#he will fucking lose it on those crabs

[zutalorsihavemissedone]

Call in a professional

About to feed the neighborhood

[sunderwight]

Cumplane where Airplane, in a fit of either bravery or insanity or positive or negative self-esteem (he's not totally sure) decides to cosplay as Luo Binghe and post the pictures online.

Of course, he doesn't do it as "Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky", he knows he has some questionable fans and doesn't really want to hand them a picture of his face. So he posts the images under one of the pseudonyms he uses for lurking around the comment section and social media tags. It's just a handful of images of him looking like the protagonist in his head, attempting to strike cool poses in a wig and some period clothes (he rented both).

The reception is... mixed. Airplane does not have abs, after all, nor a flawless complexion or much skill with makeup. He is fat, freckled, and awkward. The PIDW readership is not known for being particularly supportive either. In fact they're mostly a crab bucket of negativity and masculine posturing, so he gets a lot of mean-spirited commentary.

It's fine. Nothing he hadn't expected. Really solidifies for him that posting was a fit of madness, actually! What did he even expect? He's bracing himself for the worst when he sees that Peerless Cucumber, notorious hate-reader and defender of Luo Binghe's honor, has commented. Ah, shit. He's probably going to rip into Airplane for daring to sully his precious Binghe's reputation by dressing up like that, isn't he?

The comment is long, too. Fuck. Airplane's not sure if his self-esteem can take a comprehensive beating from the champion hater himself, but he's too curious not to look.

Shen Yuan, in the meanwhile, is just pleased that there has FINALLY been a Luo Binghe cosplayer who looks the part. Of course Luo Binghe wouldn't have exaggerated muscles, those are just a product of dehydration. Binghe spent most of his disciple years running around chopping wood and hauling laundry, and then later doing whatever he could to pack on the calories in order to make it through the Abyss. A hefty workman's build would only make sense for him, anything else would be nonsense. Airplane also described Luo Binghe as having a beautiful face, which Shen Yuan won't blame most cosplayers for not being able to just make happen, but a beautiful face doesn't mean "covered in so much makeup it looks like an anime character"! When would Luo Binghe have the time or inclination to put on makeup? A natural beauty with some inevitable blemishes would make more sense and be much more appealing, and this "Airplane Crashing to the Ground" (funny play on the author's name, Shen Yuan approves) has very pretty features! Everyone hating on this cosplay is just an idiot, the only actual problem is that his wig is poorly fitted.

So in true Peerless Cucumber fashion, he lays this all out.

This gets him embroiled in arguments with several other fans, who even accuse him of actually being the guy in the photos, claiming that there's no other reason why he would defend them. Shen Yuan doesn't care if people think that's him, because that's still the best Luo Binghe cosplay he's ever seen, but he doesn't want them doubting the sincerity of his arguments. So, he decides that the only reasonable thing to do is dress himself up in cosplay as well and then post the actual photos of himself.

While he'd like to dress up as one of Luo Binghe's allies like Mobei Jun, or maybe someone cool like Yue Qingyuan, he is too pedantic to think he could pull that off. Those guys are all strong warrior types, and Shen Yuan is a scrawny pale rich kid who looks like he'd probably lose a fight with a wet paper towel. The only characters he could plausibly pull off would be some of the more consumptive members of Binghe's harem and maybe, maybe, one of the weaker villains like Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Yuan is NOT posting pictures of himself crossplaying to the central nexus of toxic masculinity itself, so... Shen Qingqiu it is!

Poor Airplane has to go sit and stare at a while for a while. Peerless Cucumber likes his cosplay. Peerless Cucumber, ardent defender of Shang Qinghua's sellout crappy main character mary-sue, thinks Airplane is good-looking enough to cosplay as him. And said so. Repeatedly. And then posted borderline thirst-trap villain cosplay of himself, inadvertently revealing in the process that he is hot.

What the. What. What?!

Anyway, Shen Yuan suggests that they attend the next convention both cosplaying together because Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky is supposed to be doing a meet & greet at that one, and wouldn't it be fun to go as a pair? And Airplane agrees before his brain catches up and he realizes that might present a problem.

[dogs2shouldvote]

during my latest relisten of taz balance, i recorded every line i found even the slightest bit funny with zero context, not even who said it (though some are pretty obvious). here’s all my favorites!!

“i’m probably studying.. my cantrips”

“just say mastrubating, dad”

“don’t come in mom i’m studying my canteips!!”

.

“yeah you’ll do any dumb shit”

.

“it’s like a bag of holding! but for.. ass.”

.

“do we know how much damage we did to him?”

“six damage, you said it out loud with your mouth.”

.

“it should be in the player’s handbook! get your salty snack to enjoy while you play dnd”

.

“my grandpa says it’s rude to whisper. especially on a train!”

.

“i’m not going to go toe to toe with a crab while youre armed with a terrible scottish accent and travis doesn’t even have his sheild. i’m out! … did i say travis? i mean leman kessler.”

“nope! that was wrong all the way around.”

.

“i’m cosplaying taako right now, as a stupid man.”

.

“who’s just rolling dice? who is doing secret checks that i don’t know about?”

.

“i always waste my 20’s on perception checks. like i give a shit.”

.

“it’s completely conceivable he would have a name tag.”

“IN A GANG?”

.

“like a pelt??? like a bramble*pelt*?????”

.

“is there a math check? what are you talking about?”

“yeah it’s your fucking brain. you use your brain to add numbers together”

“16”

“what are you fucking doing??”

.

“griffin i love you youre my brother. but if my skill called history doesn’t literally help me with history trivia questions in a category called history what are we FUCKING doing here??”

.

“can i ask you a question? are you guys mean to everyone?”

.

“fus-ro-over dere”

.

“that one was actually a badass bernie sanders”

.

“hey thug! what’s your name? i’m about to tentacle your dick.”

.

“a d6 is like some dice ass dice. that’s some monopoly shit.”

.

“i thought you were saying merle, it’s his bread and his body, take 2d6 healing points”

.

“you two remind me of something… you remind me of the babe! and then i throw the glass sphere at them.”

.

“make a constitution saving throw to see if you can eat this fucking rock with your mouth.”

.

“dungeons and dragons is a. great game.”

.

“my name is magnus burnsides”

“marchins burchens”

.

“magnus would not say that. however, travis would.”

.

“can we please not talk about chekhov’s bush?”

.

“we’ve got a ball, a sack, and a tool!”

“everything is gross here in dnd.”

.

“only losers smoke, isaac.”

“i give isaac an hour long lecture about the dangers of smoking.”

.

“i’m just gonna put my mouth down there and go buck wild”

.

“there’s a lot of go cart tracks called the adventure zone and i’ve been working with my lawyer to shut them all down forever”

.

“does taako fish?”

“yeah taako fishes.”

.

“a rock hard-“

*justin, clint, and travis laugh*

“come ON, *really*?”

.

“taako rushes in!”

“what! magnus follows him.”

“merle’s good out here!”

“WHAT is going on?”

.

“how do you not have a d6 it comes with every board game”

“my daughter-“

“eats them for power???”

.

“uhhh how much health do you have.”

“im not gonna tell you.”

.

“let’s see… i am going to hurt jenkins. with a magical spell.”

.

“this is about to become the taako show starring taako.”

.

“BLUFF FUCKING BLUFF O’CLOCK?? WHAT IS THIS, HALF PAST PERSUASION TIME??”

.

“i’m not laughing in game” *justin fucking loses it*

.

“she’s the best at burning shit ever.”

.

“traaav griffin got to do his show for so long and now he’s gonna destroy yours.”

.

“fucking lup finds like. a gun.”

.

“for sure, keep it sleazy. we’re out, bye!”

.

“i have to believe…. i’m gonna get those fifteen dollars back from greg fucking grimaldis”

.

“based on the rules of the game, dad… you die.”

.

“dad’s making a jerk off motion at me”

.

“don’t play the pennywise card like you ALWAYS try to”

.

“should i talk slower so that everybody who has been complaining about us not playing dnd has time to nut?”

.

“i am a wizard. my name is taako. and i am pretty well fucked.”

.

“yeah i’ve got cumin who do you think i am?”

.

“hear that, babe? we’re *legends*”

.

“i’m clint mcelroy and i played merle hightower-“

“nope”

[iamjacksragingboner]

Gross Childhood Best Friend Soap

Word Count: 1.6K

Alternate Endings Here

Warnings: The tiniest smidgen of angst but it ends nice so you better not complain, not super proofread

A/N: Yeah I dunno, came up with this last night and just crammed it out today in a sort of word diarrhea in which I blacked out and woke up naked and alone in the middle of the bush with this on my laptop screen. Make of that what you will

Contrary to his callsign, Soap is, and always has been, a gross little goober of a man

He’s been gross since you were kids, going digging for worms, collecting hermit crabs to take home from the beach in his pockets, rolling around in the dirt and coming home tracking mud on the carpet. Of course, it wasn’t all bad. He’d always offer to kiss your scrapes and bruises better, even if they were bloody or muddy. He’d always find pretty seashells to give you amidst his hunt for the largest hermit crab. He was gross within reason.

