#has my brain finally broken

[durn3h]

I feel like there’s something wrong with me. I never got tired last night and only slept like 2 hours because I forced myself to and I’m still not tired, but there’s so much “noise” in my brain that it’s making my “ears” hurt

[batsplat]

which motogp rider do you recon would fuck their bike if they’re could?

there's an easy answer here and it's valentino, but luckily he's retired so you can't just go with that cop out. like he definitely wanted to fuck that bike and tbh I'm not sure the 'if they could' caveat even applies here. I fully believe he has fucked that bike

my sense is that he has passed this on to his proteges, who to varying extents do seem like they have all considered fucking a bike. the furthest along this spectrum is bez, who as I understand it has in the past even given his two bikes separate names that can be combined to give the bike's compound name ("I didn't want two different names as that would be like having two girlfriends, which is weird"). this is metaphysically fascinating in many ways, but is also a clear case of someone overthinking things. like, I think if you believe you are in a committed relationship with your racing bike, you do need to treat your bike's 'soul' as something that can transcend the specific bike you are currently riding. when valentino talks about his relationship with the m1, obviously he knows it's not literally the same bike year-to-year, but spiritually it's the same bike. whereas bez is performing odd mental gymnastics here to establish that his two bikes have a unitary soul rather than just, like, accepting that all these bikes have the same soul anyway if he wants them to. bez is the type of guy who wants to fuck his bike but is so hung up on the various philosophical bike-fuck-cuck implications that he never actually manages to fuck it

riders do generally have very weird relationships with their bikes, but it would be too easy to assume they all want to fuck their bikes. with some, there's clearly more of a spiritual identification with the bike, where they see the bike as an extension of themselves. marc is the poster child here: that man does not want to fuck his bike, he thinks he is his bike. both his bike and his body are frequently treated in a distressingly utilitarian manner, where in his mind they exist to fulfil a single purpose, aka 'winning races'. this is how you get him talking about the mechanics fixing the bike and the doctors fixing the body and all that other stuff. it's only been in recent years where, for obvious reasons, he's become a little more aware of how he does actually need to treat his body like a precious resource... but like with the bike, he does still seem pretty ready to repeatedly chuck it in the gravel. despite this apparent lack of care or basic self-preservation instincts, the riders who identify with bikes - who see their souls as one with the bike - don't necessarily have an entirely non-sensual relationship with their bikes... but it's a little different to wanting to fuck their bikes. the sensuality is still there, but the bike and the rider are not distinct units where one can fuck the other. whether you take this to mean that they want to be the bike who is fucked or that there's more of an autosexual situation happening here is up to the reader's interpretation

another interesting question is whether there are some riders who want their bikes to fuck them. I feel like this has to be a thing, though it's a little harder to find explicit evidence here. in some ways, if you set aside the literal order in which bike and rider are arranged, some of the dynamics of riding a bike would lend itself to an interpretation that being attracted to a bike is more about being fucked by the bike than fucking it. this raises another interesting question - and it's whether it's the process of riding a bike in itself that is arousing, or whether the attraction comes from something different. now, to return to our best case study: my sense is that for valentino, he primarily does want to fuck that bike... and it's not necessarily the riding itself that's really doing it for him. it's a very romantic connection, it's about being enamoured with this partnership they've forged and the mutual promise and potential therein. he's in love with winning on that bike, he's in love with what the two of them can achieve together. this isn't about the literal process of approaching a corner on an m1... valentino is at his most attracted to his bike after he has just won on it. here he is stroking his bike after phillip island 2004 (where he sealed his first yamaha title by beating sete in a last lap duel) and laguna 2008, and also him kissing his bike after catalunya 2009

yes, he wants to fuck the bike, but he is a romantic. riding the bike to victory is the wining and dining; the fucking comes later

the last metric I wish to bring in is the need to feel desired by the bike. this is an ego thing, right... the partnership with the bike at the point of victory flatters the ego. the harmonious and productive relations between rider + partner reflects well on them; it bags them a bunch of lovely things from everyone around them like 'appreciation' and 'affection' and 'praise'. thus the bike also reflects on the rider... both in terms of the attractiveness of the bike to the world at large (making it function as a trophy spouse of sorts) and in terms of the quality of the bond between rider and bike. being wanted by the best bike is particularly flattering - but the most important thing is to be wanted at all. I would posit that this is part of what's going on with jorge martin's whole deal, a man who desperately needs to be praised and wanted. the aprilia's no ducati, but at least he's its first choice, y'know. my belief is that jorge martin wishes to be wined and dined by that bike

in conclusion, I would like to propose a basic way of assessing what flavour of sensual relationship the rider has with the bike:

my belief is that most (if not all) riders fall somewhere in this triangle. you have the freaks like marc who are very close to the top and you have the freaks like valentino who are very close to the bottom and probably skew hard left. others are perhaps a little more versatile in their preferences. I don't feel like I have sufficient information to sort all the riders to the correct spot of the triangle, but I hope the general construct holds up. that is all

