#im looking for reasons too folks

[nenoname]

I'm a broken record about this but after so many years of being left with the Axolotl poem about Bill, it'd be so lame if Bill never did reincarnate, and it'd be just as disappointing if it ended up being something minor like a cicada (although it'd be hilarious if he reincarnated, immediately died and then reincarnated into something else).

And to me, the wording of the original Axolotl poem really does make it seem like the reincarnation itself is the 'redemption' and the deal is that Bill is basically passing responsibility to someone else, after he's done with therapy and like.... doesn't pass down all of his many issues.

(Plus I dunno if it's my understanding of reincarnation that's wrong but it feels that when Bill is like 'yeah let me use the reset button!!!', he's forgetting that its way different from using a continue and he's just gonna end up with the equivalent of a shoddy new game plus made for a wrong character/setting at best)

Meanwhile, we're left with Bill poem about Stan that's the same in execution (a cryptic message between space and time and by that I mean hidden on the internet lol), with the same purpose (an opening/lingering mystery for Alex to use when he wants to return to the series) with the same elements (fire, lies, redemption, home) and numerous comparisons to Bill's own philosophy on lies that's repeated again in the same website.

(Also been thinking about how amnesiac!Stan could sorta be thought of as a reincarnation of himself in terms of mind only. The same soul being hit with that reset gun button, a chance of a new self unburdened by the past, but via the power of love and family they went nope!!! we want you back!!!)

Either way, with the poem and the book's ending there's the obvious Bill+Stan connection that we're supposed to acknowledge!!!

[bucephaly]

People love finding random natives online and dumping their family story on them expecting a reassuring 'of course you're native!!' Lol

Sorry, if you don't wanna reconnect why would you even mention your supposed apache or whatever ancestry. If you aren't connecting to the tribe what does it even matter. 'I find it interesting' so you're using supposed native ancestry as a fun fact to make you look more interesting? How is that different than any other 'great grandma cherokee princess' person. Especially since you apparently have time to research the history of all your ancestral cultures but you don't have time to do genealogy

And of course when I tell them 'assume the stories are fake until you've got actual proof' they block me.

[10hourshift]

Evil touys 😈

I lost the og concept I had for them so I remade them last night

Why do they exist?

They're filler characters for the contest (I have a lot of those :/), and go against the toys in the first round. The toys realize their team is kinda ass when they see how well the Evil toys perform and get along with each other. The toys then instead of trying to improve as a team fight and their relationship strains a little (btw their team completely falls apart at the end of the contest)

Reasons their team works:

Gloom is the leader, and White Bon is the first one to support her.

They're all committed to the contest bc they know they are all important for the performances.

When they lose (bc they lose against the toys) they don't get angry and are happy they got to enjoy that experience with their friends 😄 (corny af but that's the point)

[orchidbreezefc]

literal hot take: fahrenheit is better than celsius. not just for everyday use, in every context.

first off: the degrees are smaller so the system is more precise, simple as. but more importantly fahrenheit--which is older, and originally european--was designed to be intuitive to the human experience. celsius was designed to match two of the conversion points (it doesn't account for the vaporization point) of one (1) substance, and... well, that's all!

0°F is about as cold as we can stand for much time, 100°F is about as hot, and 50-60°F is comfortable (depending on the weather you're used to). it's an easily-understood system where numbers convey meaning without requiring memorization.

those figures in celsius are -17.777°C and 37.777°C. if you dont have a learning disability/dysgraphia, take a moment to imagine how hard it would be to interpret those numbers. the comfortable goldilocks temperature of 60°F becomes 15.555°C, which doesnt map to any scale we use. but people use scales of 1 to 10 to describe comfort every day! a 1 or 10 is too extreme, and so are 10°F and 100°F.

celsius saves us having to memorize two important numbers--which every american does have memorized, 32 and 212--and sacrifices the legibility of every other number on the scale! is it better to memorize two numbers and make the rest of your system intuitive, or to make those two numbers easy and need to memorize everything else?

i don't think this argument is unreasonable or difficult to grasp, but it always gets intense pushback from international folks, even friends that i know are reasonable people, who don't engage with my points and insist that the universality of celsius must mean it's better. it uncritically considers the system one was raised with as superior purely because it's familiar--which is what americans are accused of!

i get it. america sucks real bad in a vast wealth of ways you are absolutely correct to criticize. and when our systems differ they often really are worse (imperial vs metric) or are equal, which means it would be better to match the rest of the world (driving on the right, though we aren't the only country that does). this is not one of those times! popularity doesnt make something better.

you're welcome to prefer the one you're used to, and you can even argue that americans should adopt celsius because you think ease of conversion matters more than ease of use. but claiming celsius is a better system is just not true.

