#honestly did not mean for this to be as depressing as it is

[masterkirby]

This sure brings back memories (bad ones). I was older than 13, straight out of high school, and was approached at university, and some time later started a romantic and (bad memories bad memories) sexual relationship with a six years older guy (not to be an ageist but kinda sus given I was freshly 18 at the time), who called himself an Objectivist. So of course his objective became to groom me into an Objectivist.

How to say this, hmm. Before university I was a normie, and there isn't much care for teaching philosophy to kids where I live. I think people still believed the bible is moral education enough when I was growing up. Honestly, now it's hard to go back and understand what I did with my days living in such a void, no inspiration, no brilliant ideas to make me giddy... I was depressed and empty, honestly.

Anyway, socialism, leftism, was always condemned in school as the evil that oppressed our region, and I'm not sure I've heard of feminism before uni, and only read a few "good", meaning actually well-written and sits-with-me-for-life books in late highschool. So I started reading about this Objectivism and I liked how the idea was to bring common ethics out of the fact that all humans, regardless of culture, stem from the human body and how we all have bodies... You know, "objectively" (idk, it was Rand's essays I think, just "On Objectivism"). And then a kind of aggrandisement of being self aware, of believing in your capabilities, making use of them; and a lot about freedom. I needed that as a lost kid/young adult. There was also an idea of, hmm, spontaneous order out of chaos that also sat well with me (too bad it was used to back the "free" market)

But anyway, then the Objectivist guy, happy that I read the essay and reacted enthusiastically, thought I was ready for the novels. Oh boy, oh boy. And oh damn, he was dedicated to that shit and, from what I heard recently, still is, almost ten years later.

So he looked absolutely devastated/pissed when I started critiquing the book. I was studying English studies, so I read a fair share of well-written stuff by the second year of studies and Atlas Shrugged just didn't compare, and the characters were just so one dimensional... Or did he give me Fountainhead to read earlier? Anyway, this made me further confused, as to why even criticizing the writing is bad, I wasn't even criticizing the core ideas. Which I soon started criticizing. Long story short, I finally wrote him off as a fanatic (and sexual abuser, though that got through to me years later) and arrived at Contrapoints and Chomsky, and feminism, for aftercare.

Alright. So. I have a confession to share with you. In middle school, I strongly identified as a libertarian. In my defense, I was 13 and I had autism. Against my defense, I was literate, and capable of using common sense. I confessed this to you willingly, so go easy on me.

One thing about this that I can share with you is that I, as a 13 year old boy, read Atlas Shrugged. I read it as someone very committed to the ideology, who wanted to believe it, who wanted to like it, and there are two things I can share with you about that book from that time period.

The writing is terrible. It has the slowest, most boring, most pretentious prose you could possibly imagine. Calling it glacial would be a compliment. It makes glaciers look like Formula 1. There is no description for the pacing outside of hellish torments. It is like being condemned to watch a dog with an itchy ass wear the Himmalayas away only by scooching. It is like counting the grains of sand on a beach while Alexa reads off random phone numbers. It is like dipping saltines into lukewarm tapwater while listening to white noise in a beige room with no doors. It is like wearing a blindfold and being told to guess what a man is painting by sound alone, but there is no man, there is only a dog licking cold vaseline off a window. Forever. It is all of those things and more.

There is a multipage rant about how affairs are Good and Rational that is so insanely desparate that even middle-school-autist me thought she must have been having an affair while she wrote this. And then I googled it, and the answer was yes, she was. She called her philosophy Objectivism, because she believed, like everyone else in the world, that her ideas and motivations were Pure and Rational and Ojectively Correct, but I still find the name accurate, because it was really written with one Objective in mind, and that was finding a way to never admit that Ayn Rand had ever made a mistake in her life.

I was going to rant more about this but I kind of lost my train of thought. The book fucking sucks. It was propaganda of such remarkably low caliber that it actually helped me move out of those circles. Every time someone talked about liking the book, I'd reply with something along the lines of "Yeah, I especially loved the part where she destroyed the post modernists by unequivocally condemning affairs", and if they agreed with me, they would have lost my respect forever, and if they looked very embarrassed, I could at least acknowledge that they had a soul, albeit small and malformed. I had dozens of people claim that they read the book, and only three or four actually passed the test.