[hplonesomeart]

Hey. Sorry about the inactivity, but pretty sure no one cared that much anyways lol. Been a looooong time since I kept that distant from Tumblr…at least now I know I’m able to survive without checking posts every day/being chronically online! I’ve got an intense love-hate relationship with this lifestyle I’ve dug myself into. Think I’m getting a little bit better with the balance even if school isn’t really giving me an option. Got a load of work I need to keep catching up on if I don’t want to disappoint my professors. We’ll survive somehow. Here take a quick batch of Puzzle doodles k bye

[tridentarii-trash]

I’LL NOODLE ON WHATEVER YOU WANT, SAVATHÛN

[catboyidia]

HIS LITTLE HOPS?!?!?! THATS SO CUTE?!?!?! HELP?!

[starjunkyard]

"Im not even sure anymore if we get to choose who our friends are" There is a part of me that resents you for making me a worse person than i want to be but i am inexplicably uncontrollably drawn to you. You make me a worse person which is the last thing i want yet i want you in every way. If i could leave i would. Maybe i can but i dont want to. I have fun with you. You challenge me and you captivate me and you push me and pull and run circles around me and it makes me feel like a younger man. For the price of being a worse person i get to feel truly, wholly alive. You are the blood that runs through my veins; vital, inseparable. I was reborn when i met you and you are the womb that haunts me. You are the one person on planet earth who knows me. I wish i could leave, move on and be the man im supposed to be but my heart is tied to yours in a gordian knot. There is a part of my soul that rests in yours, magnetic. For as long as i love you i cannot be better than i am. But maybe thats something i can learn to live with. Gregory House-- I think you're worth it.

[fleshandwires]

shockwave holding bee's spark as it flickers and fades slowly

(cw added for the tags)

[clowningaroundmars]

morales twins vigilantes: getting found out pt 1

hey yall im in my fic writing era. but i am BAD at writing LMFAO i'm really not sure i'll ever write a proper fic with a plot or anything

either way, i hope yall like this lil drabble my brain came up with on a whim of the morales twins!

it's how i imagine the way their secret would be revealed after doing the whole vigilante thing together for a lil bit. it's kind of based on the hcs i had of the twins which is here, kind of a continuation of the last bullet point there actually

miles1610 is miles and miles42 is milo bc i read a couple fics with that name given to him and now it is stuck in my heart u_u

>2nd part here<

well. uh. hope u enjoy! :)

It was a fight that went slightly awry that really did them in.

No blood, no fireworks, no loud banging or explosions or anything. No one was even so badly hurt that they almost died, either.

It was simply just… a broken mask and their father unexpectedly being on patrol that fateful night that finally brought their secret out to light.

The Morales twins had been doing their vigilante thing together for only a few months now. Miles had been Spider-man for well over a year, of course, but it was after a particularly bad fight with a rhinoceros guy (what a freak…) that went semi-viral on social media that his brother Milo finally put his foot down and pulled those Prowler gloves from under his bed. He worked hard to modify the technology to better suit him, and had all of the armor and rope he needed in order to keep up with his brother all set in as little as 2 weeks.

Miles hemmed and hawed about bringing his not-super-powered brother around for the nasty fights he usually tackled alone. But he would be lying if he said that Milo’s concern didn’t put a small smile on his face in the end. Plus, it really helped out a lot when Miles needed to be somewhere quickly but still had a criminal left to take on and web up. Milo being just one text away from springing into action took a real big load off of his shoulders in ways he couldn’t even imagine.

That was about 3 months ago.

It was relatively smooth sailing until one Jefferson Davis took a night patrol under his belt without even warning the boys.

Well, Miles thought to himself in retrospect, we weren’t really around the house to catch if he did tell anyone, so.

Miles ran along a side of a building to catch up with the villain of the week. He was desperately trying to keep this super-powered baddie off of his not-so-super-powered brother, and not quite succeeding. Miles told Milo time and again not to tease any bad guys during a fight. Keep the attention off of you, bro. You do not have superpowers. I do! Is that not what Miles said? God, it’s like in one ear and out the other with this guy. Ugh.