P.S.: if you say something on this post, i politely ask that you 1. keep a sense of proportion regarding how important this really is (i.e. not very), 2. take the time to consider and engage with my points instead of clowning on my stance without actually thinking about it in the way i described above. uncritical acceptance of local customs is supposed to be an american thing, don't bite our style!

[sebbyisland]

akanematic.mp4 (youtube link)

[bacchuschucklefuck]

the boy-but-not-that-way-ism of riz gukgak send tweet

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Yesterday my wife and I were discussing the abject nonsense that is the Designated Survivor tv show (I like trash because it's trash fuck off) and I was talking about like. The motivations and informatics of warfare tactics [some people are War Guys TM because they like nazis, I'm a War Guy TM because I think strategy is a fun way to occupy my brain when it's about a war that already ended] and wifey was just like "Yeah, obviously the Geneva Conventions are just a suggestion" to which I replied "as in all things, I remain unconventional" so now whenever she sees me around the house she points at me and goes "most likely to commit a war crime for fun and profit" AND I CAN'T EVEN ARGUE I DID THIS TO ME

[lovelyrotter]

yknow i love transmasc/tboy dirk always and forever but the way some ppl treat transmascness vs transfemmeness in HS's narrative........kinda sucks. like the whole thing about how being transfeminine is a literal transient experience and lets the character in question (any character) truly escape the oppression of HS's narrative-as-a-character which is patriarchal and toxic (lord english, hussie-the-character to an extent. i guess. idk ive seen a lotta ppl lump SI-hussie in w/ this), which is great and does hold weight as an analytical lens esp with how hussie irl is nonbinary. but where does this leave transmasc characters. why are we treating (headcanoned) transfemme HS characters like this and then tbh gleefully dooming (headcanoned) transmasc characters to eternal narrative suffering brought by LE and then mocking them for being ''gross tboys'' full of ''icky testorerone'' so its their fault theyre in this perpetual torment really? because they ''''chose to be a man''''? dunno man its starting to feel bad. especially since some bnf's who are really into this fan theory do actually kinda treat the general idea of transmasculinity like somthing to hold with tongs at arms length away from them. as if its alien or infectous or something and then get really mad when equally dysphoric transmascs do the same with feminity. why are we dooming dirk strider to eternal toxic-masculine suffering and what does that say about how we treat real life transmasc folks both in and outside of the fandom

[du-hjarta-skulblaka]

A really odd trend in my delving into assorted polItical/philosophical/sociological video essays lately is how often a youtuber will be like. Okay. Listen. Bare with me here. I'm gonna talk about something that might sound really radical and crazy and false to you but just have a lil think about it okay :))) its ok if you disagree just consider it :)) and then proceeds to just say things I have with full confidence believed for as long as I can remember

[hanaasbananas]

love how I can search the word "typo" into the mwg server and find all of these gems

[thefactsofthematter]

either there is a very nice german man who genuinely wants to give me a good deal on an apartment, or i am about to get scammed….. not sure what to do at this point

[elizabeth-mitchells]

literally not my fault that i dont have a journal or therapy so you all have to see me oversharing on tumblr dot com

[smokeys-house]

I finished writing and editing that big thing btw I'm just waiting to see if a few artists open their commissions soon before I post 👀

[nexus-nebulae]

taryn really did a perfect job picking out our new system notebook we've actually been on a solid 15-DAY STREAK of using that thing. when our previous record was FOUR. taryn you're magical

[shotmrmiller]

I'm your only situationship.

A/N : yall i stayed up til 324 am writing this. I felt like if i went to bed still only having it as a thought and not on 'paper' thats unacceptable. If i gotta think about this then so do yall! it was also supposed to be a small one shot but it got wildly out of hand im not sorry.

18+ MDNI

TW: typical smut, EXPLICIT mmkay im talkin clutch ur pearls explicit.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Simon had finally come home from a grueling 6-month mission. All he wanted was some Kentucky bourbon with you at your favorite seedy bar. 

Once he was home, Simon cleaned up, put on a black clinical mask, and sent a text to you to meet him there. As he finished his first glass of the night, a rather attractive young woman approached him, asking if she could buy him a drink. 

“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around, lovie?”

“Not at all. This is after all the 21st century. I’m simply asking— wouldn’t want any missus at home getting upset.”

“There’s no one at home for me, lass.”

“Well then, how about you get yourself another glass, my treat, and we’ll see where this night takes us?” 

He slightly nodded —he’d never say no to a free drink— and as she left to order a drink, he took his phone out to text you again.

“C’mon, pet. I’ll cover the tab. Too good f’me, now?”

His phone vibrated a minute later.

“I can’t today, Si.”

“Why not? I know you don’t go out on Sundays.”

As the young woman came back, drinks in hand, he lifted the screen to read your response.

“I’ve got a dick appointment~ It’s been a year and then some and I’m gonna claw at my walls if I don’t get a fix ASAP.”

