#i hope this makes sense !!

[local-lover-boy]

Isn't it crazy and beautiful how we learn stuff and grow, because we've loved? I know who p1harmony is because I had a crush on a girl who was really into k-pop. I studied Norse mythology because I desperately liked someone who thought it was interesting. I know who Jonnie Gilbert is bc my partner loves him. I learned about ley lines because I liked a boy who thought they were interesting. I know every word to about 20 mitski songs because I wanted to relate to a girl I was into so badly. I know MHA lore like the back of my hand without having seen it in years because a past lover of mine cherished it deeply. I love cherry coke because it was suggested to me by a man I was infatuated with when I was 11. I found out bunnies can scratch you because I liked a girl who had a scar from her bunny under her eye. I studied color blindness because I wanted to impress a boy I was in love with. I take pride in my birth name because a boy I loved liked the sound of it. I hold all of these things and wonder if I am really a person or a body trying to preserve love.

A/N Since I wrote this poem, I fell out of love with someone and reconnected with someone else, this life has my head spinning

[neon-ghost04]

“Husk didn’t fall for Angel Dust he fell for Anthony”

NO YOU DONT UNDERSTAND HUSK FELL FOR ANGEL DUST AND ANTHONY; THE PORNSTAR, THE CRACKHEAD, THE GUY STAYING AT A HOTEL FOR REDEMPTION, THE GUY WHO LOVES HIS PET PIG, THE GUY WHOS GOOD WITH A GUN, THE LOSER, THE GUY WHO CARES ABOUT HIS FRIENDS, THE GUY WHO LET HIS WALLS DOWN

He fell for all that Angel Dust is, and he fucking fell hard

[buttergumzz]

fellow people on the ace, aro, or the aroace spectrum, I have something for you

Romance or sex is like coffee. It’s strong, super smooth, and hot. I don’t like coffee though, I prefer tea.

[stargirldotcom]

- the internets a graveyard

@pisshandkerchief/ @blueskies-bluescreens/ @pureheartpillar/ unknow/ @death-born-aphrodite/ unknown/ @sturner4077 on twitter/ dorothea- taylor swift/ jenna marbles on youtube

[void-dude]

This is a extremely rough guideline for an animatic that’s in the works! I hope I get the time to finish it ruaaaa

[skeletoninthemelonland]

"The Remnant Collector"

"the remnant what"

"the"

[inkskinned]

for a while i lived in an old house; the kind u.s americans don't often get to live in - living in a really old house here is super expensive. i found out right before i moved out that the house was actually so old that it features in a poem by emily dickinson.

i liked that there were footprints in front of the sink, worn into the hardwood. there were handprints on some of the handrails. we'd find secret marks from other tenants, little hints someone else had lived and died there. and yeah, there was a lot wrong with the house. there are a lot of DIY skills you learn when you are a grad student that cannot afford to pay someone else to do-it-for-ya. i shared the house with 8 others. the house always had this noise to it. sometimes that noise was really fucking awful.

in the mornings though, the sun would slant in thick amber skiens through the windows, and i'd be the first one up. i'd shuffle around, get showered in this tub that was trying to exit through the floor, get my clothes on. i would usually creep around in the kitchen until it was time to start waking everyone else up - some of them required multiple rounds of polite hey man we gotta go knocks. and it felt... outside of time. a loud kind of quiet.

the ghosts of the house always felt like they were humming in a melody just out of reach. i know people say that the witching hour happens in the dark, but i always felt like it occurred somewhere around 6:45 in the morning. like - for literal centuries, somebody stood here and did the dishes. for literal centuries, somebody else has been looking out the window to this tree in our garden. for literal centuries, people have been stubbing their toes and cracking their backs and complaining about the weather. something about that was so... strangely lovely.

i have to be honest. i'm not a history aficionado. i know, i know; it's tragic of me. i usually respond to "this thing is super old" by being like, wow! cool! and moving on. but this house was the first time i felt like the past was standing there. like it was breathing. like someone else was drying their hands with me. playing chess on the sofa. adding honey to their tea.

i grew up in an old town. like, literally, a few miles off of walden pond (as in of the walden). (also, relatedly, don't swim in walden, it's so unbelievably dirty). but my family didn't have "old house" kind of money. we had a barely-standing house from the 70's. history existed kind of... parallel to me. you had to go somewhere to be in history. your school would pack you up on a bus and take you to some "ye olden times" place and you'd see how they used to make glass or whatever, and then you'd go home to your LEDs. most museums were small and closed before 5. you knew history was, like, somewhere, but the only thing that was open was the mcdonalds and the mall.

i remember one of my seventh grade history teachers telling us - some day you'll see how long we've been human for and that thing has been puzzling me. i know the scientific number, technically.

the house had these little scars of use. my floors didn't actually touch the walls; i had to fill them with a stopgap to stop the wind. other people had shoved rags and pieces of newspaper. i know i've lost rings and earring backs down some of the floorboards. i think the raccoons that lived in our basement probably have collected a small fortune over the years. i complain out loud to myself about how awful the stairs are (uneven, steep, evil, turning, hard to get down while holding anything) and know - someone else has said this exact same thing.

when i was packing up to leave and doing a final deep cleaning, i found a note carved in the furthest corner in the narrow cave of my closet. a child's scrawled name, a faded paint handprint, the scrangly numbers: 1857.

we've been human for a long time. way back before we can remember.