Currently, Milo is parrying and deflecting attacks from this shocker-looking guy, a real piece of work. He still had his hi-vis vest on-- and Miles swore he even saw a name tag on it somewhere which was just hilarious, really-- but aside from his normal-looking work outfit, everything else about this dude was definitely not normal. Like the bright electricity fizzing all over his skull that just barely concealed this man’s real face, and the giant lightning bolts shooting out from his hands as he tried to fry Milo. It was a good thing Milo had enough sense to install energy-absorbing tech into those giant claws of his, or else Miles would be in real big trouble at the ER.

Miles ripped a chunk of some abandoned demolition project that never got done and swung it with all of his might in the direction of their fight, using his webs for maximum distance. It didn’t hit electro-dude but it almost hit his brother. Oops.

“Ayo, watch it!” Prowler growled, his mask distorting his voice the same way it distorted Uncle Aaron’s back when he held the mantle. He gracefully flipped out of the way and shot a grappling hook somewhere off into some scaffolding, pulling himself away from the action to let his bro fly in and give the temporarily-distracted electric-man some work.

Miles would snap back with a retort if he weren’t so busy pummeling this villain with all that he’s got. Both boys’ curfews were about an hour ago and they just knew their mom would be fuming once she got back and found out. But this needed taking care of, and neither Morales boys were willing to leave some freak of nature to take over Brooklyn and shut down all the power lines over a bedtime. Hell no.

But this needed to end now, or else good ol’ Spidey won’t be seeing the light of day for another 2 months. And by the looks of it, neither will the Prowler. Before Miles could even think to land the finishing blow on old lightning-head here though, tragedy struck.

An all-too familiar voice hollers out those dreaded words both boys hate hearing, especially in the middle of a fight.

“PDNY! Freeze! Put your hands up where we can see ‘em!”

Everyone did freeze, Milo looking particularly shocked as his head swivels around to the sight of waving flashlights and 3 burly but familiar silhouettes making their way past the far gates and advancing quickly into the fray.

Jefferson Davis’ gun appears to almost materialize out of the shadows, his face lit up in the harsh lights of his flashlight beam, sporting an intimidating, professional look. Cop mode, is what Miles and Milo called it jokingly one day as they lounged in their room, passing a bag of chips between them and having a laugh at their dad’s expense. That was before Milo took on the mantle of the Prowler. That was before this.

Miles panics slightly as he feels the man jump up underneath him, thrusting an arm into the police’s direction, ready to fire off a bolt--

Right after Milo lunges in front of the officers, ready to take the blast.

It happens in a fraction of a second. Miles didn’t even think he had enough time to open his mouth, let alone warn Jeff of the incoming danger. He figures that’s what Milo must’ve thought, too, otherwise there really was no other explanation for this stupid decision he just made.

Sparks flew, and then the thud of a body hitting the floor seemed to echo throughout the demolition site.

Shit shit shit shit shitshitshitshitshit, was Miles’ inner monologue as he finally landed the blow to the side of the baddie’s head, knocking him out successfully. He quickly webbed the man up to the floor, restraining him fully. The way I shoulda done in the first place, damnit, Miles lamented, freezing in place after the deed was done. His brain was working into overdrive to try and think of ways he could extract his now-nearly unconscious brother from this place without raising their dad’s suspicions.

Ever since Prowler joined in on Spider-man’s “adventures”, the media became even more fascinated with capturing every single moment it could of Spidey now that he had a sidekick in tow.

Headlines splashed on magazines, articles and news feeds read: “Batman and Robin! Spider-man and… the Prowler?” and “Webbed Menace Recruits Purple Sidekick, Even More of a Menace”. They haunted Miles’ every step. Milo, for his part, was mostly amused. But every now and then he would complain about being known as his brother’s sidekick, as if that was the most egregious part of having his every move recorded and uploaded for millions to see online.

Their mother became even more suspicious of her twin sons after she watched a video of the two vigilantes stopping a runaway bus in downtown Brooklyn. They looked eerily similar in size to her own teenage boys, and even seemed to banter the same way after all of the civilians were saved and back on solid ground. The way Spider-man clapped Prowler on the shoulder… hmmm.