You had many a fond memory of going off to the creek at the back of your neighbouring houses with him. You'd climb up to what felt like perilous heights in your child minds, to sit on the highest point of the creek. From there, you would watch as Johnny dug for the perfect stones for you both to skim, watch him build dams and change the currents of the water. Watch as he would lunge at bugs, fish, tadpoles, lizards, and present them up to you from below, the squirming creatures clutched in his mud covered hands.

At the end of the day, just before your parents would call you back home for dinner, Johnny would climb up on the rock with you, just to sit and hold your hand. If he was feeling particularly bold, he would plant a kiss on your hand, and tell you he was going to marry you one day. You called him gross for that too, but latched onto the idea all the same.

Your early teen years, where puberty had begun for the both of you, was plagued with a myriad of varying smells and odours. Forget sweating like a pig, Johnny sweat like a boar; walking home from school with him after P.E. was a nightmare for your nasal cavities. You didn't mind though, he made good enough conversation that you ended up getting used to the stink.

For the amount of afternoons you spent in his room, you'd think you would eventually get used to the sight of his dirty clothes and mugs littering his floor and desk. You never did, always scolding him for not keeping his room clean knowing he had a lady coming over. He would always laugh, even as you threw his pillow at him, copping it square in the face.

So many nights were spent laying side by side in his bed, talking late into the night, curious hands too scared to do more than brush pinkies with the other laying inches away. You always felt as though you could feel him staring at you in the quieter moments of those nights, but you never caught him.

You spent your later teen years feeling bitterly towards him. You went from thinking you'd be best friends forever, to being an afterthought for Johnny. You did try, of course, to keep close to him.

In his late teen years, Johnny was gross in the sense that he’d go off to parties just to see how many people he could make out with. Would have sex with anyone who offered, just for the hell of it. Accompanying him to parties was a nightmare.

"You promise you won't abandon me this time?" You found yourself asking this more than once, each time slightly less optimistic than the last, but never losing your faith in him.

"Of course not, lass," he would always say. "Yer ma' girl! I'll stick right by yer side this time, lass. I promise."

What shallow promises they were. You were always demoted to the third wheel, the one who held the drinks while he went off to flirt with someone new he hadn't fucked yet. You found yourself leaving early and alone most nights, walking home and hugging your sides to keep yourself from falling apart, kicking stones imagining they were Johnny's face. Cursing yourself for thinking this time would be different, and that maybe he'd look at you for once. Going to bed cold and bitter, knowing just next door, Johnny would be waking up with someone else next to him in his bed. You just hoped he remembered to keep his room clean for them.

You both graduated, with Johnny leaving to join the military and you leaving to go to university. You kept in scarce contact over the years, occasionally calling to catch up, Johnny telling you where he was stationed, you telling him what you were working on at uni, apologising for missing birthdays, missing holidays, promises to call again soon, promising to catch up when he's home, all shallow. At least, that's what it felt like to you.

Until one night, when you were out at a bar with you friends, celebrating your recent graduation. You were all discussing with great vigour what you would all get up to with your newfound freedom from studies, when you felt the familiar feeling of eyes boring holes into the back of your skull. A little unsettled, you took a look around the bar, trying to see who could possibly be staring at you so intensely, but you couldn't quite catch their eye. You sipped at your drink, a frown furrowing your brows for a moment, before you brushed the feeling off altogether.

An hour passed and you'd forgotten the feeling in the haze of the alcohol. You were ordering yourself another drink, and as you reached into your wallet to grab out your card, another hand swooped in front of you to pay for your drink. You looked up, startled, before you met his gaze. Johnny. Staring down at you with a smile that could melt glaciers.

"Johnny, you didn't tell me you were in town," you murmured, eyes greedily taking in as much of him as you could in this moment of reunion. Scars on his chin covering the one he got from splitting his chin riding a bike for the first time. Stubble covering his jaw. The corniest mohawk that he had always talked about getting, sitting on top of his head. Your face flushed beet red when your eyes dragged over his built form; apparently that childhood crush you'd had on him all those years ago hadn't quite faded as much as you'd thought it had.

"You didn't tell me you'd graduated university, lass," he replied, the sound of his voice—finally in person again and not over the phone—sending shivers down your spine. "Had to find out myself from yer mum."

You hid your guilt behind the drink you tipped back into your mouth, averting your gaze as he watched you with dark eyes. "Thanks for the drink," you breathed, and he laughed.

"Don't even mention it, 's the least I can do. Why don't we go sit down somewhere 'n catch up, aye? Come on, lass."

You found yourself being guided over to a booth, Johnny's hand on the small of your back, sending ripples of warmth through you and into places the alcohol couldn't quite reach. You sat down first, with Johnny shuffling in close beside you, your shoulders brushing, electricity coursing through your veins.

As you sat and spoke, catching up on what you've missed in each other's lives, you found yourself noticing something. Johnny was using all the moves he used to use on people he fancied in high school, the ones he used to get them all flustered, to get in their pants.

You had to admit, you could see why so many people slept with him; he was charismatic as all hell, that boyish charm spawning those all too familiar butterflies in your gut, and he was quite literally always in contact with you. Whether it be the arm resting behind you on the seat of the booth, his knee gently nudging yours beneath the table, or a hand tucking a hair behind your ear, it seemed Johnny had turned the charm up to the max.

It was nice to be on the receiving end of it for once, but there was a certain bitterness that still lingered behind like a foul taste in the back of your throat. Was this just meaningless flirting to him, were you just another girl on his list to fuck and be done with? With all the alcohol in your system, you were well and truly past the point of caring, but you knew that if you woke up tomorrow morning in an empty bed you'd not only be cursing him, but yourself as well.

You let him lean in closer, tracing a finger down your cheek, and you let yourself be giddy, blushing like a schoolgirl when he winked at you. You let yourself swoon when he kissed you, cradling your face in his calloused palms. You let him take you back to his parent's place, nestled just next to your own home. You let him take you upstairs and into his room, holding your hand and shushing you when you both laughed a little too loud.

You let yourself feel like teens once more as you stumbled into that all too familiar room, hit with the smell of Johnny, the smell of home. You felt guilty, ashamed, as you let yourself savour the taste of him, the feeling of his naked body pressed against yours, his hands raking along your body as if you'd disappear if he let go. You let yourself fall asleep in his arms, smiling as he carded his fingers through your hair and pressed kisses to your scalp, whispering incoherent things into your skin.

You awoke the next morning, expecting to find Johnny's bed empty. But it wasn't. And neither was it the next morning, or the morning after that. In fact, the pair of you spent a lot of time waking up together.

This is where you find yourself now, lying in the early morning light in Johnny's bed, the man in question sprawled out next to you, snoring with his mouth wide open, drool leaking on his pillow.

"Gross," you murmur to yourself with a fond smile, tucking yourself into his side and closing your eyes once more.

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Hello 👋 Could I please request Percy Jackson teaching his s/o (who doesn’t know how to swim and is a bit scared of water) how to swim or surf?

I’m not sure why but I totally see him as a surfer. Sorry if it’s too detailed or lacks details! (Oh and I think u said somewhere to possibly give some indications for reader personality so maybe uhm sassy bookworm indoor-lover? Not sure tbh)

Thank you an feel free to ignore obvs!

🩷🩷🩷

This one was so cute but I haven't written Percy like this before so hopefully it fits him <3

also how did I find such a fitting header tho-

Sea salt kisses---Percy Jackson x reader at the beach

»»————-　★　————-««

-First of all Percy gains a fear of drowning during HoO because we all know demigods get scared of their element. This means he’s so understanding because he knows that feeling of being scared that you're completely helpless to the elements [even though he isn’t]

-So he’d definitely let you start slow, you’d go to rock pools and stick your toes in. He’d talk to the starfish and hermit crabs, bragging about you too the animals that literally don’t give a fuck. Although there was that one seagull who became heavily invested in your relationship 

-You’d have picnics on the beach and collect shells, because he definitely carries them around with him. Sometimes he’ll go to grab something out of his pocket and half the beach will just fall out. Anyways, he’d go surfing and you’d lay on a beach towel reading the book Annabeth lent you until he finally dragged you into the water. Definitely somewhere calm, and you’d splash each other, standing with your knees just in the water, and he’d be so proud <3

-Can’t wait until you want to go further in, because he gets to show off 

-Holds your waist as you jump over the waves, floats around and ducks under, holding his breath until you lose track of him. Then he’d creep up and tickle you under the water with that stupid grin. 

