#i hate me for putting all this hashtags

[chatpileroan]

im not kidding mouthwashing is maybe one of the most on the nose explains itself As It Plays Out horror game possible and the fact its breached containment and is now outside the sphere of people who like horror and the MAIN MAJORITY of people posting about it are people who cannot understand the IN YOUR FACE BY THE OWN GAME base level ppppplot points of characters not being good people or mentally well or Experienced In Their Fields and are nonstop posting shit like "guys why didnt they just not hire jimmy are they stupid?" come back to the tag when you can even begin to fathom that jimmy is not the only antagonist of the game because youre fucking 1/3 right now and the game is NOT SUBTLE.

[eosofspades]

okay i meant to make this post forever ago but my personal opinion on why so many people were so dissatisfied with lightfalll (disclaimer: i am not one of these people, i love lightfall SO much), is that lightfall was kind of subjected to a really aggressive marketing campaign.

like, stick with me here, i feel like almost all the lightfall release content (the trailers especially) were so focused on battling the witness, how this battle has been centuries in the making and this is the Second Collapse Finally Finding Us, only for there to be,,, no real resolution. the end was left on such a severe cliffhanger, but not only that, there was NO battle with the witness. the witness didn't even seem to be having a hard time at all with what we WERE throwing at it.

and for narrative reasons *i* am obsessed with this ending; in terms of storytelling i adore practically every creative decision that was made in lightfall, but i think the reason that so many people were so upset about it is because lightfall had such intense marketing and was rooted in the implication that this was the End of Days, only for us to get almost no closure, and instead so many more questions.

(there's also something to be said, i think, about the fact that the people who ARE most upset about this are like, the youtube gamer dudebros who's content is very very often rooted in the aggressive, violence-and-warfare, pvp-centric, no-interest-in-lore approach to destiny, and that the people i've seen primarily ENJOYING the narrative decisions (or at least being understanding about it) are the artists and writers and loremasters of the fandom, but i'm not quite sure,,, how to expand on that point.)

[driftwooddestiel]

ngl i think a lot of the people who hate* on australian taskmaster just arent acclimatised to australian comedy and comedians like. the vast majority of contestants are well established comedians here with their own ‘characters’ that are being played into by tom gleeson himself . like idk. his making fun of wil in s2 probably came off as needlessly harsh to people unfamiliar with wil anderson’s popularity and continued presence hosting shows in the australian comedy sphere since like the early 2000s, but to the average australian viewer AKA the target audience of the show, its obviously intended as a joke and its funny because we have the context! idk what im even saying i just think people are especially harsh on the non-british tm adaptations because they arent as immersed in other countries’ comedy spheres as the UK’s and its unfair that people seem to expect foreign taskmasters to be equally enjoyable to a fan of the OG taskmaster who hasnt bothered to get the background on the cultural context . and also i wish people would stop expecting every taskmaster and assistant to perfectly replicate greg and alex’s dynamic… its simply not going to happen!!! there’s no reason for it to happen. the foreign variants are made for the audience in the country! meaning they are not made with the intention of being a copy of the original to please fans of the original. argh

*hate is not the right word really, its a bit too intense compared to what im talking about . i just cant think of a better word rn

[themyscirah]

Feeling petty and just blocked someone for steve trevor hate the sun is shining and the hills are alive w the sound of music etc.

[butchkaramazov]

i am forced to give my guitar to my cousin ONCE & he 1. loses my fav plectrum (it's in the guitar hole 🤬🤬🤬) 2. jams my plectrum holder and 3. snaps a cord located inside the guitar hole ???? it's just dangling outside idk im gonna bash his face in the next time he comes over

[thecolorsthree]

It took me a lot of consideration whether or not to post this, but I think it would be good for me to! This is an art piece I made for my 21st birthday this year. A month or so beforehand, I wanted to create a big art piece for my system. Each day, I ended up drawing one (or more) frequent fronters!