And now, goodnight.

[mylovesstuffs]

.drunk texting ex!svt 🍷📱 [96z version]

request: hii! i hope your days been as great as you are. i just read the reaction abt reader flashing svt and i thought it was hilarious. could i request reader calling ex bf svt while they’re drunk? i loveee angst. thank you!

ⓘ contents: drunk texting, mentions of alcohol, romanticization of sadness, nostalgia, longing, loneliness, metaphorical language around isolation, “let’s stay friends” pain, depressive imagery, emotional manipulation [implied], creative identity tied to ex

a/n: idk how to do a calling reaction or whatever that’s supposed to be called lol, so here’s this. in some [meaning, all versions; you'll understand based on context] of these, the reader called them first and then the texts. also!! some of them have different scenarios and contexts, so... yeah.

a/n#2: ahhh, so, things definitely did happen between wonwoo and yn pre-breakup, and they kind of just… stayed friends after? i feel like that was clear enough [hopefully lol] but yeah no explanation incoming just yet :') and as for jihoon… i’m honestly not too sure myself. there are definitely threads of manipulation or at least blurred lines there, but i kind of left it open for interpretation on purpose.

95z 96z 97z 98z + 99z

[uncle-alam]

so much pak fauj zindabad shit going on here it's a little mind boggling. drove through liberty and saw asim munir's face like five times - which is honestly giving maryam nawaz a run for her money (i swear to god i see that woman's face more often than i see my own). i think the only people who have won anything significant out of this pointless war are the pakistan army. their popularity has skyrocketed to levels I never thought I would see. it's an insane recovery ever since May 2023 - even the pti kids who turned against the army after imran khan's arrest are posting edits of the pakistan air force on instagram. which is just so surreal. i don't even think modi's government managed a propaganda win on this level - i mean it almost did but then the ceasefire did piss off a lot of ultranationalists. but anyway. the fauj is gonna be able to get away with pretty much anything now. which is pretty fucking depressing. i wouldn't be surprised if all of lahore and karachi turns into DHA and every single baloch separatist mysteriously vanishes into the ether (although they have already been doing that for a while cough cough pak fauj salam).

[beechersnope]

I don’t care how niche it is I need more milf seb/mick 😫😫😫

ask and ye shall receive!!!

warning for mentions of underage masturbation, fucked up relationship dynamics, blink-and-you'll-miss-it michael/seb, objectively bad sex, and angst!

1877 words

***

Mick knows better than to enter Seb’s room unannounced. That’s why he does it.

Usually, it doesn’t amount to much. Most often: a quirked brow over the top of whatever book Seb is reading that day as she lounges in bed, steadfastly ignoring the kids shrieking their heads off outside her window as they chase each other around the garden. Sometimes, she’s asleep, just the knit blanket pulled over her to keep cool during the summer afternoons, pale skin peeking through the fabric like a promise.

Mick always lingers too long in the doorway, whether she knows he’s there or not.

Seb’s been coming to the summer house so long that the spare bedroom has become firmly and undeniably hers, but Mick can’t remember when he stopped knocking. Maybe when he was sixteen, and he’d caught a glimpse of her through a gap in the curtains, her back naked and gleaming from the shower. He remembers that summer vividly, despite the fact that he’d spent most of it under the covers in his bedroom wanking himself raw to the memory of that brief flash of skin.

Seb isn’t his. He can’t have her. But he wants.

It’s a shock to his system when he opens the door this time to find Seb naked and sprawled out in a mess of tangled sheets. Mick’s mouth goes dry. He stops short in the doorway, like he always does, but Seb makes no move to cover herself with the blanket lying in a crumpled ball near her hip.

“You’d better close the door,” is all she says in a calm, level voice.

Mick takes another step inside. He closes the door. Then he stares.

Seb lifts her eyebrows but doesn’t tell him to leave. She doesn’t get up either, still lying there in the same position Mick had found her in.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Mick finally manages to tell her.