-He’d take those cheesy polaroids of you wearing sunglasses, or eating blue ice cream with a dot of it on your nose that he’d definitely lick off because he isn’t going to waste good food and also he might get a kiss out of it too >>>

-You’d get comfortable enough to go in deeper water and he’d float around you just chilling, but the second your breath hitches or you think you spot something in the water he’d be right there, making jokes or poking fun at the person on the beach that forgot to put sunscreen on and are now burning to a fucking crisp until oh wait that’s Jason someone tell him-

-Boogie boarding comes before surfing, and you’d get one of those nemo themed ones because of course it’s his favorite movie and obviously he had to get it for you on your birthday 

-When he goes surfing, you’d sit on the front of the board, toes tucked over the edge as he controls the waves to be a smooth ride all the way to shore, where you could get off when you wanted to and walk along the sand collecting shells to make into yet a necklace he’d wear, and tell everyone that he was given it by the best person in the world  

-He can makes things dry in the water, so there's a possibility that you can lay on your very own surfboard reading the latest novel at low tide, when there isn’t a wave in sight and Percy can just admire the sun on your skin and the ripples around you

-Anyways he’d love taking you to the beach because it’s just like taking you to meet Sally, this is his element and when your in it it’s even better <3

»»————-　★　————-««

[writingoneout]

Untilted Katamari Reflections

Preamble:

Content considerations for the following include:

Parental abuse

Bigotry

Worldly anxiety

You're welcome back another day if that's too much right now.

I.

It’s fall of 2015.

You and your virgin college friends drink shitty cocktails called the “Slutty Will Rodgers.” They’re just Pepsi rawdogged with indeterminate amounts of grenadine and Captain Morgan. When you bought the mixers a Wal-Mart stocker yodeled “OOOOoOoooOH, maKIN sOMe DRINKS?!?!” and you knew it was time to leave.

We Love Katamari is on the Telly. It’s a sweet, trippy game you first bought to cope with high school. On Dark Fridays at 1am, when your inbox was barren and your balls were full, you’d drive to the empty gym downtown and sprint six miles. Then you’d come home and replay the firefly level until you fell asleep with your pug.

Your college friends are bad at the game, so they pass the controller. You’re playing the underwater stage. A spaceman falls in the pond of people gunk and stacked crabs. It’s going really well if you’re honest. You point to the screen and say “this’ll be Florida if Trump wins.” See Fig. 1.

Figure 1: Rick Desantis has big plans for Disney.

Your friends don’t reply because they soon won’t be virgins and their tongues battle each other’s. It’s a different game they play, one with fuzzier rules, but greater industry respect. You wish the campus gym was open 24/7.

. . .

Your skills as the prince are not inherent. You first meet him in 2005, when your dyspraxic hands can barely tie a shoe. Your parents catch you lose shit for the Toonami review of Me and My Katamari. They buy it for Christmas, hoping to steady your nerves while your father’s in therapy.

Dr. Flam is a Neo-Freudian hitched to your mom’s guy, Dr. Flim. She’s deep in your dad’s dream journal and makes him watch movies like Cool Hand Luke to really reign in his ego. He gets the DVDs from the Netflix site, then through the mail. As a family you watch your dad’s therapy films and reruns of Inyuasha.

In the waiting room you barely navigate the sticky ball through Namco Bandai’s Satoshi Kon parade. See Fig. 2. You’ve only seen adults express anger verbally, so when you mess up you grunt a lot and let out those Leopold Butters Stotch swears like “crap,” “shoot,” and “gosh darn.” You’re not particularly self-aware, so you probably just say “god fucking damn it” a few times and don’t remember. Years later you realize there was probably a secretary behind the glass watching you do all this.

Figure 2: Bwahbwahwabhbawahbwaaaaah.

Sometimes there’s a girl in the room with you, just around your age. She’s stuck while Dr. Flim teaches her mom about what dream snakes mean for her fear of male puberty. That's what he did for your mom, anyway.

You think the waiting-room stranger is cute, but you won’t admit you like girls yet, especially not to yourself. To cope with the cognitive dissonance, you do your weird shit louder while refusing to make eye contact with her. If you get real stressed you crank up the main menu track and yell “ahhhhh that’s so relaxing” while the “nah nah nah nahs” play through your headphones.

At one point the girl stands against a wall and stares at you with her arms crossed. You bet she thinks you’re cool, but she’s probably just annoyed and hopes you’ll notice, or maybe just ask if she’s OK. It’s probably good you don’t talk with her. You might ask something stupid, like if she's seen the roach corpse in the stairwell. It’s been there for a year straight, isn’t that crazy?

For better and worse, you power through your little game alone. Every time you lose the King of All Cosmos beats, shoots, and belittles you. See Fig. 3. It reminds you of when your own dad shattered your Harry Potter wand over the kitchen counter because you dropped a mini pizza.

Figure 3: The King of All Cosmos offers little constructive advice, all things considered.

You fail quite frequently. Eventually you drop the game because it’s getting stressful and you have the power to relieve yourself of the situation—not the Freudian lobby, just your fake dad.

II.

It’s 2012. PlayStation Network uploads The Prince’s primeval outing: Katamari Damacy. Within, Padre Cosmotic flaps his gums over too much hooch then slams his dump truck ass through the better part of our solar system. He dislodges every recognized constellation and even the moon itself.

Cosmos sends Prince to Earth—the last brick left in the shitstorm—to make slop of our planet and bodies. With the slop space itself will be made anew. The Good Son does as he's told, and every living entity experiences euphoric ego death within the bulbous heaven of the Katamari.

As a Real Gamer Teen you lose a lot less in this one. You really go in and fix Fake Dad’s mistakes, no problem at all. This is why a year ago you hailed “gaming journalism” as your calling. You write clean and play tight; should keep the lights on. It’s the most concrete idea you’ve had since 7th grade when you outlined a YA novel called Tooth Pocket. Even you didn’t think Scholastic would buy that one, though. It was just too hot for the book fair.

One day you’re cranking through FFVI and your real dad swings by, mad you're young. He grills your ass and says “I bet you can’t even tell me the biggest thing happening right now.” It’s some real “What’s a gallon of milk cost?” shit, he could mean anything.

 Surprisingly, you can’t think of a good answer. You and your friends are actually pretty informed because John Stewart is still at the desk and y’all chime in every day. See Fig. 4. You also spend hours each week tearing through MSN slideshows in your Graphic Design class because the Photoshop takes five minutes. You’ve seen a staggering amount of the Syrian civil war.

Figure 4: Sometimes in Snapchat you draw glasses on your cat to make him look like Mitch McConnel. You wouldn't do that without this guy.

Still, you’re a little stumped. It’s the middle of a phenomenon native to moralist presidencies known as "a slow news week.” You actually ran out of war shit the other day and clicked through some slides about Pakistani wrestlers. The seniors who offered you Jack Daniels in the Whataburger lot saw it and laughed. They thought you were peeping dong in class. You really weren’t, but they didn’t believe you. They graduate certain you were bricked up in the Dell Lab over big guys in spandex.

“I don’t know,” you tell your dad.

He throws his hands behind his head, hard, like an orangutan chucking logs at a poacher.

“It’s the fucking carbon tax,” he yells. This comes as a surprise, you think, because that shit is last month’s news. It really didn’t go anywhere.

“Do you not pay attention because you don’t give a shit, or are you just a nihilist and think you can’t do anything?” You can tell in his eyes he thinks there’s a real answer. “Seriously, which is it?

You don’t remember what you said. You probably just stammered until he walked off.

A month later he picks you up from marching band. Your phone is dead, so he had to wait twenty minutes longer than anticipated while you found his car. He punches the rearview mirror until the windshield cracks then screams of how your birth kept him from New England.

III.

It’s 2016. A rockin’ MILF in the Psych department gets you really into Hamilton. See Fig. 5. Every day you wake up on the grind and blast “You Aaron Burr, sir?” through your shitty 7-11 cans. While cramming foreign language Quizlets and McGraw Hill Online you do this thing called “Hafilton.” It’s where rock up to “Nonstop” and quit listening just before Hamilton decides what he will stop is being a good husband.

Figure 5: Like Kojima, you know "MILF" is a mindset, not a factual inquiry.

It’s 2018. Your grades are notably better and you’ve snuck into the honors program. Like Hamilton himself, you really flourished at 19 and thought about running for office. You immediately abandoned this idea after remembering your allergy to recordings of your image or voice.

You cohabit with the Psych MILF, and she offers some advice: she’s really had her boots on the ground with this whole “clinical psych thing” and honestly, respectfully, she loves you, but dear God it might not be your scene. It’s taken a real toll on her and the friends, and she can’t imagine you going through that shit.

At 1am in your living room you boot up DOOM (2016) and listen through some Hamilton. Angelica is thirsty on main when you remember that you, yourself, could be a lawyer. You don’t have to run for Congress to fight the establishment. There’s just the common law, and it’s right there. You can just get your grubby little hands in that shit and work your magic.