Simon goes tense— soft blues hardening to a silver and he’s gripping his phone so hard it might crack. He pulls up your contact and calls you within seconds.

“Hiya, Si!” 

“What the fuck is a dick appointment?”

“Oh,” you giggle. “I forget you older folk don’t know ‘bout that. It’s just a one-night fling. No commitments or nothin'.’ Exactly what I need right now.” You don’t tell him that the reason you’ve practically regrown your hymen is that when you’re best friends with Simon, every other male in existence pales in comparison. 

“Anyway Si-, he’s getting here in like an hour-”

“No.” And hangs up. 

The young woman who’s casually rubbing his bicep and shoulder gets practically flung off of him, as he gets up off the bar stool so fast it’s falling back with a loud clang, and he’s yanking his leather jacket on and pulling on his leather gloves so hard they’re about to become fingerless—

“Hey! I thought you didn’t have a girlfriend?!”

One gloved hand gripping the front door, he turns his head slightly to her and says, “Pet, with how good I’m gonna fuck her, she won’t even have to ask to know she’s mine.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You’re standing in the bathroom with your liquid eyeliner in one hand and phone in the other, staring at the ended call screen. ‘Weird,’ you think, then shrug and put the phone down. ‘Maybe the call got dropped.’

You finally complete the look with your false lashes when there’s a very hard knock on your door. You frown as you look at your phone screen. ‘7:14 pm’. You know the guy said at 8 and you’re in one of Simon’s big shirts he always forgets and your hair is still tied up in an oversized pink and white polka dot scrunchie— The pink leopard print booty shorts you’ve got on will suffice. 

The second time there’s a knock it’s even louder. 

“Jesus Christ, I’m coming!” 

You open the door and say, “I’m sorry I took so long, I—”

Simon flies past you, with a rough shoulder bump and you turn to look at him and he’s almost sprinting to the bedroom, slamming the door open—

“Simon, what the fuck? What’re you doin—”

“Where is he?”, he snarls.

“Who?! Are you talking about my date? He’s not getting here til 8! And why’re you slamming doors in my apartment like you pay my rent?!”

You see Simon deflate immediately at the important part of your answer and chooses to ignore the rest as he takes off his jacket and walks to your hall closet to hang it. Closing your door and locking it, you growl out,

“You need to leave. I haven’t even finished getting ready. I promise I’ll—”

“No, pet.”

“Will you quit interrupting me! Simon, I swear—”

“Pet.” 

You’re holding a scream behind your teeth, about to rip the hair out of your scalp when you see Simon take one loop of his mask off from around his ear and then the other. You gape. You’ve seen Simon without his mask— that isn’t the reason you can no longer find your voice. It’s the way he put his gloved middle finger in between his teeth and pulled it off so sensually. You can feel your cheeks and ears radiate heat from just seeing the tip of his pink tongue. Christ, you’re down horrendously.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, to distract yourself from the fact that you’re getting wet over an interaction so chaste when Simon is touching your ass, giving it a hard squeeze, before moving down to the back of your thighs and lifting you up. You startle at the movement and throw your arms around his neck out of habit, hoping he won’t drop you in the move to your bedroom.

He presses you against the wall with his hips, then grabs both of your ankles from behind his lower back and hooks the back of your knees over his forearms. Simon noses your jaw and starts grinding his clothed erection deliciously hard over the definitely wet spot on your shorts and growls out, 

“If you think,” grind “that I’m gonna allow My,” grind “Girl,”  grind—and you whimper in his ear,  “get fucked by some little cock two pump chump,” he gives a forced chuckle, “you must be daft, pet. Or maybe you’re doing it on purpose, eh? Trying to get my attention? Well, you’ve got it now. “ 

He moves his face to hover his lips over yours— you can lightly smell the bourbon he drank earlier— and he whispers, “You ever like this and I’m around, you come to me. And if I’m away, you wait for me like a good girl and when I come back I’ll give this,” he taps your pussy over your shorts, “greedy little cunt all the cock it can take.”

With a shaky breath, you nod before he kisses you, his bourbon-flavored tongue curling against yours, and you’re moaning into it because you’ve wanted this for too long and he’s finally touching you. Curling your fingers into his ash-brown hair, you move your mouth to his neck, to the right of his adam’s apple, took a bit of skin between your teeth and sucked. 

Simon hisses, dips his fingertips into your flesh hard enough to bruise, and all but yanks you off the wall to toss you onto your bed. 

You yelp as you bounce from the force of his throw— you’re still bouncing on the bed when Simon grabs the waistband of your shorts and knickers to pull right off, which you’re grateful for because the grey knickers you got on aren’t what anyone would wear for a first, second nor third impression.