“Don’t think I’m up for it tonight,” Seb replies.

Mick finally takes in the whole scene as he stands there; the way Seb is holding her right arm at an awkward angle to her body, the slight tightness in her expression, the tube of some sort of medicated ointment sitting with the cap off at her feet.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asks her. It almost feels like a normal conversation now, or it would if Seb wasn’t naked, what little remains of her modesty only preserved by the angle of her bent knee shadowing her groin. But Mick can still see her breasts, her nipples soft and malleable still in the warm air, and it’s about all he can do to keep his eyes locked on her own.

“My shoulder,” Seb replies with a taut smile. “Not as flexible as I used to be.”

Mick wants to ask what she was doing that requires flexibility, but that isn’t the sort of thing you ask a friend of the family, not even one he’s known for so long that they could practically be family—and that really isn’t the kind of thought he should have about someone he’s fantasized about every time he’s had a hand on his cock over the course of the last eight years of his life.

“Oh,” Mick says instead, still frozen just centimeters from the doorway. It’s all he can muster up in response. He should leave, he thinks, before he embarrasses himself any further. But he can’t seem to make himself turn around.

“Can you…?” Seb says with a vague hand gesture.

It takes Mick a second to realize she means for him to help her retrieve the ointment from the foot of the bed. Already, before he even takes a step forward, he has visions of slick hands against Seb’s skin dancing in his head.

He keeps his head down as he approaches the bed. He has to look at her at some point, he knows this, but it feels forbidden. Something he can’t come back from.

Mick carefully picks up the tube of ointment and squints down at the label. It isn’t any kind of muscle relaxant or pain reliever he’s ever used.

“You’ll need gloves,” Seb says in a soft voice. “You shouldn’t get it on your skin.”

Mick still doesn’t get it. He looks up at her from the foot of the bed, confused.

“It’s estradiol cream,” Seb explains. “For menopause.”

Mick scrunches his eyebrows together. His mother had just undergone menopause. Seb is almost twenty years younger. “You—” he starts to say, before realizing he has no idea how to finish that sentence. “I don’t have any gloves,” he says instead.

“That’s okay,” Seb replies simply. “There are condoms in my bag.”

Mick’s face goes hot, and he turns around immediately, though he knows there isn’t any hiding the blush that must be lighting up the back of his neck like a beacon. He finds her bag where it always is, open and still not unpacked, right next to the dresser that remains stubbornly empty year after year. It takes a bit of digging to find the condoms, and as he pulls them out in one big, long strip, he can’t help but wonder why she even has them at all.

Mick tears one off but doesn’t open it. He approaches the bed again, this time from the side, careful not to look at her as much as he wants.

“What do I…?” Mick has no idea how this works. “Do I just rub it on your back or something?” He assumes that’s what had done her shoulder in.

Seb stifles a laugh as she shakes her head. “It goes inside me,” she says, casual as anything.

The condom in Mick’s hand suddenly feels weightier than it should. “Oh.” He still doesn’t move to unwrap the condom. The tube of cream sits on the bed next to Seb, untouched. “You have to tell me,” Mick pleads in a small voice. “You have to tell me what I should do.”

Mick watches the gears turn in Seb’s head as he stares at her. He wonders if she never realized before that the way he panted after her every summer wasn’t out of childish admiration, but something else. Something hotter and darker.

“You can,” she says at last. “If you’re careful.”

“I want to,” Mick says, almost delirious with it. “I want to be careful.”

Seb smiles and says nothing. She opens her legs.

Mick has to close his eyes for a moment. It’s like a camera flash, the ruddy flush of her parted cunt imprinted on the backs of his eyelids.

When he opens them again, he’s already hard in his jeans, and he has to drop the condom onto the bedspread so he can rip them off, his shirt following shortly after in a flurry, tossed carelessly onto the floor. Something to worry about later.

The condom doesn’t go on easy, and Seb isn’t any help. Mick hasn’t had much practice, admittedly, and he burns with embarrassment from his head to his toes as he struggles to roll the condom over himself in a hurry. He somehow manages to snap the ring at the base against the underside of his cock at the very end, and the stinging pain radiates outwards from the point of contact with a strange heat that emerges from his mouth in the form of a low moan.