. . .

It’s the last semester of undergrad. Your Western Thought professor says Hamilton wasn’t really a huge deal and really James Madison shat out the big parts of our faction-proof empire. Yes, there was, in fact, a civil war, but the caplock rifle worked it out. After the Federalist papers he has you read the Bill of Rights but no Supreme Court cases. There’s a lot of talk on negative liberties.

Just before finals, the learned doctor says your generation only has two things to worry about: the climate and the poverty. Yeah they’re big, he says, but they’re just two things. You’re crafty kids, smart as the framers, even.

. . .

The state decides law school is your jam and lets you come inside.

There’s the negative liberties but you actually read Supreme Court opinions when the big boys aren’t shaking fists for Valley Forge. They have you listen to Hamilton for context. You feel dirty. An LRW professor puts on the “I’m Just a Bill” video and your sectionmate with Ivy degrees gets really, really mad.

. . .

The Federalist Society has a comfy presence at your law school. Along with Big Oil they sling out free pizza to every Little Scalia with a rumbly tum tum.

On your way to class you hear what the pizza boys feel. They hate Europeans, those social democrats with the rotten armories and clumpy cash. The Euros, they think, give too much wiggle room for the mentally ill, and by that they mean they mean gay people and probably just women overall.

There are more than two things to fix, you think.

. . .

The pandemic hits. You and some pals start a Google Doc to stay afloat. It barely works. In the Zoom review for the property final your professor catches multiple people crying. "You don't have to be here," he tells them, “there are other jobs.”

. . .

A year passes. You’re in a niche public interest class you do all right with. The professor looks you and thirty-five others dead in the eye and says how sorry he is that law school is traumatic. You shed a single tear in your little window. You're pretty in the shit and haven’t worn pants to class in months.

Then public interest prof takes a big, big drag from his long, fat spliff. He spins his desk chair and baseball cap at the same time, never letting go of the joint.

“Hey,” he says. “It’s not your fault, really, but the world is fucked. It’s time to fix what your parents did.”

The next week he gives a practice exam where the best solution is to sell an old lady’s house to Nestlé.

IV.

It’s 2022. After throwing your whole gooch at it, you fail the bar exam.

You fall back hard into exercise. When you’re not slamming Barbri you’re at the gym binging curls and cranking the Chainsaw Man soundtrack. One night on the way to squats you finally hear “Black Parade.” Just like you, Mr. Gerry Wayland is stuck between global disrepair and the desire to write Funny Little Books.

You just started an FLB yourself, actually. It’s spin on a Story Break episode you love. In your version there’s a fucked up civil war horse that moves like a spider and is covered in bugs. Rich people kill the planet then the horse gets lost in space. It’s compelling, you promise. There’s body horror and pirates dressed like Gorton’s Fisherman. See Fig. 6 It’s about the horrors of the contemporary world state. It’ll be fun.

Figure 6: An untapped horror icon. Imagine blood contrasting that yellow.

Big problem, though: you remember rich people love hiking. There’s no grass on Mars, not that good shit anyway. Would they really fuck all of it?

You edit. In the last few years, the real breathless ones, the oligarchs cash their tab. A cartel, they think, could really muscle those stragglers, the tragically common. There’s one city left with both breathable air and refugees. They level it. The few survivors are spread amongst the stars, so their loves and languages may die.

. . .

It’s the middle of Bar Prep Round 2. You and the patient MILF see Hadestown in the Big City.

There’s a juke joint on stage flanked by devil trombones. A sad little guy slinks in from the janitor’s closet. His name is Orpheus and, just like you, he’s a sad, short writer who likes a lady so much it comes out weird. He has a vision, he says, for a little ditty. It’s compelling, he promises, and shit’s gonna change. His love is functional and realized, worth the investment of a hardened woman displaced by capital’s torture. She believes him.

You cry because you know where this goes.

It’s just a single tear.

Don’t worry.

Nobody sees.

. . .

There’s this game you like, by some corporate anarchists who hate themselves. They’re Scandinavian, from the spot in Tallin where you stopped for a cruise. Every gift shop there had swastikas and gas masks leftover from the bloody years.

In the game is a liberal yacht MILF. She thinks you’re stupid but someone’s helping with your gun, so you’ve got that on her. And yet, she pins you, re your whole writing thing. See Fig. 7.

Figure 7: She sucked, but it still hurt when she left.

Your favorite Supreme Court podcast says the ocean’s last hope is other countries. But those countries’ people cry to the Disco game, and their ministers also bought The End of History. You meet them on the subreddit. You're all geeked out, waiting for the tide.

. . .

It’s the era of desert cradles. God thinks you’re disgusting, so he sends his better kids with a memo: the flood was too much work on his end, it’s time for something different.

“Just keep walking,” he says.

Your skin bares his figure. So do the corpses. You little birds among billions, gassed out and screaming, move to clean.

V.

It’s 2023.

We Love Katamari is up on the PlayStation store. You sit with the cats and mow down some crabs. You don’t need it so much these days, but it’s nice.

There’s a Bar card in your wallet, just below your gym tag. There are two interviews in your Google Calendar. Good stuff might happen, hopefully soon. You crawl into bed and wrap an arm around your wife’s rib cage.

Everything matters and nothing is safe.

You are loved enough to sleep.

[satoriberry]

silly man higuruma :3 [headcanons!!]

-> because hot serious men deserve to be bbgirl,,,they deserve to be silly and have some lighthearted silly moments,,,,

⇝ he has a very cute sneeze. doesn't like it. holds in his sneezes because of that :(

⇝ when he's not losing sleep over a criminal case, he enjoys going to places you wouldn't imagine a mildly grumpy lawyer to be in. like, oddly sitting in the corner of a mascot café, or, exiting the movies with a barbie-themed movie goblet in hand and 3D glasses perched on his nose. he said it himself: he went off the trails after reaching his mid-30s :3

⇝ he has an affinity for ceramic animal decorations: a cute slug on his desk, a crab on his kitchen counter, a duck on the shelf next to his apartment door. they're scattered everywhere, and he likes watching people try to find each and every one on the rare occasion that he has guests.

⇝ he blushes easily and he doesn't like that either :( whenever he's embarrassed for example, he'll try to maintain his cool man façade but his face is very much to turning red so he's not very slick with it HA!

⇝ not pudgy but some parts of him are satisfyingly grabbable, especially his tummy and his upper torso!!

⇝ chips connoisseur. EXCLUSIVELY fucks with good quality chips. you'll never catch him munching on something as low-class as DORITOS or CHEETOS 🤮🤮🤢

⇝ he likes sweet people. sweet people as in individuals who find it in them to be altruistic and tolerate anyone and everyone with no discrimination; people who rarely hold grudges and who don't let the sucky parts of life get to them. he likes them because he wishes he was like that too (i said silly headcanons but this isn't very posiitve now is it uhhhh)

⇝ he eats biscoff spread from the jar. straight up CRACK for him. always regrets it right afterwards because tummy ache :3

⇝ he think sugargliders are fucking adorable and would love to own one if that was feasible (which i think it is in certain places??)

⇝ he's handsome now in his 30s but he was actually on the cuter side in university because homebody had BRACES. he looked like a stereotypical dork but it was extremely endearing and people thought he looked adorable (yes even at age 23)

⇝ thick luscious short hair. he doesn't fear baldness. baldness fears him.

⇝ however he started developping gray hairs before he had even hit 30 oopsie doopsie

⇝ bigggg fan of detective conan, loves the show and rewatches old episodes for nostalgia's sake

⇝ loves arguing with americans on the internet.

⇝ favourite food out of convenience is rice with seaweed OR!! a jacket potato because he gets to release some anger while stabbing the fuck of the potato before throwing it in the oven

⇝ wants a blond cat. apartment doesn't allow pets. would either name the cat cheddar cheese or keke (short for keylime pie)

⇝ he has big fat wet eyes that stare at your soul so you'll either fall for his bizarre charm or believe he plans on killing you from how hard he's looking.

⇝ loves those little applesauce pouches :3

⇝ ok that's it goodbye :D

[devilsrecreation]

Thoughts on MAW episodes 9 and 10

Episode 9:

I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ALL WEEK OMGGGGGGG

Damn there’s already tension with Val…oof

Poor Jack 😭

Stupid Tylor…there was no valet

Fear Co’s scare floor is so much bigger holy shit

THE GREMLIN’S NAME IS CHOMPY ILY SO MUCH CHOMPY

It’s okay, bby. I hate being touched too

Still a HUGE fan of Joy

That PARALLEL

Val befriending all the kids is sweet af 🥹🥹🥹

Huh…Pete (The Claw) is there…

awwww MIFT is so supportive

Ooooh Joy doesn’t like losing….kinda reminds me of another lizard monster

I kinda expected Fear Co to be toxic….

