#fuck weight watchers

[artsekey]

Wishing Weight Watchers a very go out of business

likes charge reblogs cast

[hjgouldmusic]

i don't know what to caption this so uhhh cherrybomb am i right gamers

[wyn-n-tonic]

PUBLIC HEALTH PSA!!!!!!

If you are on Ozempic/Wegovy/Zepbound/Whatever, it is ILLEGAL to throw your pens away in the regular trash!!!! If you cannot handle biohazardous material and waste responsibly, you do not deserve to handle it at all! If your doctor is prescribing this medication to you and not teaching about your responsibility, they shouldn’t be prescribing it at all AND their fucking medical licensed should be evaluated.

And if you’re getting this from those unregulated third party companies who aren’t teaching you about your responsibility, they need to be shut the fuck down.

If you are on these medications, look up your county’s sharps disposal laws. A lot of places require sharps waste be kept in specialized disposal boxes that you can get from your doctor or the pharmacy. If you don’t have that, an old laundry detergent bottle will do as it is the same hard plastic material that is not impacted by UV light. Once that is full, you turn it into the county (and if it’s an old laundry detergent bottle, you have to duct tape it and label it). ONLY SURRENDER TO THE COUNTY, DO NOT THROW IT IN THE FUCKING TRASH!!!!!!!!!!!!

[struggling-to-be-healthy]

My appetite is all over the place since getting covid. Most of yesterday I wasn't hungry and then evening hit and I wanted to eat everything.

Today I'm trying to eat three meals so that doesn't happen again. It's a struggle.

[klapollo]

sTOPPPPPP showing me jobs im qualified for with good salaries that are with evil companies do not show them to me

[talesfromthebandgeekmafia]

YouTube please I’m just trying to get more into cooking & have more substantive nutrition in my mornings than a granola bar & my ADHD meds stop trying to give me an eating disorder

[nightguide]

hey fatty boy, idk why you doja cat telling me this or that but who tf did you leave out the TARDIS this time that you let this rhetorical crap out of space that my cousin did not forgive you for

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

This one goes out to all the bitches who love some good Safehouse Era Horror. It's me, I'm bitches. I want Jon and Martin to be fucked up and eldritch but I want them to be fucked up and eldritch and loved

(Notes under the cut because I can't help myself. Heads up, I do go into some detail of how Jon gets injured so I can explain my thought process for how I designed his scars. All canon-typical and fairly clinical in tone.)

Here's how I picture Safehouse Jon!

He doesn't need glasses anymore by this point, so he should just be wearing empty frames, but I drew this before I settled on my glasses headcanons. This drawing looks better with the reflection anyways.

He hasn't gotten a haircut since before his promotion to Head Archivist. He doesn't love the weight of it on his neck, but he also uses it to fidget, and he really doesn't want to go through the whole process of cutting it. He's disliked haircuts since he was a kid (People: Bad. Small talk: Bad. Touching: Bad. Loud sounds: Bad. People talking all at once: Bad) and since his time with the Circus he's only grown more reluctant to go and get it done.

At this length his hair is naturally pretty curly but he is. Not taking care of it. I actually put a lot of effort into trying to make it look brittle and tangled (I have a lot of experience lol, my hair is quite thick and I've always hated taking care of it. Yes I am also projecting my feelings about going to a hairdressers onto him why do you ask.)

The various scars were a bit of a strange task, but anyone who has seen my takes on The Bad Kids knows I'm not averse to selective realism in my fiction. Easiest one was the neck, I always pictured Daisy making a vertical cut based on "through the voice box". The larynx is longer than it is wide, so I think Daisy would go for the method that dealt damage across the largest total surface area. Yes I am aware that I'm speaking the same way Martin does when he explains his corkscrew.

The worm scars were easy because I barely drew any. There are a few marks on his cheek, but they're just surface bites. I picture most of his encounter with Prentiss showing on his legs, particularly on the right side, with enough damage there that he starts using a cane after the incident to keep weight off his right leg. More research to be done on this particular detail.

Finally the burn on his hand from Jude. This was the weirdest one to figure out just because of the nature of the injury. How do you quantify the damage done to an epidermis by a living manifestation of sometimes-boiling wax that can heat and cool at will? I settled on it being a second-degree burn that healed supernaturally fast, containing the damage to the space Jude had direct contact with. He'd probably have some mobility issues there as well. I know there are ways to help with mobility and pain after a severe burn, but I don't know how much of it Jon would actually. Do. Like I said, definitely further research to be done on these last two.

Hey so I'm gonna ask you to stop and consider the horror of the watcher. The helplessness. The guilt. The inherent terror of being a spectator, a participant by proximity but not by action. The horror of not being able to look away, of being a bystander. Jon forgets to blink sometimes. But wouldn't it be so much worse if there were no eyelids at all? That's how I interpret the description of The Archivist being "All Eyes" :D

I love a good Many-Eyed Jon, so I whipped up my own interpretation here. I think the more he Becomes the more he starts to resemble the thing from the dreams. He has a lot more control of it in S5, but it still creeps up on him and he has to consciously go back to a human shape.