“You like a bit of pain?” Seb asks with a smirk.

Mick nods, though he isn’t even sure it’s true. He thinks maybe he’s just so overwhelmed by the imminent moment that he can’t process anything else, that all of him is so focused on the idea of being inside Seb that his brain is incapable of interpreting any other signals. They’re all getting turned away at the gate.

He has to move back up the length of her body once the condom is on, teeth gritted as she applies the cream to the very tip of his cock, careful not to let any spill onto the sheets.

“It’ll melt,” she tells him. “You’ll have to be quick.”

Mick doesn’t need any further encouragement.

He feels like a virgin again when he pushes inside her, nothing but the slickness of the cream guiding the way. She’s hot inside, which shouldn’t be a surprise, but it takes Mick’s breath away, nevertheless. He doesn’t think he’ll last long, and he doesn’t think he can make her come, but Seb doesn’t ask for anything. She lies there, seemingly content as Mick fucks in and out of her, almost frustratingly nonreactive.

"Did you—” Mick stops himself short again, slowing down the pace of his thrusts instead. This time, he knows what he wants to ask, but he doesn’t know if he wants to hear the answer. He thinks it might hurt too much.

“Keep going,” Seb says. The look on her face says, ‘this is enough’, but it doesn’t feel like it for Mick.

This is everything he’s ever wanted, but it isn’t the way he wants it. He can’t have her the way he wants. He knows that. It’s already too late.

They barely touch as Mick fucks her, his hands pressed against the mattress on either side of her pillow. He’s careful not to press down on her. He doesn’t want to hurt her, he tells himself. (A lie.) She’s tight inside, and Mick thinks that without the condom or the cream, it would hurt them both. Like this, it’s just enough friction, just enough pressure that the condom almost doesn’t seem to matter. He can feel every part of her cunt around his cock; he thinks he could memorize her, just from this, that he’d be able to tell it was her even with his eyes closed.

He comes disappointingly soon, with a too-loud cry that he’s afraid to muffle against the inviting skin of her throat. As soon as it’s over, he pulls out and rolls over onto his back, already trying not to cry.

“You weren’t a virgin, were you?” Seb asks.

Mick doesn’t think she means it unkindly, but it still stings. He shakes his head.

“You should let me take the condom off,” she adds as he continues to lay there without moving, his dick finally starting to soften against his belly. “And make sure you wash up, too, before you go to dinner.”

Mick doesn’t say a word as he kneels next to Seb on the bed and waits for her to peel the condom off with an almost agonizing slowness. When she’s finished, she gestures to the adjoining bathroom.

Mick takes a long time, careful to wash any part of himself that had touched her. He scrubs his dick raw with the damp cloth, until it hurts so bad that that he has to bite his fist to keep from crying out loud enough for Seb to hear him beyond the bathroom door.

After he emerges a few minutes later, his soft, red cock cradled protectively in one hand, Seb is asleep on her left side, her back turned to him. Mick redresses quietly at the foot of her bed, watching the gentle ebb and flow of her sleep-breathing.

When Mick opens the door again to leave, he doesn’t linger.

[johamfated]

Harry sat silently for a good few minutes, worrying his lip as he tried to think of a way to help the older man. He really did want to help. He couldn't imagine any world where Albus Dumbledore could be so defeated. It was almost depressing to watch. Perhaps it was time for a little tough love.

"Well, forgive me for saying, Professor, but maybe it's time you stopped being so self-absorbed and pitiful. The whole 'woe is me' really doesn't suit you. Is it any wonder, really, that you find yourself isolated in the middle of nowhere? Sure, you could keep up the whole, 'but I'm here in self exile to not incur his wrath' spiel, but honestly, that's boring. Yesterday's news. If you are so easily defeated as to back down at the first major hurdle, then perhaps you deserve all this. Cause, any man, truly on the side of light, wouldn't sit back and hide while a monster takes over. He would go out there, no matter the consequence, and not stop until that monster is cut down or they are killed trying. That is what it means, to do the right thing, over what it easy. And frankly, professor, I'm ashamed. Don't get me wrong, I love you. But this..." He gestured at Dumbledore. "Is an insult to every witch or wizard - hell, any person who has said no to facism. And you know what you're going to be remembered for in this world? Albus Dumbledore: The man who let facism win. Or perhaps they'll have you down as some love sick puppy who was too hung up, and didn't truly want to defeat that monster. That is what history will say. I just thank Merlin that my Albus Dumbledore had a little more sense about him. Otherwise I'd be dead before the age of two."