To say that she shared her suspicions with her husband would be an understatement. Milo and Miles somehow always managed to catch a familiar cop car slowly rolling around corners and down streets, keeping pace just behind them, watching them. Miles would always roll his eyes, knowing it was their father. Milo would be annoyed but managed to shrug and keep minding his own business, since it was very obviously their father. When confronted, Jeff would try-- and fail-- to casually brush it off as simply doing Concerned Dad things.

“Listen, you two.” Jeff started one evening after dinner. He managed to get both boys down in their room one weekend, just for “a quick talk”. His excuse was that Brooklyn was getting too dangerous lately, especially at night, and that he was “gonna keep an eye on them” as a precaution.

But neither boy missed that slight nervous shift in his stance as he delivered the news, and once their dad bade them a good night and left, they gave each other a silent look that conveyed the exact same thought they were both thinking.

They’re onto us.

Well, their parents’ fears and suspicions were definitely going to be confirmed whether the twins liked it or not.

Milo groaned on the ground, the Prowler gauntlets having taken the majority of the blast sent his way, but the mask was halfway blown off, revealing a good portion of the boy’s face underneath. He rocked in place for a moment, blinking stars and dancing lights out of his eyes for just that one moment.

“Prowler!!” Miles shouted. In his panic, he forgot to lower his voice and conceal his identity, but his feet just wouldn’t move! What the hell, Morales… get it together! His brother was just badly injured and here he was, frozen in place like a deer.

Jeff, for his part, was barking orders to his coworkers and directing them to make a sweep of the place in case any other suspects tried to make a run for it.

They both left. He finally jolted his bright beam of light onto Spider-man, simply standing there a little ways away and staring back with those unnervingly gigantic bug-eyes of his. If Jeff wasn’t in work-mode right now, he’d explode on this guy and ask about what the hell was going on here, but Officer Davis was nothing if not a consummate professional.

Plus, there were more pressing matters to attend to.

There was what seemed like a teenage boy on the ground, wearing those goddamned gauntlets that Jeff could’ve sworn he shipped off to the junkyard after Aaron’s funeral. Damnit, if this punk was running around wearing his brother’s mantle and tagging along with Spider-man just to double-cross him in the end, there was gonna be hell to pay.

Jeff didn’t know why, but he felt slightly protective of the bug-themed hero, damnit. Sue him. And those claws brought nothing but terrible memories of screaming women, dead brothers and heightened stress. He did not need this right now, fuck.

Once the boy on the ground stirred, Jeff quickly pointed his gun and flashlight beam directly onto him. “Those orders were for you, too, punk. Do not try me tonight. Freeze. Put your hands out where I can see ‘em!”

Milo froze on the ground, and then tried to twist his face away from his looming father who was only a foot or two away with the world’s brightest flashlight in his face, fuuuuck. He just knew he was gonna be feeling this headache for the next 3 days…

Tentatively, he also raised his claws in front of his face as slowly as he could, trying to cover his face even more. He propped himself up on his elbows and tried to regulate his breathing.

Having a cop for a dad was not always peachy, but it helped a lot to know exactly how an officer would react if any sudden movements were made while having a gun out, and Milo was not trying to get a bullet to the chest on top of the mother of all electric shocks as well. No thank you.

It was in this moment that Miles’ brain started working again, and he unstuck himself from the pavement to reach out to his dad.

“Offi-- ahem, ahem. Officer Davis,” he remembered to lower his tone and conceal his voice a bit as well, and continued, “what a surprise to see you here. On this, uh. This very beautiful night!”

Groan. Oh my god. Even Milo rolled his eyes a bit, trying to shuffle back.

“I said FREEZE!” Jeff roared, attention still trained on Milo.

Without glancing up, he added, “And you Spider-man. Oh, buddy you are gonna get it after I’m done with this little asshole, runnin’ around with my brother’s-- man, y’know what-- nevermind! Just stay back, okay? I got this handled.”

“But wait! Th-that’s uh. He’s not an asshole, officer, he’s my-- my sidekick! He’s the good guy!! He helped me take this guy down! And he even saved you just now!” Miles waved his hands around frantically, agitating Jeff.

Stop doing that, stupid! Milo thought to himself in a daze, still recovering from the electric blast.

“Stay back, Spider-man. I’m warning you.” Jeff growled.

Miles picked up the hint and halted his movements, giant white eyes flicking back up and down from his dad to his brother and back. He had to think of something, or else Milo would be dragged back to a holding cell and both of their identities would be out. He just couldn’t let that happen.