[heartshapedhackjob]

Getting off work at 8:30 in the morning to 90's esque pro ana text messages from my mother

[elexaria]

simon’s that guy. “don’t want a cat, for fuck’s sake.” he grumbles as you plead and beg, using the ol’ reliable puppy dog eyes to try and egg him on. “no, love. ‘m allergic.” he blatantly lies, sniffing as he looks down at you, his arm wrapped around your waist.

“no you’re not, simon.” you huff, rolling your eyes as you purposely ruffle his hair. it makes him chuckle, how quick you were to call him out. “fairs.” he replies, leaning back against the headboard with a smug grin. “still not getting a cat, though.”

the day you bring home the bundle of fur and purrs back from the adoption centre, simon’s not impressed. he stands in the kitchen, eyebrows furrowed as he watches the tuxedo cat pad around the kitchen curiously. “look at it. ‘ts just a bag of fleas.” he grimaces, looking at you with a deadpan expression. he’s such a sour puss, it makes you giggle as you kneel down to croon at the kitty, baby talking to it— which makes si groan and roll his eyes. “can’t deal with this.” he grumbles out, leaving you to suck up to the new addition to the riley family.

he’s so adamant he doesn’t like the cat!! he gives it the stink eye, sticks his middle finger up at it whenever it stares at him and calls it fat. “need’t go to weight watchers, fatty.” he teases as he watches it chow down on some food. you playfully chide him by swatting his shoulder, eliciting a deep rumble of amusement. “what? not exactly lyin’, am i?” he replies, grinning as he pulls you in close against him, peppering kisses over your face childishly.

he’s not slick, though. you accidentally notice it one day when passing the kitchen. you halt in your tracks, stealthily peeking round the corner as you watch simon crouching low, baby talking to the cat as he puts out some treats for it to nibble at. “such a fat puddy tat, ain’t ya? oh my.” he croons down at the furry fiend, who’s purring up a storm as it rubs its scent against his legs.

and then you can’t not see it. the cat pawing at the bathroom door, mewling for attention from si as he takes a shower. or the time you came home, finding the two of them napping on the sofa. the cat chirping happily when you walk in, stretching and pawing his face, which elicits a gruff chuckle. “ey, stop it, you.” he affectionately says to the cat, his eyes still shut as he continues to blissfully nap with a purring weight nestled on his chest.

it finally comes to an end when the three of you are relaxing in bed, you’re nestled up to simon while the cat lays at your feet. it begins to playfully swat simon’s toes, making him yelp and laugh something fierce. “oi!” he chuckles, wiggling his toes at the cat. it makes you look up at simon, amused as you shake your head. “you and that bloody cat, get a room.” you tease, nudging him with a grin. he snorts, nudging you back with a grin to match. “someone’s jealous, eh? don’t worry, i don’t love the cat more than you.”

he shoots a wink at the cat, hiding his mouth with his hand as he whispers loudly, “don’t listen to that, i love you more than them. we’re for lifers, mate.” before looking over at you with an impish expression. this man’s gonna be the death of you.

[rigginsstreet]

Thank you for posting about Scandoval because I'm so intrigued but it's a lot to watch and catch up on so this is a perfect little dose

Get ready for a big storm coming I think the finale airs tonight (the episode they filmed picking cameras back up after the scandal broke) and then it’s reunion time baby!!! But I think there’s a gap between air dates somewhere in there…I don’t know I gotta look it up but whew BOY are we really in it now and I will be having thoughts!!

[forestshadow-wolf]

Soap leading a team into a known structurally unsound building, but they have to check it because of orders from brass, and while he didn't have to go on the OP, he is the most qualified to lead it, and he could never just not go when his skills could potentially save lives.

Ghost had tried to go in his stead because he had tweaked his knee the day prior, and it still ached. But soap could do this kind of work in his sleeps... omay probably not, but Ghost doesn't know how to tell which hairline fractures cut all the way through, and which don't, and which could if given too much weight. There are calculations and variables to estimate how much a floor can hold, but none of those matter to spotting and weakspots.

It's been a while since Soap has had to lead a team, being on a specialized task force, but he falls back into it like riding a bike.

Now the problem lies, not with non-load bearing supports but, with the overconfident grunts. They think just because this step, that one, and the one before were safe, that the next will be too.

And not to say that Soap always knows when or if the wall or floor or ceiling will or won't hold, just that he knows how to test a floor or a wall, he knows where to hold his weight, he knows that one collapse can lead to so many others. And that's all just based on in-field experience. Not to even bring up the weeks of training and education he had to work through to be able to identify external weak points when dealing with structural damage; one of the first things you're taught when you specialize in demolitions is how to do it safely.