[endless-nightshift]

Look Shen Yuan and Airplane(in leu of his pre transmigration name) are in fact a match made in heaven BUT in any timeline that they up in the same vicinity as Luo Binghe and Mobei-jun they will both mutually pivot to best friends bordering QPR. Because although they might be eachothers types your Ultimate wish fulfilment man trumps the sane version of your ultimate wish fulfillment man every time, in this essay I will-

[philodendrongoeldii]

Cave Networks, Fungi, and What it Means to be Alive

“Fear of Depths” by Jacob Geller // Illustration of green mold by Carlton C. Curtis, “Nature and Development of Plants” //  YouTube comment by The Florida Man // Illustration of a neuron, from “Neurons and glial cells” // Merlin Sheldrake, “Entangled Life” // map of Mammoth Cave H.C. Hovey // YouTube comment by Lorenzo Pachecho // Illustration of grass roots by Mohamed El Mazlouzi // Merlin Sheldrake, “Entangled Life”

[galaxynajma]

born to haikyuu forced to blue lock

[shreddeddescent]

when you're a kid and your adult lets you in on their adult level feelings and secrets that your kid brain cannot process, you grow up not being able to process your own shit. just spewing back out into the world shit you shouldn't be worrying about.

and im sorry. thats not fair.

[redysetdare]

I don't think a lot of people realize that lot of their advice to disabled people often boils down to "Get over it." they are trying to be helpful but their idea of helpful is "Just do the thing" because that's what they do. for them they just do things. It comes naturally to just do it.

They don't know how to bridge the gap between you and the task. For them the bridge is already pre-built and stable. For disabled people the bridge is run down, not well kept, it feels unsteady and is hard to get across without being slow and cautious - hell for some people there is no bridge and we need to build it ourselves but we don't have the bridge building tools and no one gives them to us.

"Just cross the bridge." They say before walking over their pre-built bridge. They never gave you the tools to build a bridge to cross.

[earwig5]

it’s kind of crazy that both fallout new Vegas and fallout 4 have the same driving force for the first half of the narrative (find the guy who wronged you and make him pay) but Benny is so much more memorable and narratively interesting than Kellogg.

It’s a matter of a strong character foil versus a weak one, in my opinion.

Benny and the courier are very much alike. They are both ambitious people who are willing to do anything possible to stack the odds in their favour. Honestly, Benny and the courier are the same card, reversed.

The Sole Survivor and Kellogg are also intended to be character foils. The game tries to convince us of this with the scenes in Kellogg’s mind, where we see that he ‘isn’t so different’ from our protagonist after all. But we don’t know anything about Kellogg other than his backstory. How can he parallel the protagonist if we don’t know which traits he has? Which traits the two of them share?

(As a side note, I wish Fallout 4 had touched way more on the ‘Man/Woman Out of Time’ thing. The protagonist being frozen in the past + Kellogg being functionally immortal would’ve been really cool to explore! Especially in the context of grief!)

In the end, I think the reason Benny is a more powerful character foil is that he doesn’t disappear from the world when you kill him. The chairmen can mourn him, House will comment on it, and even NPCs across the Mojave will talk about Benny’s death!

In Kellogg’s case, the protagonist is basically the only person who knows he even existed! Once he’s dead HE’s DEAD! He disappears completely from the narrative! As soon as you leave fort Hagen, the game doesn’t bother looking back.

that’s why Benny is a more haunting force for new Vegas; particularly an independent courier. You are Benny’s legacy because you are what he leaves behind whether he likes it or not. People remember him as the couriers victim. Meanwhile, nobody remembers Kellogg at all. The memory of who Kellogg was dies with you, and you can choose to forget him.

[theythemmer]

the way he thought phil was actually going to give him a regular complement♥️ girl have you not lived with him for a decade

[sulliedsorrow]

i keep thinking of chuuya who has. major food insecurity that arises from when he was seven to being in the sheep. like becoming a part of the mafia must have meant such a drastic change in living circumstances, and even though now he has money and a better quality of life, a part of him still acts like he’s living in scarcity.

this leads to a lot of arguments with dazai i think, mainly around how much dazai wastes food. they’re on an overnight mission and chuuya orders takeout and dazai forgets to eat it and chuuya gets mad because you don’t just waste food like that and dazai is mad because he didn’t ask for the food in the first place so chuuya has no right to be angry with him, but chuuya can’t fathom having someone in his care around him going hungry for no reason. and he doesn’t know how to articulate it and and he’s just standing there, shaking and fists so tightly clenched, and dazai realises the anger was never directed at him, and chuuya begs asks, in a small voice, for dazai to just eat the damn food, so dazai does.

[anarchistqueer]

btw transadults ARE adults. transkids ARE kids. trans[insert identity] ARE [insert identity]. i love this community but im so tired of people treating transids like they’re not really their ids. a lot of us truly do identify as our preferred identities and may want to be treated as such.