Awww look at the photo on Crab Cakes’ desk

fuckin simp

OH SHIT IT’S BEN NOOOO

Tylor nooooooo…..

Hey remember when Sully told Tylor how he felt when he accidentally scared Boo? NOW YOU KNOW WHY, TYLOR

EX VIBES EX VIBES EX VIBES I TOLD YA’LL CUTTER AND SUNNY ARE EXES

JILL STOP BLAMING MI

Wow even Chet doesn’t know

RANDALL!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAA

I KNEW JOHNNY SHOULDN’T BE TRUSTED! I KNEW IT!!!! HE’S EVIL!!!

Episode 10:

Ig Randall stayed in ROR….damn

RANDY HAS A SCAR!!!!!

Awww that’s sweet of Johnny to save Randall

Whoever guessed Randall was behind it…ya’ll were right.

Oh god how’s Claire gonna feel about this…

YOU ARE SO FULL OF SHIT WORTHINGTON

Lmao Randy’s still got it

CHETWETTER HFHFHFHY

YES TYLOR TELL THEM THE TRUTH

Guess everyone knows about Randall

YASSSS LESBIANS!!!

THEY KEPT THE SCREAM EXTRACTOR????

Awww Roger :)

DUNCAN’S IMPRESSION HFHFHFHG

I know Joy ain’t buyin it

THOSE ACTING SKILLS THO

With how alike Randall and Joy are, I wonder if they know each other

Of course Roz is head of Merc

OH FUCK RANDALL

As much as I want Randall to reform, it’s still fun seeing him as a villain

“THERE CAN BE ONLY ONNEEEEEE!”

JACK IS ME LMAOOOO

Oh shit, Chet :0

YAS TYLOR!

JOHNNY I HOPE CLAIRE DIVORCES YOUR ASS

You know what? Good for Chet

Tylor and Val bonding with Ben 😭😭😭😭😭😭

CHOMPY IS CRYING 🥹🥹🥹🥹 (also Joy’s face lmao)

Alastair….,🥺

Holy fuck that was a good episode. And the last line “Home Run, kid. Home run.”

My one complaint is that we didn’t see Oozma Kappa BUT we’ll see if there’s a season 3

I gotta change my headcanons with Atlas and Sam but they’ll definitely reform Randall in the future

All I gotta say for now is that Atlas’ disappointment is immeasurable and their day is ruined

[pumpkinsy0]

more wingman tim😝

wingman tim, the unfortunate situation u have put urself in,,,,

at first he was like "oh yea, pony seems to be a good kid, can trust him alone w pony" but that quickly went away as soon as he realized that these two r wayyyyy to dumb, two dumb bitches telling each other "exaccttllyyyyy"

every time curly heard that tim was going over to the curtis house or hang out w someone from the curtis gang, he would go "can u tell pony-" and tim would cut him off right there bc 1) who said that lil nigga was gonna b there 2) tell him urself????

tim was under the impression that he was just gonna introduce the two and they got it from here, tim knows that curlys pretty experienced in a way, but curly has him doing this extra bs

think of it like that one episode from SpongeBob where mr crabs was driving SpongeBob insane over ms puff, tim wants no part in curlys love life

but unfortunately he is, and that also means hearing curly rant about it, hopefully while getting high bc then tim can just zone out while curly goes on and on and on

there was a few times pony saw tim and curly talking and they were staring dead at him and pony has never felt so scared in his life????? fully thought he was done for, even know he sees it happen and he's like "what the fuck did i do"

at the end of the day, tims still an older brother, he would peek into the room to tease curly, asking if theyre making out in the room and curly would kick him out, out of embarrassment

tim can see it in curly and ponys eyes that they wanna kiss so badly and he doesnt CARREEEEE if they wouldn't rlly do it, he refuses to be left in a room alone w those two without angela there or something, half bc that sets in stone that they RLLY wouldn't kiss right then and there half bc tims taking someone down w him if he does see it, but usually tim just straight up leaves, he doesnt wanna lose any brain cells hearing them talk

pleaasseeeee hear me out with protective tim w curly, he notices that curlys never felt this way before and he's both interested in it but scared that he's gonna get himself hurt, while being a wingman for curly, he's also like a bodyguard, making sure that ponys the right guy for curly in the way that it counts

curly loves calling this guy cupid and AS A JOKKEEEEE pony drew tim as cupid in class and showed it to curly and curly took it, SWEARRRINNGGGG he wouldn't show tim, but can u guess what this nigga did??? show it to tim, what a liar

[mentat2gh0ul]

I DID IT I WROTE A LITTLE SOMETHING PLEASE GO EASY ON ME THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME IN ALMOST A DECADE AND I HAD TO GET IT OUT OF MY SYSTEM.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Hah-- y'know, I get ya want to travel in the discretion of the night... but did we really have to go through a fucking swamp? I ain't got a clue where I'm going here but whatever I'm stepping on, ough- I'm sure it's long-dead by the stench of it."

It's has been now a couple months since Hancock had convinced himself to temporarily hang the hat as mayor of Goodneighbor. The scheme put in place by Bobbi no Nose hit him worse than a chem withdrawal-- well, no, not really, but it left him with a bitter taste in his mouth and a realization: he had to get out there. The thought hadn't crossed him before the drifter's gambit but now it dawned on him that, perhaps, the view from his balcony up above was getting too cozy and, consequently, felt like he was losing touch of what reality is out there in the Commonwealth.

Luckily for him, every cloud has a silver lining and in his case, it came at his doorstep in the form of a vault dweller with a lot of baggage on their shoulders. In an apocalyptic world such as this everybody got their problems, but the way they handled their own caught his eye so much so that he decided to join them in their singular quest without too many questions being asked.

So here he was, squelching his boots sluggishly through the mud to keep pace with them whilst the fetor of death overwhelmed whatever sense of smell he still had; however the vault dweller, within the safety of their bulky power armor, managed to advance with ease through the sludge and make a path for him to follow; the only light in the darkness of the night being the bright yellow beam from their helmet as they scoured their surroundings. They didn't seem to be the talkative type but Hancock appeared unbothered by it, as their actions spoke more to him than anything else... how rare it is for one to understand the way of the world and still behave human? The ghoul pondered; a glimmer sparked in the dark voids that were his eyes, contemplating the sole survivor's imposing frame which stood before him. It suddenly felt like a knot tightened in his throat which gave him the urge to swallow, a warmth then stirred from his gut and flooded through him making the grip his hands had on his trusty shotgun unsteady. These unfamiliar feelings and racing thoughts overwhelmed him to the point to make his stride teeter...

Crack

And with that sound, he felt the pull of reality yanking him back in. His gaze darted downward and there he saw it: the cracked shell of a Mirelurk egg right beneath his sole accompanied by a pair eggs which sat unharmed right beside. "Shit--" he cursed under his breath as if it could prevent, although helplessy, what immediately followed; two hatchlings bursted out of their spawn to attack but, despite Hancock's momentary unreadiness, he quickly came to his senses and all he needed was to pull the trigger twice to make the newborn crustaceans fly into pieces; the sole survivor had just the time to turn and point their gun before everything was already over.

"Don't ya worry, I'm good." The ghoul reassured them with a confident smirk on his lips, before his attention turned downward to wipe the Mirelurk gunk that stained his trousers with a slight disgust on his face. "Ah-- fucking crabs... well, guess it ain't the first time I've had dealt with those." He chuckled briefly after he spoke, confirming his innuendo to the sole survivor which in response stared at their companion silently; the blank expression of their helmet didn't quite let on what they were thinking but Hancock could tell that they must have playfully rolled their eyes at his comment- I mean, c'mon that was chuckle worthy or so he thought to himself. Their playful stare short lived though due to something having caught the quiet one's attention; the horizon now have tinged itself in an orange glow and the warmth of the sun begun to rise through... it was finally dawn.

The light peeking through the skyline reached his scarred skin like a comforting carress; even with all the uncertainties this fucked up land were to offer, at the very least, the sun always rose everyday... and ain't that reassuring enough? He gave a glance at his towering companion as they seemed drawn by something such as simple as the rising of the sun and wondering if they too thought the same as him- but then, a twinkle from below stopped his thought in its tracks. Hancock's eyes slowly drifted downward and it was like well placed left hook hit him in the gut: it was his reflection.

As the sky begun to turn brighter, it became even more clearer despite the filthy water which funcioned as mirror laid beneath him. His reflection stared right at him the same way he stared right at it... in aversion. Now, he didn't regret it one bit. He have had the trip of his life and the near-immortality was more than appreciated but, he couldn't deny what he had done to himself. It was never a constant thought in his head but every time, even if few, that he was reminded of it, it made his heart sink in his chest... he was now a face he could recognize and call his own but not one he would ever grow fully accustomed to. A pained expression grew on his features as he silently mantained eye contact with his mirrored image, his teeth clenched slightly behind his lips.

