#i'm not a big birthday person

[kimtaegis]

JIN HUGS JIN HUGS! for @jinstronaut ♡

cr. namuspromised, dwellingsouls, 0613data

[egophiliac]

thank you for blessing us with twst pokemon au i appreciate it greatly. if i may ask you a question

how does one read book 7 without selling their soul to the deep dark web. i've been wanting to read the other parts for a while but i can't find a place with all the chapters. i've seen translations on youtube but i don't think they have all of them?

(also why'd you government name mickey like that on your last post what did he do)

thank you! :D

I'm not really sure where to find up-to-date main story translations, so opening it up to the floor for other people to chime in! for reference, the latest release in JP was episode 7 chapter 6 on December 11th, which covered 7-88 through 7-100. fingers crossed for more in February...but that's where we're at right now!

(Michael knows what he did)

[linterteatime]

pwease don't repost! the sillies™

[heliosphere-underthesky]

(2014)

(2015)

(2020)

(2024)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

HAPPY 10th BIRTHDAY, HELIOSPHERE: UNDER THE SKY!!!!!!

Here are some individual pictures of the main cast from when they were conceptualized (2014), to their first full body pictures in full colour (2020), down to their current designs! (2024)

(except for Luna, her pictures are 2014 - 2023 - 2024)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Thank you so much for the support! In just one year, this project bloomed so much from so many years of neglecting it. Here's to many more years to come! Love you all and stay tuned to see more of this project!

[thelovers-thedreamers-and-me]

the downside to being a sitcom neighbour sort of person is that when rough things happen and emotionally fuck u up a lil bit, it also sounds completely made up

[juggalogojackerbox]

A heartfelt happy birthday for a very special lifelong friend of mine

[hyunjinz]

.

[sleepinglionhearts]

Well, looks like I made it to 27!

A big thank you to my friends and family for supporting me with love and kindness, and a lot of patience. A big thank you as well to all my online buddies, though I know many of us only occasionally chat nowadays. Y'all keep me going. ♡

Let's hope I have many more birthdays to come!

[good--merits-accumulated]

mini-oneshot; post Neil's death. the usual content warnings apply - depression + some pretty severely bad mental health + alcohol + injury + quite a bit of swearing.

For a long time afterwards he lay and did nothing. He lay until his bones fused with the sheets and Meeks started to look pale and then they came in and threatened him with suspension so he got up and went to class. But in his mind he was lying still, all the time. The others let him alone half out of pity and half out of fright, like a dog that should have been put down when it was a runt. He tried to care but could not care about caring. The new teacher set them an essay on iambic pentameter and instead of writing it he reproduced one of Rimbaud’s poems, the one that began Pitoyable frère! Que d'atroces veillées je lui dus… The essay came back unmarked with a hasty grade scribbled in the margin, and he thought, great. So I can’t even rebel right. Then what the hell did he do it for? At nights he would lie down and listen jealously to the sound of his own breathing, trying to breathe like someone else, and hating all the time the dark mound of blankets that was Cameron’s back in the corner of his vision. 

He lay down and he lay down and he lay down until one night he woke up and he was no longer lying down but climbing out of the window. It had stuck in the frame as he pulled it up but it was holding, and he shimmied his legs out over the narrow sill, avoiding the open bottle of schnapps on the desk, and thought perhaps there had been enough lying, perhaps he would try running. It must be nice to feel the ground beneath your feet, the steady jolt of your heart in your chest, no entrapment, no cage… his fingers spasmed on the sill and his legs kicked involuntarily, like the legs of men when they were sentenced to hang. He made himself stop thinking. And then after that all was an explosion; sound and noise and no light, no light still but the sharp clinical mortuary beam of the moon by the window. He could not touch it, he tried, and then it was gone again out of his sight and Cameron was kneeling over him on the floor of the room, looking furious. What the fuck did you do that for, he was saying, or maybe it was Why the fuck are you acting like this, or even, Why the fuck him and not you? He tried to say something pithy like I was hoping you’d tell me that, slick, but his mouth seemed to be missing somehow. The words came out of him but he kind of knew he had not said them. Cameron knelt there for a long time, his mouth twisting with a great and terrified fury. There was something shining on his face – tears, maybe… he looked closer and it was blood. He looked down at his hands and saw two deep gouges, running lengthways across his palms. Then the words came. Kind of like Jesus, huh? he said, holding his palms up in front of him. Behind Cameron the door opened and Pitts came in. Maybe he���ll come back.