We are very fictive heavy which is why I'm sure anyone can recognize half the fellas here. I will still list them out from left to right though! You guys are so awesome and have helped me out so much this past couple years. There's Mob🌼, The Collector🎭, Skip/Anne🍂, Skit/Marcy🎲, Scratch/Sasha⚔️, Aubrey🐰, Kenny💧, Basil🌻, Sunny💤, Tangy🍊, Hanako🗡️, Stranger🖤, Mari🎵, Hero✨, Mercury🌙, Shade💜, Tsukasa😈, Nene🐚, Allister👻, Ragatha📍, Jax🟣, Pomni🔴, Scott🎸, Nagisa🐍, Luz🪄, Omori🔪, & CATNAP😺💤 !!

Woah, that's a lot, huh? Well, all of us are dumbasses just trying to get through life. if you are fascinated and want to study us like a bug, always feel free to follow our other accounts, @magicshowstrixs, @ghostsghoulsngraves, @dailylifeofmagic & more if you can find them 🤫

We will make a better intro post eventually, but yeah! thank you for reading this far if you did (bow)

[trans-yllz]

I think we gotta start recognizing that "things accepted online/in leftist spaces" and "things accepted by the general public in the real world" are two very different things. like no actually gnc men are Not suddenly seen as okay because there are drag queens on tiktok. men are still beaten and harassed and ostracized and Killed for being feminine. in the us. in my very liberal city full of ppl with blue hair and pronouns I am made to feel uncomfortable and unwelcome for being a gnc guy. the tiktok comments on videos of men wearing make up are not indicative of the beliefs of most people

[demobatman]

going back to my roots but if i have to read another post talking about how robin and eddie wouldnt be friends/it would be hard for them to be friends im going to scream those two fucking terrorize steve harrington and are gay married. he knows her. from BAND.

[whoa-where-did-the-pancakes-go]

I'd love to interact with the ethel cain fandom on here a little more but im lowkey kind of worried about my reception from certain groups of people bc im like. a guy.

[hauntingmiser]

All right here is the hc sexualities of the girls because I'm very bored ( and also if I get something wrong please do remind me of it plz I'll be very much obliged to change something )

Makoto ( strong AF )

She lesbian and she's dating haru btw

Ann also lesbian and she's platonically dating shiho

Futaba ( autism haver )

Agender lesbian ( don't worry she prefers any pronouns she doesn't mind she/her pronouns tho ) she is dating sumire

Sumire

Bisexual

she is dating futaba and they're in a platonic relationship

Haru ( she also very strong )

Sapphic lesbian

She is dating makoto

[hashtag-anthems]

Me getting ready to romance Wyll in this run and then Astarion goes and gets a nat 20 getting Gale out of that portal like he’s trying to impress him or something 🙄

[miserye]

i just had subway and two things, one. i fucking love tuna and 2. that churro is a crime against humanity and they should be sued for selling something that bad

[red-dyed-sarumane]

:D may I also ask the same? what does ur agenda look like today?

i just worked a little short of 12 hours ive been dead tired bc i was stressed over something time sensitive & havent slept well & after a month and a half the mental problems are kicking in full force bc of it BUT some of my coworkers are lovely people & make it so much better. i just got one to listen to sena wataru's sensitive ghost & also got to explain oumen mokushiroku to him yesterday & hes like "im never looking at that song the same again im so sad she shouldntve been a sacrifice and for no reason" so my propaganda is working. my other coworker is like. impervious to bad moods. i think ive seen her in a bad mood maybe once in almost 2 years. she has this amazing ability to just shake things off and make them fun & i love when i get to work near her bc of it. & then of course i get really chatty (among. many other things...) when im super tired & qc popped in to give an update & was like. thoroughly amused the rest of the day like "u never talk its so different to hear u talk" little does she know the next chara im drawing in my notebook is tenshi & she always comments on my doodles when she sees them & usually im just like aw thanks but u know me i have no self restraint when it comes to that angel im going to break & qc's going to hear all about her.

