#don't try this at home!

[yellowfingcr]

My name is Heysel. I am about to ingest an increasing amount of gravity stone dust, blended within a solution the exact characteristics and proportions of the substances compounding it I will list in a separate note. I do this to try and extract ritual dream from the vision-hallucinations I will experience in hypnagogia after absorption and in purposeful reverse mithridatism; I know this is the sort of toxicity that will accumulate within me and weaken my being against it. This I do so that the greatest force of effect will be attained once I decide that all is in place for what I require to do, for imbibing dissolved dust will be a necessary step. I write thus.

Dream one

I am in my childhood home and myself a child. My mother is outside in the garden, reading underneath the shade of a tree as she used to do during the breezy days in Sellia. Disease took her left eye far before my birth; since very young I have grown knowing how to accommodate this absence of her world, making my steps heavier before approaching her on that side, calling her name, aware to never toss anything at her to catch. I know this but I am young and enamored with mischief and already a small ghost, so I slowly and silently walk next to the left of her chair, and a little further, where I would have entered the sight of most but not my mother’s, and I advance, carefully, where I am certain one more step would reveal my presence. I find thrill in the act. Slowly I go, back and forth, and she keeps on reading the book in her lap, oblivious to my existence. I suppress a chuckle. And somehow between a step back and another I find myself adult, and I move forward, make my steps heavier, call her name. But she doesn’t turn. I try again, louder, entering wholly and boldly her field of view, waving a hand before her; she doesn’t move. Dread congeals in my gut. She is so close. I shout. I am before her. I am on my knees pawing at hers. Nothing. She cannot see me. She cannot see me.

Dream two

My two dart frogs which I owned before my death have gone missing but I am less worried than miffed; I start searching for them in a labyrinthine city with no geography I recognize. I stop people, ask them if they have seen my frogs, and everyone says yes and tells me where to go, but as soon as I spot my runaway pets at the indicated location they do something and manage to elude capture again, and each time I curse in irritation. This continues until my efforts lead me to a strange verdant spot within curling paths, a small paradise of green cupped in stone. Somehow this evokes a grand nostalgia in me, as if this had once been a place of importance to me, but I’d long lost the memory of why. My frogs are here, basking in the wetness of a pond. I approach. One opens its mouth, and tells me: it awaits you. I awakened before being able to ask whom, and wept.

Dream three

I am laying down prone and spread-limbed. My teacher cherished, the Onyx Lord, walks around me and as he moves in circles I can see moonlight glint along the hammer and the eight long nails he carries in his fingers. He asks if I am ready. I say yes. I say please. I am desiccating right under my skin and I am behind my eyes in the shadow of my pupils. He kindly comes closer sets the edge of a nail against the back of my wrist and brings the hammer down but I feel no pain just the drum percussion shaking the surface of the skin that contains me and me contained within it. He does it twice for each joint and I exultate each time. Then he says nothing but I know I will now receive the blade and I could cry out in relief and I do when he sinks it where my skull connects to my spine and drags it down the length of my back butcher-methodical and I feel air oh the touch of air against me as finally the skin enveloping me trapping me parts. He stops cutting and tells me proceed and I strain against the desiccation and push and then emerge, finally, and I am no longer prone but I am kneeling, and I breathe, wet as a wound though I am the excised thorn, the wetness handprint of new life, and I see it, what I left behind, nailed to the ground- the torn cicada shell that looks exactly like me, asleep- and me the erupted me looks nothing like the shell. I am sleek and deadly and exquisite chitin-armored in purpose. I marvel I laugh I raise my voice free and it is the sound of black holes, colliding, the same blissful chirp. I thank my teacher. And I take the nails and take my skin. I will have to find a way to place it within myself so that it may begin anew woman contained within woman who is not a woman

Dream four

A flight of herons darting like stars leaving feathers dripping down wish-liquid to sing in looping small patterns of bliss in the air I trace the soft edges of this movement calligraphy I long to learn the grammar of this beauty I want so I grasp the slim ankle of a bird and it wilts as flower in my hand and only the clear glass of bones remains for me I lift them high against the sun to witness light prismatic spearing refracting and breaking through them festive this celebration my palms sweat in the heat something cracks I lose pearl-sized bits of myself expendable I do not mind at all shedding is part of nature but have I not glass and light and wish I am growing too hot the herons are now gone so I sit down and the herons are gone and I try to dig grooves in the sand with my too soft nails so that I may lay myself in this small shade like a kernel waiting I think I can be such a thing maybe fist-compressed potential crushed between the closing lashes of sleep nothing but patience endless though I lie I do think there is such a thing as hunger absolute but I want for coolness I long for rest another lie I long for strife to hook my lobe and pull and tear and unravel and entropy screaming lullaby I see fireworks of needles clouds burning white so far away not a crackle all is silent and alive and I gasp even if there is no air watch elongation my fingers my surprise my bliss all tend upward downward monodimensional pressure aiming towards infinity oh gods the taste sweet against the grid of my throat yes it is time I am the heron I can raise my whisper weight I shake my wet feathers and like that I

leave

[incorrectbatfam]

The only acceptable trans Tim headcanon would be Tim introducing himself to the batfam as a boy from the get-go with such confidence that no one questions him. Then, his first solo case as Robin is investigating the disappearance of Jack and Janet Drake's "daughter," so he pretends to have a twin sister by forging a bunch of documents and photoshopping family pictures. He then fabricates evidence of her death, committing multiple crimes in the process, and holds a fake funeral at the end. Because if his previous name is dead to him, he's gonna kill it the Tim Drake way

[razziecat]

Aurora Fire: Gather The Witches & The Music of Danheim

You think you’ve seen badass?? WATCH THIS

[xeniums]

very very wise words from zagreus there

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Look what we've become.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[whumpbby]

You know, that bit about "If you offend someone, make sure it's not Yunmeng Jiang and not their Leader specifically!" is just so fascinating to me.