Biting his lip, Miles gathered some resolve and stepped forward again. “Officer Davis—”

“Not another word outta you!” Jeff swung the flashlight right back onto Miles threateningly, and then trained it back onto Milo again. “I am serious right now, Spidey. One more word outta you and I’m slappin’ the cuffs on you too, I swear to god! I got more than enough room in the back of the squad car for two freaks!”

Miles recoiled. “Freaks. Geez, is that what you think of us?”

But Jeff didn’t answer, because he was all of a sudden deathly silent.

Both of the other officers just finished their sweep of the area, and were making their way back to Jeff when he all of a sudden kneeled down, still training that gun on Prowler’s face. But his movements were slow and hesitant, as if he were performing them in a daze.

Miles’ spider senses should’ve been tingling by now, at the very least a little. Still, he stayed glued to his spot as he watched Officer Davis-- as if in slow motion-- shifting his flashlight and gun into one hand, lowering both slightly and away from Prowler’s shattered mask.

As his other hand reached out, Milo flinched, but he didn’t need to. Jeff simply carded his calloused fingers over his hair, his braid on the one side of his head, in reverence. Milo couldn’t breathe. He was too scared to speak.

And then everyone’s blood ran cold at the same time.

Jeff saw the beads of Milo’s favorite basketball team colors, ones that he was excited to get again at the barber shop last weekend, simply hanging there tied to the ends of the Prowler’s braid, sitting limply in his hand. Milo’s blood ran cold once he realized exactly what it was that his own father was looking at. He didn’t need to reveal his face whatsoever when his now-exposed hair told the whole story anyways.

Miles’ spider senses finally kicked up once Jeff looked up slowly, an absolutely ruined expression rippling across his worn-out features as he really gave Spider-man a good, hard look, eyes playing over what little he could see of the vigilante in the darkness of night.

For a split second, no one said anything.

Even electro-head seemed to be silent as he came to and tried to sneakily rip the webs off of him. No dice. He finally turned his attention to the trio not too far away and opened his mouth.

“Hey, what the hell is this, some family reunion or something? Let me outta here, man! Goddamn, what a fuckin’ punch, man… shit…”

Everyone startled at the same time, turning their attention to the villain. Damn, almost forgot about him.

The other officers finally arrived to surround the other angles behind Spider-man, one of them even kneeling down beside electric-- whatever, the villain of the week-- and started cutting him out of the sticky ropes to put him in cuffs.

“Don’t even think about it,” one of them grunted once they got to his hands and saw a tingle of electricity surging through fingertips. “We got dampeners in my squad car if you try anything cute, got it?”

Jeff slowly holstered his gun, keeping the flashlight trained on the Prowler, unable to tear his eyes from this boy lying on the ground at his feet.

“Davis…? You good?” This was the officer who wasn’t busy wrangling sticky webs off of the baddie. He had his flashlight and gun trained on said baddie of course, but his head was swiveled to look at his captain.

Jeff swallowed hard and nodded slowly, a weirdly mechanical kind of movement.

“…Okay. Hey, Spidey. Thanks for this, I guess,” said the officer, keeping his concerned gaze trained on Jeff, shrugging a shoulder. “Too bad about your friend though. Hope he’ll be fine.”

It took Miles a second to recognize that iconic mustache, and then it dawned on him that it was his dad’s faithful friend and his own sidekick, Officer Gutierrez. How ironic, Miles thought ruefully.

He turned back to his dad, who was now helping Prowler up from the ground and steadying him against his side.

“What’re we doing with these two?” Gutierrez asks, because someone has to.

Jeff startles, as if he was just asleep and happened to wake up. “Uhh, about...?”

Gutierrez gave him a look. “The mask guy under your arm. And, uh. This guy,” he points his chin towards VOTW (villain of the week) as he’s being hauled up forcibly by the other officer, now in giant sturdy cuffs binding his arms together.

“The… that guy. Electric man. Just… just put those dampeners on his hands and take him down to HQ. They’ll probably just ship him off to the Raft. Let me know when you guys get there, of course. I’ll uhm. I think I’m gonna be taking my break right now.”

“You taking the mask-man all by yourself, then, captain?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I will. It’s… something personal to me, to be seeing these claws on this boy. I’m sorry. I think I might explain later but right now, we gotta get that guy behind some kinda bars. Please, Gutierrez.”

Gutierrez gives him an unreadable expression, and Jeff shoots an apologetic look back.

Finally, his partner gives a small nod and turns back to the task at hand. Miles breathes out a sigh of relief.

But it was a breath too soon.

“Spider-man. Prowler. The both of you. My car. Now.”