anyway my actual agenda is jsut to. sleep for as much as possible now bc im so fucking tired of cycling between "i need to get hurt" and thoughts about that angel i will not be saying publicly & im just desperately hoping sleep can solve my problems. i would LOVE to draw tenshi & finish coloring rime & also play with cevio but oh. my god theres no way theres just no way

also here. notebook doodles of my favoritest girls. qc says touhikou is her favorite ive done so far im like 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

[is-johnny-jhonny-a-spectral-yet]

Day 2966

no :(

[mad-hunts]

if barton tried hard enough, he thought, imagining himself being literally anywhere else but the warehouse right then was easy. this place was never meant to be lived in for an extended period of time after all; despite the fact that it had appliances that you might see in an every day home like a fridge.

it put him on edge instead of at ease, and it certainly didn't better barton's mood when he stayed in it either, after all. but so long as he was allowed to dream within it to some degree... it was tolerable. plus, he had company here, courtesy of nico, jack, and barton also supposed jervis counted. nico had complicated feelings towards the doctor, though, and spending time around jack whilst in it thus far gave barton an unfortunate impression; which was that his own son was made nervous by him.

and the irony of it all was, barton only gathered that because he could feel cognitive empathy towards him. something that didn't include feeling but reasoning. therefore, the hopes of him somehow patching that up with jack someday were drastically decreased. barton vaguely listened to jervis respond to what he'd said about him being in the warehouse solely because of them; all of the words but one not quite having any actual impact on him, this being 'nightmares.'

the smell of the yuja tea that jack prepared for jervis, as fragrant in the air that it was, seemed to be the one thing keeping him from being sucked down a unpleasant train of thought. for someone who didn't feel human half the time, barton sure as hell experienced his own fair share of seeing 'ghosts' from the past and mourning the way some things had gone in his life. and regret, as well as sorrow, were practically intertwined in every single 'normal' person's life that he'd known.

speaking of regret, once he'd closed the curtains, something from the small cabinet hanging on the wall next to them fell to the floor. barton picked it up and was immediately reminded of why he kept this photo here instead of at his home. hiding it away helped alleviate the pain of not only loving someone and losing them, but also knowing that at the time it was taken, everything seemed fine.

'my 19th birthday party - spent right, with my handsome fiancé!' was written on the back in marcy's handwriting. barton felt like screaming and smashing something simultaneously. the photo was instead placed in his pant pocket, whilst he dragged his hands down his face and thanked his lucky stars that jervis wasn't exactly expecting any big conversations from him. barton's hand flexed by his side before he was changing his shirt, wondering just what the hell he was supposed to do after seeing that again.

grief was a thing he'd never been able to pend down how to deal with 'appropriately,' unfortunately. from marcy, to the momentary blink of an eye that felt like his bittersweet friendship with yves, to his son julien's death - barton thought he'd be destroyed by all of those losses for the longest time. but he supposed he was still here, god willing, or laughing at him more like if such a being did exist. barton noticed the fabric that was splitting on the blanket and how jervis very much appeared to be in his own world.

it was at that moment that he reached for something in that same cabinet he'd opened to change his shirt, finding that sewing thread and needle he'd stored in there long ago. barton kept it there because the shirt he was wearing had actually torn at some point and he'd fixed it. though, he had no use for it now, so he decided to put it on the edge of edge of the cabinet if jervis wanted it. but he didn't really know what he wanted. that night seemed to be a series of gut punches now as the other touched upon how jack was a good person and barton should be proud of him.

he blinked several times as he felt this sensation like something ugly was swirling within him. jack had always kind of gotten the short-end of the stick, and for what? ❝ ahh. well, sometimes i've found myself practicing behaviors towards him that my father used to use on me... but i try to stop myself when that happens. jack has come a long way, as the first time i met him, he was a scared two year old who was on his own with his brother. but now jack's a young man and very brave, despite maybe still being scared sometimes. ❞ barton cleared his throat then, ❝ that's normal though. so yeah, i am proud of him. ❞

barton turned his attention back to jervis and tilted his head at the other's sluggishness. being vulnerable like that surprisingly didn't feel too nerve-wracking, as he added just a bit more to the equation. barton gave the iv bag jervis was hooked up to a good squeeze, ❝ hmm. are you still in pain, jervis? or are you just tired? ❞ he observed the other silently and looked down at the cards before the both of them. that is, before barton heard jervis approve of him reading his fortune.