But no no ignore the officer, that maybe, a little bit knows what he was doing. Yeah go on ahead of him. Oh hey, yeah, that's a good idea, keep stomping around.

The building, little more than a 3-story house, breaths and groans around them like a wounded animal. It puts him on edge just like every other time. Wounds like to get worse if they aren't babied. And they definitely are not babying this one.

And given all the variables it wasn't all too surprising hear the smallest groan to his left, more feeling than hearing it, that sounded just a little too hollow.

"Stop! Don't move," He barked, like it was a matter of life and death, because it was, "who did that? Who just moved." All the soldiers frozen to the spot as he stared at each one, an intensity in his gaze even he could feel, trying to pinpoint where the weakness was.

Fidgeting and nervous weigh shifting, another whimper. Like yanking on a rope his attention to the boot of a reckless soldier. It was instinct alone that he saw his own hand pushing the grunt off the spot.

But a misstep on his part, a pained cry of wood and plaster.

The drop wasn't the furthest, neither the shortest, 5 maybe 6 meters. He landed on his kit. Debris followed him down, landing on his already aching knee. None too heavy, but none too light, and gravity had it's playtime.

It knocked every bit of air from his lungs, and at first he thought he collapsed a lung. Half a minute later it was clear to be false. But a shit ton of bruising, and maybe a cracked rib or two neither felt good.

He pawed at his radio, still fighting for air.

"Watcher," he wheezed

"Send traffic, 7-1" that was Ghost's voice

He was still gasping for air and it took him longer than he liked to signal for one of the grunts to relay the OP was worthless. Not worth the risk.

"Copy. Soap, how copy?" Ghost sounded calm if only a little lower in worry, hand to tell if nobody was listening. Soap couldn't muster the energy to both hold his head up and respond (he could, but it was a lot of work, so he didn't)

"Need, ice. And new lungs." He said out of breath. His knee throbbed, and no doubt it would be even angrier in the coming hours.

"Your knee?"

"Mh, fucked." He breathed, rallying to pick himself up. "Heading for exfil."

One of the grunts came to help him to his feet. "Copy."

His knee only protested more the way to exfil. And it squeezed like a vice so tight he could barely walk by they time they touched back on base. If he couldn't see, he'd almost think it fell right off with the pressure. And yet there it was still, didn't even look swollen under his loose pantleg.

Ghost was waiting for him when he hobbled his way out, and gear heavy oh his joints, sore to hell and back, but alive.

"We need to get that looked at," Ghost took him under the shoulder to take some of his weight, and he reached for the gear in soap's hand. We. Not you. Like it was his injury too. We. Like it hadn't even crossed his mind for soap to go alone.

"Ice tonight, doc tomorrow." He sighed, too tired and sore and bruised to even think about all the shit that would entail. He was tired, and hurt, and his leg was gonna fall off. And Ghost looked like he wanted to argue, but he just nodded because they both knew what it was like when all you wanted to do was play like the dead and do nothing else for 12 hours.

"Doc tomorrow." He spoke like he was reminding soap while he opened Soap door, with key that soap gave him, like it was his room and not soap's.

"Tomorrow." Soap agreed, sitting gingerly on his bed. Ghost turned, grabbing ice for him. Buttons and clips and velcros undid as soap pulled at them. Dusty, sweaty, dirty shirt and jeans went into a pile too. And he clipped his leg brace around his knee, and pulled the straps tight.

He doesn't even remember laying down, but he was asleep before Ghost even got back with the ice

[sserpente]

The Weight of a Promise - Part II

Synopsis: One month has passed since you reluctantly became Lord Gortash's concubine. You ought to hate him--yet your heart seems to disagree.

A/N: When inspiration strikes…you gotta strike back! Took a bit longer than I expected but here we go! :D

You can read Part I here!

Words: 2523 Warnings: violence, blood, mentions of prostitution, concubine!Reader

“Good morning, dear. I take it you’ve had sweet dreams?”

You stirred, eyes flying open. You were warm, and comfortable. Cosy. Your head was resting on Gortash’s naked chest, his right arm pressing you close against his body. You had gotten so used to his presence and the intimacy between you that you didn’t even flinch away when his fingertips ghosted over your bare shoulder but instead…took relish in it.

“Morning…”

One whole month. You had been keeping an eye on the calendar on Gortash’s desk. You were surprised, to say the least. Part of you had suspected he would grow tired of you after a few days and move on to the next whore he’d be given for free. Perhaps one that would throw herself at him.

Alas, as much as you hated to admit it, you had begun to enjoy his company. Enver Gortash was as insufferable as he was megalomaniacal. But he was charming, too. No wonder the city gladly accepted him as its hero and saviour.