@regretismyconstantcompanion

Albus Dumbledore was sitting on the couch, staring into the fireplace that was across from him. The crackling of the flames was the only sound breaking the silence in the cottage that was nestled in the Scottish Highlands. It was isolated, miles away from even the nearest village. He had chosen it for that very reason, desperate for solitude even if it wasn't something that had been forced upon him. He had lost the duel against Grindelwald. He had known that had always been a possibility. There were equals after all and had known each other painfully well. They had spent that summer duelling, friendly but pushing each others boundaries. They had grown and changed and become more powerful but their tendencies had lingered. The fight had lasted well over an hour but in the end, Gellert had just gotten the better of him and managed to disarm him and send him flying backwards. His only minor consolation was the fight had left them both panting and injured. But it had been clear who the winner was. There was no backing out of the agreement they had made. His time in Nurmengard had been brief. A chance to recover from the duel before Gellert gave him an ultimatum. He could remain free if he agreed to leave Hogwarts and retreat from the Wizarding World. Albus had already known he would leave the school, for certainly he had lost that right when he had failed his students and the Wizarding World as a whole. He had agreed, knowing Gellert wasn't giving him a choice and not agreeing would result in either his death or being imprisoned in Nurmengard forever or the deaths of those he cared about. And so here he was, over a year after the duel. Staring into the fire, sitting beside a cup of tea that had long gone cold. Books had been removed from the overflowing bookshelves, scattered around the room. Some had been read, some he hadn't even yet opened. Plain parchment piled up on the desk. Few knew where he was and so letters came rarely. He had picked some of the fruit and vegetables he grew in a small garden he tended to. Perhaps he would make some jams and chutneys if he could find the strength and motivation. It came sometimes, mixed in with the heavy weight of despair that seemed to fill his waking hours. He had failed. He had let down the wizarding world and now he banished just beyond the world he loved so much. He knew what was happening there, of course. He did his best to learn of Gellerts ongoing plans and rise to power. Without him there, there was nothing to stop him. He knew the few Ministries that still existed moved against him but it wouldn't take much for them to fall. Everything would be lost then and Albus knew he was powerless to stop it. @johamfated

[plantsjustwannahavefun]

I am once again begging Ed stans to understand that it's possible to love Ed and believe he deserves love AND also admit that he mistreated and tormented the crew during the Kraken era. Not only is this possible, this is the position the show wants you to have. You think Izzy deserved everything he got? Fine, whatever, forget about him for a minute. There's a whole crew in there you're supposed to empathise with and feel sympathy for, too. The six of them that Ed actively tried to kill or left for dead, for starters. Pay attention to the crew's experiences and reactions. They're shown to be traumatised, grieving, clinging to disassociation (Frenchie) and nihilism (Archie) as coping mechanisms and suffering from PTSD flashbacks. And, since this type of fans constantly go on about how it's racist to think Ed did anything wrong... what about the fact that a lot of the crew are PoC too? What then?

If you've watched the first 3 episodes of S2 and there was only one person on that ship you felt sorry for, then you're not a fan of OFMD, you're just a fan of Ed in isolation. And if the only way you can love Ed is by denying that he ever did anything wrong, then you're completely missing the point of the show. OFMD never said that people only deserve to be loved if they're morally perfect and flawless. The show doesn't subscribe to the dichotomy of Good vs Bad. Good people can do bad things. They can hurt the ones they love. Even if they didn't mean to, even if they themselves were suffering at the time, it doesn't mean they don't need to take responsibility for their actions or avoid the consequences. Stede didn't mean to hurt Mary and his kids when he left, but he still did. He had legitimate reasons for leaving, he didn't just do it for the lolz, but it was still wrong and Mary was right to be angry at him. And Stede needed to face up to this - not just for their sake but his too. Even though it turned out their lives were better off without him, reconciling with Mary was still crucial for his character development.