he drifted a hand along the cards then. choosing one that felt 'right' came without much difficulty to barton, and when he did, the reversed 'wheel of fortune' card for jervis's past. the next card he chose was the reversed 'six of swords' for jervis's present. barton flipped the last one for his future and was greeted by 'the sun,' which made him let out a soft 'huh' and smile a bit. ❝ well... i hate to start off with the past when you got this card, but i guess we have to. ❞ he was about to start interpreting jervis's fortune when jack came back into the room with the breakfast he promised the other. well, talk about convenient timing.

Jervis merely rolled his eyes at Barton’s remark, fingers biting into the fabric of the blanket as he pulled it around his shoulders like an old shawl. The plush material was a little threadbare at the corner; a tear disrupting the otherwise seamless fabric.

Sea-green and white plaid. Utilitarian, impersonal.

It sufficed perfectly; his thin frame was almost terminally intolerant to the cold. 27 years in Gotham had failed to inoculate him against the frigid rains and bone-chilling air sweeping off the harbor.

“Trust me, I’m well aware where I would be, if it weren’t for you both. I see enough of the place in my nightmares… so I don’t require any reminders.” He flexed his fingers around the teacup, feeling the warmth seep into his hands as he cautiously tipped the liquid into his mouth. It had a strange, but not unpleasant consistency, like warm, thin honey that slid smoothly over his tongue in a tangy blend of sweet and sour. Tiny bits of softened citrus peel floated in the syrupy mixture.

Barton’s IV pole scraped slightly along the concrete floor, a sharp metallic sound that mingled with the sudden rasp of the curtains being jerked shut. The room was clean and sparse, a sterile space designed to be free of clutter, yet a faint, telltale mustiness clung to the air—a lingering scent of damp fabric and stale dust that disinfectant alone couldn’t quite mask. Beyond the makeshift partition, the rest of the warehouse stretched out in vast, dark emptiness. The floor was cold, unpolished concrete, marred with cracks that split like spider webs. Dim, flickering fluorescent lights cast a harsh, uneven glow, barely cutting through the haze of dust that swirled in the air.

But, of course, beggars couldn’t be choosers when it came to hideaways—especially when you’ve learned to take shelter wherever you can find it. Or when you were part of the criminal element.

How far he’d come and how little had truly changed.

Jervis glanced across the room at where his coat, shirt, and gloves rested neatly on the desk, carefully folded with almost surgical precision. He flexed his hands again around the teacup, feeling the phantom prickle of sensation where the wool-lined leather should be—an exposed vulnerability that gnawed at him, made his skin itch with invisible grime.

He sank his teeth into a particularly broad piece of yuja peel, the bitter tang releasing as he bit down; meanwhile, Barton’s voice drifted in one ear, out the other like the static hum on a faulty wireless. He chewed slowly, savoring the rind as he turned his attention back to the small tear in the blanket. Nodded intermittently.

Jervis’ callused, scarred fingers found the frayed edge; the fabric was worn thin and splitting, and he traced it absentmindedly, feeling the uneven fibers beneath his touch. For a moment, his thoughts shifted to the sewing kit buried somewhere in his bag, imagining the small spool of thread and the thin, glinting needles; each one ready to pierce the fabric and pull it back together.

As if stitching this small wound would make any real difference, he thought bitterly; like it could somehow soothe the cold reality pressing in on them from all sides… It was a small, pointless task, a flicker of control in a situation that felt like it was slipping away, unraveling faster than he could sew it back together. He knew it wouldn’t ameliorate anything—wouldn’t solve the problems looming larger than this tiny, frayed corner. And yet, his fingers lingered there, desperate for something tangible to fix; something he could make whole again, if only for a moment.

