorable sight of your panty clad ass, white ones today just how he likes. ‘thank you baby.’ ‘you’re welcome toru.’ god you’re just so cute.

bestfriend!satoru who helps you dye your hair. he doesn’t care that he’s leaving with splotches of black on his arms and hands. it’s worth it when you give him those big hugs with your arms wrapped around his neck.

bestfriend!satoru who is in love with your handwriting. ‘course a pretty girl has pretty handwriting’ it’s all cursive and slanted, he even makes jokes about you writing something for him to get tatted.

bestfriend!satoru who knows you love to cuddle. he was never much of a cuddler himself but he would have to be sick to pass up on the chance to hold you. ‘no of course i dont mind pretty.’ your head lays on his chest and one of your thighs covers his stomach. he could die like this and he would die happy. (preferably he would die in between your thighs but)

bestfriend!satoru who gets upset when you’re laughing a bit too loud when talking to suguru. he knew for a fact suguru was not that fucking funny.

bestfriend!satoru who absolutely abuses pet names when it comes to you. His baby His pretty girl His dolly

bestfriend!satoru who’s always patting your bum. for what reason who knows.

part 3 !! part 4 !!

taglist : @haruhatake @moncher-ire @startwithrecords @ranatherealestsigma @chjinua @whozeurdaddy @sukuxna0 @purp1eha1o

[a-sleepy-ginger]

23/2/24

❆❅❆❅❆

Made some progress on my sociology assessment

Watched nimona

Ender toast

[dyketennant]

idk i think i should start masking again 🤠 (i mean the autism i already wear a face mask)

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 363

Adjective: Poetic

Noun: Pain

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Poetic: relating to or used in poetry; written in verse rather than prose; having an imaginative or sensitively emotional style of expression

Pain: physical suffering or discomfort caused by illness or injury; mental suffering or distress; (informal) an annoying or tedious person or thing; careful effort, or great care or trouble

[jackass-jones]

The best feeling in the world is when there’s a piece of media you know you love and you’ve hyped it up as your favorite thing for so long but you haven’t revisited it in a while so you start to worry if it’s really as good as you make it out to be and so you go back and revisit it and it’s like. Oh this is even better than I remembered this shit rules

[crest-of-gautier]

played a very brief session of pq tonight (90 minutes) 👍