Jesus Christ, said Cameron, you’re drunk. All around them the shards of the schnapps bottle lay like diamonds, glittering, like the water of the lake he could see from the window. He remembered now; he had been trying to get there. His arms ached to swim. Cameron got up and trembled and said, Could have killed yourself. The rest of it he forgot in the time that passed. 

It was some days later that Pitts slapped him round the face; he jolted, surprised, but with no pain. Pull yourself together, he said to him, do you think any of us like seeing you like this, you shit, don’t you dare go away like that. Pull yourself together. It was desperation and it was ugly desperation but even the ugly desperation was something and everything stopped blurring together if only for a second. The anger had drained away with the slap and Pitts said to him, Meeks is sleeping in your bed tonight. You can take his.

They had moved the stack of books on his desk to Meeks’ temporarily, only taking his favourites, and something very muffled inside him began to weep at the sight. Pitts sat him down on the bed which was newly made and shoved him not unkindly into a lying position and tucked the blanket under him on all sides so that he felt enfolded, and said, Sleep. I’m going to bed too.

Not even curfew, Todd said.

Who gives a shit about curfew, said Pitts, it’s some kind of social construct, it doesn’t mean anything. Sleep. You want me to read you a story?

When he woke up again the moon was stark bright and casting light in slabs through the window and the book in Pitts’ hands had slumped to the floor. He had gotten halfway through the Morte d’Arthur. There had been a lake in that, too… He got up and went soundlessly to the window, which did not squeak this time, and climbed out. 

His shoes he left neatly by the bank. When he came back to himself he was already in the water, and it was so lovingly cold he could have cried, and did. The reality of each of his senses came back to life. Cold and cold and cold. He stretched out an arm and the water held it, and a foot and the water held that too. Each spike of ice through his limbs felt sweet. He heard Neil’s voice and saw Neil’s face, saying, No, and he told him No too in return. He would have to take care of himself, now. But he twisted in the water and thought to himself that Pitts would be waiting for him, which was a beginning. 

He pulled himself out of the lake and gasped for long burning moments, heard by no-one, and understood with complete certainty that he was alone. He would always be alone now, in some sense, for the rest of his life. That space within him would be empty. He opened his mouth and said it loudly: “I do not think he is coming back.” There was a relief to the feel of the words in his mouth that made him retch and he started to cry as he retched, ungracefully, sprawled there by the cold and glittering water. 

He cried until the tears and the vomit stopped coming and then he put the heels of his palms on the ground and pushed himself up against them, ignoring the sting. There was a new great and hollow space inside him and a piercing cold clarity and he had left, it seemed, all of his confusion inside the water. He stood up feeling like he had just been born. Then he started walking.

[seaofreverie]

Anyway how is everyone doing

[souenkun]

July recap! 🏖

[kakusu-shipping]

I need everyone to see I finally, FINALLY made a decent looking cake, and then proceeded to throw it on the damn floor before anyone got to taste it.

[wordspinning]

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[randomingoftherandomness]

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[lilydvoratrelundar]

hmm. idk how i feel about all these followers. maybe i should remake.

[ninja-yogurt]

Thinking about how as a kid I was pretty convinced my cat was kind of apathetic to me because I would pick him up and drag him to my room when I wanted to cuddle with him and he didn't approach me on his own very often, especially compared to his brother who would happily demand attention from anyone and everyone. And how my brother and I got little rubber mice one Halloween and I lost mine and was devastated and kind of bratty about it, and went to cry on the floor of my room for reasons I don't really remember. And my cat, who never approached me in his own, comes up to me with the mouse in his little mouth and drops it next to me.