Ain't quite the handsome devil I used to be, huh?

And just before his self-deprecating could continue, something in his periferal snapped him out of it and turned his attention to it. The sight that stood before him made the ghoul's eyes widen subtly in surprise as his breath got caught in his throat; it was his quiet traveling companion with now their helmet held under their arm and their unroughed visage exposed to the polluted air- they seemed to be simply scrutinizing the environment ahead of them for a possible way foward. Hancock had seen their face before but now, with their smooth skin shaded by the tangerine colored sunlight, it stirred an foreign feeling from his very heart as he admired them utterly mesmerized by their apperance... they looked like the people on those old, tattered pre-war posters you would often find still hang up because, despite being so unfamiliar to the common folk today, it would still somewhat bring a sense of bittersweet nostalgia... even if unaware of what it truly was like back then. The vault dweller held a beauty from a world long gone- well kept, tidy and confident aura about them with just a pinch of glee but, unlike the world, they have been untouched by the destruction of the bombs that fell... they were right in front of him in the flesh... wondering if-- maybe... if he...

Before his mind could take him to unknown places, the reflection of him that laid on the puddle beneath his boots was like a smack right across the face and made it all dawn down on him. His gaze softened at the discomfort from the sight of his disfigured face as a small smile ached on his lips.

Nah, what the hell were you even thinkin'? No one would wanna wake up to this ugly mug every morning... fuck- wouldn't wish that on anyone, especially not them.

His head sunk between his shoulders as he condemned himself through his inner monologue. Through his ghoulification he killed a part of himself he desperately wanted to run away from... and for that, he had no regret but through the same process he lost something he will never get back- the possibility to find a sense of belonging with someone which, admittedly, didn't give a thought about before meeting them... before this almost fated encounter with the sole survivor there was no one that awakened such thoughts in him and now, with it within his reach, he couldn't grasp it-- and never will, he remarked in his mind.

Before his self-hate could consume him whole where he stood, he heard the feeble sounds of his quiet companion placing the helmet back on their head; he looked over to them and they looked right back causing him to questioningly raise his brow. The vault dweller said nothing but with a small nodding of their head to the side they seemed to suggest to him that this is the way they will head towards now. The ghoul in response nodded in agreement to their request.

"Yeah, gotcha-- right behind ya, partner."

And with that, their stride towards their destination reccomenced. Hancock left behind him his denigrative thoughts as he walked, stepping on the same puddle that mirrored his reflection in the process. Despite his self-depreciative nature, he was quick to get back on his feet because in the big scheme of things it did NOT matter how he felt and what he felt-- he was but a speck in vastity of chaos in the wasteland and if with their help he could do something good, really good then... I guess it's worth the heartache.

[enden-k]

losing it rn at 3am over "stealthily" following those two for a minute or two - with the music fitting so perfectly - as kaveh, in his vibrant ass sumeru clothing simply walking in the middle of fucks where in fontaine and a loud squeaky ass pet seelie, then the guys being legit surprised and then the random treasure hoarder walking in the background minding his business until he violently gets deleted by furinas crab friend im losing it fr

[wtftarot]

PAC: The Moon

The Moon is my all-time favorite card. Representing all that is unknown, she calls us to embrace what we don't know. Accept that some things will never be explained in a way our conscious minds can grasp. The unconscious, the truths and illusions it holds. The often hazy way our intuition and instincts work. She is a mirror, reflecting back at us our longings and fears. What does The Moon have to tell you? Let's fuck around and find out!

as always this reading is for entertainment purposes only and is not a substitute for professional advice in any capacity. Remember, use common sense, and don't be a dumbass.

Pick either the Dog, the Crab/Lobster? or the Wolf and head on to your reading.

The Dog

Your cards: 8 Cups Rx, Temperance Rx, 5 Wands Rx, 9 Wands, Page of Pentacles Rx, The Star, The Emperor Rx, Queen of Swords, The Moon, and the back of the deck is The Devil Rx.

The number 8 might be important to y'all. Are y'all like REALLY self-controlled? Self-contained, I'm hearing? What I think that means is y'all do your best to keep yourself, the true YOU, restrained for whatever reason. I'm getting that some of y'all may be neurodivergent. Hold on, Rainbow in the Dark by Dio started playing, so not to be too on the nose but some of y'all are LGBT+. Whether one or both of those are you or not, this whole group has a MAJOR issue expressing themselves authentically. With Temperance in reverse it's like you intentionally make yourself 'unbalanced' in a way, to avoid conflict big or small. And there's this vibe of "when x situation is over, I'll be the real me." In some situations, that could be true. Leaving controlling parents when you go to college for example. But, if you came to this group, I don't think that's your situation. At least not entirely. Holy fuck, a dove just flew by my window and scared the shit out of me. So, doves may be a sign for y'all. Anyway. It looks like, if you came to this group. You have restrained yourself to the point of atrophy. You've been held back. Held yourself back from being You, that you're not even sure who that is. You think that once this situation exits your life, you'll just suddenly be that person. That person you want to be and feel you are deep down. The person you've always imagined yourself to be. Thing is sweetheart, who you are isn't just a jacket you can put on when you feel the time is right. You're not just a switch you can flick and become yourself. You have to grow who you are/ want to be. You have to build yourself up. Even Dr. Frakenstein had to build the creature before he could hit the switch and scream 'It's ALIVE!" (Not that I'm saying you're a creature or anything. unless you want to be, you do you.) Actually, that may be a better analogy than I thought. You have to dig up the parts of you that you buried, hopefully not in a graveyard. Put them together, see what still fits, see what doesn't. You may need to find some new parts where the old ones don't fit anymore. You build yourself by trying out the things you think you'll be into, and experimenting like a mad scientist. Try new things out, keep what works, scrap what doesn't. I'm not seeing anything about it being dangerous for you to try to be fully you. More so there's a fear of what others will think. ( I don't know every situation though, keep yourself safe) Y'all may have always just been what was expected of you, never really thinking if it was something you genuinely wanted. I think the reason why Frankenstein came up so strongly is that y'all feel like this horrible, awkward, ugly thing when you do something new to you. Y'all may not start something if you think you'll be bad at it. Y'all could be incredibly critical of yourselves. Not gonna lie to ya babe. You will be bad at some things. You will try things you thought you would love and end up hating them. You'll love things you'd thought you would hate. You will be wrong and sometimes that's a good thing. Winning is no fun if you don't lose too. The losing is what makes the winning worth it. And honey, you have an amazing opportunity here: You get to discover who YOU really are. You're going to get to learn so much shit about yourself and it's going to be beautiful. The Moon is telling you all of this, all of that hidden beauty you're unaware of is going to come to light. So, let yourself go a lil wild. And I don't mean the stereotypical wild that you see everywhere. I mean wild FOR YOU. It's okay if wild experimentation for you is joining a book club. Hell, if the stereotypical wild is your normal, maybe spending some time with yourself is experimental. Listen to music you never thought you'd be into. Wear something that's a little 'too much'. It's all okay. You can stop cutting yourself down to whatever size you feel you 'should' be. I believe in y'all.

The Crab/Lobster

Your cards are: 4 Wands, 4 Swords, Judgement, 2 Pentacles Rx, 5 Pentacles, and on the bottom of the deck the 2 of Swords.

Sweetheart, this one may be a little intense, okay? First off y'all need a nap or at least a break. You're overworked and the thing is y'all are comfortable being overworked. And now you're like 'Ash, this ain't comfortable at all wtf'. Let me explain. Humans are extremely adaptable, we can get used to pretty much anything. Downside of that is when you get too used to something, it becomes familiar, safe, and yes even comfortable. We've all seen it, we've all done it. There's no shame in being human. However, just because you shouldn't feel ashamed of it doesn't mean you shouldn't try and fix it. Cause all of y'all are in a situation like this. Maybe it's not work-related, could be school or a relationship. Could just be a cycle or pattern that you keep repeating and can't figure out why. Now I want to be clear here. I am not saying whatever this is, is your fault. Some situations we're responsible for, and some we get pushed into. Some cycles are generations in the making, and some are our own shitty habits. That's life. This reading is to shift your attention to these patterns so we can break them and do better. I feel like y'all may have an inkling about what this pattern is. I think it's been coming into your awareness over the past few weeks or months. All of y'all are different and will have different cycles to break. So, I can't get any specifics. You're in a sort of awakening moment it seems. (Funny cause the first thing I said was that y'all need a nap) This cycle is going to become painful in a way. You're outgrowing it. It's going to become clear how harmful this has been for you. There's going to be a bit of grieving happening as you realize this. The kind of grief that comes with the knowledge of all the ways you've held yourself down, hurt yourself, and held yourself back. The grief of knowing you deserved better. You'll need to let yourself grieve but not get lost in it. Because while that's important, it's the next bit that's going to get you the farthest. You get to break the pattern. Unlearn the cycles. You get to move into a new part of your life that's not familiar but that's fun. Enjoyable and not just comfortable but decadent. It'll be hard at first to break the pattern. (that's why you need to rest now, not later) Our brains are wired for repetition but soon breaking the pattern will be the pattern. I'm so, so proud of y'all, group two. It's going to be beautiful where y'all go from here.