His mask was perfect. You very much doubted he truly did have a heart for the homeless and the poor though. Only yesterday had you overheard him talk about increasing the tax rates for small businesses for more profit to put into his Steel Watch. Now that you spent so much time with him, you would have believed his chivalry too had you not known the truth. A good man did not keep concubines, not like this. A good man did not have rumours spread about him worshipping one of the dead three.

And yet, despite everything, part of you was growing…grateful. He’d kept his promise. Thanks to him, you barely remembered what hunger was now. He had gotten you so many dresses you could never decide what to wear and every night, you shared his bed, warm and comfortable, nestled underneath his soft sheets.

The sex was phenomenal, of course. Just like the very first time he had claimed you, you would be lying if you insisted it wasn’t a pleasurable experience for you. Only it was empty, meaningless. Why else would he keep you around if not for a wet hole to fuck when he was overcome with lust?

The more time you were forced to spend with him, the more you realised that you wanted him to like you for more than your body. To know that you were more than an object for him to play with and entertain himself with and to convince yourself and your stupid feelings that he was not the villain you took him for. To soothe your own conscience.

It could be Stockholm Syndrome, you thought, chewing on your lower lip. But then again, he had told you that you were free to go the very day you arrived, made it seem like it had been your own choice to become a slave to his most carnal desires in exchange for your basic human needs to be met.

The mornings all started the same. You and Gortash had breakfast together, after that he tended to his archduke business and you remained in bed for a while longer, reading the books he owned. He’d call you over at some point, eager for your company—or your body.

As of right now, he was finished with his duties for the day. After a rich lunch, he’d insisted on taking a walk with you by the sea near Wyrm’s Rock to take his mind off things, a Steel Watcher always in close vicinity to protect him.

“You are not focusing at all, are you, dear? Could you at least put in a little bit of effort? Make it a challenge for me!”

You blinked. You’d been staring at the lance board for what must have been several minutes with your knees tucked and your chin resting between them. Gortash had insisted you played with him tonight. Only you had no idea how.

“I don’t know how to play,” you admitted.

Amusement flashed over Gortash’s handsome face. “You don’t know how to play lance board? Truly?”

You shook your head.

He took a deep breath. “Well, in that case…it is rather simple. There are six pieces in the game that—”

“Why did you increase the tax rates?” You couldn’t help it. The question left your lips before you could stop yourself. You were curious.

Gortash paused, momentary surprise marking his features. “And since when exactly, pray tell, do I discuss political matters with my concubine?”

“It’s just a question. I overheard you passing the bill.”

“You mean you were eavesdropping.”

You frowned. “You knew I was right there.”

“Ah, yes.” He chuckled. But then, nothing.

“So?”

“Protection is expensive, my dear. My Steel Watch requires constant maintenance. Maintenance that requires materials. Materials that cost money.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Pardon me?”

“I’ve seen the documents. You have two vaults at the Counting House. Two vaults that are bulging with gold.” You’d caught a glimpse at the numbers, black ink on a fresh roll of parchment one morning while he’d made you keep his cock warm for him at his desk. You swallowed. “If you truly had the city’s best interest at heart you would be reaching into your own pockets to help out. That is true charity.”

Gortash raised an eyebrow. He appeared amused, if anything. “I am giving the citizens of Baldur’s Gate a purpose. By contributing in the form of taxes, they are contributing to keeping the city and themselves safe. And unlike my own fortunes, tax money is in constant circulation.”

You scoffed. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”

“I will not have you criticize my rule, my dear. Were you a lady or an adviser of mine, I could have your head for this without anyone batting an eyelash.”

Too far. You swallowed. So much for trying to convince yourself he was not a villain. “I apologise.”

“Good. Now, as I said. There are six types of pieces in the game. The first—”

Gortash was interrupted yet again. This time, however, by an airborne knife knocking the piece he pointed to straight to the ground where it shattered into a dozen pieces.

“Playing with your whore instead of working? You disappoint me, lordling.”

Gortash stiffened visibly. “Orin.”

Your eyes widened when you turned to face the unwanted visitor. She was as pale as the moon itself, with white creamy eyes piercing your soul. And her clothes…where they made of…skin? She staggered closer on bare feet, retrieving her dagger.

“You’ll find I have made much progress with our operation. But unlike you, I am a man of true entertainment. Uninterrupted murder is not up my alley.”

You blinked. Murder? What in the hells was he talking about?

“You are losing your focus, lordling. Do you need a reminder?”

Before you had processed what was happening, Orin grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you flush against her. The smell of rotten meat and blood filled your nostrils, the blade of her dagger pressing into your skin. Her hands were ice-cold.

You gasped for air, paralysed. You willed your legs to kick her, your fingers to scratch her, your head to shatter her chin…but your body did not obey. Fear wrapped its icy claws around you, preventing you from taking action.