It was the same for Ed, it just didn't get handled quite as well due to lack of screentime, but the idea was the same. When Ed realises he'd been cruel to Fang and apologises, he isn't sinking into self-hatred and despair. Quite the contrary, this is a moment of growth for him. Because the fact is, just because you as a human being are inherently worthy of love doesn't mean you can go around hurting everyone and expecting them to put up with you. That's just not how it works. You don't need to be perfect, but you do need to listen to people when they tell you that you hurt them and apologise genuinely and try to be better. The show is very sympathetic to Ed but it does NOT excuse his actions. The crew aren't portrayed as villains or antagonists for being scared and angry at Ed for what he did to them. Even Stede was on their side with this one. If even Stede is able to see things from the crew's POV and have sympathy for them, then you should too. Stede doesn't love Ed because he sees Ed as a pure uwu angel. He loves Ed... because he just does. He loves being around him. They really click together. They have so much in common. That doesn't mean he approves of literally everything Ed has ever done. It just means he loves Ed despite that.

[baxterstockmanisthecenterfold]

old follower from when you were Baxterstockmanismyson, why'd you delete your old blog? What made you come back?

I pretty much explained why here

But to some it up basically, I was just sick of the harassment & constant hateful responses my friends & I Myself would receive almost daily because of the most simple opinions.

Hell I actually remember this one time I was making a rant about 2012 Stockman's character mishandling & I brought up the Rise turtles for 2 seconds & even made a stupid joke about how I'm surprised no one accused the 2012 ones of racial profiling & this one user took it so seriously they harassed me & my followers the rest of the day

I also can't help but find this bit from them ironic considering they could have did the exact same thing with my post & followers.

This isn't even a one time thing too. As I just said. The fandom would just take EVERYTHING too seriously & attack anybody that disagreed with them in any shape or form & a lot of my best friends at the time were victims of cyberbullying because of them including me. Yes I could have ignored them, & most days I did tbh, but every once in a while there was always that one miserable person that just wanted to PERSONALIZE their attacks to me just because I said I didn't like Apriltello or something & they made their insults PERSONAL, to the point where I couldn't help but NOT ignore it. I already suffer from Anxiety and Depression & EXTREMELY low self esteem to the point where I second guess my talents. From my art to my appearance to even questioning why I still exist. If I should even STILL exist.. At that point in 2021 when I deactivated Baxterstockmanismyson I had already been going through enough stressful situations in my life, worrying about a ton of real life personal stresses in my life. And the unnecessary bullying from the fandom consisting of grown ass adults mind you was the last thing I needed. I had actually received yet another hateful message in my askbox because of one of my hot takes the day before I deactivated & it honestly fucked me up majorly so it was the last straw. I deactivated & I overall QUIT & Left the fandom entirely ever since, I just didn't see the point in staying anymore when there's little to zero good memories in it.

I would be lying if I didn't say I did miss some aspects. The one thing I missed the most being Baxter himself. Any version of him. Especially considering he's actually the entire reason I even got into TMNT in the first place (but a story for another time). He's beyond my favorite character, he's my comfort one, my boy ever since I was 12. Then Mutant Mayhem was announced along with the fact that Baxter was in it (& played by FUCKING Giancarlo Esposito) my interest was peaked to say the least. Especially after I found out he looked like this

I'd even say it was honestly the only reason why I saw the movie (even if he was only in it for 4 minutes) which I admit even outside of Baxter, I did end up enjoying it. It was also nice to talk about tmnt again to my Girlfriend & a once mutual friend at the time. Just making it our own personal bubble having zero contact with the fans, especially as I saw literally NOTHING changed just by people's reactions to Mutant Mayhem April smfh. So I assumed it was the right choice.