And I don't think he understood why I was upset but the fact that he saw me upset and decided to bring me something to cheer me up, and came up to me of his own volition, I was convinced for the rest of his life that he was one of the most emotionally intelligent cats I'd ever met, and that he loved me more than anyone else in the world. I swear nearly every expression of love he had was something he picked up from me. He loved being picked up like the person petting him was too impatient to wait for him to approach them. For years he'd come running at the sound of my fingers rubbing together in an attempt at a snap, but when I figured out how to actually snap he ignored it. I wasn't very good at petting gently, and his favorite thing was when somebody used all their strength to push against his head while they pet him. I read a book on cat communication when he was still a kitten and spent an evening headbutting him because it said that's how they say hello and communicate affection, and I don't remember him headbutting everything and everyone in sight before that but he sure did enjoy it afterwards.

When I came home from college he would frequently be standoffish towards me until I, allergic to him, would sneeze for the first time, and then he would demand attention like it took that to be sure I was who I said I was. He would get cuddlier when I sneezed, probably because I would frequently turn to him after and say in a sweet, fond voice, "yes! This is all your fault, yes!" Sometimes he'd make eye contact with me before he sneezed. I think he thought the sneezing itself was affection. Once when I came home I cuddled with him until he was half asleep on my lap and at 1 am I started trying to move him without waking him up, or annoy him into moving himself, because I didn't have the heart to just abandon him but I needed to go to bed. He must have been more awake than I thought because when I fully lifted up one leg so it was next to him instead of under him he just readjusted on the other one, and then did the same with the other leg. It was pretty impressive for a cat who once accidentally rolled off a couch because I was standing across the room and he got too excited about trying to convince me to approach him that he forgot where the edge was.

I took so many pictures of him and asked my family to take and send so many pictures and videos and video chats with him that he also got excited by smartphones, because a camera pointed at him meant he got extra attention. It was so hard to get good pictures of him; if he noticed the camera he got very wiggly.

He had a fang taken out when he was starting to get older, because it was infected, and he figured out how to eat without it but he never quite figured out how to close his mouth consistently. He's always had a remarkably expressive face; i swear he used to smile when he was happy and I never needed to see the rest of his body to tell when he'd been startled. But for a cat who frequently looked confused before, sometimes having one lip snagged inside his mouth really improved the look. My mom started saying he had an Elvis face now.

Losing the tooth did not stop him from stealing a piece of toasted turkey ham from a plate on the table once. I was walking back from the kitchen, trying to help my dad prepare breakfast, and as I approached he decided the best thing to do when caught red handed with a piece of meat about a full quarter of your size is to sprint off with it, which might have worked better if it wasn't a quarter of his size and he didn't have a missing tooth. He made it most of the way across the room with it hanging from his mouth, somehow swinging slightly and dragging on the floor at the same time, before he gave it up. I wish I'd gotten it on camera, because I was the only one who saw the whole thing.

He stopped meowing as much and couldn't really purr by the end. What he'd do instead of meowing was squeak like a rusty wheel if he wanted food and wail like he was dying if he wanted attention and nobody was in the room with him. Occasionally he'd go into my parents' room when there were people around and wail because nobody was in his extra special cuddle spot. For about fourteen years of his life the only time I heard that meow was when he had bladder crystals and had to be rushed to the vet, and when he got stuck once hanging from one of those scratching posts that could hang from a doorknob, flipped his head back so it was upside down in relation to the ground and he was staring at me, and gave one of the saddest meows I've ever heard in my life. (Unfortunately for him it took me a few seconds to stop laughing my head off to actually come help, but he was fine). I came home when he was older and suddenly he'd realized that that wail meant immediate attention, and why not abuse it in exchange for more cuddles.

I miss him a lot. It was my first birthday without him this past week. Last year my favorite present was handmade by my brother, and when it arrived I got extra pictures of it before it was shipped out lying on top of him (cat, not brother). I dreamt about him a lot, for a while, but I haven't since a dream where I spent a bunch of time cuddling with him and he purred like a motorboat. I like to think it was him telling me he'll be ok, even if I don't dream about him again for a while.