One wrong movement…and you would die. Your eyes found Gortash’s, yours pleading, begging. Surely, he would not let her harm you, surely, he would care if you lived after having shared the bed with him so many times…

“Now don’t be ridiculous, Orin. She’s my concubine. The only thing you will accomplish by killing her is making a mess of my office. I can always get a new one at the snap of my fingers.”

Your face fell, heart skipping several beats in a row. Not because of your fear now—but because it broke. Your lips parted. Was that truly how he felt after you’d spread your legs for him, listened to his sorrows, and kept him company? He’d promised to treat you well. Discarding you to the first bloodthirsty killer—whoever this Orin was—would break that promise after all.

“Well…then you won’t mind if I slit her throat? Bathe in her sweet blood and feast on her intestines? Would you still like to fuck her then, lordling?”

For just a second, you believed to catch a glimpse of actual panic glistening in his dark eyes. It was a fleeting moment, quickly replaced by a mask of steel.

“Orin, no, stop it!”

The woman laughed, the stench of stale blood almost making you gag as she pressed the blade even further against your delicate skin until you could feel a slight burn and something warm and sticky running down your throat.

“Orin!” You had not imagined it. There was panic swinging in his voice too now.

With a start, she removed her dagger from your throat and pushed you. You landed on your hands and knees on the hard stone floor, a pained cry escaping your lips due to the impact.

“With Ketheric Thorm dead, you should be on your guard, lordling. Because right now, your little plan is falling apart. And I am so very eager to spill blood in your chambers.”

“Control yourself, Orin. Ketheric’s death is a temporary setback. Once the Netherstone is back in our possession, we have nothing to fear and everything will go according to plan.”

You felt pathetic, cowering on the cold floor and listening to the conversation. You only understood half of what they were saying. Netherstones? What plan? And who was Ketheric Thorm?

“I will gut you if not, Gortash.” She disappeared in a mist of black and red as if her flesh erupted into a million pieces before evaporating.

Only now did you realise how heavily you were breathing. Gortash bent down, one of his hands resting on your shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

“No! No, I’m not alright!” you exclaimed, biting back a sob.

“You would have let her kill me!”

“I would not.”

“Yes! That’s what you said!” Another sob, one you were unable to hold back. You were trembling. You could feel a small trickle of blood running down your cleavage right between your breasts.

Gortash grabbed a hold of your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Showing her I care for you would have been showing her weakness and that I cannot afford. I apologise you were caught between the lines.”

Care.

“How am I supposed to believe that? Am I not a means to an end? You keep acting like I should be grateful you took me in and gave me a roof over my head in exchange for sex and now I almost…” You did not dare finish the thought. Died.

“You stupid girl. Do you truly think I would keep just any woman around my private quarters where I conduct important city business? Do you think I would share my private bed with just any prostitute?”

“I…I…” You hesitated. He was not wrong.

“I am not the kind of man to pursue, my dear. I learned the hard way you simply have to take what you want in life. I liked you. So I had you brought here.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? Why must everything you do be a power trip?”

“A power trip? Exercising dominance is crucial to survive in this world. I want you here, by my side. Is that not enough? What else do you want me to tell you?”

He helped you up, retrieving a cloth from the cupboard next to a wash bowl. The gentleness with which he wiped at your throat and your chest to clean the blood off of you surprised you so much yet another sob escaped you.

“I…I want you to tell me…you care about me? I’m not just a whore you can easily replace?”

“I don’t want any of the other whores. I wanted you. And I still do. I have no reason to lie to you, my dear. And you care about me too. I can see it in your eyes. You like the things we do together. Am I right?”

You nodded, unable to utter words for a moment.

“I hate myself for it.”

“Oh? And why is that, my dear?”

“You’re not a good person, Gortash. I can see that. I can feel it with every fibre of my being.”

“But…?”

“But…”

He threw the cloth away and cupped your face, planting a tender kiss on your lips.

“I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t…”

He smirked. He understood.

“I will have some servants fetched to run you a hot bath. I have some business to attend to. Then I will join you.”

“Gortash?”

“No.” He lifted a hand, a thoughtful expression decorating his handsome features for a moment. “I want you to call me by my first name when we’re in private. Enver.”

You frowned, lips parting in shock. The archduke of Baldur’s Gate wanted you to…call him by his first name?

“Enver.” You tasted the name on your tongue. It felt strange and yet…oddly familiar.

“That’s better.”

“Who is Orin? And don’t even think about telling me it doesn’t concern me given she just almost killed me.”

Gortash sighed. “She is…the Chosen of Bhaal, the god of murder and a reluctant ally of mine.”

Your eyes widened, shock rippling through you. Bhaal? The god of murder? One of the dead three?

“And who is…was…Ketheric Thorm?”

“The Chosen of Myrkul, a general who ruled over the Shadow Cursed Lands. Another reluctant ally.” Myrkul. He too was one of the dead three. The rumours you had heard about Gortash… Could that possibly mean…

“Go-…Enver…what deity do you worship?”