Because - what happened?

What the hell happened to solidify the Jiang as the "find out" of Jianghu??

Like, sure, Sandu Sengshou "killed Yiling Laozu" so you probably don't want to mess with the guy - but a whole sect?? "Don't mess with them or they'll clap back" is a bit of a different fame than "he's torturing demonic cultivators!" - that former is an experience-based life advice.

So, what happened? Did JC punch someone square in the face during a sect conference? Called Sect Leader Yao for a duel and kicked his ass? Fucked up a bunch of trade representatives when they tried to take advantage of the fledgeling Jiang sect??? Took Jin Guangyao's hat and held it out of his reach????

And exactly how trigger-happy are the Jiang disciples to be known as the people you don't fuck with???

I need to know what the hell happened!

[tubbytarchia]

Shhh he's pining

[hajimedics]

A BEAUTIFUL MARRIAGE WITH NO DIVORCE

[t00thpasteface]

poor clark kent. whether you ship him with lois or bruce, he's stuck committing the cardinal sin of dating a coworker

[vaesivlasta]

something, something peak romance

[icewindandboringhorror]

On average, what is the total MONTHLY amount that you spend on dining out*?

*(This doesn't only count going out to restaurants, but also stuff like picking up fast food to bring home, getting a coffee on the way to work, getting a premade sandwich from a grocery store deli during lunch, buying a quick snack from a convenience store or food cart whilst walking somewhere, ordering a pizza or any other food to be delivered to your home, etc.)

*(If you often dine out in groups/as a household: calculate and divide the costs so that you get a Per Person average. This is for YOU individually, NOT the total household/group costs)

(I'm sure polls similar to this have been made before (very common topic), I just haven't personally seen one that I can remember, so, I was curious to do my own! I was discussing this with a group of people today and it was very interesting to see how widely the number varied between individuals. :0c )

(Reblog for bigger sample size if you can, and feel free to explain your answer in tags if there's anything extra to add!)

[incorrectbatfam]

The first rule of driving the Batmobile is to have fun and be yourself

[shotmrmiller]

More p!soap. More p!soap. MORE P!SOAP PLEASE

ok but p!soap getting with a lucky fan and he's genuinely shook by how pretty you are and oh man then you let it slip that while you've used toys (small ones) you're still pretty much a virgin and he calls it.

there's no way he's fucking you into the mattress on camera as your first genuine experience. that's unacceptable. the director is already groaning in the back how this was a waste of time, money, blah blah and honestly if soap won't do it then call the big brit. "no the bigger one. ghost, right. get him."

so he untwists his knickers and only does oral with just one finger since he saw you tense when he prodded your entrance with two. you do wonderfully, the video does even better and soap, er johnny, ("ah've gotten to know a very intimate part of ye, least ye can do is call me by my name") gave you his number just in case you're interested in more.

properly. at home with lit candles and rose petals and privacy.

he might treat his costars like nothing more than holes sometimes (it's in the script you can't get mad at him) but he's still a gentleman. ish. kinda.

[novella-november]

Media Preservation Monday

Yeah, yeah, as of this original post it's actually only Wednesday but hey, take this as a sign to take some initiative, and keep to it each Monday at minimum if you're actively writing!

What's Media Preservation Monday, you may ask?

MPM is your reminder to back up your writing at least three ways at least once a week or whenever you make major changes to your document(s).

Here's some incredibly easy ways to back up your writing:

One your Master Document(s), put a date on the file name, and every day you make changes, "Save As" the Document and change the date. Do this every time or day you make major changes.

Example: You start writing your Novella November Story on November 1st.

You name your master document "Novnov Project 11-01-2024"

The next day, you write some more, and at the end of your writing session, you go to save your document, and instead of simply hitting "Save" you choose "Save As" and save the new copy of the Document as "Novnov Project 11-02-2024".

You now have two copies of your project, and if you keep this up throughout the whole month, you will have a live snapshot of your writing progress.

Each day or after each major writing session, open up the folder containing your document, and back it up. The Easiest and simplest way to do this is to simply email it to yourself, but you can also create multiple backups by:

Save a copy of your dated Master Document(s) to different locations on your Hard-drive, to an external hard-drive, to a thumbdrive, etc.

If you're writing offline on a writing program like Libreoffice, upload a copy of your Master Document(s) to your preffered Cloud-based Writing Program of your choice.

Vice Versa: if you write on a Cloud-based writing program, download it to various offline-based locations.

Download the base document as well as download it as various ebook formats and send them to your ebook library on your phone or kindle or nook or reading app.

Make a personal discord server and upload the document/epub form of your Master Document(s) there [this is also a good way of making a kind of personal journal / diary etc]

Whatever you do, do not be complacent and assume nothing can happen to your writing. Back it up. Preserve it.

Don't have all of your hard work go down the drain because of one tiny unforeseen accident.

When it comes time to clean up your hardrive, always assume you don't have it backed up. Before deleting anything always take the time to copy it over to another physical drive or a cloud drive.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Welcome to the Dungeons of Fear and Hunger.