The Wolf

your cards are: 6 Cups Rx, 8 Swords, 5 Swords, The Moon Rx, The High Priestess, 7 Wands and the back of the deck is The Queen of Wands

How are my fighters doing? Cause y'all pulling the cards for this one was ROUGH. Usually, that means the reading is something you don't wanna hear or you already know and are fighting off. What's interesting is the whole time I was shuffling I knew the High Priestess was going to come out for y'all and she kept peeking out and hiding again. Cards kept flying out all over the place, I'm talking a shit ton would fall out at once I'd put them back and it would happen again. But The High Priestess didn't come out at all until I was finally able to pull an actual reading. What it felt like was that y'all have all these ideas of how this reading will go, ideas of what you need to hear, what you expect to get. You're actually drowning out your actual intuition. You may also have daydreams or fantasies about how your intuition will work, and what you'll see. I think you may be so deep in these daydreams at times that you're disconnected from your surroundings and even when you are getting something psychically, it can't get through to you. For some of you, it's not daydreaming as much as overthinking. Either way, y'all are a bit in your own head and it's distracting you from your intuitive gifts. Which of course is going to make you doubt them even more. Babe, I'm sorry if this is a little harsh. You just seem to be beating yourself up a bit for not being as good as you think you should be. I'm hearing these sort of self-criticisms about how you should be a 'better' intuitive? That you're not a 'real' intuitive, not a 'real' tarot reader, not a 'real' psychic, not a 'real' whatever because oh you should be able to do this or that and you can't so it's not real. Or you don't have intuitive hits daily so you're faking it all. Or you're not clairvoyant/clairaudient/clairsentient soo you'll never be a real psychic. Ya wanna know what that is? That's just a bunch of bullshit, right there. Let me tell y'all a lil something. First off EVERYONE is psychic/intuitive to some degree. Even if they only can remember having one intuitive hit and that's it. Now, not everyone has the same gifts, or psychic skills if you will. Not every psychic/intuitive will talk to the dead. Not all of us will be clairvoyant. Some psychics are clairvoyant but can't read tarot to save their life. Some people have multiple gifts, others have one. Some gifts are random but are not any less for it. For example, my sister knows when something we've been looking for is at a thrift store, she knows which one and where in the store it is and will walk right to it. It's awesome. Being 'more psychic' ain't all it's made out to be anyway. Believe me, it can be wonderful but it's also rough. I know a few really 'strong' psychics who have intentionally cut themselves off from their gifts because of things they've experienced. I myself have come close. All of that to say, you are a 'real' intuitive. Promise. You don't have to push yourself into something you're not sure about to be more 'legit'. You don't have to have all the skills, all the gifts, to be proud of what you can do. What you do have to do is stop fantasizing about it and actually BE it. Stop worrying about all you can't do and really hone what you CAN. We all have different gifts because the world needs all different things. Your gifts are yours for a reason, because you, specifically can add something to the world with it. Now, there's another message here maybe just for one person: It's your choice to embrace these gifts or not. If you do not feel comfortable with them you can let them go, it's okay. You're not ungrateful or doomed if you don't utilize them. Like I said, these sorts of gifts can be rough, and downright horrifying. It's okay to want something easier. And yes, you will be able to lead a fulfilling life without them.

[kingcunny]

in the middle of the viserys/daemon gender/gaycest nightmare, how does mysaria fit? did daemon just think of her as a best friend/confidant/favourite service provider or genuinely manage to have feelings for her? does he just realize she got pregnant and is like “HA this should get viserys PISSED maybe he’ll come to dragonstone to discipline me teehee”? is mysaria just caught in the middle of this, and has to endure losing her kid bc viserys won’t fuck daemon in private and make everyone’s lives easier?

(this is mostly books, since the books say that losing the baby hardens Daemon to Viserys ((in a non-incest way, shockingly for visaemon)) and he gave Mysaria a dragon egg for their baby and everything)

okay so. i do Have thoughts about the mysarias pregnancy and the “daemon hardened his heart” line. mostly in the fact that, after this line daemon doesnt really seem to follow it up.

his grooming of rhaenyra was going on since before that. and sure daemon runs off to do his crab war, but if were going fb canon, viserys happily funds that. if hes trying to piss his brother off by running off again hes doing a poor job of it. sure he gets crowned by corlys as ‘king of the narrow sea’ but the next time they meet in person, daemon kneels to viserys and offers up that very crown. this doesnt really seem like someone who hates his brother for killing his baby and is plotting on the succession.

that being said, i do Quite like how hotd handled this. daemon being disinherited then telling his brother hes pregnant and its his before running off to dragonstone after stealing his dead infant nephews egg to make viserys chase after and punish him. thats Very Good. mysaria not even knowing about daemons lie that shes pregnant, being upset at him over it… i like that a lot… (ESPECIALLY knowing what we know about mysaria after s2)

so, we know fb has mutiple sources. often contradictory. fb doesnt say who this piece of information comes from but considering none of them wouldve been with daemon when he wouldve learned about mysarias miscarriage… im willing to say this was just someone trying to fill in the blanks. cause to the average layperson why would daemon lie about mysarias pregnancy? and if she lost the baby, well certainly that would piss daemon off… unless there was no baby to begin with.

as for how mysaria fits into the daemonvis gaygendercest nightmare… well she wouldve started out as just another sex worker in kings landing. mayhaps one daemon and viserys visited during their teenage sex parties. maybe shes the woman viserys bought for daemon to loose his virginity too. viserys doesnt remember her, but daemon sure does. mysaria slowly grows in power and influence, building her own little kingdom in the rats nests. eventually gaining enough to get her own place, her own girls, her own spies. mayhaps daemon is the one steering them to her every night. mysaria Knows about the brothers… proclivities, shes been in the room with them. when they come to her she gives them a room to Play, away from any prying eyes except her own. when viserys eventually tells daemon he cant fuck around with him anymore (literally) cause hes going to be king and has bigger responsibilities… well daemon goes back to mysaria. an older, feminine, dominant figure… shes an early rough draft for his ‘viserys replacement’ (rhaenyra later occupies this role). daemon probably does have Some sort of feelings for mysaria, but how much of those feelings are just projected feelings about his brother? about the fact that daemon lost his virginity to her while viserys watched? that he wished she was viserys instead?

[luna-light-eclipse]

Hmm so two days to sit on my thoughts about how revenant ended. I don’t dislike it but I do feel a bit meh about what went down.

If you haven’t played it yet, spoilers ahead.

Now then. I am definitely not an Eramis hater (I like her and how much people want her dead is honestly disturbing) but I don’t think she should have gotten the echo. There has been literal years of buildup of Misraaks being shown as the eliksni saviour-TM, the one and only, prophecised and everything. Even in Final Shape we see him reacting to visions much like Micah meaning that he’s got high connectivity with paracausality. The Kell of Kell’s was supposed to be chosen- not by another eliksni but by the Traveller. For those who have not seen or do not remember, here it is straight up lifted from the wiki:

"The Great Machine will marvel, moved by might, and come to crown him Kell of Kells."

So Misraaks, the now official and canonical Kell of Kells, should have been in some way recognised by paracausal power. He wasn’t. Eramis chose him, we found out over space zoom call. Imagine what it would have been like, that despite Misraaks’ past wrongdoings and his current corruption the Echo looked past it all and freed him from his curse to lead his people? It would have been glorious, but no.

Next, I just… don’t like the decision of Eramis fucking off into space. Good for her, really, but I just don’t like it. Neither can I see the vanguard being happy with not knowing the Echo’s location, Eramis or not. What if something happens? We don’t know what’s out there, Eramis loses that thing we wouldn’t know.

Also how would the eliksni in general feel about that? House Salvation specifically. Eramis receives an item of great power that is specifically for eliksni and there isn’t a single moment of consideration for helping them. It’s uncomfortably similar to what Eramis hates the Traveller for doing, leaving the eliksni behind. I don’t want her to like humanity, she has plenty of reason not to, but I want her to take some responsibility over the people she was leader of who are currently experiencing being shunted into a city they never wanted to be in.

I do get she’s heading for Riis but currently the eliksni aren’t even on Riis. Whether Eramis or Misraaks, could they not have gone ‘okay Echo, we get you want to go home, but let’s help our people so the home will at least have someone to live in it’.