He smiled at you wickedly. “You have a sharp mind indeed, my dear. You might just be able to best me in a game of lance board in time.”

“Tell me what deity you worship.”

“You already know, do you not? You have asked me before, when we first met. And I am indeed, my dear, the Chosen of Bane. I will lead this city to glory.”

You took a step back, shock spreading in your veins like spiked vines. “What is this plan? What are the Netherstones?”

“That’s enough questions for now. Go and rest. The servants will be with you shortly.” He strode off, yet before he wrapped his hands around the doorknob, he turned his head and said, “Let me say it again: You belong by my side now, my dear. You have my protection. You have nothing to fear from me—or Orin, I will make sure of that. You might not agree with my methods but you cannot fight your own heart. You can trust me.”

With that, he was gone. Another promise. One that the growing butterflies in your stomach hoped he would never break. You belong by my side now, my dear.

You could leave, he had said a month ago. You should leave. Instead, you found yourself heading over to the wooden tub get rid of your now bloody dress.

[autisticsupervillain]

Autistic Avatars not realizing that they're Avatars because they're just "like that": a thread

The Eye

Special Interest in the supernatural = constant food for The Watcher

You know about Interest? TELL ME EVERYTHING

"Hey man listen to me infodump about this horrifying ghost story I read for twenty minutes, alright?"

I need to Know everything about something before I partake in it.

"How did I Know that? Eh, I probably hyperfixated on it at some point."

I cannot be misunderstood so I'll beam the facts into your brain.

The Web

I must plan everything 200 steps in advance before doing anything.

I have prepared for all possible outcomes, I can now have this one conversation.

If I set up all these variables long in advance, then I can do everything correctly and Win the social interaction.

I cannot do anything before The Plan says to.

"I practice my social skills by talking to my spider friends." -Martin "Autism" Blackwood

The Stranger

I cannot socialize without being Uncanny.

If my socialization seems like an act, that's because it is. I practice it in the mirror every day.

Theater Kid

How do you Normal Human?

The Anatomy Class.

Assuming fellow Stranger Avatars also just have the 'Tism. They're not trying to be creepy, honest.

Can't do faces. Doesn't notice when you get replaced.

Being subtly off is too subtle for me.

The Lonely

"I have failed the social interaction. Let the fog reclaim me."

Talking to people is draining my batteries even faster than ever. I need to be alone for approximately 384,400,000 years.

Nothing can overstimulate me in the cool, blinding fog.

Nothing unpredictable can happen in the fog.

The fog is your friend.

The known connection between autism and depression feeds the fog.

The Dark

Why is the sun so god damn bright? I'm going to blow it up I swear.

Night Owl.

Everything's decently quite at night and people leave you alone.

Same overstimulation preventatives as the Lonely tbh. Dark and fog are good concealers.

The dawn is your enemy.

The dread florescent lights shall never bother me again. They break upon my arrival.

Can and will infodump to the monster under my bed. Even now it feels like it listens.

The Spiral

Autism makes getting other mental illnesses recognized hard.

Autism dissociation from body and mind. When did it become 3 AM and why do I hurt? Why am I grumpy? What vital self care task did I forget?

Literal mind doesn't often match reality. Reality is specifically unspecific.

Spaced out and wandered off. Where the fuck am I?

I'm not a mental baby, please stop treating me like it.

I'm not inherently dangerous, please stop treating me like it.

Memory problems my beloathed. Did that happen? I dunno.

What Is Time?

What Is Me?

The Gender

Why do things only make sense to me? What does no one else make sense?

The Flesh

Autism Genderfuckery = Flesh fueled dysphoria.

Meat is the only texture that's palatable. Especially the Mystery Meat.

Will never try any other foods. Too picky.

Infodumps about the horrors of meat processing at dinner and ruins the meal for everyone. More steak for me.

Hates PETA.

Double the arms means double the stim. You weren't using them, right?

Working out is a great stim.

The Corruption

Practices social interaction with the bugs who live in my walls.

"Insects are disgusting. I love them!"

Will protect endangered insects by any means necessary.

According to all known laws of aviation-

Relationship boundaries struggles.

Difficulty noticing sickness symptoms.

Is that nausea or am I overstimulated? *Accidentally causes supernatural plague outbreak*

Difficulty getting diseases diagnosed because of both Autism and noticing too many symptoms so the doctors assume they're faking.

Forgot vital hygiene needs.

The Bugs Are My Friends! They keep me company when I'm sick!

The Buried

Weighted blankets are insufficient, I need the Earth to reclaim me.

Avoid social interaction by tunneling everywhere like a mole.

101 facts about worms.

Forgor hygiene again. Time to become dirt.

Digging a hole is good stimming.

That guy who had to be buried alive to sleep properly. What do you mean you don't want to be buried?

The End

Aradia Megido from Homestuck.Com

That's it, that's the list.