Simon grabs both of the back of your knees with one hand,  goddamn bear paws, you think, before you feel his tongue in between your lips— so warm and wet and fuck, you needed this, needed him— and he flicks his tongue up and down on your clit. He sticks his long middle finger into you and it goes in without resistance, you’re slippery, drooling over his wrist and finger that’s curled up into the rough patch of nerves against your gummy walls, that he’s pressing into, over and over. God you’re about to come, your legs shake in his one-handed hold and you’ve got a white knuckle grip on the forearm you’re sinking your nails into—

Simon pulls away. You were so close, your eyes start watering because he can’t possibly be this mean to you but then you see him shove his tongue in between his middle and ring finger, eating up your nectar when he says, “The first time I’m gonna make you come, it’ll be on my cock. I want to see the frothy white cream you're gonna leave at the base.” 

You’re nodding hysterically at this point, anything for him to make you come, anything for him.  With a twirl of his index, he’s telling you to get on all fours. Scrambling, you turn over and arch your back— resting your head on your forearms— and you feel his calloused palms run down from your spine to your ass cheeks before he gives it a spank. 

“You have a condom?” 

You shake your head and you mewl out, “No, but I’m clean.”

“Good. I don’t want anything between us.”

You arch your back further, pressing your ass further into his hips when you hear his belt buckle clank and zipper open. Simon brings his palm to your other cheek, reddening it. 

“Fuckin’ hell, pet. Look at you spread out for me.” 

You feel warm velvet over steel over your slit before he slowly pushes inside, not all the way but about a little over half of his length, remembering that your g-spot is a little closer to the front. Fast, relatively shallow thrusts hitting your spot with almost clinical precision have you reeling, your orgasm about to break you, mind and body. Hands tightening painfully, you shatter— loud, high-pitched whines, ringing in your ears and pussy pulsing around Simon’s thick girth— and god, Simon doesn’t stop thrusting. He keeps the same smooth rhythm and you’d think he’s unaffected by the tight vice your pussy has him in— but you hear him, low, deep groans and a tighter grip on your hips telling you otherwise. 

He pulls out to bend over your back, completely covering it, and he murmurs in your ear, “I hope you didn’t think we were done. My girl wanted a fuckin’, now she’s gonna get it.” 

He takes off your pink, silly scrunchy and you see it around his tattooed wrist before he grabs your hair into a makeshift ponytail and is leaning back up and forcing your back to arch under his pull. You feel his leg at the height of your hips— propped up, foot flat on the bed and knee bent and the other straight on the floor and all you can think of is how this man is gonna kill you with his cock. 

Simon snaps his hips forward, fist full of hair pulling back,  stretching and filling in one strong thrust, bottoming out. He gives you no reprieve, no time to get used to how fucking deep he is, and sets an intense, firm pace that has you feeling a pinch below the navel every time his hip bones slap against your ass, balls to the clit and you love it. Every pinch in your lower belly has your pussy making a squelching sound and you can’t help yourself— you reach underneath your body to feel how split open you are with two fingers, encasing his cock and feeling the skin drag with them as he pulls out.

That has him hissing air between his teeth, he’s about to come but doesn't want it to be over so he pulls out, and opens your cheeks to spit in your furled hole, before pressing in with the pad of his thumb, and you’re almost screaming. He moves back a bit further to spit in your pussy, not that you need it— you’re drenching the sheets underneath you— and now he’s spearing you with his tongue before curling it, getting your juices pooled on it before coming back up, lips smacking, and he grabs your hair in his ponytail and now he uses his other hand to curls his fingers and palm over the front of your throat and that's all it takes for your vision to darken and arms go limp but he’s again, fucking you through your orgasm and this time you leave a creamy white ring at the base of his length. 

“Oh, fuckin hell.” He groans out and it sounds desperate and you know he’s close.

“Come in me, Simon. Please fill me up, I promise I’ll keep it all in.”

He gives a strained chuckle and says, “Pet, I can barely pull out of a driveway much less this tight little cunt.” He squeezes your throat hard, strands of hair popping out of your scalp and his cock feels massive, the pinch in your stomach feels like a cramp from how deep he is and he lets out a low drawn out moan that lasts 3 thrusts— and then there’s warmth filling you up, so much so it leaks from the sides of where you two are connected. Simon lets go of your hair and you fall face-first onto the bed, exhausted. Defeated. Back properly broken. You officially know what it’s like to get fucked within an inch of your life and you love it. 

He pulls out slowly, with a hiss from both of you and with one hand on your left cheek, he spreads you to look at your stuffed hole.

“Fuck. I love seeing me drip out of you.” 

You’re about to tell him to sod off when the doorbell rings and the both of you stiffen and lock eyes. With a mean snarl, Simon grabs a towel from your bathroom and his mask before stomping his way to answer the door, pink obnoxious scrunchy still on his wrist.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