Jervis gave no reply as Barton moved to change his shirt; blinking hard as he gazed down at the floor, but the darkness behind his eyelids refused to stay empty. Flecks of indigo light bloomed in the black, shifting like dust motes that twisted with each beat of his heart. The room swam as he opened his eyes again, the ceiling blurred and murky like the styrofoam cup Alice stored her wet paintbrushes in. He scratched absently at the IV in his arm, feeling the tug of the thin plastic embedded in his skin but barely registering the discomfort. The bright pinpricks danced at the edges of his vision, trailing like little comets whenever he turned his head.

“You ought to be proud of him, I imagine. Your son… he seems like a good lad.” Jervis’ voice was a wisp of silk, smooth and thin, like it might unravel into nothing if he spoke too loudly. He tilted his head slightly, almost resembling a marionette on a slack string, the hint of a smile touching his lips but never quite reaching his eyes. He ran a finger along the rim of his teacup, the motion delicate and deliberate as he pondered Barton’s final query.

“Hmm… can you?” Gray eyes blinked slowly, the lids heavy and sluggish, further dragged down by fatigue. The question lingered in the air, softly innocuous. He glanced over at the tarot cards Jack left behind on the desk—arranged in a rough, careless spread, but somehow feeling deliberate, as though the cards had fallen exactly where they were meant to. The edges were worn, curling slightly; the images esoteric, half-familiar symbols. Stars, sun, moon, cups and swords, animals and human figures rendered in faded colors.

He paused, gaze narrowing, subtly curious despite the exhaustion that weighed down his expression. For a moment, his hand tightened around his teacup; twitched like he might reach out and touch them, as if by brushing the surface he could glean some hidden answer buried beneath the painted ink.

‘Why, they're only a pack of cards, after all.’

His grip on the blanket slipped momentarily, fumbling at the worn edge before he reached for his collar instead. He dug beneath the charcoal fabric of his T-shirt, searching with a practiced motion until his fingers found the tarnished silver chain again. He drew it out slowly, the weight of it comforting against his skin as he absently ran his thumb over his and Sylvie’s rings, threaded side by side on the links.

The metal was dull, no longer shining with the luster it once had, but it carried a certain softness now, smoothed by years of worry. His eyes dropped for a second before he let the chain slip back beneath his shirt. “By all means, if it tickles your fancy…” Jervis gave a short, rough half-shrug, the motion stunted as though his shoulder couldn’t quite decide whether to follow through.

[jeyneofpoole]

before you say that hashtag witty hashtag clever thing about ‘dumb hicks’ or ‘rednecks’ or ‘hillbillies’ run through this quick and easy questionnaire to make sure you’re not a piece of shit!

do i know what states i’m even talking about? can i point to them on a map?

have i ever visited, or god forbid lived in, a state south of the mason-dixon line?

do i know where appalachia is? can i point to it on a map? do i know what states it encompasses?

do i know what the word ‘melungeon’ means? do i know what distinctive people-groups make up the appalachian south?

have i ever made fun of someone for having missing teeth (aka dewmouth), a silly accent, or unique regional grammar structure?

do i think of the south as a homogenous wall of bigots and republicans? have i considered that the south is diverse racially, economically, and politically?

how do i pronounce ‘appalachia?’ have i continued to say it the wrong way after being corrected because it sounds ‘smarter?’

when i say ‘i hate all country music,’ have i listened to anything other than bigwig sellouts singing about trucks and shit? can i name a single true bluegrass musical artist?

do i consider the south to be ‘beyond saving’ or a ‘lost cause?’

do i make ‘sweet home alabama’ jokes about incest in the south? have i poked fun at the ‘blue people of kentucky?’ do i even know their last names, or are they just punchlines to me?

do i say ‘y’all’ in everyday conversation? am i from the south? do i even know where to put the fucking apostrophe?

do i know what the fuck i’m talking about? should i shut the fuck up?