The Desolation

The Autism Temper.

Losing relationships and friendships to ableism and your own disability constantly.

The Fire is a wonderful stim board. Watch it crinkle.

Just watching candles melt for hours.

The fire and thrill gives my life passion again.

Jude Perry.png

The Vast

Accidentally terrifying people by infodumping about the horrors of nature.

The stimulus of falling.

Nature/Space/Weather Documentary on in background always.

Okay, but from how high did you fall? I want to calculate your velocity as you fell through the void.

Weirdly enough... power scaling?

Power scaling is just the art of determining how easily your favorite characters can destroy mankind so... yeah, I can see it.

Brain empty, only terminal velocity.

The Hunt

Cat Autism

The inherent hyperfocus of the hunt. The chase. Your prey.

Studying the habits of your latest hyperfixation/Hunt assigned prey for days at a time.

I've spent so much time hunting in the woods that I forgot about human society. The Missing Person's Bureau have written you off for dead.

Returning to society to sell your wears and realizing you aren't human anymore.

That's okay. Social interaction is random. The Hunt makes sense.

It's black and white. Predator and prey. Humans hunting monsters. It Makes Sense.

The Slaughter

The incredible human WW1 documentary.

"Did you know?" *Describes horrible historic warcrime*

Takes apart puts back together guns from their collection.

The list of known casualties from this war is incomplete. With my help, they can expand it. :)

The Extinction

The world is spiraling towards its end and only you seem to care.

It hurts to be this passionate about a lost cause.

You Will Make Them Care.

[broidobe]

80s-90s rock masterlist ౨ৎ

౨ৎ here you'll find all of the 80s-90s bands i've written for UNLESS they have their own masterlist!

౨ৎ bands in this masterlist so far (it's always expanding): the cure, nirvana, aerosmith, pantera, ozzy osbourne (his band), poison, cinderella, type o negative, extreme, pearl jam, alice in chains, billy idol, danzig, soundgarden, kiss, def leppard, bon jovi, ramones, la guns, ac/dc, slayer, van halen, warrant, nine inch nails, queen, hole, faith no more

౨ৎ smut= ❦ fluff= 𖤐 angst= 𓉸

𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓮

robert

𓋹 dating robert smith would include

𝓷𝓲𝓻𝓿𝓪𝓷𝓪

kurt

𓋹 dating kurt cobain would include

𓋹 safe place 𖤐

𓋹 worshipped ❦ 𖤐

𝓪𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓶𝓲𝓽𝓱

joe

𓋹 doctor 𖤐

𓋹 clink 𖤐

𝓹𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪

dimebag

𓋹 dating dimebag darrell would include

phil

𓋹 phil anselmo with a quiet reader

𓋹 unrelenting ❦

𝓸𝔃𝔃𝔂 𝓸𝓼𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓷𝓮

zakk

𓋹 dating zakk wylde would include

𓋹 zakk wylde nsfw headcannons

𓋹 quiet afternoon 𖤐

𓋹 blush ❦

𝓹𝓸𝓲𝓼𝓸𝓷

bret

𓋹 dating bret michaels would include

𓋹 bret michaels nsfw headcannons

𝓬𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓪

tom

𓋹 tom keifer nsfw headcannons

𓋹 cozy evening 𖤐

𓋹 every little piece 𖤐

𓋹 too much for you ❦

𓋹 still gasping (pt. 2 of too much for you) ❦

𓋹 never meant 𖤐

𓋹 joyride (feat. axl) ❦

𓋹 wretched tide 𓉸

𝓽𝔂𝓹𝓮 𝓸 𝓷𝓮𝓰𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮

peter

𓋹 being married to peter steele would include

𓋹 peter steele dating a younger reader would include

𓋹 colossal ❦

josh

𓋹 dating josh silver would include

𓋹 shake the weight 𖤐

𓋹 signed up for ❦

𝓮𝔁𝓽𝓻𝓮𝓶𝓮

nuno

𓋹 dating nuno bettencourt would include

𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓵 𝓳𝓪𝓶

stone

𓋹 dating stone gossard would include

𓋹 you're quiet ❦

𓋹 beneath the static 𓉸 ❦

eddie

𓋹 dating eddie vedder would include

𓋹 in the mountains 𖤐

matt

𓋹 no direction 𖤐

𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓼

sean

𓋹 dating sean kinney would include

𓋹 sean kinney nsfw headcannons

𓋹 sean kinney nsfw alphabet

𓋹 drummer and a savings bond 𖤐 ❦

𓋹 the whole damn thing 𖤐 𓉸

𓋹 orbiting 𓉸

jerry

𓋹 jerry cantrell nsfw headcannons

𓋹 start of a song 𖤐

𓋹 stale smoke 𓉸 𖤐

layne

𓋹 lazy, dangerous ❦

𓋹 crawling in the dark 𓉸 𖤐

𝓼𝓸𝓵𝓸 𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓼

billy

𓋹 chanel ❦

𝓭𝓪𝓷𝔃𝓲𝓰

john

𓋹 dating john christ would include

𓋹 incense ❦

𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓰𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓮𝓷

chris

𓋹 dating chris cornell would include

𓋹 chris cornell nsfw headcannons

𓋹 chris cornell and the softness only you see

𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼

eric

𓋹 asylum 𖤐 ❦ (very light smut/barely any lol. it's more spice)