I honestly felt so much hope when I heard Variks’ voice lines. He speaks about understanding that the past is lost and that whilst one can remember they do need to move on- so the whiplash of the exact opposite happening was outright weird to experience.

Eramis deserves her family and her peace, I hope she finds it, but I do not think the echo was for her. Big W for one of my favourite space crabs but I’m really not feeling this one.

[melissa-titanium]

dd hc organizerrrr

THIS IS A VERY LONG POST LOL .

biggest basis for their makeup is essentially. birds and cats, with a little bit of wolf wedged in. they're somewhere inbetween solitary and pack predator, not quite social enough to actively search for bigger groups to hunt with BUT not solitude enough to hunt solo. three or four is the average for squads, two being the absolute minimum. to be seperated from your squadmates is a highly traumatic and stressful experience regardless of your opinion on the squadmate you lose. the feeling can be softened by replacing the squadmate. (eg; what happened with j and uzi. the alphabet gang's squad was a three-drone squad, and with j's death, uzi 'replaced' her in n and v's coding. not the same for j, though, because that means she was booted from the squad and it really hurt!!!)

dds are predators that tend to try and stay out of plain sight if need be, but they're already strong and fast enough to catch and kill wds without any struggle. BUT, if they were facing something they needed to surprise for whatever reason, they'd hide themselves rather than try and stay quiet. dds are already naturally nearly-silent (as shown in how n beats the shit out of uzi completely silently in pilot AND the way he basically DISAPPEARS when he sneaks into the vents during gin rummy) so they have no need to try and be more quiet, BUT the issue with their design is that they are. very, very flashy. they have warning patterns plastered ALL across their bodies and are basically glowsticks, and once they're in sight, you know where they are regardless of how dark it is. tl;dr: they rely on their silence to surprise prey.

i did a huge fucking chart on n's height a while back but i literally dont think i could find it. i think, canonically, dds are like... 5'0 exactly? but imo i think they're more around 6'6. there is minor variation in wd-frame dds, so height can differ from dd to dd.

i think dds are split into two different types, those being standalone and wd-frame.

standalone are dds through and through, retaining no worker drone memories because they HAVE no worker drone memories; they were built by the solver solely for the purpose of being a dd, therefore they never were a wd.

wd-frame are dds that have been built over an existing wd (n, v, and j for example.) they can on occasion retain memories (like v, depending on whether the solver wanted them to or not,) and usually retain the 'growth???' code of worker drones, allowing them to grow and change in response to their organic insides.

a better comparison would be; first gen worker drones to second gen worker drones. first gen drones (alice, khan, yeva, nori, etc) are all built off of one frame, leaving very little variation in bodyshape outside of built-purpose (eg; i think nori and khan were built for heavy-lifting and such, meaning they're shorter and heftier, while drones like yeva and alice were built for personal use, which makes them look more. human-like. i don't klnow does that make sense>>>??)

physical traits;

they have black teeth, stained with oil.

their true eyes can be individually taken off, as can the headband (the headband acts like the cap of a lightbulb.)

standalone dds (dds not built ontop of a worker drone frame, there are no canon examples of this) do NOT have whiskers. wd-frame dds (n, v, and j,) have whiskers.

... just like wds, dd hair is just a ton of whiskers bunched up into a hairstyle. does this mean standalone dds are bald? yeah, probably.

dd tails are segmented and interlocked by bendable joints (FLESH joints, dds are half-organic after all) that can extend and flex comfortably to reach further targets. the joints click and bend with each movement.

this was a trait in my old iterations of dd designs so idk if ill keep it, but, dds have heat-regulation spines poking out of their seams. they resemble the centipede-esque limbs on materials collection holo-spooky-snake-crabs.

their wingblades are shaped like fish-hooks, meant to latch onto prey and reel them in.

in addition to this, the wings whistle VERY loudly when flying. they have gravity propulsion (?) devices under their wings arm (not forearm) that make it so they don't actually have to flap their wings (like they fucking COULD?? look at those things dude) but the wingblades themselves are also used as means of steering. the air/gravity around them can be more easily manipulated with the wingblades because each blade has individual muscle control.

HUGE barrel chests. they're used to protect the core. they're split into two parts, a very hard steel-material (that also goes to the shoulders) and a bullet-proof black glass that allows you to see the corelight. and, yes, i know, they look like boobs but i'm nice and love feminism so it's only accentuated on n's chest. yes, his boobs are naked.

drones in general have a zip lining their abdomen, but the rubber material on disassembly drones is much lighter and malleable, allowing dds more flexibility than wds, but also less protection for their insides (which makes sense, because why would they need to protect their insides when they can just regenerate anything that broke? the rubber itself holds the stomach and other organs, but can be unzipped for maintenance.

there are four "sections" of a dd's tail. for organization purposes, i'll call them a, b, c, and d. section a is the joints of the tail itself, which can extend and flex. the tail sections and joints are considered one section. section a filters nanite acid along the dd's spinal cord down into section b section b transfers the filtered nanite acid from section a into the acid tank/storage section c transfers the acid from the tank into section d, and acts as the sheathe for section d section d is the syringe, which can extend in and out of section c

like dd's eyes, their ears are interchangable/customizable. UNLIKE dd's eyes, the ears are actually meant to be customized. the external ears themselves aren't particularly useful, and are dds only means of personalization.

i can;t think of anything else to add here rn UHHH

[everywaythatmatters]

I’m about 2/3 of the way through WaT and I’m stuck at work without my book so. Rambling stream of consciousness bullet point thoughts and theories below the cut lmao

Chana has to be shallan’s mom, I’m so excited that theory is turning out to be true (I mean. I’m assuming. Based on everything) bc it makes so much sense. Poor shallan though oh my god. There was that one death rattle about an evil twin that I feel like has to be about her too

Renarin and rlain are so cute I adore them. Shallan squealing with delight when renarin finally confessed his feelings was wonderful lmao me too girl

Adolin bonding with his plate spren is so 🥹 I love this guy so much. Him losing his leg is so rough but maybe that means he won’t die?? Is that delusional?? Either way I kinda hope that’s permanent, branderson stop healing all your disabled characters challenge

Ash and taln died?? Did not see that coming, okay so they go back to braize now I guess. That was an awesome scene though - we haven’t gotten to see any of the heralds besides nale be the skilled immortal fighters they are, and DAMN. And the wind told kal that the heralds’ connections would be important, and those are the only two with pov books later, so my guess is that all the others will lose herald status by the end of the book. Maybe them too but they’re gonna live and all of the others could possibly die after getting removed from the oathpact (?). And they’ll be spared bc they weren’t on roshar… idk I’m spitballing here

Kal is apparently gonna be a champion for the spren but I have no clue what that means. I feel like something bad might happen to the spren at the end of this book (wasn’t that foreshadowed in sunlit man? Can’t remember). We haven’t gone back to ishar’s fucked up spren experiments yet so that’s probably involved. Syl I love you please be okay at the end of this book

Kal’s so much happier this book :)))

Szeth being the first patient in kal’s therapy sessions is wonderful. His highspren too I love this

Gav keeps hearing a voice that imo is definitely not elhokar. Maybe he could still end up being odiums champion? I just like that theory. Odium hasn’t been thinking about the actual contest or his champion at all which is weird, so it would make sense if there’s some kind of reveal like that later.

The stormfather is up to no good but I don’t quite understand how yet. He was keeping quiet the fact that Honor caused the recreance. WAIT what if the stormfather killed honor holy shit

What exactly is mraize’s plan? I guess just to have control over BAM, but to what end? I wonder if he and shallan will come to an understanding

Moash is ah. Still pretty evil. Holding out hope for a final act redemption arc (or at least for the narrative to stop treating him like his hatred for the system and outrage at his injustice is inherently bad). Rip to leyten though

Still don’t know what’s up with venli’s plotline but I love it!!! The chasmfiends being their allies now is amazing. Still dying to learn more about the fourth moon. And the well of Control thing too. Dawnshard? I feel like another shard from the past doesn’t really make sense for a couple reasons. Maybe there was a fourth old god (Wind, Night, Stone, another one (Rain? Water? Crabs? Idk man)), which is why the chasmfiend sing four notes. I’m assuming the moon had to have fallen before humans got to roshar

Wait wait wait what if there is a dawnshard at the shattered plains and that’s the one that sig takes up!! If that death rattle was right then moash will kill him but maybe he gets brought back by the dawnshard somehow

Back to the stormfather killed honor theory. Ok so. The stormfather wanted a bondsmith specifically (choosing gavilar and then dalinar) so that someone could challenge odium. But why? Does he want to lose intentionally so odium leaves roshar? Does he want to kill odium (how?)? I’m definitely still missing some info

The stormfather also worked against kal a few times (not wanting syl to stay with him in wor, not saving him in row). We know he’s been plotting so that feels very intentional in hindsight

Gonna stop there lmao. So close to getting to go home and read more :)