Another year went by. Things are different once again, that mutual friend I mentioned earlier is...no longer our friend.. and it was back to radio silence in terms of anything turtle related. I had started collecting figures at this point in time & with the release of Human 1987 Baxter & Mirage on the way, I figured it wouldn't hurt to FINALLY add Baxter to my shelf like I always wanted to years ago. Even finally start making custom figures for him that don't exist & it was a fun, exhausting but also therapeutic experience in a way. Especially getting the chance to finally look back at the mad scientist all the way from day one. From schulpting, to talking about him & even looking up other perspectives on him. Even if it was mostly misconceptions like always when it comes to him. And it got to the point where I wanted to let out an outlet to just really let out Stockman talk & facts about the guy that no one knew or already did but with a story behind it. Even taking inspiration from AskSpideypool's @ sciderman & their blog being the most dedicated blog to really get & understand Wade Wilson & Peter Parker with pages worth of history to back up the knowledge. It's honestly how I feel with Baxter Stockman if I'm being legit with you. So about maybe 3 months later or so, I decided to create this new blog, a new start. A blog to just really share & show all I know about Baxter & even find other people that feel the same way. Just a little Baxter bubble that I can have & feel safe in. It's also why you noticed I haven't shared NON Baxter stuff on here yet. To put it short. I'm not really back in the TMNT fandom. Sure I'll post about Baxter Stockman. But that's the ONLY thing I'll go as far as posting. I wasn't too far off when I said I only watched MM for Stockman & the fact that the fandom hasn't changed their ways based on MM April's reception.

I want absolutely nothing to do with the fandom's drama or possible drama the second I step into current TMNT events & I share my thoughts on them even if I had thoughts anyway, I honestly don't really care anymore aside from Baxter.

To sum it up: Unless it involves Baxter, I genuinely don't give a shit. So a heads up if I'm ever asked about something non Stock related like my thoughts on this video game or this ship ect I'm gonna ignore it. I just don't have the mental strength for the drama anymore. And it's not like the fandom itself even cares about Baxter let alone care enough to get mad over a hot take about him which I've yet to see (aside from some 30/40 something year old idiots on Instagram & Twitter that genuinely believed he was always a white guy & him being black is new) so I feel safe in my Stockbubble.

Anyway, hope that clears things up. Both why I left & how this new blog works.

[sysig]

Let me chew you out a little, since we have a couple minutes (Patreon)

[Panel 1] Prismo: *mumble* *mumble*

[Panel 2] Prismo: *mumble*

[Panel 3] Simon: Hmph. “Just because it’s in your head-”

[Panel 4] Simon: “-Doesn’t mean it’s yours,” huh?

[Panel 5] Simon: Give me all the responsibility with none of the privileges?

[Panel 6] Simon: And then you get mad at me for trying to pick up your slack? Prismo: Hey...

[Panel 7] Simon: Clearly you already expect that much from me!

[Panel 8] Prismo: Hey, hey! I did the best with what I had! I didn’t expect any of this!

[Panel 9] Simon: And yet you didn’t even consider telling me, so we could’ve avoided this?

[Panel 10] Prismo: It’s not like I could’ve just- taken it out! I was locked out!

[Panel 11] Simon: You could’ve done something!

[Panel 12] Simon: Instead you let my life spiral around this thing, kept me tethered to Ice King’s Madness-

[Panel 13] Prismo: Fionna and Cake are real thou- Simon: NOW you tell me! After I find out for myself!

[sophiethewitch1]

kinda wanna write a fic where the dog is literally the deus ex machina

[meowmedusa]

looking at the clock and going "oh. i didn't. even realize it was past 8pm." and its not funny or cool its just unbelievably concerning

[fingertipsmp3]

My 2025 resolutions:

Don’t die unless it’s unavoidable

No fucking impulse buying! No! Fucking! Impulse buying!!!

Travel more (which means travel at all)

Read more and be on my phone less

[sevenseasaurus]

so do the rest of you guys just simplify your dreams when explaining them to people or do I just remember a significantly weirder degree of depth than the average bear

[ailius-suffers-through-art]

time loop polycule.........

after having literally just finished writing a time loop story, i am. slightly terrified!

The first three words you see will manifest in 2025.

[teethbomb]

hhhhhhnnngh