𓋹 strutter 𖤐 ❦

ace

𓋹 starry-eyed ❦

𝓭𝓮𝓯 𝓵𝓮𝓹𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓭

rick savage

𓋹 only you 𓉸 𖤐

joe

𓋹 dating joe elliot could include

rick allen

𓋹 ghosted ❦

𝓫𝓸𝓷 𝓳𝓸𝓿𝓲

richie

𓋹 dating richie sambora would include

𓋹 richie sambora nsfw headcannons

jon

𓋹 wicked love ❦ 𖤐

𓋹 the watcher (feat. axl) ❦

𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓼

dee dee

𓋹 dating dee dee ramone would include

joey

𓋹 how deep is your love? ❦ 𖤐

𓋹 fucking dump ❦ 𖤐 𓉸

𝓵𝓪 𝓰𝓾𝓷𝓼

kelly

𓋹 dating kelly nickels would include

𝓪𝓬𝓭𝓬

the whole band

𓋹 how you met the members of ac/dc

𝓼𝓵𝓪𝔂𝓮𝓻

jeff

𓋹 dating jeff hanneman would include

𝓿𝓪𝓷 𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓷

sammy

𓋹 shy type ❦

david

𓋹 milk and honey ❦

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽

jani

𓋹 dating jani lane would include

𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓱 𝓷𝓪𝓲𝓵𝓼

trent

𓋹 hushed devotion ❦

𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓮𝓷

brian

𓋹 brian may nsfw alphabet

𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓮

courtney

𓋹 malibu 𓉸 𖤐

𝓯𝓪𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓷𝓸 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮

mike

𓋹 lonely drinker 𖤐 ❦ (spice)

[ultimateplaylistmaker]

I have thoughts about the traitor perk in eden's garden, for how just vicious it was. Did she knew it had a time limit for her own death going in? did she accept it and only have that sprung on her after? It's so cruel, so so cruel, and the fact Tozu doesn't even PRETEND to deny it. There's a bit of "well she chose it" but there's not downplaying of like "well i only implied so actually not my fault" hes just like "Yeah i did say she'd die lmao, funny huh?"

It FULLY sets up that unlike the canon games, Tozu isn't pretending like he's fully above the game, that he has to be hands off, and that makes him stronger. He's fully admitting right off the gate that he's not above lose lose situations or playing favorites, he's fully brazen about how obvious it was set for Eva in a way that fully suggests that you cannot break this game by exposing the machinations behind the rules for being forced or lies. Tozu isn't as separate from the players like Monokuma pretends to be, he was fully down for casually showing up on command, fucking with Damon's head, and then leaving, and apparently several others did the same.

You can't even call out Tozu as being an unfair game master because he never really says he is. If he saved a stunt like this for the end it would have been a whole thing of unraveling, but he didn't, he did it in the first real murder and didn't even hide it like Tsumugi did. He's setting himself up as a player on the board immediately, he's not the student's and thus can only go so far, but he's very open about making exceptions and being loose with what he's allowed to do or not do. This isn't the kind of game that requires strict rule following protocol, because Tozu's a player too.

Tozu isn't some far away watching mastermind laughing but required to stick to a script that could break the whole game if taken advantage of, he's right there in the action, he's not pretending he's above the game or that the game isn't inherently biased or weighted, he fully embraces that he's a player as well, just a different player with different rules. Him targeting Eva so heavily isn't a violation of the social code, no more then Wolfgang isolating Eva and Damon was, players are allowed to target each other.

He delights in it even, he loves being the game master not despite being a player, but because of it. Tozu has very little thought that he's built different or untouchable, Grace showed that in the prologue by getting some damn good hits in. Tozu isn't pretending to be the person controlling the pieces, he knows he's also a piece and revels in it. Giving him a kind of power that other masterminds lacked.

He will set traps beyond just motives, he will bait, he will come when you call and adjust the rules to make sure you can do your murder that would totally otherwise break it, he is a potential ally, he is a rival player, he is tangible and real and cannot be just brushed off once he hands over the motive. If you can't figure out how to talk to Tozu, how to appeal to Tozu, if you fail to keep him in mind as a player instead of just a watcher and judge, you will be at an objective disadvantage over those who do, because Tozu knows he is fallible, that rules are imprecise, and instead of pretending otherwise, he uses that fallibility to make himself even more dangerous by embracing it and using it against the group.