[valenthario]

girls who are boys who are cowboys who are cowgirls who wear their binder as a top > anyone else

[leviolo]

How deeply, fundamentally unlovable do you think Crowley must feel?

Like, you’re created for a specific purpose. one big grand purpose and belief that you are told makes up essentially, your entire being, no questions asked. And for the most part, quite nearly everyone around you manages to do it with ease. But for some ungodly (lol.) reason, you simply cannot. Something about who and what you are doesn’t fit the puzzle you’re told you were designed specifically for, and you’re cast out for it. And then, once you’re already cast out, you’re given a new purpose, a new belief, a new mold to fit. And once again, everyone around you falls into place. Each and every being like you manages to choose either side, to find a place for who they are. Once again, you simply, fundamentally, can’t. No matter how hard you might try. Once again, you’re condemned for it.

But then one day, you find someone, and they’re incredible, and not only do they not cast you out or condemn you, but it almost seems as though the more they get to know you the closer you two are. The more you might love them. The more you might even, maybe, be loved back. It takes a lot out of anyone to be rejected from every institution, every belief, every community you have ever known only for being who you are. That’s painful. Even worse, that’s lonely. And for so, so long, it utterly terrifies you, that thought of turning over the last corner of your heart, for fear it will happen again. That it will happen for the last time, and you will finally have to reckon with the thought that maybe there truly is not a single place in this universe for you.

And then you do. You turn over your heart. And it happens again.

To be known is, supposedly, to be loved. But what if it has only ever meant to be abandoned?

[daughterofsarenrae]

Kal-El might not be the smartest fish but at least he's pretty!

[drygrasses]

🔇-

[crossbackpoke-check]

18 + swaymark!!

oooo thank you!!

#18 - pleaser, wallows + swaymark

okay i know they are canonically obsessed with each other but. the song is in some ways about feeling like you’re failing in your relationship and being not quite as obsessed with them as they maybe are with you, and in this video of them talking about being a tandem, there is the slightest pause before swayman answers “do you miss him?” that makes me want to probe a wound. we’re not talking irl reasons of how that’s an absurd question (how do you miss him. you’re coworkers you’re seeing each other all the time) we’re talking that maybe this whole goalies-in-love thing got blown out of proportion and now swayman’s having to buy into the bit too hard. linus loves it & everyone’s asking about their bromance & how they love each other so much and the thing is—linus is safe. he’s got a wife and plausible deniability and jeremy? jeremy is gay. sure, he can crack jokes and people-please but the more people ask the more they're going to find out until maybe they find out something jeremy doesn't want them to know. and the longer this goes on, the more jeremy has to sit at linus' dinner table with linus and his beautiful wife and pretend like he isn't a little bit in love with him. and you know what? the longer it goes on and linus doesn't dial it down jeremy does stop being in love with him, because it just feels cruel, until he finally is done enough that he stops biting his tongue and ruins the moment.

[insinirate]

god how i missed tankdad and his not-son pico

theyre everything to me rn

[riot-control-camp]

one piece openings so far have just been like

we are: i have bonkers catchy chords and my visuals are heartwarming, symbolic, and compelling. i can't wait to become an instant classic!

believe: maybe i'm a slight visual downgrade and a different vibe, but i have big shoes to fill! maybe i don't quite succeed at doing that but my vocals are still great and i do a fantastic job of showcasing how far the straw hats have already come!

hikari e, actively crushing a metal pipe into dust and snorting it like fucking cocaine: we are going to rotoscope everything while simultaneously changing the camera angle every 7 frames Exactly. my music was crafted by rats who painstakingly churned the ancient music glyphs into a shape that satisfied me, and i melted your brain with it so quickly that you didn't even fucking CARE that the next crew addition got spoiled along the way. i spit on ozymandias' grave and demand you despair at MY works instead. anyways watch your stupid pirate show or whatever

[freizusein]

it doesn't need to be perfect it only needs to be done it doesn't need to be perfect it only needs to be done it doesn't need to be perfect it only needs to be done it doesn't need to be perfect it only needs to be done it doesn't need to be perfect it only needs to be done it doesn't need to be perfect it only needs to be done it doesn't need to be perfect it only needs to be done it doesn't need to be perfect it only needs to be done it doesn't need to be perfect it only needs to be done it doesn't need to be perfect it only needs to be done it doesn't need to be perfect it only needs to be done it doesn't need to be perfect it only needs to be done it doesn't need to be perfect it only needs to be done it doesn't need to be perfect it only needs to be doneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee EAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH--------